Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  “I don’t take orders from Friar.”

  “Why did you come down?”

  “Because Friar told me that you were up to something—and something big. I’ve come down every night between one and three, but last night I forgot to set my alarm.”

  “What did it matter to you?”

  “Women are curious, Richard—especially about men. You see, Friar said that you and Captain Mansel were not what you seemed to be. He said you were really two very efficient crooks.”

  “Did you believe that?”

  “No. And I told him so. ‘Of course you don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Who ever would? That’s why they’ve had such a run. But it happens to be a fact. And what is more, you can prove it, if you like to keep them in view.’ Well, I said that that was silly. How on earth could I keep observation on people like you? ‘Visit the Ferrers,’ he said, ‘and don’t sleep too sound while you’re there.’ He knew I knew Olivia; I’d told him I’d rung her up, to find that she was away. ‘They’re on their way back,’ he said, ‘and Mansel and Chandos will visit them, sure as a gun. I mean, that’s why they’re at Salzburg.’ Well, I honestly thought it was tripe; I simply couldn’t believe that he wasn’t pulling my leg. And then it began to happen, just as he’d said. The Ferrers arrived the next day, on their way to Hohenems; and you turned up again and were invited to stay. When I was invited, too—well, nobody who was normal would have spent the whole night in their room.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Placed as you were, told what you had been told, I should have done the same. And now that you’ve proved him right, you’re going to let him know?”

  Diana’s eyes widened.

  “If and when I found he was right, I promised to send him a wire. We agreed the wording, which was I apologize.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s only fair,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe what he said, and you told him so.”

  “I still don’t believe you’re a crook. Besides, John Ferrers was with you, so you weren’t robbing his house.”

  “No, we’re not crooks,” I said. “In fact, we’ve done what we have at John’s request. But I’d rather Friar didn’t know that we’d done it just yet. So will you hold up that wire? That’s all he wanted, you know. That’s why he told you the tale. He knew we were going to work, and he very much wanted to know when that work was done. And then he fell in with you. It was a long shot, of course, but long shots sometimes come off.”

  Diana’s eyes were burning.

  “You mean to say he’s used me.”

  “That was the general idea, but if you hold up that wire, it won’t come off. He is a crook, you know. And he’d very much like to have done what we have done tonight; but without John Ferrers’ knowledge.”

  “My God,” said Diana, quietly. And then, again, “My God.”

  “Don’t take it to heart,” I said. “No harm has been done.”

  “And there you’re wrong,” snapped Diana. “A rotten blackguard has made a fool of me. Worse. I played into his hands, and but for you, he’d have won his beastly game.”

  I fingered my chin.

  “Would you like to get back?” I said.

  “Just you try me,” said Diana, speaking between her teeth.

  “Perhaps we will,” I said. “Meanwhile, if you’d hold up that wire—”

  “Are you being funny?” said Diana.

  “Not on your life,” said I. “I’d very much like him to have it. But not just yet.”

  Three hours and a half had gone by, and Mansel was up and dressed and was smoking a pipe in my bedroom, while I was brushing my hair.

  We had had two hours’ sleep and could have done with eight, but appearances had to be saved.

  “I think you’re right,” said Mansel, “they’ll have to go into the car. That secret trunk has never yet been found. We can’t take them out that way, for the risk is too great. But until we take them out, I think they must lie in the Rolls.”

  “Can we get them all in?” I said.

  “Oh, yes. They don’t take up much room. But you must see them, William, for they are beyond all price. The size and glory of the stones, and the fabulous workmanship . . . Each one is worth a fortune—intrinsically. When you add to them their history, imagination boggles at what the world will say.”

  I laughed, and picked up a tie.

  “I’ll see them in England,” I said. “I assume we transfer them tonight.”

  “This morning,” said Mansel. “A suitcase goes into the car, and we go for a run. About eleven, I think. We lunch abroad and get back in time for tea.”

  “You know best,” said I, “but why not in time for lunch?”

  “Suggestio falsi, William. The transfer will take half an hour, but where we lay up our treasure is going to be our affair. Not even the Ferrers will know. John is content, and Olivia is greatly relieved. As nobody knows of the trunk, Palin and they will assume that we’ve either buried the gems or shoved them into some bank.”

  “Very good,” said I. “And what about the suitcase? Supposing a servant sees it go into the car . . .”

  “It’s Palin’s suitcase, and Carson will put it in. Palin has need of some clothes which he left at the inn. And as we shall go by that way, we have offered to bring them along. And now about Diana Revoke.”

  “I think,” I said, “I think she’s told me the truth. If she hasn’t, she’s a beautiful liar. But I’m not entirely sure of that baby stare.”

  “If she is honest,” said Mansel, “provided she’s willing to play, I think we may very well use her to string Friar along.”

  “I hinted at that, and she seemed to jump at the chance.” I picked up a coat. “But she mustn’t go too far—I mean double-crossing Friar is not a game for a girl.”

  “She mustn’t do it in person. I had a letter in mind. And now let’s go down to breakfast—and hope that the Boche doesn’t come till we’re out of the way.”

  Though I think our night’s work must have been in everyone’s mind, it was not referred to at table by look or word. For all that, Diana was thoughtful; and when Mansel announced that, if we might be excused, he and I would drive over to Villach, I saw a look of relief come into Olivia’s face.

  This was natural enough. So long as no man suspected that treasure was lying within her husband’s gates, its existence could be ignored; but once the secret was out, she could not put out of her mind the shocking scene she had witnessed five years before. All for the sake of those gems, she and John and Palin had been condemned to death—and had seen the sentence fulfilled on those that issued it. And now other rogues had arisen, determined to have their way. One man was dead already, and the Boche was waiting to pounce.

  “Villach,” said Palin. “That means that you’ll pass my abode. If I were to give you a suitcase, would you be so very good as to get me some clothes? I’ve a very elegant suit in gorilla gray, with a flame-colored overcheck. . . Then I’m running short of shirts and other accessories. If I had a word with Carson, I think he could make his selection, before you had finished your beer.”

  “With pleasure,” said Mansel, “but give us a note to your landlord, to warrant the rape.”

  “It shall be done,” said Palin. “What time shall you start?”

  ‘We thought about eleven,” said Mansel. He returned to Olivia. “May we take some sandwiches with us? I think we’ll be back for tea.”

  “Of course,” said Olivia, smiling. “Luncheon for four?”

  “If you please, my dear.”

  So everything was arranged.

  Sharp at eleven o’clock, the Rolls stole out of the coach house and up to the castle’s door, and two minutes later we glided over the drawbridge and onto the road of approach. This was, as I have said, some two miles long, and so we had four or five minutes in which to run into the Boche; but that ill luck we were spared, and, in fact, we turned into the highway without having seen a soul.

  Mansel put down his foot.

&nb
sp; Two hours later, perhaps, some thirty miles from Villach, we left the road for a track which ran into a wood.

  We did not know the place, but it seemed retired, and we had chosen a time when husbandmen would be eating their midday meal. Still, precautions had to be taken, and Carson and Bell played sentry, while Mansel and I bestowed the precious stones.

  Where the trunk was, I shall not reveal, but it was well contrived and cleverly hidden away. Had the coachwork of the car been measured, it would, no doubt, have been found; but even the eyes of those who are trained to observe had never suspected its being for several years.

  Each of the jewels was wrapped in a fragment of cotton wool. (As I have said, when I had handled them last, each had lain in its jewel case—a little, old, padded bag; but these had been discarded, for fear of the virulent poison with which they had been in touch.) There was, therefore, no packing to be done, for the wool was padding enough against any vibration or shock. For all that, we lined the trunk with layers of more cotton wool, for its burden had to lie snug and must on no account shift, whatever movement the car might happen to make.

  I handed the gems to Mansel, who laid them up, and I told them as I did so and found the tale correct.

  One hundred and twenty-seven sculptured jewels . . .

  When Mansel received the last one, he loosed its elastic band and, carefully parting the wool, picked out the precious stone and set it in the palm of my hand.

  “Look at that, William,” he said.

  The jewel was a monstrous ruby.

  I never knew that rubies could be carved; but there, before my eyes, was the head of a laughing Bacchante, all done in pigeon’s blood. Had it been wrought in marble, it would have filled the eye, so exquisite was the detail, so vivid the air of abandon, so rare were the parted lips and the tilt of the chin; but this was made of a ruby, fit for an emperor’s crown.

  I gazed upon it in silence.

  “There’s no deception,” said Mansel. “That is a Burmese ruby—the finest I ever saw.”

  “My God,” I said, weakly. And then, “Are they all like that?”

  “All,” said Mansel. “The Pope was a connoisseur.”

  We put in still more padding—wool and scarves and stockings, until the trunk was tight; then Mansel replaced the partition and screwed it home. The screw heads were countersunk, and when they had been re-covered, I do not think that a coach builder would have looked twice at the panel which hid the recess. This being so, we were, perhaps, foolish not to have driven for the Channel as fast as we could—indeed, the idea was tempting beyond belief. But it must be remembered that, if the risk was slight, the stake was beyond calculation, it was so high. And if the car had been held and the gems had been found, neither Mansel nor I would have been the same men again.

  Then we called our sentinels in, and we all of us ate our lunch, after which we drove to Villach and had a word with an innkeeper whom we knew. Then we made for Palin’s inn, to pick up his clothes, and just before five o’clock, we were back at Hohenems.

  “End of Act One,” said Mansel as we slid into the courtyard. “I wonder how many there’ll be.”

  Here, perhaps, I should say that Carson always slept in the harness room. This opened into the coach house in which the Rolls was lodged. Such procedure was normal, when Mansel was “on the job.” For the Rolls was our magic carpet. More often than I can remember, if Carson or Bell was absent, Mansel or I have slept in the car ourselves.

  The Ferrers’ had nothing to report, and, taking tea on the terrace, surveying as gentle a prospect as ever I saw, I found it hard to believe that Violence, Battle, and Murder were, so to speak, in the wings. The valley was floored with meadows, through which a lively stream was making its wanton way; its sides were all of woodland, close and deep and reflecting each whim of the foothills on which it grew. Cows and sheep were making the most of this pleasance, and a colt, shut into a paddock, was standing beside its dam. And the lazy afternoon sunshine was arraying the scene with splendor, gilding the green of the foliage, printing the shadow of substance upon the sward, and turning the water into a ribbon of silver, so that its flash betrayed the course of the torrent after the law of distance had ruled it out of our sight.

  Then the butler appeared upon the terrace, to say that the German had come.

  “See him with Palin,” said Mansel, “William and I are not coming on in this scene.”

  But, while Ferrers and Palin made for the gallery, Mansel and I passed upstairs and so to the head of the steps down which Diana had come some thirteen hours before.

  As we descended quietly, footfalls rang in the passage, and then came Ferrers’ voice.

  “This is the place, I am told, at which the carpet was found.”

  No answer was made, and presently Ferrers went on.

  “You asked to see this spot, which Mr. Palin tells me you’ve seen before. Now that you’ve seen it again, is there anything else you want?”

  “I am investigating. I desire to be left alone.”

  “In a house such as this, no stranger is left alone.”

  “I am of the police.”

  “That is why you were admitted. What else do you wish to see?”

  “You would be obstructive!” spat the Boche.

  There was a little silence.

  Then—

  “I asked you,” said Ferrers, coldly, “what else you wished to see.”

  That he should ignore the German’s offensive charge was more than the latter could bear. At least, so it seemed to me, for the fellow burst out in a voice which was shaken with rage.

  “Show me the hidden treasure for which these bandits came. They left alone your silver. They never entered a bedroom, in search of jewels. Your private safe was untouched. Why was that, Englishman? Because you know, as I do, they came for none of those things. They came for something greater—something which lies down here. Why did they want that carpet?”

  “If that is your theory,” said Ferrers, “you’d better ask them. I never heard of a treasure lying within these walls—and I don’t believe there is one. I can explain the carpet no more than anyone else. I’ve no idea why they moved it.”

  “Because they required a carpet, to bring them to what they sought.”

  “So you say,” said Ferrers. “You may be right. The position is simply this—that so far as I am concerned, there is nothing gone. The police were summoned, because a man was found dead—not because the house had been entered, for there had been no theft.”

  “Why are you so sure there was no theft? Is your treasure still safe?”

  I heard Ferrers expire.

  “I have told you,” he said, “that there is no treasure here. If the thieves believed that there was, they made a mistake.”

  “And I tell you that thieves make no such mistakes.”

  This was, of course, perfectly true; and I could not help feeling that the German had scored a point.

  “As you please,” said Ferrers. “Perhaps they found the treasure and took it away.”

  “Of that there was no indication.”

  “So far as I understand, what indications there were are so many signposts pointing to nowhere at all.”

  “That is because you are obstructive.”

  For the second time Ferrers expired.

  “You have,” he said, “been admitted—more than once. You have been allowed—”

  “Allowed?”

  “—allowed to visit the place you desired to see. I don’t call that obstruction.”

  “Yet you refuse to disclose what it was the thieves sought.”

  “I have told you,” said Ferrers, “I don’t know what they sought. I don’t know why they came, and I don’t know why they went. I don’t know why one was murdered. I don’t know anything.”

  “Yet you withstand assistance. I find that strange.”

  “You have offered me no assistance. All you can do is to say that there’s treasure here.”

  “Which happen
s to be the answer to all that you are pretending you do not know.” I heard the man suck in his breath. “The day will come, Englishman, when—”

  “I think,” said Ferrers, “that you had better withdraw. This is a private house in Austria—not a prison cell in Germany.”

  “You would insult an officer of the Reich!”

  “Not at all. I prefer your absence to your presence. I don’t put it higher than that.”

  There was another silence.

  Then—

  “I go,” said the German, “I go, but I do not forget. One day I shall come back—and you will show me the place where the treasure lies.”

  “You must give Friar best,” said Mansel as the footfalls receded. “We may have bruised his head, but, by God, he’s bruised our heel.”

  That night, after dinner, we told Diana the truth. This seemed the best thing to do; for, if she were honest, such trust in her would grapple her to our cause; but, if she were running with Friar—well, we had told her nothing she did not know. Indeed, by my advice, we used her exactly as though she were one of us, concealing nothing at all, except, of course, how we had disposed of the gems.

  “So there we are,” said Mansel. “The stable is empty; the stable door is shut. Of its having been opened, there is, I think, no sign; all we have to do now is to get the horse out of the country.”

  “All,” said Ferrers, and laughed.

  “It mayn’t be so bad,” said Mansel. “But I think we should leave the castle on Thursday next.”

  “The day after tomorrow?” said Olivia.

  “I think so, my lady. Not that we want to go, but time is not in our favor—he never seems to be. In spite of all the checks upon passports, the Boche may not know that we’re here. You see, at the moment, this isn’t Germany; and Austrian police staff work is not too good. I’m afraid he’s bound to find out that we have visited you; but I’d very much sooner he watched an empty stable than that he shadowed us wherever we go. So if we could get a short start. . . Yes, I think we should go on Thursday. Our rooms will be waiting at Villach on Thursday night.”

  “And Friar?” said Olivia.