“I knew when I saw him. You cannot mistake the breed.”
“Did he ask any questions?”
“No, but he watched us, Adam. We had not long finished breakfast and Odin was washing up. And then he walked back to Godel.”
“What could be better?” I said. “The inspection has taken place; but, happily, Bell and I were not on parade.”
“For me,” said Colette, gravely, “it was the finger of God.”
“I think so, too. Be sure, I am very grateful.”
“But what have you done, Adam?”
“I told you—I have given offense.”
She looked at me very hard.
“Very well. I will ask no more. If I see his like again, I will tell you at once.”
“If you please, Colette. I must not be taken now. Once I am clear of the inn—”
“My God, this accursed performance! No finger of God is there. And you are the very one that has brought it about. It is the masque, Adam dear, that has won us the invitation to play at the inn.”
I smiled.
“To which you subscribe, Colette. I am not wholly to blame.”
“Yes, yes. Of course I subscribe. But never before have I played as I play with you. If I am good, it is you that have made me so.”
“Don’t be absurd, Colette. I cannot act, and you know it. I am not drunk, like Ulysses—that I confess. But I can only smile and hold up my weights.”
“I know. That is all you do. But you have a way no actor could ever capture. You are the real thing, Adam. And that is why you have gone to the hearts of these clowns, and why I have risen to heights I never knew I could reach.” I began to laugh. “And what are you laughing for?”
“I wonder what you would say—to a friend of mine. He is a king among men. And if he were to play my part—well, the world would come running to see him for twenty miles round.”
“Is it he who is coming to meet you?”
“In Italy? No. At least, I don’t think he is. But I should like you to meet him, for he is the finest gentleman that I have ever known. As for him who will meet me in Italy, perhaps he will join the troupe for two or three nights. He can sing and play like an angel—and make you die of laughing. He and Jasper together will bring down the house.”
“And do we not bring down the house, when you lift me on high?”
“We do more than bring down the house. We bring unheard-of requests to perform at a house of call.”
Colette made a moue.
“We will talk again,” she announced, “when we are in Italy.”
The host of The Vat of Melody treated us well.
We were given an excellent lunch, and three changing rooms were provided close to the bar. These gave to a passage from which we could gain the terrace on which we were to perform.
For luncheon, the inn was full. Some were chance customers; most were the bourgeois of Godel, come to see from the stalls the troupe of which they had heard. Wise in his generation, the innkeeper did good business that Thursday afternoon.
Jasper and I shared one of the changing rooms, and there, by Bell’s direction, the weights were put. This was natural enough; but I must confess I was glad to have them under my eyes.
Now, no stage was ever used, but we had a three-sided frame in which curtains were hung. The center side faced the audience; the sides to the right and left were furnished with wings. The whole was extremely simple and weighed very light; but it was well contrived, for while we were thus enabled to move and have our being “behind the scenes,” entrances and exits could be theatrically made—and our audiences liked the effect, which was, of course, more important than that which is afforded by an alfresco performance with no apparatus at all. The terrace just permitted our frame to go up—to the great content of Jasper, and of myself, for if someone should appear in the audience whom I did not wish to see, the contrivance would give me a chance to make good my escape.
But no such unwelcome spectator put his spoon into the dish. Bell was outside the inn, ready to hasten to warn me of any untoward approach; but my scene with Colette was concluded, and he never came. Indeed, he was retrieving the weights and I was changing my clothes, before I heard the voice of Diana Revoke.
“Have you a bedroom here, where I can powder my nose?”
I sat very still.
This could mean only one thing—that Boler was here.
The thing that I had been dreading had come to pass.
And then Diana was gone—upstairs, no doubt, to some bedroom upon the first floor.
I slid into my trousers and coat.
Bell’s head appeared.
“May we come in, sir? I’ve got the stretcher outside.”
I beckoned him to come close, and he shut the door.
“Miss Revoke’s in the inn,” I said. “I’ve just heard her voice. And I think that where she is, the Boche will be. Get the weights into this room and then fade away. Go down in the cellars, or something. But I must get out. I shall go straight to the dell, but you must see the weights on the wagon, before you leave. If the Boche is still here, on no account help to load them, but see it done. Watch from a window, for instance. The moment you’ve seen them on, get out and follow me. And now bring the stretcher in.”
As Bell and a scullion set down the last two weights, I stepped out into the passage and hastened toward the terrace from which I had come. I was hoping to see Colette, to say that the Boche was here and that I must be gone. But I was just too late, for Jasper was supervising the taking down of the frame, and Colette was not to be seen. I supposed that she had finished her rounds, given her collection to Jasper, and gone to change. Lest Jasper should see me, I drew back into the passage and thought very hard.
I could hardly seek Colette, for she was sharing a room with the other girls; and so I must leave her to draw her own conclusions—which, should she set eyes upon Boler, were sure to be sound. All, therefore, I had to do was to leave the inn. All.
I knew the layout roughly. One of the doors in the passage gave to a private bar; a second door from the bar gave to the entrance hall. But I did not fancy the bar, still less the entrance hall.
I should make one thing clear. Diana, the Boche, and the police were the people I hoped to avoid: but, beside the host and his servants, anyone who had seen the performance would know me for the strong man. I should, therefore, attract attention; and attention always breeds talk. If this came to the ears of the Boche, the man might begin to ask questions; and if he did—well, before two minutes were out, the truth would be in his hands.
To reach the back door, I must either pass through the hall or travel the length of the terrace, for all to see. And the dining room gave to the terrace; the day being fine and hot, its two French windows were open as wide as could be. If Diana and Boler had decided to break their fast. . .
I decided to leave by the bar.
I could not see through the keyhole, for this was blocked, so after straining my ears, I ventured to open the door.
There were only two people there, and I knew them both. One of the two was Boler, and one was Colette.
Her back was flat against Boler, and both were facing my way. His right arm was round her neck and his right hand clapped over her mouth, the thumb pressed tight against her delicate nose. Her beautiful eyes were starting; she could, of course, make no sound, only her left nostril allowed her to breathe, and this his hand was obstructing. She was struggling violently, but the German’s left arm was about her, and so she was utterly powerless to deal with his brutal assault. On the floor was a broken plate, with notes and silver scattered about its remains.
Boler did not see me, because his face was deep in Colette’s soft curls. From the tone of his muffled voice, he seemed to be mouthing endearments. . .
And then I had the beast by the neck.
At my touch he let go Colette, and the girl fell down on her knees and set her hands on the floor. The whole of her body was heaving, for, now she could breath
e again, she was drawing deep breaths. It seemed that she had taken no hurt.
Boler’s hands were trying to tear away mine. He was short of breath now, and, of course, he could make no sound. I had taken him from behind, as he had taken Colette, so he could not know who it was that was holding him fast.
Had we been in the greenwood, I would have choked the man—and have hoped that he would not be found for forty-eight hours. But I could not afford to do such a thing in the inn. Loathed as he was, willful murder was something no police could ignore.
And then I saw the pier glass. This was a heavy sheet, applied to the stout, stone wall.
I forced the brute to the mirror, and let him gaze.
When he saw who it was that held him, the light of burning hatred flared in his starting eyes.
“Look on your own face,” I said, “for, by God, when you see it next, it won’t look the same.”
Then, as a man puts the weight, I put his face to the wall beside the pier glass—with all my might.
As he slumped to the ground and fell backward, I saw I had kept my word. His nose no longer projected, his teeth were gone, and where his face had been, a bloated mask of crimson was forming before my eyes. And a hole in this was screaming.
I picked up Colette and ran back out of the bar.
I shut the door behind us.
“That’s my gentleman friend,” I said. “At least, it was. And now I must go, Colette, as quick as I can.”
With the tears running down her face, she flung her arms round my neck.
“Adam, Adam.”
I set my cheek against hers.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Forget it. He’s out of the running now. Did anyone see you together?”
She shook her head.
“Then you know nothing about it. Oh damn—there’s your money there. You must say that he tried to kiss you, you dropped your money and ran. Stick to that, Colette. Go and tell Jasper so, by way of a start. Remember, that is all that happened and all you know.”
“I will, I will. You can trust me.”
“I know I can.” I loosed her hands and kissed them. “And now I must go. See you tomorrow, my beauty.”
Colette raised a tear-stained face.
“God keep you safe, dear Adam, and—and thank you so very much.”
I whipped back into the bar. This was natural enough, for the other door was open and people were pouring in. So I just made one of a crowd. About Boler was pandemonium. The German himself was still screaming, to beat the band. Some woman was in hysterics and was adding her yells to his. The host was demanding a doctor with all his might—I could not see him or Boler, because of the press.
I pretended to peer for a moment, just for the look of the thing. Then I went on and out of the other door.
As I entered the hall, I found myself face to face with Diana Revoke.
“Richard!”
“Thank God,” said I. “Where’s Mansel?”
Diana stared.
“How should I know? Oh, my God, that screaming. What ever’s the matter here?”
“A man in a fit, or something. I couldn’t see.” I drew her away from the door. “But this is vital, Diana. D’you mean you haven’t seen Mansel? Didn’t you get his letter, telling you where to go?” Wide-eyed, she shook her head. I smothered an oath. “And you were to have gone between us. I’ve haunted Doris and Godel for twenty-four hours.”
“Can’t I go between you now?”
“I think you must try,” I said. “But he may be gone.”
“Where should I have met him, Richard?”
“At cross roads two miles beyond Villach—the Salzburg road. But you were to have met him on Tuesday.”
“I’ll go there at once.”
“He won’t be there before dark. And you’d better be careful, Diana. If the Boche has stopped that letter, he may be there, instead.”
“I’ll be careful, Richard. What do I say?”
“Say I’m in touch with Friar and I’ve lost the Boche.”
“And you’ll wait here?”
“I must, until you get back.”
“Well, I shouldn’t wait in this inn. I’ll tell you why. You haven’t lost the Boche, Richard. His car’s outside.”
“Good God.”
“Get out and come back when it’s dark. I’ll be as quick as I can. I ought to be here by midnight.”
“Not here, if the Boche is here. There’s a bridge a mile toward Doris, with half its parapet gone. I’ll be there from ten o’clock on. By the way, what’s your car?”
“A—a Packard. My cousin’s down in the village, changing a wheel.”
(I thought that was very quick.)
“Is your cousin discreet, Diana?”
The lady smiled.
“Better than that. He’s a perfect bloody fool. And he wants to marry me.”
I took her hand in mine and looked into her eyes.
“In that case,” said I, “he can’t be a bloody fool.”
As I put her hand to my lips, her fingers closed upon mine. “Take care of yourself, Richard.”
I smiled.
“I’ll do my best.”
And then I was gone.
And as I went, I wondered whether so many falsehoods had ever been bandied in such a short space of time.
With the tail of my eye, I saw the German’s car. It would be some time, I reflected, before he drove her again.
I deliberately turned to the east, for I had no doubt that Diana was watching which way I took; but when I was out of sight, I took to the woods and turned back, and after a stroll of two hours, I came to the dell.
The hour was six o’clock, and Bell was sitting beside me, grimly reporting what he had seen and heard.
“Of course I heard the screams, sir. An’ I couldn’t think what they meant. But I was down in the cellars and too well placed to leave. There’s a hatch to put barrels through; this wasn’t properly shut, and I could see everything.
“I saw you leave the inn; and that surprised me a lot, for I quite thought you were gone. An’ then I knew that the screams were to do with you. An’ then, without any warning, the shrieks began. . . .An’ that was Miss Revoke; there’s no mistaking her voice. So then I did go back. . . .
“I suppose you’d call it hysterics. She didn’ see me, of course, for I took care to keep behind. But Boler was in her arms, and her hair was all over his face. So I didn’t see that till later. She was fairly howling German, and whenever she cried your name, she spat on the floor. An’ Boler was yelling blue murder, because, when she held him to her, she shook him up. An’ then he goes for her an’ catches her one in the face. An’, if you’ll believe me, sir, she strikes him back. An’, after all, he hadn’t a face to strike. It made me think of dogs that’ll go for a dog that’s hurt.”
Bell stopped, to draw in his breath.
“I’ll say you know how to hit, sir. There was his head, of course; but I give you my word, at first I thought it was the other way round. I thought it was the back of his head that you’d done in. An’ then I saw the end of his tie . . .
“Well, after she’s struck him, they actually has a scrap. It wasn’t human, sir. . . An’ people has to pull them apart.”
“Not human, but German,” I murmured. And then, “Go on.”
“An’ then she says, ‘Are you sure it was Chandos?’ she says. Well, he can’t speak his words, but when she says that, he very nearly goes mad. He sits up an’ beats the floor and keeps trying to shout your name. An’ then a doctor arrives. . . .
“I thought I’d better go then, so I slipped back to the cellar and watched from there. Almost as soon as I got there, Miss Revoke comes out an’ gets into Boler’s car. I suppose she was going for medicine—I never saw her again.
“Very soon after she’d gone, I saw the wagon loaded. Miss Colette was there, to see the weights go on. She looked very pale, and Mr. Jasper came out and put his arm round her shoulders, as though to comfort her. He looked ver
y grave and kept frowning, which isn’t like him. And then the wagon goes off and they followed behind.
“Well, I was ready to go, when I heard a car coming from Doris. Up it comes to the inn, and out gets Herr Kerrelin. The landlord comes out at a run—I think he thought it was Miss Revoke come back. When he sees it isn’t, he bows an’ makes to usher him in.
“Mr. Kerrelin’s no fool, sir. Quick as a flash, ‘Who were you expecting?’ he says. So the landlord says there’s a German lying half dead an’ somebody’s gone to the chemist’s to get what the doctor needs. ‘A German?’ says Kerrelin, frowning, an’ walks straight into the inn. After, perhaps, one minute, out he comes again, with the landlord behind. ‘This is not for me,’ he says. ‘Report to your constable. A German has been assaulted. Well, what of that? This is not Germany—yet.’ An’ the landlord begins to laugh. ‘If you ask me,’ he says, ‘he kissed the strong man’s girl.’ ‘No doubt,’ says Kerrelin. ‘An’ the strong man kissed him back.’ Laugh, sir? You should have seen them . . . I had to laugh myself. An’ then Kerrelin gets in his car and off he goes.
“Well, I saw no use in waiting—I’d seen enough. So I watches my chance and then slips out of the house.”
“Good for you, Bell,” I said. “Our luck’s still holding—I never saw such a thing. First Friar, and then Boler. And, by the grace of God, we’ve been able to fix them both.”
“By the grace of God, sir,” said Bell. “I’ve seen you take some risks, but I thought you were dead this morning, when you came down that road. For twenty-five paces Friar was covering you—and I was just going to kill him, when you turned off. I didn’t dare wait no longer, because of the look on his face.”
Half an hour before sunset, we ventured to leave the dell.
I would have left earlier, but for the awkward chance that our movements might be observed by some patrol. For frontiers are patroled in a casual way; and if a guard sees a man who is moving toward a frontier late in the afternoon, he will do his best to stop him or have him stopped. And I desired no brush with the frontier guards. But patrols come in at dusk.
Using the greatest caution, we crossed the road and made at once for the beechwood in which I had taken cover the week before; there I picked up my line, and after waiting until the sun was down, we set out to gain the water which we were to cross. The more the light failed, the faster we dared to go, for, were I to miss the place at which we could cross the water, we might well have to wait until dawn could put me right. But after an hour and three quarters—of very hard going and much anxiety—we were standing beside the torrent, by which I had stood before, and there was the beech beyond it, looming against the stars.
Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante Page 42