Berry Scene (17 page)

We are, Sir,

Your obedient servants…

I did not feel so disposed – and enclosed a note with my cheque to that effect. Daphne liked her present, and no consideration should make me take it away. Indeed, despite Berry’s misgivings, she had already decided where it should hang – outside her room at White Ladies, so that its chimes could be shared with the rest of the floor.

Later, I drove to Rodsham’s and had the clock taken out. There they said at once that the timepiece was French. “And a very nice piece of work, sir. When once it’s cleaned, you’ll find it’ll go very well.” I arranged to let them know when the picture was hung: then they would send down a man to put back the clock.

Then I drove to the picture-liner’s, and left the canvas there. This was to be sent to White Ladies in ten days’ time.

From there I walked to the Club, to be joined by Berry about a quarter-past twelve.

“Give me a drink,” he said. “A triple brandy, or something. I’ve just left a friend of yours.”

“Has he proved so exhausting?” said I.

“Exhausting?” said Berry. “He’s corrosive. He eats you away.” Here a waiter appeared. “Two dry martinis, Latham, and make them strong.”

“A friend of mine?” said I.

“That’s right,” said Berry. “A Mr Coker Falk. He’s after Bughaven.”

“Good God,” said I. “But how—”

“I’ve no idea,” said Berry. “And I can’t face any questions. I’m not myself. I can make a dying deposition, and that is all. I tell you, the man’s vitriolic. Twenty minutes with him, and your brain is scarred.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“It may have been more,” said Berry. “And I wasn’t fit to go out, except in an ambulance.”

Here the cocktails arrived.

As I laid the money down—

“Have one of these,” I said.

“I’m going to have both,” said Berry. “When I think—”

“All right. And another one, Latham. And now let’s have it, brother. I want to know.”

Berry emptied one glass and lighted a cigarette.

“About half-past eleven,” he said, “I left the house. I can’t remember where I was going – that’s Coker’s fault. Oh, I know. I was going to have my hair cut. Damn it, I had an appointment. That’s what Coker does – he stuns your brain. Well, I left the house and walked straight into his arms. Of course he thought I was you, and was off like a rogue. He began with a poor imitation of Deborah’s song. He, Coker Falk, had circumvented Christie’s, who, poor fish, had refused to give him your address. That, be said, was always the way. America was the locomotive, and England was the trucks: and when the trucks withstood the locomotive, they found themselves pushed around. Look at the war. England and France had tried to beat Germany for four years, and the United States had beaten her in four months. That was because America got down to things. He then told me what he would do to Christie’s, if he was the Managing Director. He spoke of Bargain Basements and Ladies’ Rooms. Finally he seized the lapel of this excellent coat and said he was going to have the picture-clock. He said he’d never wanted anything so much in all his life, and when Coker Falk felt that way, the angels watched their step. There he paused for breath: so I said, that while I fully appreciated his outlook, unless both his god-parents were of German extraction, the acquisition of British nationality was a matter of some difficulty. I added that trout-streams were, however, available at a price and that if he made a noise like a lipstick outside the back door of Lambeth Palace, His Grace would serve him after closing time and before the mast. Before he had recovered from this counter-attack, I urged him to release my coat, as it had been left me by a hot-drop forger who had died of bubonic plague. I followed this request with an invitation – which he immediately accepted – to lunch with me today at the old Bailey at one o’clock. He certainly let go my lapel, but when I sought to be gone, he fell into step beside me and started again. He said I could have Lambeth Palace and the trout-streams. All he wanted of me was the picture-clock. He said it was ‘just poitry’ – the cutest operational gadget he’d ever seen. He was going to take it to Chunkit – that’s his home town – and hang it right up in his parlour and then ask the folks to step in. He said the noise they’d make would be heard in Dayton and that, when it said its piece, they’d just pass out. I said that was fine. Then I pointed out that I hadn’t been near Christie’s for a fortnight and had never purchased or possessed such a thing as a picture-clock. This statement appeared to afford him infinite mirth, for he made a noise like a hooter, slammed me upon the back, pitched a penny into the gutter and then spat upon it with remarkable accuracy. That, he said, was for my bluff. When he did that at Chunkit, folks put the storm-shutters up. And then he was really off. He’d got to have that clock. He’d write me a cheque on the Farmer’s Glory Bank that’d make what I’d paid Christie’s look like a tag in a five-cent bargain-sale. Reminiscence, prophecy and metaphor foamed from his lips. He wouldn’t let me speak and he wouldn’t let me go, and, when I stopped a taxi, he followed me in. I don’t wonder he gets what he wants. If the clock had been mine, he’d have had it – and that’s the truth. You’ve got to stop him somehow, or you’ll go raving mad.

“When he heard me say, ‘Drive to Christie’s,’ he quietened down. You see, he thought he was home. He was fairly hugging himself, as he followed me up the steps. I asked to see —. When he came, I asked him if he had been selling yesterday afternoon. He said yes. ‘Then will you tell this gentleman whether or no it was I that purchased a picture-clock.’ ‘It wasn’t you,’ says —. ‘In fact, I don’t think you were there.’ ‘And you didn’t bid for me?’ ‘Certainly not.’ I turned to Coker. ‘Is that good enough?’ I said. He looked from — to me and savaged his thumb. ‘You’re B Pleydell,’ he said, ‘of thirty-eight Cholmondeley Street.’ I nodded. ‘And you didn’t buy that clock?’ ‘I’ve been telling you so,’ I said, ‘for half an hour.’ ‘Then there’s dirty work somewhere,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to begin again.’ With that, he started on —, and I slipped down the stairs and drove to the Stores. I tell you, I was taking no chances. When I was sure I’d lost him, I left by another door and took a taxi here. And now what?”

“Don’t ask me,” said I. “If you can’t beat him, I can’t.”

“If he comes back,” said Berry, “you’ll have to hand Bughaven over. And if you take my advice, you’ll do it at once.”

I’m damned if I will,” said I. “Besides, it’s broken up. The clock and the picture are parted – they’re being severally cleaned.”

“That won’t stop Coker,” said Berry. “If you gave it to the British Museum, he’d have it out.”

“Well, we go out of Town on Friday.”

“I know. And the moment he sees White Ladies, he’ll want that, too.”

We had been at White Ladies a week, and I was sitting at Riding Hood, under some limes, waiting to pick up Berry, who was upon the Bench. After another five minutes, I left the car and made my way quietly into the little court.

Berry was in the Chair, and a Chinaman stood in the dock.

“You say you’re a seaman?” said Berry.

The prisoner inclined his head.

“How do you come to be here?”

“I wished for the country, sir, before I signed on again.”

“Do you mean to return to China?”

“Yes, sir. I beg that you will beat me and let me go.”

Berry frowned.

“Because you’re a stranger,” he said, “the charge has been reduced to one of common assault. Had you been English, you would have been sent for trial on a much more serious charge. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“To draw a knife on a man is a very serious thing.”

“I lose my temper, because he has insulted the bold.”

“An insult is no excuse for trying to take his life. But you are a stranger and a seaman. If you were a landsman and English, we should send you to prison for six months.”

“I am very sorry, sir.”

“As it is, we shall only send you to prison for six weeks, with hard labour.”

The Chinaman clung to the dock.

“Beat me, my lord, beat me – and let me go.”

“I have no power to have you beaten.”

“But prison – no.”

“I’m sorry,” said Berry. “But you have done something which we have not the right to pass. We’re being very lenient. When you come out, the police will help you to get a ship.”

The man bowed his head. As the jailer touched his arm, he let out a terrible cry.

“The bold, the bold!”

Berry looked round.

“What does he mean?” he demanded. “Who are the bold?”

An Inspector of Police stood up.

“I think it’s his puppy, sir. We’ve got it outside.”

Berry looked at the prisoner.

“Is The Bold your dog?”

The Chinaman bowed his head.

“I am his servant,” he said. “The blood is royal.”

There was a little silence, while Berry fingered his chin.

Then—

“I begin to see daylight,” he said. “Bring the dog in.”

One minute later, the most perfect Pekingese puppy I ever saw stood upon the solicitors’ table, looking imperiously round. He was very small, because he was very young; but a full-grown mastiff had not his dignity. Strange as were his surroundings, he knew no fear. His little head was up, and his tiny tail was lying along his spine. His hair was not in – he was furry. He looked like something a woman might have worn at her throat. Richer, I think, than sable: but rather more grey.

“Let him go to him,” said Berry.

The prisoner left the dock and stepped to the puppy’s side. Then he spoke to him in Chinese, as though indeed he were his equerry.

When he had done, the puppy surveyed him proudly and put out a tiny paw. The other bowed his head and it touched his brow with its tongue. But the tail never moved.

“Listen,” said Berry. “Your trouble is that you don’t want to leave The Bold?”

The Chinaman looked at him and inclined his head.

“While you are in prison,” said Berry, “he shall be lodged in my house. He shall be fed and cared for in every way. When you come out, he will be ready and waiting to sail to China with you. Tell him what I have said in your own tongue.”

The prisoner addressed the puppy – rather as his adviser addresses a King.

When he had done, he stood back.

“Thank you, my lord,” he said quietly. “Now I will go.”

As the door closed behind him, Berry nodded to me and got to his feet. As he left the Bench, I moved to the table and picked the puppy up.

“Has he eaten?” I asked the Inspector.

“Not a bite, sir. He won’t take nothing from us. He’s a proud little dog – stares you down, you know. An’ clean as clean. An’ he can’t be more than two months. He’s had a little water.”

“He’s no ordinary dog,” said I. “If a Chinaman says he’s royal, he probably is.”

“What, a dog o’ royal blood, sir?”

“That’s right. It’s a terribly ancient breed.”

“Soun’s like a fairy-tale, sir.”

“So it does,” said I. “But I think it’s probably fact.”

As we settled ourselves in the car—

“What else could I do?” said Berry. “He damned near did wilful murder for love of this scrap. Saw red, of course. But you can’t pass things like that.”

“I think,” said I, “he’s extremely fortunate.”

“I don’t know about that. You see, British Justice is very rightly renowned. And when we have an alien before us, I always bear that in mind. If he’s a swine, he gets more than an Englishman – why should he come over here to do his dirt? But if he’s a decent bloke, he receives consideration, so that when he goes back to his country, he’ll always speak well of us. I admit it’s not in the Manual, but I think it’s common sense. And what do we feed him on? Goat’s flesh, seethed in sour milk, or rotten fish? They eat such filth in China that what the scraps can be like, I tremble to think.”

“Bread and milk,” said I. “And a little raw meat. He wants building up. And mind what you say of his country. He’s most intelligent.”

Berry regarded the puppy, snug in the crook of his arm.

“Daphne,” he said, “will never let him out of her sight. You must be a good dog, The Bold, and we’ll be good dogs to you. A very fine lady is going to be your friend. One of your rank, you know. But you mustn’t look down on us, for we have our points. And mind you’re civil to the servants.” He turned to me. “You might have a word with Nobby. I know he’ll be full of goodwill, but he’s rather impetuous. I mean, this’ll be a new one on him.”

“I’ll see to that,” said I. “He’ll be all right, as soon as he knows the facts.”

“Well, do be ready,” said Berry. “When you’ve been away for ten minutes, he has a bewitching habit of leaping into the car and of climbing all over my face in order to get at yours. If he does that today, and uses The Bold as a foothold…”

He need have had no concern.

As the Rolls stole up the drive, I saw at a glance that my Sealyham was deeply engaged.

He was standing square on the gravel, with his tail well over his back and his eyes on the door of a green all-weather coupé, berthed by the side of the lawn. His demeanour was eloquent.

Framed in the coupé’s window were the head and shoulders of a man I had never seen. He was wearing a circular hat and his face was red. But I knew who it was before Berry spoke his name.

“And this,” said the latter, “is where I leave the tram. Nobby’s got him where he belongs. You can make all things clear and then take your leave. He’ll have to go – or spend the night in the drive.”

I stopped, and he left the Rolls. Then I drove slowly on, until I was abreast of the captive, till then unaware that he was no longer alone.

“Get this darned dog away,” he yelped. “I wanner get out.”

Nobby looked at me, and my lips framed the words ‘Good dog.’ Thus reassured, he lowered his chin to his toes and let out a bark.

“Mr Falk,” I said, “you’re only wasting your time.”

“Get that dog away, and I guess I’ll change your outlook. Before I’m through, sonny, you’re going to be born again. I told your senior he couldn’t faze Coker Falk. I won’t say he hasn’t edged me, because he has. And I don’t think much of his Club. All cops and corner bums, as far as I saw. But you can’t side-track a land-slide. An’ when Coker Falk says ‘Mine’, wise guys throw in their hands. What d’you want for the honey, Mister? Don’t be afraid.”