Читать книгу The Berry Scene - Cecil William Mercer - Страница 4

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Six weeks had gone by, and the car which we had ordered was overdue. We were, of course, keeping the hireling, until our own car should come.

On the whole, our fall from grace had been well received. A few eyebrows had been raised: Mrs. de Lisle had been caustic: Withyham had been rude. But our farmer friends were amused and the village was proud.

“That’s a fact,” said the Vicar. “Bilberry’s one up on Cleric—I heard the taunt hurled myself. ‘We’ve got an auto, we ’ave.’ ”

“I confess I’m a convert,” said Daphne.

“Not a convert,” said Berry. “A complacent heretic.”

“So,” said my sister, “are you. You never stop abusing the thing, but, if anyone took it away, you’d go off the deep end.”

“I’ll say it’s convenient,” said Berry.

“No more than that?” said I.

“No more than that.”

“Then don’t you come to-morrow. We’re only going to lunch with a friend of mine.”

Berry regarded the Vicar.

“There’s a viper,” he said. “Just because I decline to vomit a lot of slush about——”

“You disgusting brute,” said Daphne.

“There you are,” said Berry. “That’s what I have to put up with. I sometimes think I shall take orders. You don’t want a curate, do you?”

As soon as the Vicar could speak—

“I have a feeling,” he said, “that, even if you were available, I should look somewhere else. But I’ll give you this—I think the church would be crammed when you were going to preach. By the way, have you heard the latest? Lord Withyham has closed the Roman Lane.”

“But he can’t,” cried everyone.

“He’s done it,” said the Vicar. “He’s put up a five-barred gate—and the gate is locked.”

“And here’s trouble,” said Berry. “There’s been a right of way there for years and years.”

“So I’m told,” said the Vicar. “D’you think you could see him about it?”

Berry shook his head.

“We’ve never got on,” he said. “He’d take it better from you.”

“He won’t listen to me,” said the Vicar. “But something will have to be done. If I know the parish, feeling will run very high.”

“And there you’re right,” said Jonah. “The neighbourhood won’t stand it—and that’s the truth. With us, the right of way is the Ark of the Covenant.”

There was an uneasy silence.

Then—

“We must avoid violence,” said the Vicar. “If the matter must go to the Courts, to the Courts it must go. But there must be no violence.”

“I don’t know about violence,” said Berry. “But, once the murder is out, that gate will be short of its hinges within the hour.”

“More,” said I. “Old Chalk’s to be buried on Wednesday.”

“Oh, dear,” said Daphne.

The Vicar looked round, wide-eyed.

“But what of that?” he said.

“There’s an old belief,” said Berry, “that where a funeral has passed, there for ever will be a right of way. In fact, it’s bad in law; but such beliefs die hard. I think it more than likely that an attempt will be made to take Old Chalk to the churchyard by way of Romany Lane. And Withyham may try to stop it.”

The Vicar covered his eyes. “This is dreadful,” he said.

“Why d’you think,” said Daphne, “Lord Withyham won’t listen to you?”

The Vicar frowned.

“We had words last year,” he said. “The Scouts spent a week at Bluecoat—camping, you know. The weather was very fine, and they were abroad all day: but their camp was in the meadow. I know it’s close to the house, but they did behave very well and they made no noise. But Lord Withyham resented their presence. He wouldn’t even give them water. And when I protested. I’m sorry to say he ordered me out of the house.”

“Outrageous,” said Daphne. “And if that was how he felt, why did he let them come?”

“He didn’t,” cried the Vicar. “It was Ightham’s meadow—not his.”

“But you said it was at Bluecoat.”

“So it is. But that meadow belongs to Ightham.”

The three of us stared at him.

“Well, I thought I knew Bluecoat,” said Berry: “but this is a new one on me.”

“I must be right,” said the Vicar. “If the meadow had been Lord Withyham’s, he would have turned them out.”

“Well, I don’t understand it,” said I. “But it’s perfectly clear that you can’t go to the man.” I looked at Berry. “You and I’d better beard him to-morrow. On our way to Hammercloth—we have to go by his gates.”

“You’re very good,” said the Vicar, and got to his feet.

“Don’t speak too soon,” said Berry.

The Vicar smiled.

“I’m not speaking too soon. Whether you fail or succeed cannot alter the fact—that you are very good to do so distasteful a duty on my behalf.”

“My dear, good sir,” said Berry, taking his arm. “For you and the village, we’d do far more than this. That is what White Ladies is for. She has always done what she could to be Bilberry’s rod and staff. Our reluctance to interfere here was dictated by one thing alone—the fear that with Withyham, White Ladies will cut no ice.”

We all came to the door, to see the good man off.

The Reverend John Chisholm had been with us nearly three years. A gentle fellow of Oxford, he was a man of peace. On four Sundays out of five, he lunched with us, and we were glad at his coming and sorry to see him go.

The first Lord Withyham had been a riveter when he was seventeen. He had risen by sheer merit, to become the honoured Chairman of one of the shipping lines. Never was a peerage more deservedly bestowed. And then he died, and his son, the present Withyham, reigned in his stead. But his was a spirit of another sort. It was said that his mother had spoiled him. Be that as it may, he was not even a shadow of what his father had been. The man was proud of his title, ashamed of his birth. He set no store by work, but much by his dignity. His father had never had time for a country place. Withyham repaired the omission the moment the Will was proved. The Ferrers had lived at Bluecoat for more than two hundred years, but the last of the line was poor, and the place was for sale. Withyham bought it as it stood.... And there you are. I fear that Withyham disliked us, because, though Bluecoat was lovely. White Ladies took pride of place.

As we returned to the terrace—

“The man must be mad,” said Daphne. “Romany Lane has always been a short cut. It goes through his land, of course.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Berry. “No doubt, many years ago, it was a private road. But the Ferrers were lax or kindly and failed to close it once in twenty-one years. And so the public acquired a right of way. I can’t go back so far, but plenty of people can.”

“What exactly d’you mean?” said his wife.

“Well, if it comes to a show-down—a fight in the Courts—people will have to be found who can swear that the lane’s been open for twenty-one years. Prove that, and Withyham’s sunk.”

“That’ll cost money,” said Jonah. “That’s what he’s banking on—that no one will put up the money to fight the case.”

“We’ll put it up,” said Daphne. “If we have to re-let Cholmondeley Street.”

She spoke for us all.

Number Thirty-eight Cholmondeley Street had always been our home, when we were in Town. Seven years ago the house had been let on lease. But now that lease was up, and the house was being decorated against our return. But better that we let it again than that Romany Lane should be closed.

“That’s all right,” said I, “so far as it goes. But don’t forget this—with the Law, you never know. No case is ever cast-iron. I’d say that the odds against Withyham were about five to one. Well, that’s good enough. But I must remind you that there’s a Court of Appeal ... and the House of Lords. ... If Withyham took us up to the House of Lords, and there we lost, the costs we should have to pay would probably be between six and eight thousand pounds.”

“Oh, hell,” said everyone.

“Exactly. We cannot afford to stake eight thousand pounds. But Withyham can. So, if we can possibly avoid it, the case must not go to the Courts. We cannot afford a row. If the parish gets his goat, Withyham will force our hand.”

“Well, what do we do?” said Berry.

I raised my eyebrows.

“We’d better put Peters wise and tell him to learn what he can at The Rose to-night. And to-morrow we call on Withyham.”

“Yes, that’s going to be a genial interview, isn’t it? You must take what he says in shorthand, behind your back.”

“Oh, my dears,” said Daphne, “I am so sorry for you. Yes, Falcon?”

The butler approached.

“I think you would like to know, madam, that Mrs. Ightham is here.”

“Oh, splendid,” said Daphne. “She’s come to see Bridget?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Ask her to come to the Blue Room in ten minutes’ time.”

“Very good, Madam.”

“Falcon,” said Berry, “is Mr. Ightham here?”

“Yes, sir. He drove her over.”

“Where is he now? With Peters?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. I’ll go and see him.”

“Shall I tell him, sir?”

“If you please.”

Falcon bowed and withdrew. Berry raised his eyebrows.

“May as well get the low-down, what ever it is.”

Ten minutes later Ightham declared the truth.

“No wonder you’re beaten, sir; it’s a curious case. Our land marches with Bluecoat, as well you know. A hundred years ago, the Ferrers o’ that day wanted to buy the acres we call the Dale. My great-grandfather, George—he wouldn’t sell. ‘But I’ll tell you what, sir,’ he says, ‘I’ll give you a lease.’ An’ that’s what he did. A ninety-nine years’ lease. Well, that was near enough freehold.... An’ if you ask me the truth, I think the Ferrers forgot. An’ then, two years ago, just after his lordship buys it, the lease falls in. Now if it had been Mr. Ferrers, he should have had the Dale. Ninety-nine years is a lifetime—an’ more than that. I’d have let ’is lordship have it, if only he’d spoken me fair. But he couldn’t do that. We’re only farmer stock, and he’s a lord. But he’s a stranger, sir, and we’ve been here for a hundred and fifty years. An’ he talked to me as if I was one of his gardeners.... ‘I’m buying those meadows,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another lease. I’m telling my lawyers so, and you’ll hear from them.’ Well, that’s not neighbourly, sir. An’ when his lawyers wrote, I said they was not for sale. An’ then he writes to me, an’ talks about ‘impertinent conduct’. So I put the Boy Scouts there.... An’ now he shuts Romany Lane.... He don’t know behaviour, sir, and that’s the truth.”

“What on earth’s he playing at—shutting the lane? I mean, he must know he can’t do it.”

“That he can’t,” said Ightham, “and so he’ll find. To my knowledge that lane’s been open for forty-five years. And there’s others older than me.”

“Then why’s he done it?” said Berry. “He must know the law.”

“It’s a try-on, sir. He’s having a very big house-party next week-end. Some foreign royalties is coming—a German prince an’ princess. That’s what Jack Belcher told me—he’s acting as bailiff now. Jack told him he couldn’t do it: but his lordship shouts him down. Says his guests’ privacy’s got to be respected, he says. ‘You carry out your orders,’ he shouts.”

“A temporary measure?” said I.

Ightham shrugged his shoulders.

“The gate’s there, sir. I’ve seen it. An’ now it’s there, I can’t see him taking it down.” He laughed abruptly. “A stranger shouldn’t do that.”

“What d’you know, Mr. Ightham?”

The farmer looked round.

Then—

“I’m told, sir. Old Chalk’ll open it Wednesday next.”

We called at Bluecoat the next day, precisely at ten o’clock.

“His lordship in?” said Berry.

“He is, sir.”

“Ask him if he’ll give me ten minutes.”

“Certainly, sir. Will you please to come this way?”

We entered a chamber which I had known as a child.

One minute later the peer strode into the room.

“Morning, Withyham,” said Berry. “Forgive us for calling so early, but, if we hadn’t come now, we couldn’t have come to-day.”

“Is it so urgent, Pleydell?”

“Yes,” said Berry, “it is. The thing is this. I know your respect for tradition. Of that respect you chose Bluecoat, and of that respect you maintain it, as Bluecoat should be maintained. For that reason, I venture to ask you to reopen Romany Lane. I know——”

“If I’d had——”

“Bear with me for a moment.” Lord Withyham bit his lip. “I know it’s a temporary measure, but——”

“And there you’re wrong,” said Withyham. “Romany Lane is mine.”

“Of course it’s yours,” said Berry. “But everybody has used it for many years.”

“And now they think it’s theirs.”

“They don’t, indeed,” said Beny. “And there is no reason at all why you shouldn’t put up a gate. But you’ve put a chain on the gate—and that is what upsets them. You see, they feel——”

“They think they’ve a right of way. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“They do,” said Berry. “And country people are jealous of rights of way.”

“Well, I don’t think—I know. Prescription doesn’t apply in a case like this.”

“I don’t agree,” said Berry, “but that’s beside the point. You don’t want to cross your neighbours—I’m sure of that. Yet, you want to close Romany Lane for the next week-end. Now, if you put a card on the gate——”

“Very clever,” sneered Withyham. “A card requesting their indulgence. And then, when it comes to Court, that card’s produced against me.”

Berry frowned.

“I hope,” he said quietly, “I hope it won’t come to Court.”

“I know. You’re trying to bluff me. You and that snivelling priest——”

“Really, Withyham, you must not talk like that. John Chisholm’s a better man than you or I. And——”

“What are you here for, Pleydell? To tell me how to behave?”

Berry raised his eyebrows.

“I wish you’d see reason,” he said. “To-day the public is ready to perceive the mote of oppression in every great man’s eye. And you are offering them a beam. You really are. Giving them something to get hold of. And that’s—unfortunate, Withyham. Class hatred’s a dreadful thing. It’s been deliberately fostered for some years now—by certain politicians, to gain their ends. But it’s never touched our parish—we’ve always been happy here. And there’s no reason why it should: for there’s nothing for it to breed on. But if you shut Romany Lane——”

“I asked what you were here for.”

“We are here,” said Berry quietly, “to ask you to open that gate. I’m told you don’t want the lane used during the next week-end. If you will take off that chain, I will guarantee that nobody uses that lane on Saturday, Sunday and Monday next.”

“You will, will you? And what about after that?”

“Your guests will be gone, Withyham.”

“I shan’t be gone, Pleydell.”

“Look here,” said Berry. “We both of us know the law. If a private road is not closed for twenty-one years, the right to close it is lost and all His Majesty’s subjects may use it whenever they please. In this case, before you bought Bluecoat, the right to close Romany Lane was lost for good. That right, you cannot revive. And if you seek to revive it, by closing the lane, the parish won’t stand it, Withyham—and that’s the truth.”

“What you mean is you won’t stand it?”

“No, I don’t,” said Berry. “But sides will have to be taken, and we shall take that of the parish, because you are doing something which you have no right to do.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Withyham. “You’d better get out your hat. It costs quite a lot to go to the House of Lords.”

Berry looked out of the window and fingered his chin.

“Bad show, Withyham,” he said.

“What the devil d’you mean?”

“What I say. You know you’ve no case: but you know you’ve got the money—which we have not. And you’re counting upon your money to weight us out of the race.”

At the third attempt—

“Have you anything more to say?”

“Any amount,” said Berry. “But we’ve got to be getting on.” I turned, to open the door. “Funny thing, you know. The last time I was in this chamber, Jim Ferrers was speaking of you. ‘He should be all right,’ he said. Well, there we are. Don’t bother to see us out.”

As the car slid down the drive—

“Was it too awful?” said Daphne.

“Well, it wasn’t very pleasant,” said Berry. “The impulse to offer him violence was very strong.”

“My darling,” said I, “I give your husband best. His manner was as fair as Withyham’s was foul.”

“Let me put it like this,” said Berry. “The man is a vulgar sweep. When he spoke of the vicar, he called him ‘that snivelling priest’.”

“He didn’t!”—incredulously.

“He did, indeed. He gave offence every time he opened his mouth. I don’t wonder he mucks in with Germans—they’d just about suit his book. Indeed, I can hardly believe that he is his father’s son.”

“What’s the matter with him?” said Daphne.

“God knows. He’s just aggressive. Can’t live and let live. Basil, Baron Withyham, would be improved by death.”

“Can’t he see that he’s cutting his throat by taking this line?”

“I don’t know that he is. Very few people have him more than once. And now let’s dismiss the matter.”

“In a moment,” said I. “Daphne’s a right to hear your Parthian shaft.”

“Ah,” said Berry. “I think I got back there.”

When I told Daphne, she put her hands to her mouth.

“He’ll never forgive you,” she said.

“I can think of few things more gorge-raising,” said Berry, “than to be forgiven by Withyham.” He lifted his voice. “Stop at the next pub, Jonah. I want to clean my teeth.”

Lunch was nearly over, and fruit was being served, when the butler brought in a parrot and set him upon the table by Geoffrey Majoribanks’s side.

“Let me present,” said Geoffrey, “The Evil One. He always comes into dessert, and he likes it very much when strangers are here.”

Daphne looked at her hostess.

“Why the misnomer?” she said.

“Because of his eye,” said Diana. “He’s really as good as gold, but he looks a rogue.”

The Evil One surveyed the company.

“There you are,” said Berry. “He’s seeking whom he may devour.”

The Evil One looked at the speaker. Then, with deliberate steps, he rounded a dish of plums and, avoiding a silver cream-jug, made for where Berry sat.

Diana Majoribanks began to shake with laughter.

“He’s quite all right,” said Geoffrey.

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” said Berry. “Beautiful beak he’s got, hasn’t he? Well, Lucifer, what d’you know?”

The parrot regarded him straitly.

Then—

“Damn your eyes,” it said.

As soon as Berry could speak—

“You wicked bird,” he said. “And on a Monday, too. You—you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

The Evil One laughed heartily.

“Of course, you’re abandoned,” said Berry. “Old in sin. How’s Proserpine?”

The Evil One appeared to digest this.

Then—

“You’re a one,” it observed.

Berry swallowed.

“The trouble with you,” he said, “is that you don’t know your catechism. What about ordering yourself lowly and reverently to all your betters?”

“Shut your face,” said the parrot shortly.

Berry moistened his lips.

“I’m not surprised,” he said, “at the name you bear. Here am I, only too ready to converse——”

“Give paw,” said The Evil One.

Berry looked at Diana.

“He means it,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “He’s taken a fancy to you. Put your hand on the table.”

Berry laid his hand on the table, beside his plate.

Carefully The Evil One inspected it. Then he stepped on to Berry’s palm and began to move up his arm.

We watched his progress breathlessly.

When he had reached Berry’s shoulder, he whispered in Berry’s ear.

“No, not really?” said Berry. “Did you see them?”

He laughed—and the parrot with him, as though enjoying some scandal, unfit for our ears.

Before this absurd communion, we all broke down.

As soon as she could speak—

“I can’t bear to interrupt you,” said Diana, “but there’s a wasp on your collar—going up.”

“Well, get it off, someone,” said Berry. “I—I’m deeply engaged. My movement might be misconstrued. Besides, I don’t know where it is.”

“Quite still,” said Jonah, rising. “It’s passing on to your neck.”

“Oh, hell,” said Berry. “I can feel it.”

“No, you don’t,” said the parrot.

“What d’you mean,” said Berry, “—‘No, you don’t’? A B.F.—that’s what you are. Why don’t you do it in?”

Bent double with laughter, Jonah was unable to help, and the wasp crawled doggedly forward, towards Berry’s ear.

“My God,” said Berry, “for the milk of human kindness, will nobody intervene?”

By a superhuman effort, my cousin straightened his back; but, as he approached his finger, to flick the insect away, the parrot read into his gesture a coming assault. With hackles raised, The Evil One rose in his wrath and aimed such a blow at his hand that, had it ‘connected’, would have cut the flesh to the bone.

“It’s all right, old fellow,” said Jonah, “I’m——”

“It isn’t all right,” raged Berry. “Why the devil don’t you——”

“He can’t,” shrieked Daphne. “The parrot——”

“Damn the parrot,” roared Berry. “I’m talking about the wasp.”

“But the parrot won’t let him.”

“Won’t let who?” yelled Berry.

“He’s a drunken swab,” said The Evil One.

“So he is,” said Berry, unconsciously turning his head.

The movement was fatal—he was immediately stung.

With a squeal of pain, he started up to his feet: but for this, the parrot was unready, and, to save itself, it laid hold of Berry’s collar with all its might.

“A-a-ah, there’s another,” roared Berry. “I feel the swine. I tell you. I’m swarming with them. Why the devil doesn’t somebody——”

“It’s qui-quite all right,” wailed Diana. “It’s only——”

“All right?” screeched Berry. “There’s one down my neck—I can feel it. Am I to stand here and be murdered before your eyes?”

With that, he inserted his finger beneath the parrot’s beak....

Could we have helped, we would have: but we were so weak with laughter that we could not stand up; and when Berry, feeling the beak, believed it to be a stag-beetle, and, presenting his neck to Diana, implored her to pick it off, the vials of mirth were poured out.

And then the inevitable happened.

Sick of Berry’s efforts to take from him what hold he had, The Evil One lodged the only protest he knew....

Staunching the wound with his napkin. Berry resumed his seat.

Gravely he looked round the table.

“Oh, very funny,” he said. “Very funny, indeed. Couldn’t tell me, could you? Couldn’t indicate that I was unwittingly provoking a dangerous swine?” Then he spoke over his shoulder, “Sorry, old fellow. I didn’t know it was you.”

Thus reassured, the parrot released its hold and retraced its steps. Once more upon the table, it looked Berry up and down.

“You’re a one,” it declared.

Berry sat back.

“Let me say at once,” he said, “that I suspect your use of that innocent substantive. I am by no means sure that, if you were capable of defining it, I should be satisfied with your definition. And now, if you’ll forgive me, I must receive medical attention. This gash apart, thanks to your indifference, the poison recently injected into my nape is causing me considerable pain.”

The parrot was convulsed with laughter.

Nearly three hours had gone by.

Berry had slept off his malaise on the famous Hammercloth lawns, Diana and Geoffrey Majoribanks had proved the car, and we were on our way home, when one of our tires gave out by the village of Shepherd’s Pipe.

As Fitch began to take off his coat—

“That’s the worst of them things,” said a voice.

We looked up to see a fat man on the farther side of a gate. His arms were resting on this and he had a straw in his mouth. Though he looked the picture of health, he was wearing a mournful air; and he made me think of a jester, short of a job. His overalls suggested that he had to do with machines.

“I admit it’s a fault,” said Daphne. “But I think it’s the only one.”

The other nodded.

“They get you about, don’t they? My brother-in-law’s a chauffeur. ’E took me out one day. Course ’is bloke didn’t know, but we ’ad a lovely ride.”

“Where did you go?” said Daphne.

“Round about ’Ind’ead, lady. Course I know all the roads—I told ’im the way to go. But it’s funny the way the country seems to slip by. I quite enjoyed it, I did.”

“You travel the roads?” said my sister.

“That’s right, lady. Born in a circus, I was. But that’s no life. I’ve ’ad me own merry-go-round for twenty years.”

“And you go from fair to fair?”

“An’ private jobs. You soon get used to the noise.”

“Oh, yours has an organ, has it?”

“I’ll say it ’as,” said the man. “You can ’ear it two miles off. That’s what I meant about the noise. ’Oby’s Steam Round-Abouts—once ’eard, never forgot. It’s a paraffin-engine reely—works a treat.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I got it ’ere—in this field. But it’s not set up. I’m wot they call ‘restin’ ’, lady. Nobody loves me now. But I open at Brooch again on Saturday week.”

“It’s like that, is it?” said Daphne. “Up and down.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Hoby. “More up than down, you know. I can’t complain. But I ’aven’t the private practice I ’ad two years ago. Still, I got a lot o’ good frien’s. ’Ere I am in this meadow—four ’orses grazin’ their ’eads off, an’ nothin’ to pay. They draws the stuff on the road.”

“All over England?” said Daphne.

“South and West, lady. I never did fancy the North. You can ’ave the Yorkshire dales.”

“May I interrupt?” said Berry.

“If you must,” said Daphne. “This is my husband, Mr. Hoby, and that’s my brother, there. We’re all called Pleydell.”

“Pleydell,” said Mr. Hoby. “I know that name. Don’t you come out of the Forest?”

“That’s right. White Ladies.”

“Gaw bless my soul—I often bin by White Ladies. An’ fancy it bein’ you.” He turned to Berry. “And wot was you goin’ to say, sir?”

“From here to our village,” said Berry, “is just about forty-five miles. How long would it take you to get there?”

“Three days,” said Mr. Hoby. “Is this a job?”

“It might be,” said Berry slowly. The three of us looked at him. “If it was, it’d be ... rather special.”

“Special,” said Mr. Hoby. “And what would you mean by that?”

“Good money,” said Berry, “long hours, collaboration and not a word to a soul.”

Mr. Hoby looked into the distance.

“Col-collabberation with ’oo?”

“With us.”

“An’ ‘good money’?”

“A quid for each working hour—twenty-five hours guaranteed.”

Mr. Hoby started forward, so far as the gate would allow.

“Wot, twenty-five quid? I’m on.”

“Wait a minute. What about working for twenty-four hours on end?”

“Seventy-two on end—for a quid an hour. You’d ’ave to help o’ course. I might fall asleep.”

“I think twenty-four should do it. Of course, I’m assuming you really can hear the thing.”

“ ’Ear it?” said Mr. Hoby. “I’ve been offered five quid to stop it—by a bloke what was livin’ over a mile away. It was Daisy Bell got ’im down; but I got four toons.”

I began to see daylight. Twenty-four hours on end of Daisy Bell, rendered by a steam-organ a furlong away, would make Bluecoat untenable. As for the reactions of a house-party....

My admiration for Berry rose very high.

“Mr. Hoby, I think you’re my man. But first you must know what you’re in for. Will you give me your word to keep this thing to yourself?”

“Strike me dead.”

“Then listen to me,” said Berry.

Quietly, he explained the position, naming no names.

“We saw him this morning,” he concluded, “my brother-in-law and I. And he is plainly determined to use his riches to do this unjust thing. You see what I mean. Whichever side loses before the House of Lords will have to pay the whole of the costs from first to last. And they might well amount to six or eight thousand pounds. Well, we can’t afford such a sum: but this fellow can.”

“The dirty dog,” said Mr. Hoby.

“So, in fact, we’re denied the help which the Law might give. Very well. Wash out the Law. ‘Music hath charms’, they say. Let’s see what music can do.”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Hoby. “When will the nobs arrive?”

“I must find that out,” said Berry. “I imagine on Saturday morning, in time for lunch.”

“Say you’re right. We start ’er on Friday evenin’ and run her right through the night. On Saturday morning ’e’ll be on ’is bended knees. ’Alf a mo. Wot about an injunction?”

“He won’t have time,” said Berry. “He might get it by Saturday night, but that’s too late.”

“Jam,” said Mr. Hoby. “You’ll ’ave ’im cold.”

“He may put up a fight,” said Berry. “We shall be there, of course, but——”

“Let ’im,” said Mr. Hoby. He clenched an enormous fist. “Jus’ let ’im put up a fight.”

“Well, there we are,” said Berry. “I’ll see the farmer this evening and get his permission for you to enter the Dale. I’ll also find out when the guests are due to arrive. To-morrow morning the chauffeur will bring you a note, telling you where to meet us and at what time. By the way, you’re not alone?”

“I got two lads, but they just does what they’re told.”

Here Jonah joined us, wiping the dirt from his hands.

“My cousin, Mr. Mansel—Mr. Hoby.”

“ ’Ow do,” said Mr. Hoby. “Is ’e in this?”

“He will be—up to the neck. He’s half an engineer.”

Mr. Hoby beamed.

“Gawd, wot a team! I’m lookin’ forward to this. An’ if you ’adn’t broke down ’ere ...”

Berry nodded.

“Fate is behind us,” he said. “No doubt about that.”

That evening, behind closed doors, we put the farmer wise. Ightham was not given to laughter, but, when Berry gave him the details, he shook with mirth. And Saturday, he said, was the day. The Germans were due to arrive by the midday train.

“And Old Chalk’s funeral,” said Berry. “Can you fix that?”

“I can fix that,” said Ightham. “They’ll listen to me. Oh, an’ by the way, Mas’r Berry, I was thinking of tarring that fence.”

“Between the Dale and Bluecoat? How long will it take?”

“About four hours—a good coat.”

“Superb,” said Berry. “Do it on Friday morning. His lordship may take a little, so mind you lay it on thick.” He got to his feet. “Five o’clock, then, on Friday. And Mrs. Pleydell may spend the night at the farm?”

“Proud to have her, sir. An’ the kitchen’ll be at your service all night long.”

A note went to Hoby next morning at nine o’clock.

At a quarter-past six on Friday, Hoby’s Steam Round-Abouts came to rest in the Dale.

It was a lovely evening, and Bluecoat, a furlong away, was looking its best. On the terrace and in the gardens, men were at work, installing fairy lights.

No one, I think, would have recognized Jonah or me. No one, I know, would ever have recognized Berry. As a filthy, slouching mechanic, my cousin would have passed in something much less than a crowd: as a broken-down ring-master, even Mrs. Ightham took me for what I seemed. And Berry was a clown, off duty. Above the most awful suit I have ever, seen, beneath a dilapidated bowler, his daubed face and crimson nose peered like some sordid nightmare, to shock the world.

Disguise was, of course, essential, if we were to be on the spot: and we had to be on the spot, if we were to win the game.

So far as I saw, we did not attract much attention till the round-about was set up, and the lads had left with the horses for Ightham’s farm. Indeed, it was half-past eight, and Berry and I were hanging from the canopy the strips of tin upon which the legend appeared, when I saw a commotion on the terrace and then a servant hastening over the turf.

Disliking the look of the tar, he stopped short of the fence.

Then he put his hands to his mouth and shouted.

Engaged in adjusting the saddle of an enormous duck, Hoby looked round.

“No show till to-morrer,” he bawled. “Only re’earsal to-night. Open to-morrer midday. ’Oby’s Steam Round-Abouts.”

“You’ll have to move,” yelled the footman.

“ ’Ave to wot?” bawled Hoby.

“Move,” howled the other. “Move.”

“You buzz off,” roared Hoby, “and ’and the srimps. I’ve work to do, I ’ave. Be up all night.”

With that, he returned to the duck, and after a moment’s hesitation, the man hastened back to the house.

“There’s Withyham,” said Berry. “See him waving his arms? And the footman’s trying to tell him about the tar.”

After a violent consultation, the butler descended the steps. Then the peer glanced at his watch and called him back.

“Dinner first,” said Berry.

I think he was right, for the servants re-entered the house, and, after perhaps two minutes, Withyham followed them in.

“Let him have his soup,” said Berry, “and we’ll come in with the fish.”

The light was failing now, and the precious silence which sundown had ushered in had spread her ancient mantle over the countryside. Jonah had been lighting the lanterns, and when, under Hoby’s direction, Berry and I had fitted them into their proper slots, Hoby withdrew to the engine and started her up. He let her run for five minutes. Then he engaged the gear....

There is a noise which is made by a gramophone. It may be heard, when the power, which has failed, is restored, if the tune is not yet done and the needle is still on the disc. It is not an agreeable noise. But conceive it magnified beyond all comprehension, and you will have some idea of the introductory movement to Daisy Bell. So for some five or six seconds.... Then the organ was under way, and the well-known melody ranged, like a beast enlarged, the sleeping neighbourhood.

Daisy, Daisy,

Give me your answer—do ...

I despair of describing the uproar. Daphne said it was frightening, and she was a mile away. The veil of silence was not so much rent as savaged—when Hoby’s Steam Round-Abouts laid their simple oblation upon the altar of fun.

What was the effect upon Withyham, I cannot pretend to say, but the windows of the terrace were lighted, and we could see the flicker of figures against the gleams.

Hoby’s mouth was close to my ear.

“Good enough, mister?” he blared.

“ ‘The half was not told me,’ ” I yelled.

“Here he comes,” roared Berry, pointing.

A lantern was jerking its way towards the fence.

Hoby had lighted two flares, one upon either side of the rickety mounting-stair. Between them, he took his stand, while we withdrew to the shadows, to watch what befell.

The tar did not stop Withyham—all things considered, I doubt if it would have stopped me. Be that as it may, the peer arrived, panting, with tar all over his hands and, I am ready to swear, all over his clothes.

“Stop this blasted row,” he yelled.

“Wot row?” said Hoby.

“This row,” howled Withyham. “This fiendish tune.”

“Change in a minute,” said Hoby. With his words, Daisy Bell gave way to The Washington Post. “There you are. Wot did I tell you?”

“Stop the machine,” screamed Withyham.

“Can’t do that,” said Hoby. “Can’t disappoint the public.”

“Damn the public,” roared Withyham. “I’ve people staying with me in that house over there—decent, god-fearing people, and they’re half out of their minds.”

“Can’t ’elp that,” said Hoby. “I got to open to-morrer at twelve o’clock. An’ I got to adjus’ the orgin. It ain’t no pleasure to me to work all night.”

“All night?” screeched Withyham. “You can’t. It’s against the law.”

“No, it ain’t. Not if I’m not takin’ money. To-morrer’s different—can’t go on after midnight.”

Forgetful of the tar, Withyham clapped his hands to his face....

For a moment he stamped to and fro, cursing Ightham with a fury that warmed my heart. Then he returned to the charge.

“I give you five minutes,” he mouthed. “Five minutes to stop the swine. If it’s still going by the time I’m back at the house, I send a man for the police and give you in charge.”

“Wot for?” said Hoby.

“Everything,” screamed the other. “You’re committing every known crime. What about incitement to murder?”

“That’s all right,” said Hoby, clapping him on the back. “You go an’ ’ave a lay-down.”

“Lay-down be ——,” yelled Withyham. “For the last time I require you——”

“Now look ’ere,” said Hoby. “I got my public, I ’ave—’Oby’s Steam Round-Abouts. An’ I’m proud o’ my reputation. I tell you she’s not runnin’ true: an’ I got to open to-morrer at twelve o’clock. Well, I got to get ’er right. Once she’s right, I’m stoppin’: but not before. An’ then you’ll be able to ’ear ’er.”

Withyham’s eyes bulged from his head.

“You mean it’s going to be louder.”

“This ain’t nothin’,” said Hoby. “A —— whisper to wot she ort to do. I tell you, at noon to-morrer....”

Before this revelation, Withyham looked ready to drop. Then he stared wildly round. It was, I am sure, the organ’s sudden reversion to Daisy Bell that pricked him to one more attempt.

“Stop it yourself,” he raved, “or have it stopped. When I tell the police, they’ll impound the blasted thing.”

“I’d like to see ’em,” said Hoby.

“And I’ll get an injunction—that’s what the Courts are for.”

“Don’ talk silly,” said Hoby. “I shan’t be ’ere that long. Finish on Toosday. Got to get ready for Brooch.”

“You finish now,” screamed Withyham. “If you don’t, I’ll send my men to break the thing up. I’ve people staying with me—and others coming to-morrow, for peace and quiet. How d’you think they can sleep—with this poisonous row? Sleep? They can’t even think. And you talk about Tuesday! You must be out of your mind. If you think we’re going to stand this ... No one on earth could stand it—not even a maniac. It isn’t human, man.”

“Wot isn’t ’uman?” said Berry.

Withyham looked round, saw Berry’s appalling visage three inches from his, made a noise like a cat and jumped nearly out of his skin.

“Oh, my God,” he said weakly, fingers to lip.

I pulled my signal-cord, and the music slowed down and stopped.

“Gawd ’elp,” said Hoby, and leapt for the stairs.

Withyham had Berry by the arm.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“ ’Ands orf,” said Berry. “I don’t ’old wiv bloodsuckers.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Withyham. “Why has the damned thing stopped?”

“Slipped out o’ gear. She does it once an’ again. There’s a lug falls out. ’E’s gone to shove it back.”

“Listen. I want that lug. It’s worth a fiver to me. If you——”

“I don’ want bloodsuckers’ money.”

“I’m not a bloodsucker, you idiot.”

“Yes, you are. They tole me up at the inn. I come from these parts, I do. An’ wot price Romany Lane?”

“Blast Romany Lane. I’ll give you ten pounds for that lug.”

Berry stared upon Withyham, poking his head.

“Did you say ten quid?”

“That’s right. Ten golden sovereigns.”

Berry appeared to reflect.

Then he shook his head.

“I don’t take bloodsuckers’ money.”

As Withyham stamped with impatience, I pulled the signal-cord. ...

As, when the organ had stopped, the utter silence seemed precious as never before, so, after the blessed respite, the brutal onslaught of Uproar seemed harder than ever to bear.

“Oh, my God,” screeched Withyham, clasping his head. Then he turned upon Berry. “Be down at the fence,” he blared, “in ten minutes’ time.”

And then he was gone—to where the lantern was waiting, some twenty-five paces away....

“Anythin’ doin’?” said Hoby.

“We’re off all right,” said Berry, and told him what had occurred.

“We’re ’alf-way ’ome,” said Hoby, watching the lantern move.

“He’s hooked,” said I; “but we’ve got to land him yet.”

“Hoby’s right,” said Berry. “We’re half-way home. Picture the depression at Bluecoat. When the damned thing stopped, they assumed he’d done the trick. And while they were praising God, it starts again. Talk about disappointment.... His guests’ll be ripe for murder, when he gets back.”

“Shall we try a noo toon?” said Hoby.

“No,” said Berry. “Even The Washington Post affords a faint relief. But Daisy Bell recurring would break a rhinoceros down. And now let’s rehearse the interview.”

We kept Withyham waiting five minutes. Then Hoby picked up a lantern and made his way down to the fence, and I moved down behind him, to hear what befell.

Hoby threw his light downwards, until he was only three paces from where the man stood. Then he turned it upon his own face.

There was a stifled exclamation.

Then—

“Oh, er, it’s—it’s you, is it?” stammered Withyham.

Turning his light upon the speaker—

“What’s all this,” said Hoby, “about my lug?”

Withyham looked ready to burst.

Hoby continued deliberately.

“You’re a good one, you are, to talk about breakin’ the law. Wot price bribery an’ corruption? Offerin’ Joey a tenner, to do a poor bloke down.... Bears out wot ’e says about you.”

There was an ugly silence—except, of course, for the blare of Daisy Bell.

“Couldn’ come ter me, could yer?” Withyham started forward, new hope in his eyes. “An’ that’s where you slipped up. Joey’s my partner, ’e is—’e’s got a share in the show.”

Withyham swallowed excitedly.

“I’ll—I’ll make it twenty,” he said hoarsely. “Ten pounds apiece.”

“Wot, twenty thick ’uns?” said Hoby.

“Twenty, er, thick ’uns,” said Withyham. “I’ve got ’em here.”

Hoby fingered his chin.

“That’s a tidy sum,” he said slowly. “But wot about my public? I’m undertook to open—to-morrer at noon.”

“That’s all right,” said Withyham. “They’ll, er, understand. Say the thing’s not working. It won’t be able to work if you give me that lug.”

“Gum,” said Hoby. “Think I ’aven’t got any spares?”

“Well, say it’s broken,” cried Withyham. “Damn it, man, you won’t take twenty pounds here.”

“P’raps I won’t: but I never disappointed my public.”

“Then move,” yelped Withyham. “Move to another pitch.”

“Too late now,” said Hoby. “I sent the ’orses away.”

“Well, get them back, man,” cried Withyham, waving his arms.

Hoby shook his head.

“I don’ want to kill ’em all at once. They’ve ’ad three ’ard days’ work, an’ they got to rest.”

Withyham stamped to and fro.

Then—

“Say it’s postponed,” he mouthed. “And open on Monday night.”

“Can’ do that,” said Hoby. “I got to get on to Brooch. Doo to open at Brooch on——” With a howl of frustration, Withyham clasped his head in his hands. “An’ wot’s the matter now? Face-ache?”

“Everything,” yelled Withyham. “Face-ache, ear-ache, head-ache and general agony. Why the devil can’t you stop that tune? There must be some way out, but how the hell can I find it with that filthy, hag-ridden racket splitting my brain?”

“This ain’t nothin’,” said Hoby, “to wot she ort to do. Besides, you soon get used to it. Why——”

“Used to it?” screamed Withyham. “Used to Hell?” He pulled himself together. “Look here.” He slapped his pocket. “Here’s twenty pounds in gold. If you can’t see your way to earning twenty pounds by taking a week-end off ...”

“Orright, orright,” said Hoby. “Gimme a chance. I’ll ’ave a word with Joey. You wait ’ere.”

“Oh, —— Joey,” said Withyham, as I began to withdraw.

“Now then, naughty,” said Hoby. “An’ you ain’t got no call to talk about Joey like that. ’E’s a better man than you are. ’Sides, ’e’s my partner, ’e is. ’E’s got to agree.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked back to the round-about.

“Yes?” said Berry. “Is the sheep in the shambles?”

“ ’E’s all washed up,” said Hoby. “An’ twenty quid in his pocket, a-burnin’ a ’ole in his leg. But I said it was up to you. I’m up ’ere now, a-tryin’ to bring you round. From the way ’e spoke of you, ’e don’t fency that.”

Berry smiled a grim smile.

“I’ll give him something to fancy, before I’m through.”

“It’s up to you,” said Hoby. “ ’Ow long shall we keep ’im waitin’?”

“Half an hour,” said Berry.

“ ’Alf an hour?” cried Hoby. “Why, ’e won’t be ’ardly ’uman in ’alf an hour.”

“So much the better,” said Berry. “I’ll learn the brute. And now let’s have some supper.”

With a veal-and-ham pie and some beer, we did very well. Then Jonah raised the speed of the round-about, and, since the organ conformed, at least a cubit was added to the stature of Daisy Bell. A rogue elephant, possessed by devils, might have made some such noise, say, once or twice in the hour. But this never stopped. I shall never know how we stood it, and that is the truth.

But Hoby was enchanted.

“Wunnerful, ain’t she?” he said. “An’ this after seven years.”

“And now for the strong stuff,” said Berry. “Off you go.”

Once again Hoby advanced, and I followed him down to the fence.

Withyham was squatting on the ground, with his fingers stopping his ears.

As he approached the fence—

“Joey won’t ’ave it,” cried Hoby. “I done my best, but you got acrost ’im some’ow, an’ ’e says ’e won’t come in. Goo’ night, mister. She’s runnin’ better now.”

As we turned to go back, Withyham flung himself at the fence....

“Stop,” he screamed. “Wait a moment.” We hung on our heel, and he stumbled up to our side. “What the hell d’you mean—‘won’t have it’?”

“Well, there’s nothin’ doin’,” said Hoby. “I’m on—I’ll give you that. Twenty quid’s twenty quid. But Joey’s my partner, and ’e won’t give ’is consen’. ’E don’ fency your money, mister. They’ve tole ’im some tale or other up at the inn.”

“But, if you’re willing——”

“Nothin’ doin’,” said Hoby, lifting a hand. “ ’E’s always bin square wiv me, an’——”

“Where is he?” cried Withyham. “I’ll knock this blasted nonsense out of his head.”

His boast was vain. Berry was very quiet, but very firm. He played the part to perfection—the part of the broken-down clown, that cracks his jokes for the fair, but is, in private, a simple, sad-faced being, whose zest for life is gone. And something more. A man of memories, to whom his childhood is precious, because he was happy then.

“Many a time I’ve bin down Romany Lane, a-pickin’ the blackberries there with my sister, Mary Kate. An’ once Squire Ferrers comes by—on a great bay ’orse. An’ a belted groom be’ind ’im, like wot ’e always ’ad. An’ Mary Kate, she curtseys, and Squire, ’e offs with ’is ’at. ’E was gentleman, he was. An’ then ’e gives ’er a bob for ’er pretty face. Ah, them were the days.... An’ now ’e’s gone, you’d go fer to shut it up.”

Withyham could not shake him—but Withyham would not give way. He swore that the thing was nonsense, that he had not the slightest intention of closing Romany Lane, that he valued the rights of the people as much as any man. But he would not admit that there was a right of way—and we were afraid to press him, lest he should perceive the truth. Besides, we must have it in writing....

For more than forty minutes, the play went on—Withyham shouting and raving, Hoby urging his partner to throw in his hand and Berry quietly rejecting all offers made. And all the time the round-about roared on its way, and Daisy Bell went raving into the night.

And then another figure thrust its way on to the stage.

The Prussian officer was never a sight for sore eyes: but take off his uniform and put him, instead, into ill-cut evening dress, and he looked the vulgar bully he always was.

No one had seen him approaching, and the first thing the four of us knew was that a guttural voice was taking Withyham to task.

Then we looked up and round, to see a repulsive figure, some five feet eight by three, with a head indecently shaven and a neck that bulged over his collar, as a tire that is down bulges over the rim of its wheel.

“Den thousan’ tevils, Baron, vot vas this mean? If you gannot make cease this hell, order a garriage that I shall drive into Brooch.”

Withyham was all to pieces.

“Major, I beg you——”

“Be zilent. Because I vas His Highness’ Gomptroller, I gome to your house to be sure that all vas fit for the Brince and Brincess to stay. And here is this goddam organ to blast the brains from their heads. An’ you ’ave declare it was over an hour and a half ago.” He dragged a watch from his pocket and dabbed at the dial. “Vive minutes I give you to cease it. Then I shall be driven to Brooch, to send a telegram. I gannot bermit that their Highnesses suffer the bains of Hell.”

His eyes fast upon the Prussian, Berry jerked his head at Withyham, black in the face.

“ ’E won’t see reason,” he said. “But you’re a gentleman.”

Withyham’s face was a study, but Major von Blodgenbruck beamed.

“The beasant vos discerning,” he purred. “Stob your organ, my vriend, and ve vill dalk.”

As Berry nodded to Hoby—

“The man’s not normal,” cried Withyham. “I tell you, Major——”

The other lifted a hand.

“Be zilent, blease. As His Highness’ Gomptroller——” The music stopped. “Observe. Before I vas here dwo minutes, the organ has ceased.”

“Yes, but you’re a gentleman,” said Berry. “You wouldn’ take advantage of blokes because they was poor.”

“No, my vriend,” smiled the Major. “That vas not my gountry’s way. I do not know who are your blokes, but all the boor of my gountry were so happy because the rich were so good.”

“Ah,” said Berry. He looked at Withyham, by now the prey of emotions too deep for words. “But ’e’s a bloodsucker. An’ I don’ want bloodsuckers’ money.”

“A bloodsucker?” said the Major.

“That’s right,” said Berry. “Grinds the faces of the poor. ’E’s offered me twenty quid, but I wouldn’ take fifty from ’im. ’Coz why? ’Coz ’e’s a bloodsucker. But you’re a gentleman.” Leering with pleasure, the Major patted his arm. As though he was touched by an attention he had never been shown before, the hideous ghost of smile stole into Berry’s face. “ ’Spect, if the troof were known, you’ve a bigger estate than this.”

The other swelled.

“That vas so, my vriend. The Von Blodgenbrucks’ estates in Schwerin are many times larger than this: an’ all the beasants are so happy, because their dear master and mistress love them so much.”

“That’s the style,” said Berry. “Live an’ let live.”

“That vas my great gountry’s moddo.”

“Itch Deen,” said Berry, and touched his hat—and von Blodgenbruck beamed and bowed, as though he were of the blood royal.

“I can talk to you,” said Berry, “ ’cause you’re a gentleman.”

“That vas why I am gome, my goot vriend. You vill say vot you blease.”

“Well, now look ’ere,” said Berry. “Supposin’ acrost your estates there was a certing lane.”

This was too much for Withyham.

As an unruly torrent, the words foamed out of his mouth.

“I protest against this, Major. The man’s insane. For nearly an hour I’ve been trying——”

“Zilence!” barked the Major.

“As your host, I must request you to remember——”

“I vas here as His Highness’ Gomptroller. As such you will blease to submit all arrangements to me. Their Highnesses did graciously consent to-morrow to come to your house. Until they shall go on Monday, I vas in charge. As such, I am to deal with this matter.” He returned to Berry. “Go on, my goot vriend.”

For a moment I thought that Withyham was going to fall down in a fit. Then he lurched to the crazy staircase, sat himself down on a step and put his head in his hands.

Berry reopened his case.

“Supposin’ acrost your estates there was a certing lane.”

“What sort of lane, my vriend?”

“A country lane, for ’orses an’ carts an’ cows. An’ supposin’ for fifty years poor blokes—wot you call peasan’s—’ad always used that lane.... An’ supposin’—jus’ supposin’—one day you got tired o’ your estates an’ sold ’em to somebody else. Well, ’e wouldn’ ’ave no right to shut up that lane.”

“No, indeed, my vriend. If the neighbours——”

“That’s right—neighbours.”

“If the neighbours vere using that lane for, say, dwenty years, they would ’ave gain a servitude—I vas not know how you call it....”

“Right o’ way,” said Berry.

“That vas true. Right of way. They would ’ave gain a right of way to use it for always. That vas the law.”

Berry pointed excitedly at Withyham.

“Well, that’s wot ’e done. ’E’s shut up Romany Lane. This ain’t ’is property, reely. Not by rights. It belonged to Mr. Ferrers—Ferrers of Bluecoat, ’e was. An’ he was a gentleman, like you. An’ all the neighbours always used Romany Lane. An’ now ’e shuts up the lane, wot ’e ain’t got no right to do. ’S a right o’ way, an’ ’e knows it. An’ if ’e’ll put that in writin’, I’ll take ’is twenty quid.”

“Vot vas he to write, my vriend?”

“The troof,” cried Berry. “That’s all. That ’e knows there’s a right o’ way down Romany Lane. I’ve pen an’ ink ’ere, I ’ave; an’ I bin a clurk in my time, an’ I’ll draw the paper out. An’ if ’e’ll sign it, I’ll take ’is twenty quid an’ we’ll shut up shop.”

“You vos say that if he will do this—sign your little baber, you vill not blay your organ till Monday noon?”

“That’s right,” said Berry. “Must ’ave it in writin’; because ’e’s not like you. You’re a gentleman, you are. But then you’re a-goin’ on Monday. We can stop our organ. But then, as soon as you’re gone, ’e’ll shut up the lane again. No, no. Gotter ’ave it in writin’.”

“An’ that is all that you ask?”

“An’ twenty quid—golding sovereigns. ’E’s promised that. Got ’em in his pocket, ’e says.”

The Major patted Berry’s shoulder.

“Write out your baber, my vriend, an’ bring it to me.”

Berry looked at Withyham.

“Name o’ Mocket, ain’t it? Basil Mocket, weren’t you, afore they shoved you up?”

Ready to burst with indignation, Withyham made no reply, but averted his gaze.

As Berry shambled into the shadows—

“I’m damned if I’ll sign it,” said Withyham, and got to his feet.

“There you are,” said Hoby, and turned and ran.

But before he could reach the machinery, Jonah engaged the gears.

The next few moments were crowded.

Von Blodgenbruck was storming at Withyham, and Withyham was storming back. I caught the words ‘scrap of paper’ and ‘Court of Law’. Both were raving like madmen, while the round-about swirled beside them and Daisy Bell was trumpeted into the night.

Before the words ‘insult to Royalty’, Withyham broke down.

“All right, all right,” he wailed. “Give me the blasted paper and stop this god-awful row.”

As Hoby reappeared, I pulled the signal cord.

“The Baron vill zign,” said the German. “Vere vas my vriend?”

Hoby went off for Berry, and host and guest stood waiting in a silence too big for words.

Presently Withyham looked round: but I was in the shadows and not to be seen.

“You will take charge of it,” said Withyham.

“That vas mos’ proper,” said the other, closing one eye.

After another two minutes. Berry returned with his paper, and Hoby came after, bearing the pen and ink.

Von Blodgenbruck inspected the document, grunting at the end of a line.

“That vas in order,” he said, and read it aloud.

Hoby took it from him, laid it down on a step and dipped the pen in the ink....

With bulging eyes, Withyham signed it, and Berry and Hoby subscribed their names as witnesses. Withyham made no attempt to read their signatures.

That sheet from an exercise-book is lying before me now.

The shaky copper-plate writing is easy enough to read.

I, Basil Mocket, Baron Withyham, do hereby solemnly declare that to the best of my belief the British public has a right of way along Romany Lane, because, before ever I bought the Bluecoat estate, Romany Lane had never been closed for at least twenty-five years.

Withyham.

August, 1907.

Witnessed by:

Bertram Pleydell J.P.

Walter Hoby, Showman.

Hoby was looking at Withyham.

“Twenty quid, wasn’t it?” he said.

In a thick voice, Withyham replied.

“I’ll pay you on Monday,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” said Hoby. “’Oby’s Steam Round-Abouts always keeps its word.”

Withyham hesitated.

“On the strict understanding,” he said, “that you don’t play that organ again before Tuesday next——”

“Strike me dead,” said Hoby.

Withyham counted the gold into his palm.

Von Blodgenbruck put out his hand.

“And I shall charge myself with that baber. Give it to me, my vriend.”

“Not on yer life,” said Berry. He folded up the sheet and stowed it away. “I never did fency Germans. An’ I seen your shape before—in a German band. Play the cornet—he used to. An’ steal the pennies out of a blin’ man’s pail. They got ’im at las’, red-’anded, an’ down ’e goes for six months. You been in prison, ain’t yer?”

“Me in prison?” screamed the Major, and Withyham let out a hoot.

“Look at yer ’ead,” jeered Berry. “Yer can’t fool me. ‘The Caounty Crop’, we call it.... Estates in Swerring, I don’t think. You go back to your band—an’ try to run straight, like what the Magistrate said.”

With that, he turned to the staircase, mounted the crazy steps, dived beneath a dragon and disappeared.

“There you are,” shrieked Withyham. “That’s what you get for interfering. That’s what I get for——”

But his guest had no ears to hear.

His eyes and arms upraised, in a loud and shaking voice, he dealt with all English peasants, root and branch. (He had abandoned English as now inadequate: but Jonah told us later all that he said.) He spoke of treachery and insult, of dogs and the wages of sin, and he vowed the most shocking vengeance when once Der Tag should dawn. Then he turned upon Withyham and rent him, and Withyham yelled “Speak English” and rent him back. Then he stamped off, shouting for a carriage, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Withyham fell in behind.

I followed, to see them out, and so was made free of a tail-piece, which I should have been sorry to miss.

Because of his agitation, the German failed to remember that the fence had been tarred and had begun to climb it before its horrid condition reminded him of that fact. With screams of rage, he descended, to seek the spot at which he had climbed it before; for there he had hung a carpet, to save his hands and his clothes. As Withyham’s lantern showed, the carpet which he had chosen was a very fine Persian rug, and, since he had laid this face downward upon the tar, it was fair to assume that much of its value was gone.

This typically German procedure was more than Withyham could bear.

With a choking scream, he caught the man by the arm.

“Face downward,” he yelled. “And that’s a museum piece.”

“An’ vot of my trousers?” roared the German. “Vot of my beautiful suit? I ’ave pay three pounds for this suit at the biggest store in Berlin.”

He shook off Withyham’s hand and turned to heave himself up.

His reply was, no doubt, the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Offered a perfect target, careless of what might befall, Withyham thrust the top of his lantern against the German’s seat....

To this day Daphne swears that she heard the yells from the farm: and the others came running, to see what the matter might be. I cannot pretend that it rivalled Daisy Bell, but I never would have believed that any one human being could make so fearful a noise.

Be that as it may, the Major rose into the air, and then fell heavily almost at Withyham’s feet. And his host whipped over the fence and, taking the carpet with him, stumbled towards the house.

When we left him, the German, still roaring, was trying to crawl through the fence: but his bulk and the tar were against him, and I think that he would have done better to scale it at once.

Half an hour had gone by, and we were seated at supper at Ightham’s farm.

Hoby’s lads were now in charge of the silent round-about, and Ightham had sent his nephew to cut the padlock and chain from the gate which Withyham had set at the mouth of Romany Lane.

The fine, old kitchen was gleaming with copper and oak, and the Ighthams fussed about us, pressing viands upon us and keeping our glasses full.

My sister was regarding the paper.

“And this will sink him?” she said.

“It has sunk him,” said I. “I’ll lay you fifty pounds that the chain which George is undoing will never go back. If it does, our solicitors send him a copy of this. And when his solicitors see it, they will explain to him that he has no case.”

“Can’t he plead duress?”

“Not without the German to back him. And I hardly think he can count on Von Blodgenbruck’s help. And even then he wouldn’t get home. A man may make an admission, but he doesn’t make an untrue admission because there’s a barrel-organ a furlong away.”

“Be fair,” said Berry. “Call it a musical box.”

“Be a Jew’s ’arp, nex’,” said Hoby.

As the laughter died down, Jonah lifted his glass.

“I look to Berry,” he said. “First Withyham and then the German. He played them both to perfection. It looked so easy to start with. I mean, I thought Withyham was cracking quite early on. And then he stuck in his toes.”

“And I couldn’t push him,” said Berry, “for fear he’d suspect a plant. You can’t get away from the fact that Blood-and-Bunk pulled his weight.”

“ ’S a dirty dog,” said Hoby. “All them love an’ kisses. ’E meant to ’ave that paper an’ tear it up.”

“Without a doubt,” said Berry. “And what’s the betting their Grossnesses don’t fetch up?”

“They probably will,” said Jonah. “Withyham won’t give him a carriage to go to Brooch.”

(Ightham later reported that in fact they did arrive—to leave on Sunday morning, after a fearful scene. Their Comptroller accompanied them, crouching, because he dared not sit down. The next day Withyham left, and Bluecoat was shut for six months. Not so Romany Lane. In fact, when the gate disappeared, it was never replaced.)

Our farewells had been said, and we were all in the brougham, which was turning out of the gate, when a voice like a fog-horn was lifted calling on the coachman to stop.

Hoby appeared at the window, cheque in hand.

“ ’Ere, wot’s this?” he demanded. “You’ve made it for twenty-five quid.”

“That’s what we arranged,” said Berry.

“But I’ve ’ad twenty orf ’im. You only owes me five.”

Berry leered out of the window.

“I don’ take bloodsuckers’ money.”

Hoby took off his hat.

“I don’ deserve it,” he said. “You earned your corn to-night.”

“Shove it into the show,” said Berry. “Pin-money for Daisy Bell.”

Hoby looked down at the ground.

“You tied me up, sir,” he said. “I ’aven’t got any words. Forty-five quid in one evenin’—you know, it ain’t right.”

Daphne put in her oar.

“From our point of view, Mr. Hoby, this evening’s been cheap at the price.”

Hoby looked up.

“If you put it like that, lady ...”

“I do, indeed. Mind you come and see us, next time you’re by.”

“You bet,” said Mr. Hoby.

The brougham rolled on.

Six days later a parcel, addressed to Daphne, arrived from Brooch. It contained a most beautiful rug, for use in the car. Attached to this was a card—

With the very respectful compliments of Hoby’s Steam Round-Abouts.