House That Berry Built

by Dornford Yates

Jonah looked from Joseph to me.

  “It’s even money,” he said. “No odds at all. The one who gets first to Busquet gets the field. Of course, if they telephone…”

  I turned and looked at Naboth.

  If a hotel was to rise there, we might as well throw in our hand. The view apart, such a neighbour would blast our home. The terrace, on which I was standing, would be commanded by windows – row upon row of windows – perhaps only sixty yards off. As for the noise and the traffic…

  And then, at a quarter past five, a car drove up with a note.

  Friday, October 2nd.

  MY DEAR SIRS,

  Do not trouble to telephone. All is well. Consider yourselves the owners of Pernot’s field.

  The Deed, which Busquet has signed, will leave Paris tonight, and tomorrow myself I shall register the sale and pay the fine.

  Now it is over, I may say it was touch and go.

  But when I heard – let us say that I have my spies – when I heard that our friends had been to the Land Registry, I spoke with my agent in Paris and told him, as they say, to be on the tips of his toes.

  He has just spoken to me. He was with Busquet this morning at nine o’clock. And he offered him twenty pounds, if he signed the Deed there and then. So Busquet signed.

  And as he left the flats, another taxi drew up… Anyway, we have won. The meadow is yours.

  Cordially yours,

  JEAN DE MOULIN.

  Well, there you are.

  But it was a very near thing.

  9

  In Which Jonah Collects a Suitcase,

  and Caratib is Reduced

  On the following Monday morning a council was held at Bel Air.

  “The thing,” said Berry, “is this. This never-very-desirable habitation is rapidly degenerating into the best imitation of a makeshift mausoleum that I have ever seen. The temperature of my bedroom this morning was that of the tomb, and the pains of Hell got hold upon me when I attempted to leave what, for the sake of charity, I will describe as my bed. To be five minutes’ walk from the site is convenience itself: but I must point out that to be ten minutes’ walk from the graveyard will, if I stay here much longer, be of almost equal convenience – to those of you who are not prevented by pneumonia from attending my funeral. More. I am given to understand that, before this week is out, the contractor in charge proposes to begin the work of laying down the aqueduct or conduit, soon to convey the main water from Lally to Besse. And if I know anything of contractors or aqueducts, the condition of this thoroughfare, which now, except in certain spots, accepts but one line of traffic, will very soon present considerable difficulties to any but the malignant and evil-smelling ruminant, so painfully reminiscent of one’s nearer relatives. In all these circumstances, I venture to suggest that an early return to Pau is, as the French say, indicated. We can come up every day, if we’re so inclined. We can indulge the spirit, yet spare the flesh. Any objection from those I love?”

  “Say that bit about the ruminant again,” said Daphne.

  “I don’t believe I can recapture it,” said her husband. “It was one of those pearls that just slide out of my mouth. They’re mentioned in the Bible, you know. You’re cautioned against it, of course: but I hope very much that you won’t identify yourself with—”

  My sister appealed to me.

  “Are these studied insults?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, “they are. Ossa is being piled upon Pelion. But I shouldn’t pursue the subject. If you do, you will be compared unfavourably with a blue-based baboon.”

  “I was coming to them,” said Berry. “I often wish they could hear our conversation. I mean, they don’t have much fun. And they’d laugh themselves sick.”

  “Why,” said Daphne, shakily, “would they laugh themselves sick?”

  “You must work that out,” said Berry. “Search your heart sometime, when you’re entirely alone. And the answer may be vouchsafed. You never know. Anyway, I want some more shoes. Who’s going to London to get them? There they are. Packed up in an excellent case. Therèse did it under my eyes. And have them I must, if I am to winter at Pau.”

  The red herring did its work.

  “I must have some stuff,” said Daphne. “I never expected to be here for more than two months. I can tell you the trunks I want. They’re numbered ‘9’ and ‘13’.”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Berry. “I’m damned if I’m going to get them. We shall be in England for Christmas, but I won’t go back before then.”

  “Well, someone must go,” said Daphne.

  “I shall be with them in spirit,” said Berry, piously. “But that’s for later. Your duty is pressing – to find a rest in Pau for the sole of my foot. And it must have at least two bathrooms – I won’t go on like this.”

  Daphne looked at Jonah.

  “Can we have Carson?” she said. “If yes, then Jill and I can go down for the day.”

  “Of course,” said Jonah. “This morning?”

  My sister shrugged her shoulders.

  “We may as well. It is getting cold up here. If we could find a nice flat… I mean, we’ll be out so much, that we shan’t want a lot of room.”

  “Truly constant hot water,” said Berry, “would suit me down to the socks.”

  “You won’t get that,” said Jonah, “until we’re installed. The French are much better than they were; but they can’t shake off the idea that a fire must be lighted if somebody wishes to bathe.”

  “Well, do your best,” said Berry. “And now I must get to work. I’m doing the dimensions of the soap-niche – the one in my bathroom, I mean. I’ve talked to Joseph about it. He’s going to leave a hole in the wall.”

  That evening we had a flat, to which we proposed to remove in three days’ time. And Jonah and I had tossed up as to who should travel to Town. And I had lost.

  Meanwhile the excavation was progressing. We knew it must be, because the third terrace was rapidly taking shape. But for that, we should not have known, for, as they drove into the mountain, falls of soil from above kept the labourers where they were. It was a dreadful business. What was worse, it was now quite clear that even six terraces would not absorb the soil which we should displace. This was disquieting. The soil had to be disposed of: and if it was to be conveyed to the summit of Hadrian’s Wall, there transferred to buckets and then let down to the lorries waiting below, to be by them removed to some desert place, all this would entail much labour and great expense and would entirely prevent us from beginning to build the house.

  And then Jonah had an idea.

  All the charm of the ruisseau lay in its upper half – that is to say, the reach above Hadrian’s Wall. Below that, it ran in a gully, steep and gaping and ugly, of no account. Jonah’s plan was simple. It was to pipe the ruisseau from where the gully began, and then to fill in the gully with the superfluous soil.

  At this idea Joseph jumped. To pipe the ruisseau was easy – say two days’ work, and a railway to the head of the gully would take but an hour to lay. After which, it was a question of tipping, and nothing more, for the soil would find its own level without any fuss.

  “There is only one thing,” he said. “We must set a good, strong grille at the head of the pipe, for if that should ever be blocked, and the ruisseau in spate–” he raised his eyes to heaven “–well, Messieurs will have a new ruisseau before they can think. And God alone knows what course that new ruisseau will choose to adopt. Water is all very well, so long as it runs in its bed. But, once it is out, it can be a dangerous thing. I have seen it at work – and twelve feet of a road washed away, while men were asleep.”

  Before the end of that week, the house was begun.

  There were, of course, no foundations, for the walls rose straight from the platform, now fit to bear their weight: and, when we arrived one morning, there before us was the outline of all the principal rooms. The outer walls were of stone, like Hadrian’s Wall, but the inner were built of blocks. These had been moul
ded in the chamber which had been already built – that is to say, the chamber beneath the platform, where there was no fear of frost. There were the doors and the windows, the gallery and the rooms: but the first thing that struck us all was how very small everything was. We said as much to Joseph.

  “But, Monsieur, the rooms are immense. Never have I been engaged upon such a private house. Consider the gallery only.”

  “Oh, it’s quite big enough, of course. But it looks about half the size that we thought it would.”

  Joseph smiled.

  “Wait till it is garnished, Monsieur,” was all he said.

  (Here, of course, he was perfectly right. For some strange reason, a rough interior looks absurdly small. But as soon as the floor has been laid and the ceiling and walls have been plastered, it looks absurdly big. Only when it is furnished, does that apartment assume its proper size.)

  That Saturday marked the end of a busy week. We had left Bel Air for Pau: the business of laying the pipes which would conduct the main water from Lally to Besse had been begun: the foundations of a fourth terrace were being laid: the pipes, to contain the ruisseau, were lying by the side of the drive: the excavation was proceeding, and the house we had set out to build was actually taking shape.

  Now that Jonah had solved the problem of soil disposal, we determined to have five terraces, rather than six – three to the east of the house, and two to the west. The lowest of the three to the east ran straight to the ledge from which for so long we had watched the building of Hadrian’s Wall: and, had we owned the elegant meadow, above which the grotto hung, we could have built a miniature terrace, to run from the ledge to the grotto, about the foot of the bluff. I did not mention this fact, but bore it in mind. To be perfectly frank, I lusted after that meadow, with which, of course, went the grotto and the jolly, old trough below. Its head was daintily wooded, its bosom, because of the spring, was always emerald green, and I knew that with time and patience it could be turned into a bower.

  We were fortunate in the flat which my sister and Jill had found. Daphne is wise. She had not gone to the agents, but to the porter of the Hôtel Splendide. We had known him for years, and he was a present help in such matters as this. If he did not know himself, he always knew whom to ask. Within the hour, my sister had three addresses – two flats and one villa, not upon the house agents’ books.

  The second of the two flats offered us very much more than we had a right to expect. It was new, it was comfortably furnished and had never been occupied. It had, in fact, been taken by a firm of furniture-makers, working at the village of Asen, twenty miles off. This, with the wild idea of displaying their goods, rather as London firms make up an attractive flat in the heart of their stores. But it was not in the heart of a London store: it was on the first floor of a private building in Pau: and when six months had gone by and the flat had brought in rather less than an order a month, the firm had made up its mind that the only thing to be done was to get its money back. So the flat was ‘to let’, as it stood. We should have to find plate and linen and things like that, but heating and constant hot water went with the house. And there were no less than three bathrooms.

  What was almost more to the point, the furniture was very good. It was not what we should have chosen, but every piece was well made. And we should need furniture. Some we had withdrawn from White Ladies before handing over our home, but not nearly enough to furnish another house. Here, then, was an excellent chance of actually seeing what the firm at Asen could do. And whether their wood was seasoned – would stand up to central-heating, a most important point. Indeed, it began to look as if their idea of a showroom was not to prove wholly vain.

  Two or more of us drove to the site on five days out of six. There was now no work we could do, for we were no longer fighting to beat the clock. But questions were always arising which we could settle better than anyone else, and a close liaison with Joseph was quite invaluable. I say this advisedly. So deep was the interest which we had displayed in our home – in every tiny detail of its construction, that Joseph had come to consult us on every step that he took. The expert knowledge was his: but he put this at our disposal before he gave an order or lifted a hand. And of this we were more than glad. For we knew what we wanted, and this was to be our home.

  All was going well. Only the excavation hung over the venture, as a cloud: a cloud a great deal bigger than any man’s hand. By the middle of the month of October, it had become a great scar on the mountainside. We were nearly six metres in: but we had to gain two more – one for the wall, to retain the excavation, and one for a passage between that wall and the house. Say, seven metres and a half. There were thirty men on it now, working eight hours a day… I used to dream about it. (Here I should say that, could we have procured such a thing, no ‘bulldozer’ could have been brought to the site of the work – except, perhaps, at the cost of spoiling the blowing meadows beyond repair.)

  Still, the front of the house was rising – the cross of the capital T. Every night they carefully covered the work that had just been done. And the weather was kind: we had no very sharp frosts.

  On one very rainy day, Jill and I alone had been up to the site. For myself, I had been glad to get back – to a drink and a bath; and I was dressing for dinner, when Jonah entered my room and shut the door.

  “I’ve just written to Falcon,” he said, “and before I send the letter, I’d like you to see what I say. You’ll think I’m very secretive: but the truth is that what I did was a one-man job.”

  As I took the letter, I smiled.

  “‘Superintendent Mansel,’” I said.

  “That’s just what I’m afraid of,” said Jonah. “That’s why I didn’t take you. We have been seen with Falcon, and word gets round. It simply must not be thought that we are in touch with the Yard.”

  SECRET.

  October 17th.

  DEAR FALCON,

  Sir Steuart Rowley.

  In your letter of September 12th, you said something which did not immediately attract my attention; but a fortnight ago, for some strange reason or other, your words came back to my mind.

  You said that, on his arrival at Pau on September 1st, Shapely ‘drew from the cloak-room some baggage which he had left there in June’.

  It then occurred to me – rather belatedly, I confess – that it was strange that Shapely should have left any baggage at the cloak-room at Pau in June. He was then travelling to London – he talked with my cousin and me a few hours before he left and seemed uncertain whether he would return. Why then leave baggage at Pau?

  I decided, if I could do so, to clear this point up.

  So Carson travelled by train from Nareth to Pau and put a suitcase in the cloak-room, receiving a ticket with a number in the ordinary way. He then gave me the ticket, and ten days later I took the suitcase out. As I had expected, I had to pay two or three francs – a fine of so much a day for leaving the suitcase there in safe custody. This gave me an opportunity not only of observing the system followed but of making friends with the clerk.

  The system at Pau is this. When a piece of luggage is left, two tickets are torn from a book. Each ticket bears the same number. One is given to the owner and one is affixed to the piece of luggage left. Then that number is entered in a book. The book has three columns – one for the date on which the luggage was lodged, one for the number, and one for the date on which the luggage was withdrawn.

  While the clerk was busy, I turned the leaves of the book. I looked at the entries under June 13th, for that, I knew, was the day on which Shapely left Pau for London. There were in all eight entries, but every one had been cleared before the end of the month. This proves that the baggage which Shapely drew was not ‘some baggage which he had left there in June’.

  That told me what to look for, and I found it almost at once. The baggage which Shapely drew on September 1st had been deposited on June 10th.

  Well, there we are.

  It wasn’t Shapely who deposi
ted it, because he was at Luz Ortigue, as we have reason to know. It was Tass who deposited it, having come straight from Paris. The entry was the first of the day, which suggests that he arrived by the early train. It was, no doubt, Tass’ suitcase, which he desired to be rid of and was later afraid to collect. So he sent the ticket to Shapely. And Shapely collected the suitcase and handed it over to Tass somewhere not far from Orthez on September 1st.

  There is no question of identification, for the present clerk took over only three weeks ago, when his predecessor suddenly died.

  If I may venture to say so, I think I should keep this evidence up your sleeve. The book is there and will be there, when you want it, to prove what I say.

  Yours,

  JONATHAN MANSEL.

  As I handed the letter back—

  “Full marks to you,” I said. “Get Tass, and you get Shapely, for here is a link between them which nothing on earth can break.”

  “It involves him,” said Jonah. “Accessory after the fact. No more than that, of course.”

  We left the matter there.

  Five days later Falcon’s answer arrived.

  SECRET.

  October 20th.

  DEAR CAPTAIN MANSEL,

  Sir Steuart Rowley.

  I was about to write to you when your letter of October 17th arrived.

  What a detective you would have made! Honestly, I never gave the baggage a thought. I should have, of course. It’s my job. Yet I passed it by, but you stopped. When I showed your letter to the Chief, he nearly pulled my leg off. And he made me promise to ‘report to you forthwith’.

  And so I do, though I have a poor tale to tell.

  Incidentally, I am taking your advice and keeping your valuable evidence up my sleeve. Tass comes first – that is, if he’s ever placed.

  Just listen to this.

  In my last letter I told you that the district which Shapely visited on September 1st was being carefully combed.