‘To the bet between you and M. Le Gautier. You see, M. Felix’s dealings with the cask are the result of the bet, and it must be obvious to you that confirmation of his statement is required.’
The stockbroker shook his head with decision as if to close the conversation.
‘You have made some mistake, monsieur. I made no bet with M. Le Gautier and, for the rest, I have no idea what you are speaking of.’
‘But, monsieur, M. Felix stated directly that you had bet M. Le Gautier he could not get the cask away. If that is not true, it may be serious for him.’
‘I know nothing of any cask. What Felix are you referring to?’
‘M. Léon Felix, of St. Malo, London.’
A look of interest passed over the stockbroker’s face.
‘Léon Felix? I certainly know him. A decent fellow he is too. And you mean to say he told you I was mixed up with some matter connected with a cask?’
‘Certainly. At least he told my colleague, Mr. Burnley, of the London police.’
‘My dear monsieur, your colleague must be dreaming. Felix must have been speaking of some one else.’