‘Then, monsieur, allow me to express my regret for the annoyance given, and my thanks for your courteous replies to my questions.’ He flashed a glance at Burnley. ‘If we might still further inflict ourselves on you, I should like, with your permission, to ask M. Dumarchez to join us here so that we may talk the matter over together.’ ‘An excellent idea, monsieur. Do so by all means.’ One of the eventualities the colleagues had discussed before starting their morning’s work was the possible denial by M. Le Gautier of any bet with M. Dumarchez. They had decided that in such a case the latter must be interrogated before a communication could reach him from Le Gautier. It was with this in view that Lefarge left his friend with the wine-merchant, while going himself to interview his neighbour. As the detective reached the door of the stockbroker’s office in the Boulevard Poissonière it opened and a middle-aged gentleman with a long, fair beard emerged. ‘Pardon, but are you M. Dumarchez?’ asked Lefarge. ‘My name, monsieur. Did you wish to see me?’ The detective introduced himself, and briefly stated his business. ‘Come in, monsieur,’ said the other. ‘I have an appointment in another part of Paris shortly, but I can give you ten minutes.’ He led the way into his private room and waved his visitor to a chair. ‘It is the matter of the bet, monsieur,’ began Lefarge. ‘The test has failed, and the police have therefore to satisfy themselves that the cask was really sent with the object stated.’ M. Dumarchez stared. ‘I do not understand,’ he replied. ‘To what bet are you referring?’ ‘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.’ ‘I assure you not, monsieur. There is no mistake. M. Felix states the bet arose out of a conversation on the State lotteries, which took place in the Café Toisson d’Or, three weeks ago last Sunday, at which you were present.’