Cost Price

by Yates, Dornford

  “May I come in?” said Colette.

  “Come in and take charge,” said I. “I shall split this jacket to ribbons, doing my stuff.”

  Colette came into the tent and looked me up and down.

  “Is the jacket too tight at the waist?”

  “No. Except for the shoulders, it fits me well.”

  “Good. Split it now, if you please. It does not matter at all.”

  I stooped, to pick up a weight, and the seams gave way.

  “Are you easy now?”

  “Yes,” said I. “I have made the room I require.”

  “Then all I shall ask you to do is to wear a hood. That will cover your shoulders and hide the rents. We have one of scarlet face-cloth, and it has never been used.”

  With that, she left the tent, to reappear in two minutes with one of those excellent garments, worn, I believe, in the time of King Edward the Third. It was a hood and short cape, made all in one. You could cover your head with the hood, or throw it back on to your shoulders and let it lie. Why we do not wear them now, I cannot conceive, for they are most simple to make and offer a fine protection against the wind and the rain.

  I put the thing on and let the hood lie on my back.

  Colette clapped her hands.

  “But that is superb,” she cried. “It is an immense improvement. You see, out of evil comes good. Oh, sir, you will cause a sensation. Never before–”

  “Don’t call me ‘Sir’, Colette.”

  “I will not, then. But I do not know what to call you. You have no name.”

  “Call me ‘Feste’,” I said. “He was a famous clown.”

  To my great dismay, Colette burst into tears.

  “A clown!” she sobbed. “Because I dress you up, you think that you are a clown. I knew that you would resent it, but what could I do? But a clown – no. Though you were to daub your face and–”

  I took her hands in mine and put them up to my lips.

  “Colette, Colette, you must let me laugh at myself. As a matter of fact, I think that I look very well, and I wish that Jenny could see me – that is the name of my wife. And now you shall give me a name – and I will answer to it so long as I am with you.”

  Colette looked up.

  “Your wife? I had not thought of you married. What is she like?”

  “I think she is rather like Eve was, before she slipped up. When I get back, I know she will write to you; for she must always thank whoever has been kind to me.”

  Thoughtfully, Colette wiped her eyes.

  “I will call you Adam,” she said.

  The performance went very well. Jasper was really immense – and far too finished an artiste to be ‘on the road’. In London he and Colette would have had a succès fou. And the very lenient audience seemed pleased enough with my mediocre display. When I lifted Colette on high, there were roars of applause, but I think that this was because she had won their hearts and so they were glad to see her presented so well. When she caught my fingers and hailed me before the curtain, to be perfectly honest, I did not know where to look; so I kissed her hand and then put her up on my shoulder and bowed our way off.

  Behind the scenes, Jasper was radiant.

  “Sir, you have given full measure. Tomorrow night the whole of the place will be here, for those that have come this evening will come again. Shall I tell you your secret? It lies in your quiet smile. Ulysses was always grim. But what you did seemed to please you, and so it pleased everyone else.”

  “I’m afraid I’m no actor,” I said.

  “No, indeed,” said Jasper. “But you are yourself.”

  As soon as the show had begun, Bell had left to meet Carson, taking my note: and at half past ten he was back with Mansel’s reply.

  This was short as ever.

  Dear William,

  Very good. Let Bell come again tomorrow, to get you ‘some clothes’. These will be ready for him at half past eight. On his return you can unpack and bestow them, as you suggest.

  And then you must wash me out, until you come to Trieste. Palin is under your orders. You know where he is or will be. I think I should get him to meet you as soon as you can.

  As soon as you are over the border, cable as I have said.

  No sign of Boler so far; but then I am lying low.

  Yours ever,

  JM

  I read the note twice. Then I burned it to ashes, and Bell and I went to our beds.

  The next evening, as Jasper had predicted, we had a full house. My friends were jubilant, and supper, ‘after the show’, was a festive meal: but, while I was very glad, I was, I fear, something distrait, because I was soon to bear a burden which no one could share.

  Look at it how you will, my charge was fearful indeed. The gems were not mine, yet they were beyond all price. Were they to be moved in London, they would, no doubt, be accorded an armed guard: but Bell and I were to pack them, as though they were so many buttons, behind a sheet of sailcloth in a strolling players’ camp. Tomorrow a thousand fortunes would lie in those polished weights. The sale of one single jewel would make Jasper, Colette and their company rich for life. And I was to care for this nonsuch. On Thursday I must, so to speak, allow it ‘to go in the van’ and hope very hard to claim it upon the following day. While it was passing the Customs – warned, of course, to be on the tips of their toes – I must defy the law by taking the smuggler’s way. To cover this curious whim, I must tell Jasper some story which he would accept. And I must arouse no suspicion – I could not afford suspicion, in case an errant breath of it happened to fall upon the weights… Little wonder, I think, that my smiles were something forced.

  As I left the board, Colette’s arm slid into mine.

  “What is the matter, Adam? You are not yourself.”

  “I have worries,” I said. “You can allow me to share the excellent life you lead: but I cannot leave behind the cares of the life I led.”

  “Then I will share them with you. If I am troubled, it always helps me to talk.”

  I shook my head.

  “You are very sympathetic, Colette. But I cannot do that. Perhaps in a day or two my worries will disappear.”

  “You share them, I think, with your servant.”

  “That is what Bell is for. He is my man, and the fortune I meet with is his.”

  “This morning I showed him how he should wash your shirts, and in return he told me about your home.”

  “It’s his home, too,” I said. “He is as happy there as I am myself.”

  “Yet you leave it – and your wife, to wander abroad.”

  “Sometimes, Colette.”

  “If I were your wife, I would not let you go.”

  “I know. She’s terribly good. I think I must not do it again.”

  “Had you not done it this time, you would not have met us. What will she say, when you tell her what you have done?”

  “She will wish she had been here, too.”

  “If she were here, you would share your worries with her.”

  “I might or might not. I do not like laying my burden on somebody else’s back.”

  Colette set her head in the air.

  Then—

  “Why did you join us?” she said. “Jasper maintains that the English are whimsical. But I am a woman – and it was more than a whim.”

  “So it was,” said I. “I liked you both, and it happened to suit my book.”

  “To masquerade?”

  “To lie low, Colette, and pass into Italy.”

  The fingers closed on my arm.

  “The police?”

  “The Boche,” said I. “I have offended a Boche. And he is powerful here and is seeking to bring me down. So I must get out of the country.”

  “But if he is truly powerful, the posts will be watched.”

  “I shall not go by a post. I shall leave you on Thursday evening and you will see me again the following day.”

  Colette stopped dead and clapped her hands to her face.

>   “But you can never–”

  “Oh, yes, I can, Colette. I know my way and I shall be there before you. And now you must please forget this. You may tell Jasper, of course. But the others must never dream that I did not come out by the post in the ordinary way.”

  With her eyes on my face—

  “Yes, you will do it,” she said, “because you mean to do it and know no fear. And because you know no fear, you are not afraid of the Boche. It is not that, then, that concerns you, but something else.”

  I put out my hands for hers.

  “It is not my secret,” I said. “I have not the right, my dear, to share it with you.”

  Colette nodded.

  “You shut my mouth,” she said. “But I would have liked to share it, because I have a feeling that I could help.”

  “You’ve helped already,” I said. “You’ve done me a world of good.”

  “That is what I am for, Adam. Bell is to share your fortune: but I am to distract you, when you are dull.”

  “But–”

  “May I not do it, please? Look at what you are doing for us. And the money we took this evening and shall take tomorrow night. May we make no return? You are doing this thing because – it suits your book. That does not diminish our debt. And it is my pleasure to pay that, as best I can. Besides, I have a book, too.” Before I could stop her, she whipped my hand to her lips. “And I do that, because it suits it. Sleep well, my dear.”

  With that, she was gone.

  Two hours later, I packed the last of the gems.

  Whilst I was at work, Bell moved without the tent, ready to give me warning of anybody’s approach. But, mercifully, nobody came. I managed to pack the gems into five of the weights: in this way, one could be opened without any harm: this one I proposed to leave on the top of the rest, so that, if, by some dreadful chance, it should occur to the Customs to take out a plate, they would perhaps choose the first weight that came to hand. When I had packed the rest, I restored as much of the sand as I could get in, for I could not see that it could damage the gems and I wished the weights to weigh as much as they could. Besides, with a layer of sand directly above the plate, a careless examination might bear no fruit. Then I screwed the five plates home with all my might; and since I had made up my mind to take with me the opening tool, I felt that whoever desired to take them out might well be discouraged before he had his way. Then I carefully garnered the sand which I had displaced and, tying it up in a towel, gave it to Bell to get rid of, by dropping it little by little about the fields.

  More, I could not do, though I daresay someone could tell me of something I left undone. Indeed, I felt that the matter was now upon the knees of the gods and that all I could do from now on was to show no concern for the weights and to devote myself to playing out the role I had taken, as well off the stage as on. It follows that when, upon the following morning, a radiant Jasper announced that the host of The Vat of Melody desired us to perform upon his terrace on Thursday afternoon, I did my very best to rejoice with him.

  “A shortened performance,” said Jasper, “lasting little more than an hour. If we strike the tents in the morning, we shall have plenty of time to cross the frontier that day. And it is a great compliment, sir – which we owe very largely to you: for your fame has gone round, as I was sure that it would. And quality may be there, for motorists often lunch at that agreeable inn.”

  Subduing my natural emotion,

  “Rest assured,” said I, “I shall give the show of my life.”

  “There!” cried Jasper. “Colette said you would not like it; but I said that of your good nature you would be glad at the news.”

  “It’s part of the game,” I said, smiling. “Where you go, I go, Jasper, until the end of the trick. What time do we ‘open’ there?”

  “At half past one, sir. So we shall catch any customers stopping for lunch that day. These may be generous. I have known such a one put as much as we take in an evening into the plate.”

  “It shall not be my fault, if someone does not do it again.”

  “You are very good, sir,” said Jasper. “I knew we could count upon you.”

  There was really little to fear, for the odds against one of our enemies choosing tomorrow not only to pass that way, but to lunch at The Vat of Melody were very long.

  But I think I should not have been human if I had liked the idea. Still, there was nothing to be done. It was, of course, the masque which had won us the invitation to play at the inn; and if the strong man declined it, the whole invitation would probably be withdrawn and the company’s disappointment would warm to resentment before the day was out. And that, I could not afford…

  I did my best to put the matter out of my mind, but I had an uneasy feeling that the wind that had served us so well was beginning to back; and, sure enough, that evening I found I was right.

  Because he had been meeting Carson, Bell had not seen the performance on Monday or Tuesday nights. This evening, therefore, when he had helped me to dress, he left to sit with the audience and see the play out. Now although I did not appear till towards the end of the show, I used to watch the whole from what might be called ‘the wings’. And so I did, as usual – to find Bell standing beside me before ten minutes had passed. And his hand was up to his chin. (This meant that he had something to say for my ear alone; for that was the gesture the servants always used, when they wished to communicate something which other ears must not hear.)

  Casually enough, I led the way into the shadows…

  “Orris is here, sir. Sitting right at the back.”

  I thought very fast.

  “Alone?”

  “I think so, sir. There’s no sign of Friar or Sloper. Nor any car.”

  “I must appear,” I said. “Don’t let him see you, but watch him. He may not recognize me. If he does, he’ll certainly show it: and then we must pull him in.” I bit my lip. Then I went on slowly, thinking aloud. “If he’s still running with Friar…and he reports that I’m here, Friar will join us before we know where we are…and Friar will know in a flash that those gems are within the weights…This is damned awkward, Bell. We can pull him in all right: but, when he doesn’t report, Friar will smell trouble and come to look for him. We must pray that Friar gives him some law, for this time tomorrow we shall be off the map.”

  “You say ‘pull him in’, sir.”

  “If he seems to recognize me. Wait till he does, of course: but don’t let him get very far. Friar may be at the inn, for all we know. And take him into the tent and wait for me.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  And then he was gone.

  I was now much more than uneasy – and would have given the world to be able to talk with Mansel for only five minutes of time. But trying as was Bell’s news, for some strange, merciful reason, I was immensely relieved that I had to deal with Friar and not with the Boche. Had it been one of the police that Bell had seen, I do not know what I should have done, for by now Diana Revoke would have made her deposition and Kerrelin would be forced to act upon what she deposed. And he would be well aware that we had thrown dust in his eyes.

  An hour and a half later, I entered my tent.

  As I did so, Bell jerked his head, and Orris got to his feet.

  I took my seat on a stool and lighted a cigarette.

  Then—

  “Your orders were clear,” I said. “Why didn’t you carry them out?”

  Orris swallowed.

  Then—

  “The Capting says ‘Come to the ’ouse’, an’ so I did. But when I gets there, there isn’t nobody there.”

  I nodded.

  “By the time you came, we had gone. But he didn’t say ‘Come with Friar.’”

  This was a bow at a venture, but from the fellow’s face I saw I was right. Friar had come back to Wagensburg, only to find us gone.

  “I’m through with ’im now, sir. ’E picked me up that night, an’ wot could I do?”

  “Quite sure you’r
e through with him?”

  “Strike me dead, sir.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Jus’ lookin’ noun’, sir.”

  “For Captain Mansel or me.” As the fellow began to protest, “Your only chance with me is to tell the truth. There’s a river a mile away, and I’ve carried a blackguard’s body further than that. You’d better get this, Orris. I’ll put you down, like a dog: but I’ll never give you away.” Orris moistened his lips. “And think this over, Orris. The police have their hand on Friar for the murder of Goat.” I saw the man start. “But they’re waiting to pull him in, till he’s served their turn. Anyone running with him will naturally be involved.”

  With vehemence and at some length, Orris declared that he had no hand in the deed.

  “I know you hadn’t,” said I. “But police will be police, you know. And if I were you, I’d get out while the going was good.”

  “’Arf a chance,” said Orris. “That’s all I want. — about, I’ve bin. Firs’ the stuff’s in a castle, be’ind a wall. Yes, but ’ow joo get at the wall? Nice sort o’ death, I don’ think – to go down that — well. ‘Oh, we mus’ ’ave a carpet.’ An’ when I gets back, wiv me fingernails arf tore out, cursed silly an’ tole to beat it… An’ then you comes up an’ smears ’im – all over the — road. ‘But that’s all night,’ he says. ‘Let ’im crack the safe. An’ when ’e’s full up, we’ll meet ’im an’ take the jools.’ An’ orf he goes to Salzburg… Never see ’im again for the nex’ ten days, an’ Sloper an’ me on tick, an’ the lan’lord as rude as rude. But we ’adn’t no money to pay ’im. Never a drink nor a smoke for seven days. That’s wot I’ve ’ad to put up with, an’ that’s Gawd’s truth. I tell you, sir, I’ve ’ad some. Seven — days wivout a fag or a drop of anythin’. An’ the victuals the lan’lord give us not fit for a — dog. An’ then ’e comes back, an’ orf to Wagensburg. Another — washout… ’E an’ Sloper buys it, an’ I’m picked up. Talk about claowns in a circus… An’ then ’e ’as the nerve to talk about comic relief. ‘I can see the comic,’ I says; ‘but where’s the relief?’ An’ then ’e turns nasty. ‘Goat’s found that,’ ’e says. ‘D’you want to find it, too?’ An’ then he talks about fortunes an’ bein’ made rich for life. Course ’e’s got them jools on the brain; ’e’d sell ’is soul to ’ave them, an’ — cheap at the price. ‘’Istorical gems’, ’e calls them, ’an’ wurf ’alf Lombard Street.’ But wot I says is wot fence is goin’ to touch ’istorical gems? ‘Coz they can’t be broken, I says. But ’e says ‘That’s all right; I’m goin’ to sell the stuff. An’ I’m goin’ to sell it big.’ Then back to Wagensburg. Not up to the ’ouse. ’Ave to crawl the las’ three miles, to catch you out. An’ when we gets there, you’ve gone. Another — wash-out… So ’e says, ‘They’re for the border. I’ll ’ave them yet.’ So ’e gets out ’is maps an’ starts in. ’Alf mad, ’e is, for fear you’ll beat ’im to it. Seems ’is passport ain’t right for enterin’ Italy. So it’s got to be done this side. So Sloper’s dropped at Doris, an’ me at Godel, while ’e drives up an’ down like a rangin’ beast. ‘Look everywhere,’ ’e says. ‘They’re somewhere about. Be on the main road at ’alf past seven tomorrow, to make yer report.’ Well, I don’ work that way. So I ’as a bite at a pub an’ comes to the show. An’, Gorblime, there you are, sir. An’ then Mr Bell pulls me in. ’E ain’t up to your weight, you know. Punter said ’e wasn’t, right from the first.”