‘Is the cask here?’ he said.
‘Yes, swinging there from the ceiling,’ answered Felix, as he came over from fastening back the door. Then his jaw dropped and he stared fixedly.
‘My heavens!’ he gasped, in a strangled tone, ‘it’s gone! The cask’s gone!’
CHAPTER VI
THE ART OF DETECTION
Astonished as Burnley was himself at this unexpected development, he did not forget to keep a keen watch on Felix. That the latter was genuinely amazed and dumbfounded he could not doubt. Not only was his surprise too obviously real to be questioned, but his anger and annoyance at losing his money were clearly heartfelt.
‘I locked it myself. I locked it myself,’ he kept on repeating. ‘It was there at eight o’clock, and who could get at it since then? Why, no one but myself knew about it. How could any one else have known?’
‘That’s what we have to find out,’ returned the Inspector. ‘Come back to the house, Mr. Felix, and let us talk it over. We cannot do anything outside until it gets light.’
‘You may not know,’ he continued, ‘that you were followed here with your cask by one of our men, who watched you unloading it in the coach-house. He waited till you left with your friend Martin, a few minutes before nine. He then had to leave to advise me of the matter, but he was back at the house by ten. From ten till after eleven he watched alone, but since then the house has been surrounded by my men, as I rather expected to find a gang instead of a single man. Whoever took the cask must therefore have done so between nine and ten.’