“There’s a beautiful creature,” said Berry. “Give her my love. And tell her I’ve found the way. You know, that soap-niche has it. I can hardly get out of the bath. But, as Joseph says, I deserve it. You can’t get away from that.”
“I can go to Pau tomorrow,” said I.
“I’ve got to,” said Jonah. “I’ve got to choose some trowels.”
“We’ll go together,” said I. “What does my lady want?”
“Samples for curtains,” said Daphne. “We’ll have to have curtains up before October comes in. Jill and I and Therèse can make them, but we must get hold of the stuff.”
“Tell me where to go,” said I, “and I’ll do the job.”
“That’s right, be mundane,” said Berry. “And, by the way I want some writing-blocks. Can nobody think of a name for this heaven on earth?”
“I know,” said Jill. “Gracedieu.”
And Gracedieu it was. I ordered the dies the next day.
The next day.
I think I shall remember it always, Monday the sixteenth of August…
Jonah and I had done our business in Pau. We had had our lunch. We were more than half the way home. We were, in fact, about to emerge from Bielle, a little village some five or six miles from Nareth, when we saw before us a flurry in the midst of the way.
Two cars had stopped and a dog on a chain was standing upon its hind legs by the side of a ten-foot wall. Dancing about it was a man in a shirt and plus-fours – the most enormous plus-fours I have ever seen. They were of bottle-green and they fell very near to his ankles. His shirt was canary-yellow; his flowing tie was red. In a word it was Caratib – whom we had flung out of our flat six months before.
What had happened was plain – and there was no time to be lost.
The dog, a powerful mongrel, had been chained up in a garden behind the wall. The level of the garden was higher than that of the road. The dog had leaped or had fallen over the wall. But his chain was not long enough for his fore-feet to reach the ground. For a time no doubt, the poor beast had saved his neck by standing upon his hind legs against the wall; but now these were giving out and he was in imminent danger of being hanged.
Caratib rushed towards us, as we fell out of the car.
“Messieurs, I implore your assistance. This poor, dumb beast. When I have tried to release him, he tries his best to savage me with his jaws. He does not, of course, understand. Oh, my God, what shall I do? To see a poor creature dying and yet be unable to help. And the people are out, and the garden gate is fast locked and is covered with spikes.”
Jonah ran to the dog, but though it was nearly done it tried to spring at his throat.
Somehow I got my hands on the top of the wall…
And then I was up and over and in the garden beyond.
The chain was long – too long, of course, but that is beside the point. It did not run straight to the wall, but first to a heavy stone roller, beneath which it now was jammed.
Putting forth all my strength, I hauled the roller aside…
As I did so, the chain ran forward and then went slack. I heard a shout from the road. And when I looked over the wall, there was the dog on four feet and Caratib hugging Jonah who looked extremely annoyed.
Then Caratib saw me and rushed to the wall.
“Hero!” he shrieked. “Hero! You have done the impossible thing. Behold your protégé. Already he moves his tail. Come down and let me embrace you. All your unkindness is forgotten and washed away.”
“Shake hands, instead,” said I, leaning down from the wall.
Caratib seized my hand, clapped it to his lips and mouthed it.
“Accept my homage,” he cried. “You have saved a fellow-creature. For me, I adore the beasts. I have at home four cats, all of which are clean in the house.”
“Listen,” I said. “That poor dog will want some water. Perhaps, at that house over there…”
“Of course. Dolt that I am!”
As he rushed down the road, I saw my cousin coming with a pail in his hand. Still, it was plainly my chance. So I made my way back down the wall and ran for the car. I had no mind to be hugged by Caratib.
The dog was recovering. After drinking a little, he lay down in the shade of the wall. But he would not let Jonah touch him: he had no use for strangers; he was a chien de garde.
“We can’t do any more,” said Jonah. “The people next door have promised to tell his owners who have gone to Pau for the day. They’re happily fond of him, and thought to make his life pleasant, by giving him a long chain. Idiotic, of course. But I’ve made that clear.”
Here Caratib returned with a very small saucer of milk.
As he made to lay it down, the mongrel rose in his wrath; and Caratib recoiled and the milk was spilt.
“Ingrate!” cried Caratib, wiping his green plus-fours, with a purple handkerchief. “Never mind. You are not yourself.” He rushed to my side. “Monsieur, believe me, I owe you as much as that dog. Had he not been saved, my holiday would have been spoiled.”
“You’re on holiday, then?” said I, as Jonah slid into the car.
“Alas, it ends today.” He pointed to his car and to what I now saw was a trailer, standing behind. “I am a family man. That is my wife sitting there.” We raised our hats and she bowed. “And my four children behind. We have been in the mountains. Behold our tent in the trailer. We have no use for hotels. Always we do the same. Does Monsieur know Luz Ortigue?”
“Yes, I know it,” I said. “A lovely spot.”
“We return from there at this moment – after as fair a fortnight as man could ask. Consider the dawn there, Monsieur. The dew on those perfect meadows, the early mass of the birds, the sumptuous music of the torrent and the clouds snared on the summits, caught in a net of gold. And people will talk of Biarritz. Monsieur, I spit upon the plage. Is man but vermin that he must make one of a herd? But I made a mistake this year. Oh, it is done now. But this year we went too late. My wife persuaded me. Last year we went in June – the first fortnight in June. And had the place to ourselves. Fifteen days, Monsieur; and never a human being, to break the spell. But that woman there said it was cold. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘In August.’ And like a fool, I gave way.” He approached his face to mine. “Four other parties, Monsieur. And two had brought gramophones.” He flung up his hands. “The peace of sundown was murdered. The atmosphere was destroyed. As an artist, Monsieur, I tell you, it seared my heart. And last year, in June, not a soul.”
Jonah leaned forward.
“A caravan,” he said. “For three or four days.”
“No, Monsieur. No one at all. Not even a caravan.”
“But—”
“I am telling you, Monsieur, that Luz Ortigue was ours – our private pleasance for fifteen flawless days. A passing peasant, perhaps: but no visitors. And certainly, no caravan.”
“Are you perfectly sure,” said I, “that you’ve got your dates right?”
“But certainly, Monsieur. It was the first fortnight in June. I shall never forget it. The year before, the same time: but then it rained.” He wagged a finger. “But I prefer the rain to two poisonous gramophones. My God! Shall I ever forget? Up there I walk all day. I commune with Nature, Monsieur. She gives me ideas for my bathrooms. And when I come home, I am tired. I desire to sleep. But no! Till long past midnight, Monsieur. Yes, we have no bananas, and filth like that.”
He paused to wipe the foam from his lips.
“But last year you’re perfectly sure there was nobody there?”
“Monsieur, I swear—”
“No blue car – half-car, half-caravan?”
“No,” screamed Caratib. “Nothing. I have had the world to myself for fifteen days.”
I started the engine up.
“Well,” I said, “we’ll have to be getting on.”
We had to shake hands again, and Caratib held my right hand in both of his.
“Our misunderstanding is forgotten. From this time on our relat
ion is white as snow. Ah, mon brave, I shall never forget your action.”
“Nonsense,” said I. “You’d have done it before we got here, if you could have managed that wall.”
“My homage to Miladi and Madame.”
“Thank you.”
“And I shake the Major’s hand.”
“I’ll tell him. Au revoir.”
I let in the clutch…
“And now what?” I said.
Jonah had a hand to his chin.
“We drive up to Cluny and ask to have a look at that book. He may have got his dates wrong. If he hasn’t…”
“We’re on to something, Jonah.”
“I think so, too. Though I’m damned if I can see what. Where was Shapely, if he wasn’t at Luz Ortigue? And why did he say he was there, if he wasn’t there? That he was up above Cluny there can be no doubt. The Customs had his passport. Well, that alibi’s good enough. Why should he lie about where his caravan had rested?”
“That,” said I, “is the second unnecessary lie. He said that I saw him on Tuesday, when, in fact, it was Wednesday I saw him, taking in petrol at Lally.”
“When was the murder?” said Jonah.
“On Monday,” said I, “at eleven o’clock at night.”
“Well, he couldn’t have done it,” said Jonah. “He may be many things; but he’s not a blasted magician. No man born of woman can be in two places at once.”
We whipped through Nareth, swung to the right at the cross roads and flung up the sounding gorge.
Ten minutes later, we sighted the village of Cluny rising up like a gate-house about the mountain road.
Its street was very narrow, and I laid the car as close as I could to the kerb.
Then Jonah got out and I followed him into the office…
A sergeant looked up.
“Ah, good afternoon, Messieurs. I recognize you at once. You were with the English Inspector, when he asked questions last year. He has not, I suppose, run the malefactor to earth?”
“Not yet,” said Jonah. “Would you be so very kind as to let me look at your book?”
“With pleasure, Monsieur. The book, I surmise, for Class Three?”
“I think that’s right. For those who camp in the mountains.”
“That is quite right, Monsieur. They have to produce a passport, and that we hold in this office against their return.” The book was laid open before us. “There you are, Messieurs. Examine it as you please.”
Jonah turned over two pages…
1937
EXIT on June 1st. at 2.30 p.m. car and trailer black No. ST 541/P; passengers six – husband and wife and four children; passport X3552 Caratib.
RE-ENTRY on June 15th. at 10.30 a.m.; all present; passport returned.
“No doubt about that,” said Jonah, and gave the book back. “Where do people camp, if they don’t camp at Luz Ortigue?”
“In all sorts of odd places, Monsieur. Some go up above Jules: but the valley widens there, and the trees are few. Besides, if a car breaks down, they are too much cut off. Luz Ortigue is the spot which most of them patronize. That is sheltered and only five miles from here. There is, of course, Echelle, which is closer, still. But few, I think, go there. For from there you cannot walk, but must be prepared to climb.”
“Echelle,” said Jonah. “I don’t think I know Echelle.”
The other rose to his feet.
“I will point it out to you, Monsieur.” We followed him to the wall. “This is a copy of the Cadastral Plan. Now here is Cluny, and there, higher up, is Jules.” His finger returned to Cluny, and then began to move. “Here we leave Cluny and at once we cross the bridge; then the road turns to the left. So for two miles, and then there is a ramp on the left. It is steep and not inviting, unless you are sure of your car. So you come down to the gorge, and there you can leave your car and climb down to the river-bed. Very well. That is Echelle. But it is, as I say, more for mountaineers than…”
But I had no ears to hear what else he said.
Echelle was the name of the spot which we had called ‘Paradise’. And that was where Shapely had camped. Not Luz Ortigue. Paradise. Not above Jules, for Tass had walked to Cluny to catch the bus. And who ever heard of a chauffeur walking a good ten miles in the heat of the day?
I glanced at Jonah. His face was set, and his eyes were fast on the map. He seemed to be trying to read some secret it held.
At last he turned to the sergeant.
“I know Echelle,” he said. “But not by that name. I have lunched there more than once. There’s a little meadow there. I see that it’s numbered here.”
“That is so, Monsieur. I know the field you mean. But it is of small account. It is awkward for a peasant to get at, though they say that the grass is fat.”
Jonah spoke very slowly, with his eyes on the other’s face.
“It is nice to picnic in. At least, it was. But when last I went there, in April, the meadow was straitly fenced…and the barn was locked.”
“That would be the new owner,” said the other. “I heard that it had been sold. Though why he should be so jealous I cannot conceive. I mean, there are no beasts there, to ravage his hay.”
After a long silence—
“I…find it strange, too,” said Jonah, and turned on his heel. “May I leave the car where it is for half an hour? I want to go for a stroll…and I may want to telephone.”
The officer passed to the door and glanced down the street. Then—
“Certainly, Monsieur. No one will touch it there. Stroll as you please. My men will keep their eyes on it, till you return.”
In silence, we left the guard-room and crossed the bridge.
“We’ve got it,” said Jonah. “We’ve got all the pieces now; but they won’t fit in. It’s only a question of patience. I never was so excited in all my life.”
My brain was unruly – fighting against the bit.
“Let’s sit down on that bank,” I said, “and sift the grain from the chaff.”
As we took our seats—
“Shapely camped at Echelle,” said Jonah, “and not at Luz Ortigue. He, therefore, knew Echelle for a lonely place.”
“I know, but—”
“Wait a minute. On one thing we both agree – that when Shapely came out in December, he came out ‘to put things right’. But we could not think how he could do it. You said yourself, ‘Find out what he actually did, and we’ll have the truth in our hands.’ Well, now we know what he did. In ten minutes’ time I’m going to ring up de Moulin and ask him to find out at once who bought that field. That, as a matter of form; for we both know that Shapely owns it…and why it’s fenced.”
I caught his arm.
“The barn,” I cried. “The padlocked barn, Jonah!”
My cousin struck his hand on the bank.
“Of course. In the barn. Well done. We’re getting on. I’ll lay a monkey he buried Tass in that barn. And then, in fear and trembling, because you had shown him the awful mistake he had made, he came back here in December and bought and locked the place… We ought to have thought of that. That was an obvious way ‘to put things right’. And now we go back to the murder – the murder on September the first.”
There was a little silence.
“He had eight hours,” I said, frowning. “He left Pau at half past ten and never got to Orthez till half-past six.”
“Just nice time,” said Jonah. “An hour to pick up the lime and then go on to meet Tass. Another hour to get to Echelle. Four hours in which to kill and then bury his dead. And then two hours in which to get to Orthez. And now we come to the jump. How did he get through the Customs? If he and Tass passed out, but he alone came back…”
“Tass must have been dead?” said I. “And his body concealed in the van.”
“But what a risk!” said Jonah. “They always look into all cars. And a caravan like that might very well have been crammed with contraband stuff. Besides, who takes a van for an afternoon trip? Oh, no: we’
re off the rails there. Of course he could have changed to a car, but then what about Tass?”
There was another silence, while both of us thought very hard.
“We’re right so far,” mused Jonah. “I’m sure of that. You see it explains his lie – that he was at Luz Ortigue.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said I. “He hadn’t bumped Tass off, when he told that lie.”
Jonah looked at me sharply. Then he caught my arm.
“Wait a minute. What if he had? The fellow who sold the lime, kept saying ‘last summer some time’. Well, June was last summer all right. We’ve always looked at September. But what about June?”
My heart was hammering. Once again, I was sure that my cousin was right.
“June,” I said. “Now let’s go over the dates. Tass murders Old Rowley on Monday – Monday night. He reaches Paris on Tuesday and travels to Pau that night. At eight on Wednesday morning he puts his suitcase into the cloak-room at Pau. Well, he could have been here by ten, if he’d taken the early bus. And Shapely didn’t leave here till five o’clock. That means he had seven hours in which to kill Tass and bury him in the barn. Say six, to be sure. And six was more than enough. But once again, how the hell did Tass pass the Customs?”
“I can’t answer that question,” said Jonah. “But I’m sure that somehow he did. He left Shapely and came back to Shapely – and Shapely did him in. He’d bought the lime beforehand – before they came here at all. And he probably dug the grave, while Tass was away.”
There was another silence. Jonah had his eyes shut and a hand to his head. And I stared up at the cliffs which were looking down on Echelle. The sun was…
And there, as I looked upon them, the contact was made.
I must, I think, have cried out, but I cannot be sure. But Jonah was shaking me and crying, “What do you know?”
“One second. Let me go back. Tass shoves his suitcase in the cloak-room and catches the early bus. But he doesn’t travel to Cluny: he travels to Lally, instead. And then he walks over the mountain, by the path which Shapely has shown him – past where we found young de Moulin, down to Echelle.”
House That Berry Built Page 27