‘Good morning,’ he said, as a buxom, middle-aged woman came to the door. ‘I have just come from Brussels to see M. Boirac, and I find the house is locked up. Can you tell me if there is a caretaker, or any one who could tell me where M. Boirac is to be found?’
‘I am the caretaker, monsieur, but I do not know M. Boirac’s address. All he told me before he left was that any letters sent to the Crédit Mazières in Brussels would be forwarded.’
‘He has not then been gone long, I suppose?’
‘A fortnight to-day, monsieur. He said he would be away three weeks, so if you could call in about a week, you should see him.’
‘By the way, a friend of mine was to call on him here last week. I am afraid he must have missed him also. You did not see my friend?’ He showed her Boirac’s photograph.
‘No, monsieur, I did not see him.’
Lefarge thanked the woman and, having walked round to two or three of the other neighbouring houses and asked the same questions without result, he re-entered the car and was driven back to Malines. From there he took the first train to Brussels.
It was close on two o’clock when he entered the ornate portal of the Crédit Mazières, of which M. Boirac was a director. The building was finished with extraordinary richness, no expense having been spared in its decoration. The walls of the vast public office were entirely covered with choice marbles—panels of delicate green separated by pilasters and cornice of pure white. The roof rose with a lofty dome of glass which filled the building with a mellow and pleasant light. ‘No want of money here,’ Lefarge thought, as he approached the counter and, handing in his card, asked to see the manager.
He had to wait for some minutes, then, following a clerk along a corridor decorated in the same style as the office, he was ushered into the presence of a tall, elderly gentleman with clean-shaven features and raven black hair, who was seated at a large roll-top desk.
Having exchanged greetings, Lefarge began:—