Читать книгу Adèle and Co. - Cecil William Mercer - Страница 5

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Twelve hours had gone by since we had spoken with Fluff, and we were at ease in the valley which lay behind Nay.

There was no doubt at all about it—summer was in: and though our hearts turned to White Ladies and that exquisite tapestry of greenwood which the delicate fingers of June have woven from time immemorial about our home, I must confess that we had no cause for complaint. The sky was cloudless: the fresh air was magically warm: and the blowing meadow in which we were securely disposed was as green and gay and smiling as that of a Nursery Rhyme.

As a privy council-chamber, the spot was ideal. There were no walls about us to hear what we said: no one could possibly approach us without being seen: the lovely logic of a blackbird and the comfortable sermon of the brook ministered to the mind. As I looked about me, crime and its ways seemed suddenly dim and unreal: the treachery of Casca, the knavish cunning of Fluff took on a fabulous air: as for The Wet Flag, the present pastoral gave it the lie direct. And yet it was there—behind that sad court in Rouen, but twenty-five miles away. Thieves’ kitchen and eclogue were both of the same round world. I found myself wondering whence Bermuda had come—whether she ever had lain as Adèle lay now, flat on her face by a stream, with a slim arm plunged into the water in an absurd endeavour to find and tickle some trout ... whether the gentle-eyed prelate had ever gone picking daisies, as Piers was picking them now, because his wife was making a daisy chain....

My sister laid down her novel and stared at the sky.

“I’ve no doubt he’s the man,” she said. “The man Fluff saw in Chicago before the War. Of course he may have changed. D’you think he’ll know him again?”

“Oh, yes,” said Jonah. “These fellows never forget. I must say I hope he is right. It’d give us a definite line.”

“You mean,” said I, “that if he’s in with Bethgelert, he may be proposing to sell Bethgelert the jewels?”

My cousin nodded.

“It doesn’t follow, of course. But it’s well on the cards.”

Adèle spoke over her shoulder.

“How will he do it?” she said.

“There you have me,” said Jonah. “Bethgelert won’t come and get them, and I can’t see Casca lugging them all that way. Even his nerve would give out. Those pearls’ll want some smuggling—they take up a lot of room. And the bracelets, too.”

“If you ask me,” said I, “he’ll get them put into the bag—the Embassy bag.”

“That’s an idea,” said Jonah. “I daresay he will. Three or four tins of tobacco would cover the lot.”

“They may have gone,” said Daphne.

“Don’t you believe it,” said Jonah. “Casca’s not going to part till he gets his cheque.”

“But Bethgelert won’t buy till he’s seen them.”

“He might—on a valuation. A valuation made by one of his pals. And that’s where the letters may help us. You never know.”

“It’s frightfully exciting,” said Jill, looking up from her chain. “Supposing you tear a letter. You know. They do go sometimes, even if you’ve only just stuck them. Supposing you tear one badly, so that it shows.”

Berry shuddered.

“You don’t,” said Jonah, calmly. “You simply mustn’t do it. Tampering with letters is a devilish serious thing. I don’t know the punishment in France, but in England you can get penal servitude for life.”

Berry lay back on the turf and covered his eyes.

“How—how frightfully exciting,” breathed Jill.

“Yes, isn’t it?” said Berry. He laughed hysterically. “And now let’s change the subject, shall I? What’s the French for ‘I reserve my defence’?”

“The point is this,” said I. “It’s no good blinking the fact——”

“Who’s blinking any facts?” said Berry.

“—— that if we’re to go for the bowling, we’ve got to go out of our ground. We shan’t get our property back by learning some conjuring tricks. We’ve got to use against Casca the weapons he uses himself.”

“And now you’re talking,” said Berry. “Only say the word, and I’ll lace his liquor so tight he won’t dare move his eyes for over a week.”

“I’m speaking generally,” said I. “Why d’you set thieves to catch thieves? Because they’re without the Law. Because they’re prepared to do things which the Law forbids. It may be convenient to drug him before we’re through. Just now it’s more convenient to see what letters he gets.”

“All right,” said Berry. “Go on. I don’t care. D’you draw the line at trunk-murder? Or is that in the trivial round?”

“Don’t be silly,” said his wife. “All we’re going to do is to read a letter or two addressed to somebody else. It isn’t usually done, but——”

“I wonder why,” said her husband. “Never mind. Do I hold them over the kettle? Or wait at the bend of the stairs to nobble the police?”

“You needn’t worry,” said Jonah. “Piers and I are going to play this hand. It’s easy and safe, but it means sitting in all day. I hope you’ll think of us if this weather goes on.”

“Brother,” said Berry warmly. “I shall be with you in spirit in all you do.”

“Oh, you coward,” said Jill. “A moment ago you were against it. Now you’ve not got to do it, you egg them on.”

“Sweetheart,” said Berry, “if I thought there was any danger, I should demand to be exposed. As an ex-cymbalier of the Salvation Army, I should insist upon——”

“You’ll have your chance,” said Jonah. “The dirty work will begin when the pearls are out of the safe.”

My brother-in-law swallowed.

“Quite,” he said thoughtfully. “Quite. Of course that’s looking ahead. What—what exactly d’you mean by ‘dirty work’?”

“Rough-housing,” said Jonah simply.

There was a ripple of mirth.

“Oh, very funny,” said Berry. “Quite a scream. D’you think I’m going to rough-house with Bethgelert?”

“Not with Bethgelert,” said I. “He never——”

“You shut your head,” said Berry fiercely. “The point is this. You can’t have a scrap with a common——”

“Oh, can’t you?” said Jonah.

So soon as he could speak—

“Oh, of course, you can,” said Berry. “If you want to be kicked in the stomach and spend the rest of your life in an invalid chair, you can arrange it. But I don’t believe in knocking the body about. Besides, it’s vulgar.”

“You’ll lose sight of that,” said Jonah, “the moment you smell the jewels.”

Berry fingered his chin.

“I must confess,” he said, “that if I saw Plaza unattended in a street which was not too well lit, I should be very much tempted to accost him. And if he stopped to do up his bootlace ...”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Daphne. “You mustn’t touch the man. If you saw him, you’d call a policeman and give him in charge.”

“Mustn’t touch him?” said Berry. “Do you mean it would be un-Christian? And why should I call the police? They’ll find his body later. I’m not going to take it away.”

“Rot,” said his wife. “We can’t have any violence. Only a moment ago you said——”

“I said I respected my body, and so I do. You don’t get me jostling any bull-necked sons of darkness because Fluff thinks he saw them in ninety-four. But give me good reason to think that if I tripped up a dwarf——”

“Supposing,” said Jill, “supposing he was bigger than you. Supposing you knew he had the jewels, but he was bigger than you.”

“I must have notice of that question,” said Berry. “If I’d had one or two orangeades, I don’t know what I mightn’t do.”

“I honestly think,” said Adèle, “we ought to rule out any force. I mean, where force is concerned, we can’t begin to compete with a full-dress tough. Besides, what are the jewels compared with anyone’s health?”

“Baubles,” said Berry. “That’s what they are. Baubles. And I entirely agree. Let’s claim the insurance money and overlook Casca’s lapse. After all, he’s very amusing.”

My brother-in-law can be more crisply and devastatingly provocative than the most malignant baboon that ever grimaced. In an instant the argument was lost in a welter of indignant controversy to which he unctuously subscribed.

Out of the incoherence—

“I said he was attractive?” screamed Daphne. “I said——”

“For your sake,” declared her husband, “I tolerated the man. Never mind. It’s too hot to argue. Let’s sing the Gugnunc psalm.”

By the time that my sister had established that Casca de Palk was not and never had been anything but repulsive to anyone not gifted with the mentality of Rabelais, that her husband seemed deliberately to suppress those instincts of decency which even the lower animals sought to acquire, that lies and perversion were his glory and misrepresentation his crown, the author of discord was only too patently asleep.

As she looked round for some missile—

“Hush,” said I. “Here’s François. He’s not my idea of Nemesis, but we can always hope.”

The maître d’hôtel was coming down from the terrace by the rude and laborious zig-zag which led to the valley below. When I say ‘laborious,’ I am thinking of its ascent. On a hot day this made the head swim.

“There’s a card on the salver,” said Jill. “Somebody’s called.”

The cynosure of twelve eyes, the butler completed the zig-zag and took to the turf. A moment later he was stooping by Daphne’s side.

“The Abbé Gironde,” read Daphne. “It must be the parish priest. Did you let him in, François?”

“Yes, madame. He is seated now in the salon.”

“Good,” said my sister quietly. She put the card back on the salver and rose to her feet. With one consent, the rest of us rose also, Berry, of course, excepted. He was sleeping the sleep of the just. “Monsieur will see him. Wait till we’re out of sight, and then wake him and give him the card.”

François grinned obediently.

“Very good, madame.”

One minute later we had withdrawn to the woods.

I shall always regret that we were out of earshot: all we could do was to watch the pantomime.

With difficulty awakened, Berry stared from the card to the butler, as a man who is not fully conscious, yet conscious enough to perceive that he and no other is the object of some most poisonous demand. As the horror of his fate became clearer, he shot one frantic look round. Then he began to argue ... François, however, was relentless. With a wealth of polite gesticulation, he pointed the only path. Berry put his head in his hands. Then he crawled to the stream and laved the lot. Finally he got to his feet and screamed for his wife.

“No, you don’t,” said Daphne, from behind a magnificent beech.

“Adèle!” howled Berry. “Adèle!”

My wife’s reply was to laugh immoderately.

“Jill,” yelled my brother-in-law. “Here’s a very important wire for the Duchess of PADUA.”

“Oh, you liar,” piped Jill.

At last, with an inaudible but obviously bitter apostrophe, in the course of which his gestures suggested that he was contrasting the respective destinations of the upright and the unrighteous, the scapegoat turned to the house. With frequent rests, he toiled up the sunlit path. Then he heaved himself on to the terrace and disappeared.

“What could be better?” said Jonah. “All the same, we must stay out of sight. He must be simply bursting to get back on us, and I’ve not the faintest desire to cope with the combination of Berry and Monsieur Gironde.”

Nor had anyone else. We had met such combinations before. And they had shortened our lives. We strolled in the woods securely until it was time for tea....

As we entered the salon—

“Yes,” said Berry, “a most delightful man. I should think he’d broadcast very well. And a great believer in garlic. By the time we were through with the weather you couldn’t see across the room. Then we had a misunderstanding. He said he was enchanted to see us. Maintaining the fiction, I said he wasn’t half so enchanted to see us as we were enchanted to see him. My construction may have been loose, but he got the foul end of the rod. When at last we straightened it out, he started in breathing goodwill until I was ready to swoon. Then we discussed expiation—whose, I don’t know. I was past finding out, and he wouldn’t let on. It’s not much of a game, really. Whenever it was my turn, I said it was all I lived for, and when I’d said it four times he touched me for a hundred francs. However, we can lay for him on Sunday. Unless he belies his figure, he won’t be at his best after lunch.”

“You asked him to lunch?” shrieked everyone.

“That is my impression,” said Berry. “I may be wrong. But he won’t be any trouble. If I should be kept in Rouen, give him my love.”

Jonah and Piers left for Paris the following day. And Carson with them.

It is right to record that their going was sharply opposed. As the hour of their departure approached, their unattractive mission took on an ugly look. Speaking for myself, I became extremely uneasy. Trick the thing up as you please, the two were setting out to commit a definite crime which, though not especially grave, entailed the continual treading of very thin ice. As if this were not enough, they were to work hand in glove with a well-known crook. And this in Paris, where plain-clothes men were patrolling from dawn to dusk. If Berry and I were restless, Daphne, Adèle and Jill were worried to death, and when the car was announced their smouldering apprehension burst into flame.

Jonah heard their entreaties with an eye on the clock.

When they had done—

“Piers is your hostage,” he said. “Do you seriously think I would risk a hair of his head?”

And while the rebuke was still warm, he took his leave.

There you have Jonathan Mansel. Quiet, astoundingly efficient, seemingly invariably forearmed, he can be more compelling than any man that I know. Not that his word is law unto us, his relatives. Oh, by no manner of means. And he has many faults. But I will wager that he is more honoured in his own country than any prophet that ever was foaled. And that with justice.

Not until the Rolls had disappeared did Daphne remember that he had left no address.

Since then two days had gone by, and life seemed particularly aimless when François appeared on the terrace and stepped to my side.

“Monsieur Carson is below, sir.”

Carson!

For a moment there was dead silence. Then—

“Show him up,” said everyone.

The butler bowed and withdrew.

One minute later Carson was standing before us, letter in hand.

This was addressed to me, but before I could rip it open, Daphne, Adèle and Berry were crowding about my shoulders to see what it said.

Dear Boy,

Fluff was right. Please see the enclosed. The original was posted at Tours. It may be a mare’s nest, but reason suggests investigation. Sorry I can’t spare the Rolls. I should stay in Tours at the best hotel.

Yours,

Jonah.

In some excitement I turned to the second sheet.

14 rue Malleyband.

Tours.

Dear Monsieur de Palk,

I have delayed answering your kind letter until I should be in Europe, and I may say that I shall be very disappointed if we do not renew our acquaintance before my return. I am expecting Maimie to join me any day now, and, as at present arranged, we shall be over for four or five weeks: although I know you are always full of engagements I think that should give us good time to fix something up. Our movements are rather uncertain, but this address will find me until you reply.

Cordially yours,

Paul K. Woking.

I surrendered the sheets to my wife and turned to the messenger.

“Right-oh, Carson. Tell Captain Mansel that I’ll get busy at once. Are you going back straight away?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everything quite all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Get what you want in the pantry before you go.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve a note for the Duchess, sir.”

We shouted for Jill. Carson plainly believed in delivering letters to those whose superscription they bore. All things considered, I do not think he can be blamed.

When Jill came running, he gave her a little note.

“Is he all right, Carson?” she cried.

“Yes, your Grace. Couldn’t be better. He gave me this letter himself.”

The next moment he was gone.

I crossed to the balustrade and stood looking into the valley asleep in the sun.

‘Reason suggests investigation’.

“I’m coming with you,” said Adèle.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” cried Jill, looking up from her note. “When I wanted to go with Piers——”

“The penalty of greatness,” said I. “The Duchess of Padua is just a shade too well-known.”

This was true. If Jill were less startlingly attractive, her resonant title would bear less dazzling fruit. But add to the rank of Duchess all the artless charm of a beautiful child, clap strawberry leaves on the brow of a grave-eyed, laughing playmate of all the world, and you will be sounding a fanfare whose summons no one can miss. To go abroad with Jill was to make a royal progress. She had music wherever she went. It was, indeed, frequently embarrassing—but not to Jill. She was usually sublimely unconscious of the interest which she evoked. When this was too marked to be mistaken, she charged it, naïvely enough, to her lack of dignity.

“That’s the worst of my going,” said Berry. “I mean, if the Press were to get it——”

“I think we must chance that,” said I. “If Adèle likes to come, well and good. She can play about with the car and order our food. But I’m not going to have her smelling out Casca’s doom.”

“If I am to come,” said Berry, “I must have a room adjoining, and she must unpack my things. Daphne will show her how I like my bath, and if I should cry in the night——”

“Any ministrations,” said I, “will have to be made by day. If Woking is crooked, our only chance is to make the most of the night. Without our cloaks of darkness, he’d see us before we saw him.”

My brother-in-law frowned. Then he took up the letters and read them again.

“Of course,” he said, “this is Jonah all over. ‘Reason suggests investigation’. Possibly it does. Reason suggests that I should put half a million on the winner of The Stewards’ Cup. Then why don’t I do it? Because in the first place I haven’t got half a million, and in the second I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going to win. How the devil can you investigate the manners and customs of a man you’ve never set eyes on without being heard or seen?”

“It’s been done before,” said I.

“In the Boy’s Own Paper,” said Berry, “it’s done about once a week. But this is that tonic called life. If Woking was blind and deaf and wore a bandeau—Oh, and what price Maimie?”

“That,” said I, “is what we’ve got to find out.”

Berry expired.

“Assume,” he said, “that two snakes are lying asleep—impulsive, poisonous reptiles that have no use for man. Assume that for some good reason you wish to inspect the bellies on which they go.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, of course, you can turn them over with the toe of your boot.”

“I’m not half-baked,” said I. “If we can’t sight our friends from a distance, that’s where we go home.”

“ ‘Sight them?’ Did you ever hear of the pigeon that sighted a hawk? He saw him damned well—quite a close-up, just at the end of his life.”

“At least,” said I, “we can go and have a look at the house. That’s the first step, obviously. If he keeps late hours we may see the fellow come in.”

Berry sank into a chair and closed his eyes.

“What a dazzling prospect,” he said.

“We must begin somewhere,” said Adèle. “Besides, you can sleep all day.”

“What if it rains?” said Berry. “Pours all night?”

My sister put in her oar.

“You can’t stand out in the rain—either of you. I mean, what is the good of——”

“We’re not going to,” said I. “We’re not going to do anything to damage our health. He’s simply being obstructive because he sees in the distance a job of work.”

“Would it be inaccurate,” said Berry, “to describe you as a venomous and bile-sodden leper? Or shall I be downright and call a skunk a skunk?”

“I repeat,” said I, “that you are work-shy. The difficulty always was to make you take off your coat. We’d better leave here at ten and lunch at Chartres.”

“I wish I could come,” said Jill wistfully. She came to my side and put a warm arm round my neck. “Don’t you think if I sat in the car—I mean, you could have a puncture in front of the house, and while you were changing the wheel——”

“A crowd would collect,” said I. “And the following morning a basket of flowers would arrive ‘for the beautiful child’.” This had actually happened at Florence the year before. “No, my pretty. Stay with Daphne this round and hold the fort. Somebody must be here to pass on our news to Jonah, whatever it is. Besides, they’ll be back before we are, and Piers would call me out if he found you gone.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said my sister. “Why don’t you wire for the Fauns? This place would be perfect for them and they can go on to White Ladies as soon as the painters are out.”

The Fauns were Jill’s babies—twins: two unbelievable mysteries of pink and white. We were all quite insane about them. To do them pleasure Berry had inhabited a dog-kennel for thirty-five minutes on end.

“Shall I?” said Jill. “I’d love to. Nanny’s splendid at trains and we could meet them in Paris and bring them down.”

Berry addressed his wife.

“My dear,” he said, “your mind must be coming back. You’ve made the best suggestion I’ve heard for the last ten days.”

Our journey to Tours was not dull.

It was June, it was Sunday, it was fine; and on such days a French highway is a racing-track. Everyone drives all out all the time. To slow up seems to be a sin. The rule of the road is in abeyance. If there is no room on your right, you go out of your ground—and the devil take the hindmost. The great god Pace is in his heaven: my lord of Misrule is enthroned. Engines that were built to do fifty, scream by at sixty-five: old cars rave on their way, leaping like rams: gigantic char-à-bancs fall down steep hills like lifts: a burst of machine-gun fire argues a racer’s approach. The average speed is appalling: the risks which are taken make your blood run cold. What saves your life is that there is plenty of room. All the same we were glad to reach Tours. Throughout the two hundred miles we had never ceased to wonder what the next bend would bring forth. That sort of excitement soon palls. As I brought the car to rest before the steps of the hotel, I had a definite feeling that we had been spared.

“I can’t get out,” said Berry. “I’ve lost the use of my legs. That char-á-banc this side of Chartres. ... You know. Big Bertha. The one that looked like a piece out of the dress-circle. Well, when that looked round the corner, something inside me snapped.”

“Come on,” said Adèle, shuddering. “I still feel all weak myself: but if we lie down till dinner ...”

“I must have a water-bed,” said Berry. “I must——”

“Will you get out?” said Adèle.

Berry groaned.

“She’s getting like Daphne,” he said.

Then he descended and followed her into the lounge.

The porters off-loaded the luggage, and I drove round to the garage and put up the car.

Ten minutes later I entered a decent bedroom which commanded the hub of the city and, with this, a steady uproar to which horns, gears, trams, stone setts and two large cafés fought to subscribe.

Berry’s suitcase was open and most of its contents were out: Adèle was sitting, shaking, upon the arm of a chair: and-my brother-in-law was lying supine and peevish on one of the beds.

“Come in,” he said weakly. “Come in and share the jest. Darling Daphne’s packed me two tops of pyjamas and left the leg-joy behind.”

“That’s all right,” said I. “You pin the two tops together and put your legs through the sleeves.”

“Thank you,” said Berry. “And what about the neck? I suppose I stuff that up with the Daily Mail.” He sat up and clasped his head. “Can anybody tell me why I came? Two hundred miles of death-dodging for the privilege of lying awake in the noisiest room in Europe and insulting my body by following the filthy fashion set by performing baboons. I’ve never seen one of their garments disengaged, but I should say they could wear them upside down. We’d better suggest it to Worth. He’ll carry it out in old rose, coin an appropriate perfume and call it La Nuit des Singes. But, of course, this venture was doomed before we set out. It was revealed to me last night in a vision. I dreamed I was a pond at sundown. Lovers passed by me, whimpering—whispering, a dead cat was flung into me, and I was drunk by several cows. Then the drought came, and I dried up. Which reminds me—d’you think that beer is coming? Or will you jouer with the telephone?”

“This noise is cruel,” said I, putting the windows to. “Haven’t they any other rooms?”

“Plenty,” said Berry. “But not with bathrooms, my son. You bathe or sleep in this shrine: but you can’t do both. Never mind. Think of the good we’re doing. Fancy being actually in the same town as a man who wrote to Casca to say he was here. We don’t know him. We shan’t ever see his face. We daren’t go and look at his house until after dark. But we’re sharing the same abattoir and breathing the same foul air.” He laughed idiotically. “You know, I’m so excited my gorge is beginning to rise. Perhaps he’s out there now, standing Maimie a syrup under the shade of the trams.”

“That’ll do,” said Adèle. “It’s a bow at a venture, of course. But when you’ve nothing to shoot at, what can you do?”

“Reserve your fire,” said Berry. “Sit tight and reserve your fire.”

I got to my feet.

“You go to bed,” said I, “and reserve your strength. If we dine at half past eight, that’ll give us just nice time to be out and about by ten.”

With my words came a knock on the door. Then a waiter came in with some tea and cakes for Adèle and a bottle of Evian.

Berry gave one look at the tray. Then he made a noise like a lion demanding its prey.

When I say that I have never heard a more convincing reproduction of that majestic roar, the devastating effect upon the waiter may be conceived. The unfortunate man jumped almost out of his skin, blenched, gave visibly at the knees, set down his tray anyhow and made for the door.

Another true roar of protest overtook and shook him halfway.

“And the beer?” wailed Adèle. “The beer?”

“The b-beer, madame. D-did madame desire——”

“Two b-bottles of beer—at once.”

“Very good, madame.”

As the door closed—

“How c-could you?” quavered Adèle, fighting for breath. “How could you? And now he’ll be afraid to come b-back.”

“Confess it was lifelike,” said Berry.

“I’ll give you that,” I said weakly. “But I wish you’d keep these turns for some desert place.”

“ ‘Turns’?” said my brother-in-law. “That was a giddy urge. Instinct. The monarch of primæval forests speaking his mind. If that ewe-necked son of Belial isn’t back in five minutes’ time ...”

As though incensed by the reflection, he broke off to roar with a violence that shook the room.

Tearfully we implored him to behave, but he only flung himself down and lashed the bed with the cord of his dressing-gown.

There was, of course, nothing for it. When three minutes had gone empty away, I went for the beer myself.

We entered the rue Malleyband about half past ten.

This was a quiet street, perhaps two hundred yards long. It was fairly well lit and must have been pleasant to live in, for on one side rose its houses and on the other a wall which was bounding some park. It was purely residential, and might have belonged to England instead of to France, for the buildings were not uniform and most of the houses were low. Here and there we saw gables rising against the stars, and though no house was detached, it seemed that each had been built by a different man.

We sauntered along, smoking and marking the numbers as we went.

Number Fourteen was in darkness, except for a lantern hanging above the front door. As luck would have it, a street-lamp was shedding a flood of light three paces away.

As we passed on—

“And that’s that,” said Berry. “What did I say? You can’t lurk under a searchlight. And if we withdraw to the shadows, we shan’t be near enough to have a look at our man. Let’s ring the bell and ask for the Comte de Wishwash.”

“How will that help us?” said I. “We want to see Mr. Woking—not the inside of his hall. And I find this house suspicious. If he’s a genuine tourist, why doesn’t he use a hotel?”

“Because of the noise,” said Berry. “He’s probably been here before and knows his Tours. So when Maimie said it was time that she did the Loire——”

“Assume he’s a crook,” said I. “Assume that he’s come from Bethgelert to buy those jewels.”

Berry wrinkled his nose.

“Could he have done it?” he said.

“He could,” said I. “His letter was posted on the seventh—eight days after America heard of the theft. Very well. You can lay that Bethgelert knew that Casca was after our stuff. One day he opens his paper and sees that the trick has been done. His representative leaves for Europe at once—with instructions to get into touch and buy if he can.”

“Assume you’re right,” said Berry. “What can we do? I imagine Bethgelert’s travellers have eyes in the small of their back.”

“That won’t help him,” said I, “if we keep out of his sight.”

At the end of the street we turned, crossed the roadway and walked back under the wall. At thirty paces we stopped and stared at the house. All its windows were shuttered, as were the windows of most of its fellow mansions. Indeed the street seemed dead. No man or beast had used it since we arrived.

“Well, I’ve seen some wash-outs,” said Berry, “but I think this rings the bell. Fancy driving two hundred miles to——”

“Not so fast,” said I. “There’s a board up at Number Fifteen. If Number Fifteen is ‘to let’ ...”

“I know,” said Berry excitedly. “I know. We take it on a seven years’ lease with the linoleum as laid. Once we’re in, we tunnel under Number Fourteen, lift a flag out of the cellar, and there we are. You know, you ought to be confined.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said I. “Any way there are no back doors. That means there’s a street at the back. Let’s go and have a look at it, shall we?”

“I can think of nothing,” said Berry, “that I should dislike more. Of course if you insist....”

There was no one in sight, so we strolled across to the pavement and had a look at the board on Number Fifteen. This stated that the house was ‘for sale.’ The keys might be had of an agent whose name was Bros. I noted his address carefully. Then we passed on down the street and turned to the right.

As I had expected, the houses of the rue Malleyband were served by a secondary street. This was a noisome alley some four yards wide. In its mouth the pathetic corpse of a mongrel sprawled like some hideous legend against the wall. The row itself was unlighted, very imperfectly paved and ankle-deep in refuse from end to end. On either hand, houses rose up like cliffs. I began to count them faithfully, feeling my way by the wall. Berry followed behind me, laughing hysterically and arguing with himself.

“Yes, isn’t it lovely? You know, I often come here just to be quite alone.... Oh, no. I—I like a good stench. And the crisp brush of the garbage about my insteps. It takes me back to the days of my childhood, you know. The dear old sewage farm——” The insolent growl of a cat cut short the memory. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I fear that was your sardine. I do hope I haven’t hurt it. There’s a nest of putrid tomatoes a yard or two back, if that’s any use to you ... No? Oh, I’m sorry about that. You couldn’t come a little closer, could you? No, I thought not, you craven. Never mind. Here’s a little present from Uncle Rex.” An empty can met the base of the wall with great savagery, and four or five cats took flight. “Yes, isn’t it provoking? You know, we caught it in Tours. We just popped over there for the week-end, and two days later they sent the fever-cart. Of course we’d not the slightest idea till one of my hands came off. But then they say leprosy’s like that ...”

“Will you be quiet?” said I. “We’re nearly there.”

This was a fact. I had counted thirteen doors. But I must confess that for all the good we were doing we might have gone home to bed. The exterior of no jail could have been less encouraging. Every door was fast shut: if there were windows, the rooms behind them were dark: the walls were as Smooth as they were sheer.

We stumbled and slipped ten more paces to stand before Number Fourteen. The better to see what we could, we set our backs against the opposite wall, but the house rose up gaunt and lifeless, no different from any other that was flanking that filthy row.

Suddenly, high above us, a window leaped into light. Not a window of Number Fourteen, but of the barrack behind us, on the opposite side of the court.

We stood as still as death. The last thing we wanted was to be asked our business by any man.

The light from the window illumined Number Fourteen.

We saw a shuttered window, eight rusty feet of downpipe and two sagging telephone wires. And that was all.

After perhaps three minutes Berry put his lips to my ear.

“You see that downpipe?”

I nodded.

“I expect that relieves his bath. If we could bring a blood-hound down here next Saturday night ...”

A shadow appeared on the wall of Number Fourteen.

Somebody was standing at the window above our heads. They seemed to be peering ... listening ...

Frantically I tried to determine how to reply to the challenge which I was every moment expecting to hear. I supposed furiously that they had heard the clatter of the can which Berry had launched. How they could possibly care who used their bestial alley was more than I could conceive.

They were moving ... leaning out of the window ...

The next instant the contents of a slop-pail pitched directly before us three feet from where we stood.

To say that we were bespattered is half the truth. When about five gallons of fluid are discharged from a height of forty feet on to a cobbled pavement, the fountain induced is bold and generous. A venomous wave of muck thrashed us from head to foot.

There was a dreadful silence. Then the window above us was violently shut.

“Can I go home now?” said Berry. “I mean, I don’t want to miss anything, but if that’s the end ...”

With a full heart, I led the way out of the alley and into the light of a lamp.

“But how delicious,” said Berry, wiping his face. “What a wonderful stroke of luck. Did you get any fish? I did. Hake, I think—mostly. Never mind. You’ve got more spaghetti than I have. Oh, and look at my gent’s waistcoat.” He laughed hysterically. “Why, I do believe that’s spinach.... Of course, if I had my way I should go and drown myself. I don’t feel I’m worth washing. All I ask is to become unconscious. If anyone offered to flay me, I’d put my arms round his neck. The enamel has entered into my soul.”

“We can burn our clothes,” said I. “Considering what they cost, it seems a pity: but fire’s a wonderful purge. And after a bath or two——”

“It won’t be the same,” said Berry. “I can pick the fish out of my ears, but it won’t be the same. I’ve touched bottom or something. When I think that we actually waited—stood there waiting in silence until that she-goat was ready to pour her stinking libations into the street.... No, I won’t smoke, thanks. I’ve too much banana on my hands. I daresay it’s quite a good skin-food. And what’s the betting we have the lift to ourselves?”

In some dudgeon we repaired to the hotel. I cannot pretend I enjoyed traversing the lounge. Neither, I think, did Berry. But he carried it off with the air of a musketeer. As luck would have it, he had the key of his room....

With a flash of slim stockings, my wife started up from a chair.

“Splendid,” she cried, glowing. “And now—what luck?”

“Oh, middling,” said Berry. “Middling. You might almost call it pot luck. No, I shouldn’t kiss him, darling. In fact, if I were you I should stand on the balcony. We—we don’t smell very nice.”

Adèle looked from Berry to me with parted lips.

“For heaven’s sake, Boy. But——”

“To tell you the truth,” said Berry, “we met with a little contretemps. Nothing serious. Our minds are slightly affected, but that is natural. You see, we’ve been filmed. Filmed and impregnated with filth. The ordinary grease-trap isn’t in it. We’re a little lower than the cesspools. We should have been back before, but the operator wasn’t ready and so we had to wait.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

Berry removed his hat, smelt it and chucked it into the grate.

“There is,” he said, “a statute which requires that every citizen should give audible warning before discharging liquid or other garbage into a thoroughfare. To-night to our knowledge that wise and reasonable law was set at nought. A vessel of incredible dimensions was employed.”

He laid his hand upon a match-box. When he raised it again, the match-box adhered to his palm.

Adèle watched the performance with widening eyes.

“There’s no deception,” he said. “My hands are glutinous.”

“Do you mean to say——”

“Covered,” said Berry. “Caked. We’re a walking mass of corruption. If we entered a fried-fish shop, they’d ask us to leave. You’re still too much to windward, but the lift-boy was worried to death. I think he had an idea we’d been raised from the dead. And now be as sweet as you look and turn on the baths. I want to get away from myself. What we really need is a lonely steppe and a torrent and half a gale: but with several relays of water ...”

“And the basins,” said I. “And if you could spare us some bath salts ...”

Adèle flew to the taps, while we stood inspecting ourselves, perceiving new imperfections and wondering where to begin.

My wife reappeared twittering.

“But what about Woking?” she said. “Have you——”

“The answer,” said Berry, “is in the unmentionable negative.”