‘Some of them. M. Dumarchez lives five doors from me in the rue de Vallorbes. M. Briant lives near the end of the rue Washington, where it turns into the Champs Elysées. The other addresses I cannot tell you off-hand, but I can help you to find them in a directory.’
‘Many thanks. Now, please excuse me for going back a moment. You gave me to understand you did not write to M. Felix on the subject of the lottery?’
‘Yes, I said so, I think, quite clearly.’
‘But M. Felix states the very opposite. He says he received a letter from you, dated Thursday, 1st April, that is this day week.’
M. Le Gautier stared.
‘What’s that you say? He says he heard from me? There must be a mistake there, monsieur, for I did not write to him.’
‘But he showed me the letter.’
‘Impossible, monsieur. He could not have shown you what did not exist. Whatever letter he may have shown you was not from me. I should like to see it. Have you got it there?’
For answer Lefarge held out the sheet which Felix had given to Burnley during their midnight conversation at the villa of St. Malo. As M. Le Gautier read it the look of wonder on his expressive face deepened.
‘Extraordinary!’ he cried, ‘but here is a mystery! I never wrote, or sent, or had any knowledge of such a letter. It’s not only a forgery, but it’s a pure invention. There’s not a word of truth in that story of the bet and the cask from beginning to end. Tell me something more about it. Where did you get it?’