“You mean—”
“This,” said Shapely. “If I go into the box, I put the rope round his neck. The moment I mention those keys, he’ll know that he’s sunk. So he’ll say, ‘All right, I’m sunk: but I’ll take the — that’s sunk me down with me.’ And he’ll say I gave him the keys, to help him to do the job.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“He can make what statements he likes. It doesn’t follow, you know, that they’ll be believed.”
“Be your age, Pleydell,” said Shapely. “Which of us two stood to gain by Old Rowley’s death? He ‘eased a grudge’, as you put it: but I got three-quarters of a million – and more than that. That’s something like a motive, and you know it as well as I. And why stop at the keys? He won’t. He’ll say I fixed the whole thing – and promised him twenty thousand, provided he brought it off.” He threw himself back in his seat, and mopped his face. “So now you see, if you didn’t see it before, why I don’t want Tass to be found. Would you – if you stood in my shoes?”
I turned and looked out of the window.
“To be perfectly honest, Shapely, I don’t think I should.”
“Exactly. And, speaking as counsel, what would you give for my chances, if Tass went into the box and swore that I was behind him in all he did?”
“Quite a lot,” said I, “provided you hadn’t paid him his twenty thousand pounds.”
When I got back to Pau, I told Jonah what had occurred.
When I had done—
“This is not for Falcon,” I said. “In fact, as I see it, Shapely said nothing that Falcon ought to know. But, if you think he did, then you mustn’t pass it on. I dislike the fellow intensely, and I shall always believe that he planned the whole of the murder and that Tass was no more than the weapon with which the crime was done. But he spoke to me as an acquaintance, and not as ‘a copper’s nark’.”
“I quite agree,” said Jonah. “But, if you’ve left nothing out, he said nothing that could be used against himself.” He hesitated. “Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say that. He ‘visualized’ a certain contingency. I mean, he told you the line which Tass, if he came to be tried, would certainly take. And if Tass does come to be tried and does take that line – well, the fact that he had foreseen it would not sound well. Never mind. I won’t tell Falcon. But fancy his fainting like that! I wouldn’t have said he was squeamish. In fact, I don’t think he is. I think it was fellow-feeling. Fellow-feeling for a man who did murder – and got caught out.”
“You may be right,” said I. “But it was a bestial experience. Shut up for two hours with the swine. I tell you I damned near died when I saw who it was.”
“I can think of nothing,” said Jonah, “that I should have disliked so much. And now let’s forget the matter. I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that they’ve finished the excavation. In fact, the retaining wall is already eight inches high.”
At eleven o’clock the next morning, I stood once more on the platform and looked at the mountains about me, lifting their lovely heads. The day was flawless. There was no cloud, no wind, and the sun rejoiced in an ocean of deepest blue.
A semicircle of wall was rising against the mountain behind the house, and Joseph was laying out the stem of the capital T. On the cross of the T, no work was being done, for all the masons were busy on the semicircular wall. To one side, lay a heap of tarpaulins, with which, every evening, the wall was carefully covered against the frost.
Joseph looked up and saw me.
He came at once to the platform, brushing the dirt from his hands.
“Well done, Joseph,” I said. “You said you’d have something to show.”
“To be honest, Monsieur, I did not expect so much. But Fortune smiled on us, and we have had weather like this to help us on.”
We spoke for a little of my journey. Then we went to look at the wall. This did not touch the mountain at any point, and the gap between them was being packed with stones.
“The house must be dry, Monsieur. And so the foundations of this wall are rather deeper than those of the house will be. And we have built a gutter behind it, to slope either way: and then we shall build another gutter this side; and of course the wall will be furnished with many pipes. So any water that comes from the earth behind will be caught and will flow away on either side of the house.”
Just before mid-day I gave him a cheap dispatch-case containing his book.
“The case is nothing,” I said. “But you are in lodgings up here and I think perhaps you have nothing which you can lock. And, since you are out all day – well, now you’ll know that no strangers are turning the leaves of your book.”
“Monsieur is more than thoughtful. I cannot bear my things being touched. But Monsieur has not said what the book is about.” He weighed the case in his hands. “It must be a very big book, to weigh so much.”
“Open it when you get back.”
“Monsieur has written my name in it?”
“Yes.”
And there the others arrived, with lunch in the car.
We broke our fast on the ledge, as we had so often done…
Joseph was standing before me, béret in hand.
“I have no words, Monsieur,” he said. “Of all things that I could have desired, Monsieur has chosen the fairest to give to me. I never knew that such books as this were made. And on every page, a picture. I opened it after my dinner – I made it wait until then. I always rest for an hour: but today, when the hour was over and it was time to return, the book was still open before me… And what shall I not learn from this book? It is a treasure-house. And now it is back in its coffer. See, I have the key round my neck. But it must have been dreadfully costly. Monsieur is very good to have spent so much money on me.”
“As long as you like it, Joseph.”
“It is my Bible, Monsieur, from this time on. Full of lovely pictures of lovely work. Tonight I study those of foundations. And this house will have the foundations which fine English houses have. It is, of course, composed by a master. And, thanks to Monsieur, I can now sit at his feet.”
I found such gratitude upsetting. Anyone would. I had so much, and Joseph had so little. And yet… I began to wonder if he was not richer than I.
Half an hour later, perhaps, Jill and I walked up the road towards Besse. As we came to the scarecrow meadow in which the half-built cottage was rearing its ruinous walls, I saw that labour of some sort was being done within.
When we came abreast of the doorway, I peered inside.
Two men were at work on the landslide – working with pick and shovel, to clear it away.
One I knew by sight – he was living at Besse.
He saw me, came to the doorway and gave me good day.
“You see,” he said, “I am following Monsieur’s example. I am going to dwell in the country. This beautiful field is mine, and so is this handsome house. Soon it will be one of a row. That is the way to make money. Build, and then let to your neighbours. Monsieur should do the same: he has plenty of room.”
“That’s quite an idea,” said I. “We shall have to think it over.”
As we passed up the road, Jill turned a horrified face.
“But, Boy! A row of cottages? Their smoke right across the terrace, whenever the wind’s in the west!”
I slid an arm under hers.
“They’ll never be built,” I said grimly. “He’s just ramming home the wisdom of buying his rotten field. And we shall have to do it. The sooner, the better, too: for he’s sure to add to the price the cost of the labour he’s putting into that house.”
“But it isn’t a house,” cried Jill. “No one can ever live there.”
“I know, my sweet. This is what is called ‘big business’ – by the people who win. The people who lose call it ‘dirty work’ or ‘blackmail’. And there you are. We’re on a loser, all right. Never mind. It might be worse, for those stones will be very useful. We’ll pull that ruin down and make something out of that meadow before we’re done.�
��
“If only,” said Jill, “it was the field with the grotto. I love that meadow, Boy.”
“So do I. But no one could build in that, so we’ve nothing to fear. And now I think perhaps we’d better get back. The others ought to know this, and I’d like a word with Ulysse.”
As we turned about, Jill began to bubble with laughter.
“I cannot think,” she said, “what Berry will say.”
“I shouldn’t try,” I said. “It won’t be fit for your ears.”
Nor was it.
11
In Which Berry Takes the Bit in His Teeth,
and Jonah Captures a Spring
When Berry had calmed down, I led him back to the ledge.
As he took his seat—
“And where,” he said, “does this skunkish slow-belly dwell? What vicinity does he defile?”
“Besse,” I said. “I told you. But Ulysse says he’ll be at the café from five o’clock on.”
“In the Street of the Waterfall?”
“That’s right.”
“And you advise instant action?”
“Yes. We need rough stone – not for building, but for packing behind the semicircular wall. We’ve enough for today and tomorrow, but after that we shall have to use quarried stone, which is wicked waste. That blasted ruin is built of stones from the river bed. Once it’s ours, we’ve only got to push it, to knock it down: and there’s ten loads of stone all ready to hand.”
“And he was boasting on Friday that he would sell us that dunghill for five hundred pounds?”
“That’s right. And somebody laughed and said, ‘How much shall you give your aunt?’ And he shut up like a box and looked very grim.”
The fellow’s name was Saut. He owned the scarecrow field. But he did not own the ruin. This had been built by his cousin at his cousin’s expense. Then his cousin had died and had left the ruin to his mother, Saut’s aunt. This had nothing to do with whoever might purchase the field. But it deeply concerned Saut – for the more he received for the meadow, the more his aunt would demand for the ruin itself. But if he could sell the meadow…and could then be gone from Besse before his aunt was aware of what was afoot…
All this I had learned from Ulysse. He was a famous counsellor – because he offered no counsel, but only hard facts. He gave me the straw, and left me to make the bricks. A wise, old man, who worked all day for his living, and was content. But he had no use for Saut. ‘A man,’ he said, ‘who gets drunk during the week…’
“All right,” said Berry. “I’ll fix him. I’ll teach him to handle blackmail.”
“Don’t you think,” said Daphne, “perhaps de Moulin—”
“No,” said Berry: “lawyers out of the ring. This is a personal issue. In fact, there’s a good deal at stake. If we are to live in this parish, we’ve got to have our neighbours’ respect. That meadow, put up to auction, would bring the man twenty-five pounds. And he has publicly boasted that he will force us to pay him just twenty times what it’s worth. Well, either he or we have got to go down the drain.”
“Oh, dear,” said Daphne, “I wish I hadn’t come.”
“My darling,” said her husband, “don’t worry. I’m not going to hit the brute. I’m not going to have any row. I’m going to have a drink in a café. And your brother is coming with me. But Jonah will drive you two back. Unless I’m much mistaken, we shan’t be far behind.”
Jill set a hand on his knee.
“I simply love you,” she said, “when you take the bit in your teeth.”
The café was fairly full.
As Berry called for two brandies, I shot a look round. At once I saw Saut, sitting on a bench by himself.
“Beside the pillar,” I breathed. “With a red moustache.”
Berry picked up his glass and stood his ground.
“Ah, Saut,” he said, “I thought I might find you here.”
The other rose, with a very unpleasant grin.
“Fancy that,” he said, “that Monsieur should wish to see me. Still, it is good that neighbours should know one another. And would it be indiscreet to inquire what Monsieur desires?”
An uneasy silence succeeded the fellow’s words. Such mock politeness was an insult.
“It would not,” said Berry. “I want your aunt’s address.”
You could, as they say, have heard a pin drop. Saut stood still as death and, mouth open, stared upon Berry as though he were not of this world. All his assurance was gone, as though it had never been.
Berry continued easily.
“I know that she lives at Oris, but I am not sure of the house.”
At the third attempt—
“M-monsieur desires,” stammered Saut…
“Your aunt’s address. I propose to purchase her cottage – the one you are putting in order, by the side of the road to Besse.”
The sweat was on Saut’s forehead.
“But – but I am not sure, Monsieur, that my aunt will be willing to sell.”
“Why should you be?” said Berry. “That is her affair – not yours. And so I am going to see her. That is why I want her address.”
Saut moistened his lips.
“But, Monsieur, that paltry ruin goes with the field.”
“I daresay it does,” said Berry. “I don’t happen to want the field. It’s a worthless piece of land, and I have more than enough. But the cottage walls are well built. I have only to finish the work which you have begun – or you can do it for me. I’ll pay you the same as the men who are working up at the site.”
Saut swallowed.
“My aunt,” he said, “is a very difficult woman. Monsieur would be well advised to deal with me.”
“But you don’t own the cottage.”
“If Monsieur should purchase my field, he would purchase the cottage, too.”
“I have told you,” said Berry, “I do not want the field. But the cottage will serve me well as a conciergerie. It is right on the road and but two minutes’ walk from my gate. Come now – your aunt’s address.”
“I do not know it,” muttered Saut. “I have heard that she has left Oris.”
Berry stared.
“But is she, then, unaware of your intention to finish and live in her house?”
“I – I have written to her,” said Saut.
“That’s better. Where did you write?”
“I – I have not yet posted the letter, because I had no address.”
“Well, I’ll tell her,” said Berry, “and that will save you a stamp. They’ll know where she is at Oris. Of course, as you say, she may not wish to sell. She may prefer you as a tenant. You don’t know what rent you’re paying?”
Saut started forward.
“Let me implore you, Monsieur – do nothing precipitate. My aunt is unconscionable. The instant she knows that Monsieur desires that ruin, she will determine to ask the eyes from his head.”
“I am perfectly prepared,” said Berry, “to pay her a very fair price. What reason have you for thinking that she will refuse an offer of fifty pounds?”
Saut clapped hands to his mouth, to smother a squeal.
“I know her, Monsieur. She is a rapacious woman. But fifty pounds for that eyesore – that undistinguished hovel! I beg that Monsieur will listen. My field is for sale.”
“I do not desire your meadow. I do not wish to be burdened with such an ill-favoured waste. To remove those briers and nettles—”
“Monsieur will see reason. The meadow contains the ruin.”
“What ruin?” said Berry.
“The ruinous cottage,” screamed Saut. “The verminous huddle of stones, on which today I have nearly broken my back.”
Berry frowned.
“Let us call it,” he said, “the conciergerie.”
With bolting eyes—
“As Monsieur pleases,” said Saut. “The meadow contains the conciergerie. If Monsieur buys the meadow, the – the conciergerie must go with it. That is the law.”
> “But I do not want—”
“Patience, Monsieur, I pray you. Monsieur does not want the field. That is understood. But still it might come in useful. One never knows. It is always land, and one might make a depot there. So Monsieur, to gain his cottage, will purchase the field from me. It is just the same and will save a journey to Oris. I mean, I have the right. That is the law – that the building goes with the freehold.”
“Of course, but—”
“Consider, Monsieur. I am asking next to nothing. For two hundred pounds—”
“Two hundred pounds!” cried Berry. “You’re out of your mind. If I deal with your aunt, I pay fifty – and get what I want. If I deal with you, I am to pay four times as much for a ragged, worthless strip from which a goat would retire. No, no. I do not want it. I prefer to purchase only the conciergerie.”
Saut writhed.
“But I will sell this to Monsieur. It goes with the land. I am in the happy position—”
“Then sell it,” said Berry. “I have said I will pay fifty pounds.”
“For the – the conciergerie, Monsieur. But what of the field?”
“But I do not want the field. Why should I pay for something I do not want?”
“But think of the advantages, Monsieur. The concierge will have a fine garden, which he can till.”
“Have no fear he will trespass,” said Berry. “Give me your aunt’s address.”
“No, no,” screamed Saut. “I will not show Monsieur the way to a den of thieves. That woman will victimize Monsieur – a most disgraceful thing. At my own expense I prefer to save the family name. I will sacrifice the field as it stands for one hundred pounds.”
Berry shook his head.
“I prefer to visit Oris and pay the half of that sum.” He tossed his brandy off and gave me the glass. “Have you any message which I can give to your aunt? I shall, of course, tell her of your offer – to save the family name.”
Saut drew himself up.
“I cannot permit it, Monsieur. My conscience says no. That dirt of a woman will take advantage of Monsieur. It is painful to me to speak ill of a relative. But she is untrustworthy, Monsieur. There! I have said the word. I cannot agree that Monsieur should make her acquaintance. I have my pride. And so I shall make the following sacrifice. I will give my meadow to Monsieur for eighty pounds.”
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