Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  “My efforts, however, attracted attention to me; and the customs were up on their toes when I came to the German border, en route for France. That was last Thursday week, as we had arranged. On one excuse or another they held me for forty-eight hours. The Rolls was pushed into a shed, coach builders were summoned, and there, before my eyes, her body was stripped. Upholstery and trimming—off they came, to Carson’s distraction, as you may well believe. And then the rules came out. Amid intense excitement, the secret trunk was found, but when they opened this, it was full of spares. That was a nasty knock, but they wouldn’t let go. They took the tires off the wheels, and when they drew blank there, they took off the gasoline tank and opened that. They then declared their intention of taking the gear box down, but I suggested they drain it and look inside.

  “Sir,’ said the wallah-in-chief, ‘will you swear that that box is empty?’

  “ ‘Certainly not,’ said I. ‘It’s full of gears and oil.’

  “ ‘But nothing else?’

  “ ‘You’d much better look,’ said I. ‘You don’t seem to like my word.’

  “At that, they threw in their hand. And gave the coach builders orders to put things back. All things considered, I think they did very well, but I never got off until Saturday afternoon.

  “I wasn’t troubled again. Probably word had gone through that I wasn’t worth powder and shot. So I came to Strasburg on Sunday.

  “It was a nasty jar to find no cable from you, and I don’t mind admitting I passed a sleepless night. I decided to wait until midday on Monday. If your wire hadn’t come by then, I should have to go back. And then, on Monday morning, your wire arrived.

  “I left Carson to bring the Rolls and took to the air.

  “The first thing I did was to get hold of George St. Olave. He is one of the standing committee, controlling all museums and things like that. And George is a very live wire. When he’d heard what I had to say, he sent for some keeper or other who knows about precious stones. And there our luck came in, for by the grace of God, the keeper had been overseas and had seen the breviary of Pope Alexander the Sixth. And in that is the Pope’s own list of these fabulous gems. When I told him the collection was intact and was waiting to come to England, he damned near died. And when I said that I’d seen them and helped to put them up, he kept on walking round me, as if I wasn’t real.

  “ ‘But,’ he kept saying, ‘the thing’s incredible.’

  “ ‘I know it is,’ said I. ‘The brutal fact remains that I have driven hundreds of miles with those gems in the trunk of my car. And now please tell me this—does England want them or not? If she wants them, she has them for nothing. If she doesn’t want them, they go to the U.S.A.—where they will be sold.’

  He looked at George.

  “ ‘We’ve got to have them,’ he said.

  “ ‘Then no funny business,’ said I. ‘We’ve got them as far as Trieste. But Austria’s after them, and so is Germany. Any moment now Italy may sit up, and they’re on her soil. To be frank, we’ve got a long way; but this is where you come in, and unless you come in damned quick, you’ll lose the lot.’

  “ ‘What d’you suggest?’ they said.

  “ ‘A private yacht,’ said I. ‘Gammon’s is in commission, I happen to know. If you tell him the truth, I’m sure that he will lend her. She’s got to be at Trieste as soon as ever she can. And when she’s there, the Captain must take my orders, because it is up to me to get the gems on board. And when we get to England, the customs must let us alone. If you can’t arrange that, I won’t play.’

  “ ‘I’ll see to that,’ says George.

  “ ‘Two things more.’ I laid your two passports down. ‘Those men have risked their lives to get the gems over the border and into Italy. I want diplomatic visas for both—and I want them in twenty-four hours. Unless and until I get them, I will not leave for Trieste.’

  “ ‘I’ll do it somehow,’ says George. ‘To Cleveland Row?’

  “ ‘Yes, please. And the other thing is this. The yacht must carry a passenger out to Trieste. It will bring back four or more, but it must take one out.’

  “ ‘That’s easy,’ said George. ‘I take it you don’t want Gammon.’

  “ ‘Not on your life,’ said I. ‘Nor any of Gammon’s friends. This is a hush-hush job, for which perhaps Gammon might get a C.M.G.’

  “George smothered a grin.

  “ ‘And what about you?’ he said.

  “ ‘We don’t want anything. Our names must not appear. But Ferrers should have a peerage. It isn’t every day that a fellow forgoes twenty million, for England’s sake.’

  “ ‘He can have what he likes,’ said George. ‘I’ll guarantee that.’

  “Well, it wasn’t all so easy—I mean, it took time. But the passports reached me on Thursday—here they are—and the yacht weighed anchor on Friday, complete with passenger.”

  “And who is that?” said I.

  “Not even to you,” said Mansel, by which I knew it was someone from Scotland Yard. “The yacht should be at Trieste tomorrow week. Till then, we must watch and pray—and take what precautions we can, in case of accidents.”

  On Monday the tents were struck and we moved to the skirts of Trieste.

  This was not what Jasper had meant to do, for he had proposed to move south, till he came to Padua. But the troupe had no engagements, and Palin was very much better than any strong man. Since the weights were gone, Jasper was only too thankful to have his help, and had he said that he wished to make for Milan, en route for the South of France, I am sure that Jasper would have at once agreed. For Palin had made up his mind to stay with the troupe. The life was to his liking, to play and sing to an audience afforded him great delight, and he had already produced a very much better masque—a very charming trifle, which would have been well received on the London stage. The music was all his own, as, indeed, was the whole production, and Jasper, an artist himself, was quite overcome by its manifest excellence. Finally, Palin had fallen flat for Colette.

  Still his duty to the Ferrers’ came first. Neither Mansel nor I could return to Austria, but Palin could return—and the Ferrers’ were anxiously waiting for news that we dared not write. So Mansel and I arranged that the troupe should be our guests for the next ten days. Colette and Jasper would stay at The Heart of Gold, and the others would rest at an inn which Jasper knew. By that time, all being well, the yacht would be ready to sail again for England, and Palin should have returned from his visit to Hohenems. We had a battle with Jasper, before we could gain his consent to do as we wished; but we had our way in the end, and on the Tuesday evening the four of us were installed at The Heart of Gold and Palin was on his way back, through France, to Austria.

  On Wednesday morning I took Colette to the shops and made her choose silk and satin and frocks to wear, and while we were so engaged, Mansel was procuring a car. And so, for the next few days, we spent a riotous time, seeing the sights and driving about the country and dining out and dancing until the sky was pale—for Mansel had brought my luggage as far as Trieste. These ways were such as Colette had never known, and it gave me infinite pleasure to introduce them to her. She was so radiantly happy for all to see, for each experience was new—and yet she met it as though born to the manner. Anyone must have been proud to be her squire, for while she was lovely to look at, her eager and artless manner seemed to inspire affection wherever she went. To see his darling so happy lifted up Jasper’s heart, and though, except by day, he would not go out, he had to hear in the morning all she had seen and done the night before. And then he would come and thank me, with tears in his eyes.

  And all this time the gems lay under our hand, yet out of sight. Our rooms at The Heart of Gold stood about a little courtyard. This, we four and the servants had to ourselves. In its midst was an ancient well, no longer used. It was a pretty relic of other days; and since there was water there, but ten feet down, the ferns about it prospered, because, I suppose, of the moisture that r
ose from below. Examining this by night, we saw that a line of dogs was running down the wall of the well; this made, of course, a primitive ladder, by which a man could easily go up and down. Indeed, I have seen many safes which were less covenient; for though it was not barred, very few men, I think, would have suspected the duty we made it do.

  Though I think it was heavy enough, we weighted the kit bag further and lowered it into the well; then I went down, while Mansel lighted my steps, and fastened the cord to a dog which was under water and so out of sight. We did not leave matters there, and someone was always on duty, by day and night, but since we were six in number, this was easy enough.

  And then, on Monday morning, a wireless message arrived, to say that the yacht would arrive on the following day.

  The telegram was delivered, as we were about to set out.

  “Today?” said Colette quickly.

  “No,” said Mansel, “tomorrow. During the afternoon. I hope very much that you’ll sleep aboard that night.”

  “Me sleep aboard?”

  “I hope so. You see, we shan’t sail for more than twenty-four hours. And Bell will go aboard with you and stay till we come.”

  “You want me out of the way.”

  “No, we don’t, sweetheart. It’s just that I think you’ll enjoy it. She’s one of the finest yachts that’s ever been built.”

  “I’d rather stay here with you.”

  “On Wednesday morning, we shall be with you again. And then I’ll lay you tell me that I was right.”

  “Very well,” sighed Colette.

  What was in Mansel’s mind, I had no idea, but he had said nothing so far of getting the gems to the yacht, and I supposed it had something to do with that. For myself, I could not think how we were to climb this fence, for the quays were alive with customs officials and police. My passport and that of Bell bore diplomatic visas; but that was to quash an objection, if it were made, that they were out of order—for, of course, they should have been stamped at some frontier post. Though such visas allowed us to take our baggage unopened out of Italy, to count upon such a privilege would have been most unwise; for if Italy had but an inkling of what was afoot, she would not stand upon convention or hesitate to ignore international courtesy.

  But Mansel kept his counsel. All he asked me to do was to bear a note to the Captain as soon as the yacht had berthed, to stay aboard until Bell arrived with Colette, and then to return at once to The Heart of Gold.

  But all of this was for Tuesday. So far as we were concerned, the morrow could care for itself.

  The dance music faded and died, and Colette led the way to our table, close to the edge of the terrace commanding the open sea.

  Instead of sitting down, she passed to the parapet, laying her palms upon the stone and looking down on the garden which sloped to the water’s edge.

  The night was flawless, and our surroundings superb. A monstrous moon was making her ancient magic by land and sea; there ran the traditional path across the waters, a quivering sash of silver, old as the hills themselves, and yet, as ever, beyond the reach of art. The terraced garden was a mystery of spires and bastions of shadow, of shafts and badges of light, of the fretful lace of branches, printed upon the flags, of the plume of a playing fountain, seemingly hung upon the air—for the basin was out of sight, and all that the eye could see was the head of the gallant flourish, rising and falling and dancing, to round the miracle. Except for a wandering zephyr, all the winds were still, and the regular breathing of the ocean was all the sound there was—stertorous breathing, perhaps, but even enough, the gentle crush of the breakers . . . and then the snore of the drawback before she expired again.

  “Must we go yet, Adam?”

  “No, my sweet. We can stay for as long as you please.”

  “Then let us go down to the garden. . . .”

  Together we passed down the steps and into the shadowy acre of make-believe, and there Colette took my arm, “because,” she said, “there is no one to see us now.”

  For a little we strolled in silence. Then we came to the court of the fountain, and there we sat down.

  “Adam, dear, I have had a letter from Andrew. He will be back on Wednesday. And he has asked me, Adam, to be his wife.”

  “I am very glad, my beauty. I thought he would. He is the best of good fellows, and as his wife, you will take your rightful place.”

  “But I am not in love with him, Adam. I am in love with you.”

  I put my arm about her and held her close.

  “You are not in love with me, sweetheart; you are in love with an image which you have set up. You found a strong man in the greenwood, and because he was not of your world you rated him high. Then he came to live with the troupe, and you liked his ways. Then he pulled you out of a jam—at The Vat of Melody. And then you and he together looked death in the eyes. And, because your heart is generous, you love such a stable companion—as he loves you. In my sight, Colette, the hairs of your head are numbered. But, though we love one another, we are not in love. And you will come to love Andrew as you would never love me. You two have so much in common, and though, perhaps, I am stronger, he is the better man.”

  “Have you done?” said Colette.

  “Oh, hell,” said I, and put a hand to my head.

  Colette looked up at me, smiling.

  “You see,” she said, “how very simple you are. You do not know yourself. But I do know you, my darling. You have the heart of a lion and the way of a little child. Perhaps I have a weakness for lions, but I can tell you this—that I would give dinner and dance, this lovely dress and the pride of being with you, this pretty garden which seems like Paradise. . . . I say I would give it all to be moving once more with you on the smuggler’s way. Never mind. Shall I marry him, Adam?”

  “If you do, my sweet, I’m sure that you’ll get full measure, and no man on earth can offer you more than that.”

  “I wish Eve was here,” said Colette.

  “Why d’you say that?” I said.

  “Because I should like to ask her. I think she’d know. You see, we’ve something in common—we both like lions.”

  I felt I had shot my bolt.

  “As soon as the gems are in England, I’ll bring her out.” Colette shook her head.

  “I cannot keep him waiting like that. And if I marry him, then he will have all my heart. But a little bit of my heart will not be there. Eve will have that in her keeping, to add to hers. Just a very little bit, Adam . . . about the size of . . . a keepsake . . .”

  “Colette, Colette, I have nothing to give you back.” Colette looked up at me, and I saw the tears on her cheeks. Then she put up her arms and took my face in her hands. “Nothing to give me back.” She sighed. “My lion is very simple and cannot see the nose in front of his face.”

  “Indeed, he can,” said I. “It’s a very beautiful nose. But I think I like the mouth best.”

  Colette gave a sob of delight and threw her arms round my neck.

  It was nearly three when we came to The Heart of Gold. “Qui va là?” said a voice as I kissed her finger tips.

  We stared at each other in silence.

  Then came a chuckle of laughter—a gross, Rabelaisian chuckle that made my hackles rise.

  “Bon appétit” said the voice, and laughed again.

  “By God, it’s a parrot,” I said, and then I heard Mansel laughing . . .

  As we came to his door, his light went on.

  “Yes,” he said, “it’s a parrot. There he is. He has very strong views about ladies who dance their stockings down.”

  “Please observe,” said Colette, “that mine are in place.”

  “You must show them to the parrot,” said Mansel. “He is the censor, not I.”

  Colette dropped the bird a curtsey.

  “Regardez, monsieur ” she said.

  The parrot’s reply was quite unprintable.

  I was still laughing, when Mansel covered its cage.

  “This is
too much,” said Colette. “I shall go to bed. But why a parrot that does not know how to behave?”

  “I’ll tell you on Wednesday, sweetheart.”

  Colette blew us each a kiss and danced out of the room.

  The yacht, a most beautiful ship, anchored at half past one on the following afternoon, and about a quarter past two, her pinnace left for the quay. For that I can vouch, for I was awaiting the pinnace, to go aboard. And very self-conscious I felt, for I had the parrot with me, and the shocking things it was saying were making the customs officers hold their sides. When I tried to quiet it, it bit me—an ugly gash, at which everyone laughed the louder, and I had to laugh myself. But I was cursing Mansel under my breath.

  Never could I remember when he had been so cryptic, yet so precise.

  I was to take the parrot and go aboard, bearing a note addressed to “The Passenger.” When I asked the latter’s name, “I can’t tell you that,” he said, “but I’m sure you’ll get on all right.” “Can I talk to him?” I said. “You can say what you like,” said Mansel, “but only behind closed doors. The Captain’s not in on this, but the passenger is.” “Am I under his orders,” I said. “I wouldn’t say that,” said Mansel: “but you must be very civil. These V.I.P.s expect a certain deference.”

  At half past four the pinnace would return to the quay, to bring aboard Colette, escorted by Bell. (“You’ll introduce Colette to the V.I.P. The latter will wish to thank her for all she has done.”)

  And at five o’clock I was to leave the yacht and return to The Heart of Gold.