House That Berry Built (6 page)

And, with his words, the thing happened.

A sudden pull on the rope, for which I was quite unready, jerked me violently forward. When I flung out my left hand to save me, this met with nothing at all. For half my body was actually over the edge.

And there was the boy, with his face three inches from mine.

Ignoring Jonah’s instructions, without any warning at all, the crazy fool had attempted to climb the rope.

But for Jill’s hold upon my ankles, I must have gone down. As it was, I was quite helpless. My left arm was beating the air, and my right was holding a rope upon which was hanging a weight of somewhere about one hundred and forty pounds.

My cousin, Jonathan Mansel, did the only possible thing.

In a flash, he was lying beside me. Then he stretched out his hand and seized the boy by his hair, which was happily long.

Then he spoke to his sister, Jill.

“Try to pull Boy back,” he said quietly.

Jonah was taking much of the weight on the rope: this enabled me to get my left hand on the edge, and, when this encountered the root of a neighbouring fir, I was able to help my small cousin to drag myself back.

After what seemed an age, only my head and shoulders were over the brink.

The boy had a hand on the edge…

“All together,” cried Jonah.

The boy was up and in safety – I felt his foot on my back. As the rope was jerked out of my hand, Jonah fell backwards and sideways across my legs. As I sought to thrust myself back, a good foot of the cornice gave way.

When the block of soil went down, I thought I was done. Indeed, I went down with it, so far as my trunk was concerned, for all my weight had been planted upon that piece of soil. But, mercifully, Jill had my ankles, and Jonah himself was lying across my legs.

I heard him cry out in French…

And after what seemed a long time, two hands, which were stronger than Jill’s took hold of one of my legs. Then Jonah seized the other, and the boy and he, between them, dragged me away from the brink.

A nice picture we made, sitting on the edge of the plateau, just clear of the trees.

Jonah, stripped to the waist, was streaming with sweat; his chest and his stomach were smeared with blood and dirt: my shirt was torn and stained, the fingers of my left hand were bleeding, and the rope had ripped open the skin of my other wrist. Jill, in shirt and shorts, sitting back on her heels, was kneeling between us two, one arm about Jonah’s shoulders and one about mine. A bleeding bruise was spreading above one exquisite knee.

“Close call, that,” said Jonah, wiping his face.

“You’re telling me,” said I. And then, “I’m through with these blasted brinks.”

“What we want,” said Jill, “is a brook.”

“We passed one somewhere,” said I, “about a week ago.”

“D’you feel like that, too? Never mind. I’m so glad you’re alive, Boy darling.”

“You must thank yourself, sweetheart. If you hadn’t had hold of my ankles, I must have gone.”

“And that’s God’s truth,” said Jonah.

Jill got to her feet.

“Come,” she said. “We ought to be getting back.”

As we stood up, a figure approached from our left. Strangely enough, we had quite forgotten the youth.

“I have to thank you,” he said. “I was very badly placed.”

“That’s all right,” said I. “But don’t do it again.”

“Don’t do what?” said the boy.

“Any of it,” snapped Jonah. “Don’t climb alone: don’t use a rotten rope: and, above all, don’t disobey orders when people are risking their lives on your behalf. Where d’you come from? Lally?”

“Yes,” said the other. “My father is there just now.”

“If you like to follow us down, we can give you a lift. Your parents will be anxious if you are too late.”

With that, we set off.

We stopped at the spring we had marked, to wash the dirt from our scratches and bathe my wrist; and there we were joined by Carson, who always became uneasy, if Jonah was gone too long.

“Ah, Carson,” said Jonah. “We could have done with you a little while back. But that’s for later. Take this young gentleman with you and go on ahead. Take him and Therèse in the Andret and drive back to Lally at once. Drop him at Lally, and then take Therèse to the chemist’s to get a bandage and stuff for Captain Pleydell’s wrist. And then go back to the villa. We’ll take the Rolls and be there as soon as you. Tell Major Pleydell what you’re doing and say that we’re just behind and that no one is hurt.”

“Very good, sir. But what of yourself? You’re short of a shirt.”

“See that my coat’s in the Rolls. That’ll see me home.”

“Very good, sir.”

Jonah addressed the youth.

“If you go with him,” he said, “he will drive you back to Lally without delay. Goodbye.”

“I am much obliged,” said the boy. He hesitated. “I am sorry about your shirt, and I must thank you again. I was very badly placed.” He put a hand to his head. “Do not think that I blame you,” he added, “but it is very painful to pull the hair.”

By the time we reached the meadow, the Andret was gone. But Carson’s shirt was hanging on the door of the Rolls.

At eight o’clock that evening, Jonah put a letter into my hand.

“From Falcon,” he said.

June 29th.

DEAR CAPTAIN MANSEL,

Secret

Sir Steuart Rowley.

I should have written to you before, but I have been hoping to be able to tell you that we had got our man. As you will see from the papers, the Coroner’s jury yesterday returned a verdict against some person or persons unknown. In fact, we know who did it, but he has disappeared.

As you thought likely, the murder was done by a servant whom the Judge had dismissed: and, as you thought that he might, Mr Shapely showed some reluctance to point to the man. But in fact I had him in view, before Mr Shapely returned.

The facts are these.

Albert Edward Tass was employed as chauffeur at Dewlap when Lady Rowley died. He was an excellent chauffeur – but he had only one eye. This affliction had always worried Sir Steuart –I think, rather naturally. A chauffeur should have two eyes. But Lady Rowley had pleaded that he should stay. Everyone, including Tass, was aware that, but for Lady Rowley, Tass would have gone. Three months after Lady Rowley’s death, Tass was driving Sir Steuart when he nearly knocked down a child. The child was on his blind side – the left. That evening the Judge sent for Tass. In the presence of Mr Shapely and his sister, he told him that he must drive no more. He did not dismiss him. He offered to keep him on, at the same wages, to look after the cars and to do odd jobs. But Tass would have none of that. Either he drove, or he went. In fact, he lost his temper, and there was an unfortunate scene. He told the Judge to his face that “he wouldn’t have dared to sack him, if his mistress had been alive.” Then the Judge did dismiss him – quite rightly, of course. He could hardly keep a man who had spoken like that. Whereupon Mr Shapely engaged him, there and then, to be his chauffeur and valet from that time on.

Once he got going, Mr Shapely was perfectly frank.

“I’d no right to do it,” he said; “and I’m sorry now. I did it to rile Old Rowley. Tass was nothing to me.”

I asked why he disliked Sir Steuart so much.

“First,” he said, “ I hated to see him sitting in my father’s seat. Secondly, he persuaded my mother to keep my allowance down to twelve hundred a year. He thought a man should work for his living – or some of it. I didn’t agree – in view of the fact that my mother had rather more than thirty thousand a year. Thirdly, by her Will, my mother left him the whole of her income for life – and Dewlap and everything. I had my twelve hundred – no more. That meant that he had the whip-hand. I don’t think he spent the money. I don’t believe he touched it, except to keep Dewlap up. But I was the son and heir, and he had accepted my birthright…”

He laughed there. Then he went on.

“That’s the sort of motive you like, isn’t it? Just as well for me that I was in the South of France.”

Entirely between you and me, I think it is.

To return to Tass.

Mr Shapely and Tass left Dewlap the morning after the scene. Six weeks later, master and man went abroad, with a caravan. And in May of this year they came to the Pyrénées. By this time Mr Shapely was beginning to realize that he had cut off his nose to spite his face. Tass was becoming a nuisance. He did not enjoy caravanning or ‘foreign parts’. To use Mr Shapely’s words, “he wouldn’t have lasted a month, if he hadn’t had a dud eye. But I knew that that might prevent his getting another job. For that reason I stuck him – as long as I could. More than once I went to a hotel, just because I couldn’t stand him about.” Finally, in the mountains – not far from where you are now – Mr Shapely paid him off and told him to go. He gave him his fare to England, and Tass packed his suitcase and went.

That was on Sunday June 7th, about nine-thirty a.m.

That night he must have travelled to Paris, for we know that he landed at Dover the following afternoon. (His passport number was taken at Calais and Dover that day. And a man with an eye-shade is easy. He was noticed again and again. And we traced a five-hundred-franc note that he changed on the boat. This was given to Mr Shapely by Lloyd’s Bank, Pau, five days before he fired Tass.) Tass did not proceed to London, but left the harbour on foot. From Dover to Dewlap is just about two hours’ walk. The murder was committed that night, not before half-past ten and not after a quarter to twelve. I think there can be no doubt that the murderer opened the garage and took ‘the family car’. Anyway, that car was taken and presently found at Hampstead at eight a.m. the next day. From Dewlap to London by night would take a good driver considerably less than four hours. Tass left Victoria Station by the early boat-train that day: he passed by Folkestone and Boulogne – passport number checked at each port – and went on to Paris at once. And there he disappeared.

I have left to the last one very important point.

‘The family car’ was so called because it was at the disposal of Mr Shapely, Miss Joan Shapely and her sister, now married and in America. Each had a key of the garage and of the switch. When Mr Shapely left England, he forgot all about these keys. He noticed them some time later and dropped them into a pocket of his dressing-case. According to him, he never gave them a thought until the conversation he had with you at Pau. That conversation, of course, suggested Tass as the possible murderer. And then he thought of the keys. When he left you, he went at once to look at his dressing-case. And when he did so, he found that the keys were gone.

To sum up:–

(a)Against Sir Steuart, Tass had a violent grudge.

(b)Tass was six miles from Dewlap four hours before the murder took place.

(c)Tass was familiar with Dewlap as with Sir Steuart’s ways.

(d)Tass had access to the keys of the garage and car.

(e)Those keys have disappeared.

(f)Tass left England immediately after the murder, after a stay in England of less than eighteen hours.

(g)Tass has vanished.

It looks pretty clear to me. But the French don’t seem able to find him. It shouldn’t be hard, should it? An Englishman, short of one eye?

Are you staying on at Lally?

I’m going on leave before long and I have a feeling I might come down that way.

Yours very sincerely,

RICHARD FALCON.

As I handed the letter back—

“O fortunate Jonah!” I said. “How many would give their eyes for a letter like that?”

My cousin smiled and put the letter away.

“I am very lucky,” he said. “But I’ve helped the Yard once or twice, and they never forget a friend.”

“They probably value your opinion.”

“I don’t know about that. In any event I don’t think they want it here. Friend Tass is for the high jump, if ever they run him to earth.”

“I’ll say he is. Those keys… Still, why’s Falcon coming here?”

“I imagine, to have a look round. After all, Tass knows this country – or some of it. He may have made a friend in some garage – some little garage right off the beaten track. The French won’t ask any questions, provided he’s good at his job. And what price the local police? And don’t forget that even Paris is not particularly interested. This is an English murder. ‘What’s Hecuba to him?’”

“Yes, that sticks out,” said I. “Anyway to hear Falcon talk will be great fun. Didn’t he send Oxen down?”

“He did,” said Jonah. “And Baal. He’s a very good man.”

Dinner had been served and eaten, and we were distributed about our gargantuan suite. As those who had borne the burden and heat of the day, Jonah and I were enjoying the mighty sofa. (Each of us had his feet up, with room to spare.) His coffee and brandy beside him, Berry was enshrined in one of the sumptuous chairs: the other comfortably accepted Daphne and Jill.

Therèse slipped into the room.

“Madame will receive Monsieur de Moulin, the lawyer? He is the father of that insufferable youth. But he is of the old school. He desires to thank in person the
Messieurs
who saved his son.”

“Of course,” said Daphne, rising.

We all got up, as Monsieur de Moulin came in.

He was a man of fifty or thereabouts, stout, clean-shaven, well-groomed, with a very pleasant expression and keen, grey eyes.

He bowed, first to Daphne and Jill, and then to us.

“Mesdames, Messieurs,” he said, “may I know whom to thank for saving, at the risk of their own, the life of my only child?”

Berry came forward and took the lawyer’s hand.

“Let me introduce my cousins, Captains Mansel and Pleydell, the second of whom is also my brother-in-law. Between them, they did the job.”