The Cask

but, as he held the hand-lamp close, he saw something else which interested him.
The label was divided into two parts, an ornamental border containing the sender’s advertisement and a central portion for the address. These two were separated by a thick black line. What had caught Broughton’s eye was an unevenness along this line, and closer examination showed that the central portion had been cut out, and a piece of paper pasted on the back of the card to cover the hole. Felix’s address was therefore written on this paper, and not on the original label. The alteration had been neatly done, and was almost unnoticeable. Broughton was puzzled at first, then it occurred to him that the firm must have run out of labels and made an old one do duty a second time.
“A cask containing money and a human hand⁠—probably a body,” he mused. “It’s a queer business and something has got to be done about it.” He stood looking at the cask while he thought out his course of action.
That a serious crime had been committed he felt sure, and that it was his duty to report his discovery immediately he was no less certain. But there was the question of the consignment of wines. He had been sent specially to the docks to check it, and he wondered if he would be right to leave the work undone. He thought so. The matter was serious enough to justify him. And it was not as if the wine would not be checked. The ordinary tallyman was there, and Broughton knew him to be careful and accurate. Besides, he could probably get a clerk from the dock office to help. His mind was made up. He would go straight to Fenchurch Street and report to  Mr. Avery, the managing director.
“Harkness,” he said, “I’m going up to the head office to report this. You’d better close up that hole as best you can and then stay here and watch the cask. Don’t let it out of your sight on any pretext until you get instructions from  Mr. Avery.”
“Right,  Mr. Broughton,” replied the foreman, “I think you’re doing the proper thing.”
They replaced as much of the sawdust as they could, and Harkness fitted the broken piece of stave into the space and drove it home, nailing it fast.
“Well, I’m off,” said Broughton, but as he turned to go a gentleman stepped down into the hold and spoke to him. He was a man of medium height, foreign-looking, with a dark complexion and a black pointed beard, and dressed in a well-cut suit of blue clothes, with white spats and a Homburg hat. He bowed and smiled.
“Pardon me, but you are, I presume, an  I. and  C. official?” he asked, speaking perfect English, but with a foreign accent.
“I am a clerk in the head office, sir,” replied Broughton.
“Ah, quite so. Perhaps then you can oblige me with some information? I am expecting from Paris by this boat a cask containing a group of statuary from  Messrs. Dupierre of that city. Can you tell me if it has arrived? This is my name.” He handed Broughton a card on which was printed: “ M. Léon Felix, 141 West Jubb Street, Tottenham Court Road,  W.”
Though the clerk saw at a glance the name was the same as that on the label on the cask, he pretended to read it with care while considering his reply. This man clearly was the consignee, and if he were told the cask was there he would doubtless claim immediate possession. Broughton could think of no excuse for refusing him, but he was determined all the same not to let it go. He had just decided to reply that it had not yet come to light, but that they would keep a lookout for it, when another point struck him.
The damaged cask had been moved to the side of the hold next the dock, and it occurred to the clerk that anyone standing on the wharf beside the hatch could see it. For all he knew to the contrary, this man Felix might have watched their whole proceedings, including the making of the hole in the cask and the taking out of the sovereigns. If he had recognised his property, as was possible, a couple of steps from where he was standing would enable him to put his finger on the label and so convict Broughton of a falsehood. The clerk decided that in this case honesty would be the best policy.
“Yes, sir,” he answered, “your cask has arrived. By a curious coincidence it is this one beside us. We had just separated it out from the wine-barrels owing to its being differently consigned.”
 Mr. Felix looked at the young man suspiciously, but he only said: “Thank you. I am a collector of objets d’art, and am anxious to see the statue. I have a cart here and I presume I can get it away at once?”
This was what Broughton had expected, but he thought he saw his way.
“Well, sir,” he responded civilly, “that is outside my job and I fear I cannot help you. But I am sure you can get it now if you will come over to the office on the quay and go through the usual formalities. I am going there now and will be pleased to show you the way.”
“Oh, thank you. Certainly,” agreed the stranger.
As they walked off, a doubt arose in Broughton’s mind that Harkness might misunderstand his replies to Felix, and if the latter returned with a plausible story might let the cask go. He therefore called out:⁠—
“You understand then, Harkness, you are to do nothing till you hear from  Mr. Avery,” to which the foreman replied by a wave of the hand.
The problem the young clerk had to solve was threefold. First, he had to go to Fenchurch Street to report the matter to his managing director. Next, he must ensure that the cask was kept in the Company’s possession until that