House That Berry Built (24 page)

“Let Carson get it,” said I. “Here’s Captain Mansel coming. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

Joseph’s face lighted up.

“Oh, if Monsieur Carson will do it, I shall be deeply obliged. And while he is gone, the plasterer can put up his slats. Monsieur must not think that I make a fuss about nothing. This plasterer is in the midst of another job. At my request, Monsieur Henri has let me have him just for today. I cannot have him tomorrow, and he is a very good man.”

I explained the position to Jonah.

“But of course,” he said. “Carson has gone to the post, but he’ll be here in a quarter of an hour. He’ll be delighted to go. Where does he report? At the office?”

“It will be quicker,” said Joseph, “if he goes to the depot direct. It will save him at least ten miles. He turns at Louvie and takes the Oloron road. After five miles that joins the road from Pau, and two miles farther on the factory is on his right. Monsieur Carson will not pay for the lime. As soon as they see the lorry, they will give him as much as he asks. But three bags will be more than enough.”

“Consider it done,” said Jonah. “He’ll be back long before noon.”

“
Mon Dieu
,” said Joseph. “Was ever a man better served?”

And that was that. Twenty minutes later Carson was gone for the lime, and Jonah and I were at work.

As I have said, a grille had been set where the
ruisseau
entered its pipe – a very substantial grille, to arrest all foreign bodies on their way down. Throughout the winter it had done its work very well: next to nothing but water had entered the pipe. But we had observed that, at the time of the deluge – that is to say, when the spring at the back of the house had caused so much earth to fall – the grille itself had been very nearly choked with the stones and the wood and the refuse which the force of the water brought down. And so we had decided to build another grille some forty feet higher up. Its mesh would be very much coarser than that of the grille below: but it would trap the big stuff and, in the event of a spate, would certainly save its fellow from being choked. And so we had made five posts of ferro-concrete. These would be driven into the bed of the rill, and would then be linked and bridged by a cross-bar of ferro-concrete, running from bank to bank.

The day was hot, and I well remember how very pleasant the cool of the water was: and I felt sorry for Carson, who was to have worked with us, but, because of a fool’s mistake, was driving a pounding lorry for forty miles.

Berry was in the house, supervising the fixing of mirrors upon the walls. Daphne and Jill were planting a bed of violets at the foot of the bluff. The crane was being dismantled – Joseph was seeing to that. And the scaffold which led to the terrace was coming down. And masons were filling the gap in the parapet.

We had set up our posts in the
ruisseau
and had begun to shutter the line which the cross-bar would take, when Carson made his appearance just before noon.

“Ah, Carson,” said Jonah. “Did you get the merchandise?”

“Yes, sir. Three sacks. I’ve handed them over to Joseph.”

“Good. Well, now you get back to lunch. We’ll have this shuttering done before we go; so if you’re back before us you might start mixing some concrete.”

“Very good, sir,” said Carson. He hesitated. “A curious thing happened, sir. It’s very slight and it’s nothing to do with me; but I think that I ought to tell you, for what it’s worth.”

Jonah threw down his hammer and wiped the sweat from his face.

“Tell me, Carson,” he said. “And leave nothing out.”

“Well, I found the factory, sir. It was just where Joseph had said, standing a little back from the Pau to Oloron road. I drove the lorry into the yard, and then I walked into the office, to ask for the lime. It was very dim in there, for the shutters were to, but after a moment I saw there was no one there. Just as I turned to go out, a little, fat fellow comes in, by the door I had used.

“‘Ah,’ he cries. ‘So it is you. You have come for your change. It has been in my desk for months.’ Then he peers at me very close. And then he bursts out laughing and lays his hand on my arm. ‘Excuse me, my friend. I have mistaken you for somebody else. For another Englishman. He came here – oh, last summer some time, and purchased two bags of lime. At thirty francs apiece. And he had a hundred-franc note, and I had no change. And his forty francs is still waiting to be redeemed. I thought it was strange, his coming in a lorry belonging to the brothers Lafargue. He had a wonderful car – a kind of caravan…’”

I looked from Carson to Jonah and put a hand to my head.

“Lime,” I cried. “Lime! Shapely was purchasing lime. And he fainted when I talked about Crippen! By God, Jonah, I’ve got it. Why did he faint like that?
Because he had slaked his lime. Because he had made the mistake which Crippen had made
.”

My cousin had me by the arm.

“Boy,” he said, “you’ve got something. You’ve picked up the scent. And now let’s get this straight.”

I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Look at it this way,” I said. “Shapely collected Tass’ suitcase at Tass’ request. That was ‘last summer some time.’ And then he went to meet Tass. And on his way – for the factory
was
on his way – he purchased the lime. What did he want lime for?
Because he knew that Tass was going to be killed
. Tass was dangerous – Shapely admitted so much that day in the train. So Shapely met him – and killed him…not very far from Orthez…on September the first last year. No wonder he paled, when Falcon asked him how he had spent his time: for he’d spent it murdering Tass and shoving him under the sod.
And why did he have to have lime? Because Tass was short of an eye
…and so the body could be identified. But lime destroys…quick lime… And that’s why they can’t find Tass. Because he’s dead and buried – and has been dead and buried ever since September last year.”

“Murder and burial?” said Jonah. “All in the light of day?”

“In one of those woods,” said I. “He took a risk, of course. But it was even money that anyone would come by. And apparently nobody did.”

“That’s right,” said Jonah. “And when he came back in December—”

“–he came back to put things right. I’d put him wise, in the train. I’d shown him the fatal error which he had made. He’d slaked his lime – like Crippen. I remember using these words – ‘Quick lime destroys, but slack lime preserves.’ And so he came back in December, to put things right.”

“When we were out of the way. But how could he put things right?”

“I don’t know. I can’t answer that question. But I’ll lay that’s why he came. It does fit in, Jonah. This purchase of the lime… Seven hours to himself by Orthez, in which to do the job… He faints when I tell him of Crippen’s fatal mistake… And then he comes back in December, when he knows that we’re out of the way.”

“To put things right,” said Jonah. “Now how would he put things right?”

Carson finished the grille.

For, all that afternoon, Jonah and I were composing a careful letter – a letter to Scotland Yard.

It was not addressed to Falcon, but to someone greater than he.

Some of it will bear reproduction.

Well, there are the facts. Now for the speculation. But let me insist that this is not your affair. If a man is murdered in France, that has nothing to do with you. And you have importuned France to look for Tass alive: you can hardly ask them now to look for Tass dead. And we are not going to look. There are acres and acres of woods in the region concerned. Still, it is right that you should know that my cousin has picked up the scent. I mean, you never know. Any day, for instance, the body may be discovered. In which case, as soon as we hear, we shall get in touch with the police, and Falcon ought to come out as quickly as ever he can. We ourselves may stumble on something else. I hardly think that’s likely, but we do seem doomed to be mixed up in this affair. So, will you stand by – just in case?

As regards the date. Carson, who is no fool, tried to pin the manager down. But he stuck to ‘last summer some time,’ with which we must be content. Well, September the first was ‘last summer’…

I had not meant to tell you of my cousin’s conversation with Shapely, when they were in the train. You see, it was off the record. But now I feel bound to tell you as much as I have…

And now, to sum up.

First, what did Shapely want lime for? What does any man want lime for, when he is en route for a port, at which to embark his car? And quite a lot of lime – two hundredweight.

Secondly, why did he faint, when my cousin related the details of Crippen’s crime? I would not have said he was squeamish: and, even if he is squeamish, people don’t actually faint, when presented with details like that. It may make them feel sick. It may put them off their food. But I do not believe that they faint. But a shock will make a man faint. And if my cousin is right and Shapely had made the very same ‘error of knowledge’ which Crippen made, the sudden realization of the truth that he had in fact preserved what he meant to destroy would have been a considerable shock to any murderer.

Thirdly, where is Tass?

Fourthly, why did Shapely’s last visit to France coincide with our visit to England? There may be nothing in this, but the fact remains.

Fifthly, six months have gone by, but Shapely has not visited France. Why?

My cousin has always maintained that an English chauffeur like Tass, who, as Shapely himself volunteered, ‘disliked foreign parts’, would soon become impatient of the business of lying low in the French countryside. Who so aware of this as Shapely, whose servant Tass was? And any show of impatience would be very dangerous – not only to Tass, but to Shapely, as accessory after the fact. So Shapely had a first-class motive for putting Tass out of the way.

Well, there we are.

I have told you certain facts, as well as the construction, which my cousin has put upon them. With that construction I agree. I tell you these things that you may be forearmed. I can hardly believe it, but we might have another break. We shall not go after it; but we didn’t go after this. If we should run into anything concrete, we shall have to inform the French police. But, in such an unlikely case, I am sure you would see the wisdom of sending Falcon out – on a private visit to us. And then he would be on the spot, to hold a watching brief.

I seem to be repeating myself, so I’d better stop…

Five days later, my cousin had a reply.

July 1st.

DEAR JONAH,

We are profoundly interested by all you say. More than interested – moved. I firmly believe that you and your cousin are right. But, as you say, we can do nothing. Oh, of course you are right. The thing sticks out. If only it had happened in England! With you, I can hardly believe that you’ll get any further than this. But once one has picked up the scent, one never knows. Anyway, you have only to wire, and Falcon shall leave at once. I know I can trust you there. In such a case, much will depend upon your liaison between the French police and him. His position will be irregular, and you will have to regularize it somehow. If you don’t think you can do that, then you must not wire.

I need hardly add that, if Falcon had had his way, he would be with you now. But this, of course, I cannot permit. We must not get wrong with the French, and, as you have pointed out, this is – and must be – their show.

Yours ever,

—.

It is not too much to say that, but for the house, Jonah and I would have been obsessed by the crime. It was not our affair, but, as Jonah had said, we seemed fated to be involved. And now the case had been reopened – after a space of six months. This, out of the blue, as they say: by the merest accident. We should not, I think, have been human, if we had not dwelled upon the matter day after day.

“It’s no good,” said Jonah, one evening. “We’re up against a brick wall.”

“Say a locked door,” said I.

“Locked door, if you like,” said Jonah. “But where’s the key?”

“I have a feeling,” I said, “that the key is lying concealed in the action which Shapely took ‘to put things right’. He came out in December to do that, and we must presume that he did. But – what – did – he – actually – do? Dig a deeper grave? Get more lime – which he did
not
slake? I don’t think those are the answers. The woods were bare in December, and he might well have been seen. But I do feel this – that he may have done something desperate. And desperate acts are the acts that let a man down.”

In Which Daphne Surveys her Home,

and We are Made a Present of a Vulliamy Clock

It was Berry who had insisted that the drive should be made, as roads are made, with metalling, large and small, and cold tar and chips above.

We thought this extravagance and said so. But Berry was adamant.

“If we do it like that,” he said, “we shall never have to touch it for fifty years. No wear, no weeds, no pools of water; and so, no maintenance. And it will always look nice.”

That Joseph supported him goes without any saying. Only the very best was good enough for ‘the property’.

And so it was done. And then the garage apron was laid, at the end of the drive. When the whole was finished, it certainly looked very well.

The balustrades had gone up, within and without the house, and the carpenters had the interior to themselves. To help the plaster to dry, all the windows stood open the whole day long, so that the brilliant weather could play its part.

On Monday, July the fifth, Lavarini’s fountain arrived. God knows what it weighed, but it took seven men to carry it up to the terrace which was to become a lawn. There it was bedded on concrete, lest it should sink: and Carol and Lavarini arranged the run of the pipes. Flags were laid about it, because of the splash – a labour which Lavarini insisted on doing himself. Its play was controlled by a tap by the side of the porch.

On Tuesday, after breakfast, Jill and Jonah and I were walking up to the site, when we saw a little crowd in the midst of the way. It was usual enough for strangers to stop as they passed and look up at the house: but the peasants were used to it now and, if they stopped at all, it was only to shout a greeting to someone working above. But this little crowd was composed of peasants alone.

“What is it?” said Jill. “D’you think something’s happened? I mean that something’s gone wrong?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I can’t think what it can be. Anyway, we shall know in a minute.”

So we did. And we stood and looked with the others – before we went up.

Lavarini’s fountain was playing.

The pressure was high, and a lovely plume of water was rising out of the basin and casting its lovely burden into the sunlit air. The dazzling shimmer of the flourish against the green was really beautiful, and we all cried out with pleasure the moment it met our eye.

“It is a surprise, then, to Monsieur?”

“Yes, indeed,” said I. “We had not seen it at work. It is Monsieur Lavarini, the tiler, who has made us a present of this.”

“He is very valiant. And he has given Monsieur a present which we shall all share. For myself, I could stand here all day.”

I need hardly say that Jill was in ecstasy.

I tore myself away and made for the library. This was now being panelled, and called for meticulous work…

That afternoon, I remember, the telephone was installed.

Without the house, not much remained to be done. These walls had to be coped, and those reinforced. Iron gates had to be hung at the mouth of the drive. The property had to be fenced – more against cattle and goats than anything else. Jonah, Carson and I were at work on the scarecrow field. At present this was an eye-sore. Now that we were its owners, we were determined that it should not let ‘the property’ down. Daphne and Jill spent all their time on the garden. Berry stayed in the house, supervising the fitting of cupboards and the hanging of doors.

The time was now approaching when the call for our supervision would come to an end. At the end of the week, the carpenters would have finished, and two days later, the painters would enter the house. The walls would not be touched till the week after that, but there was a great deal of woodwork which had to be done. The electrical work and the plumbing had been finished the week before. Joseph was still in charge and held the keys of the house, which he opened himself every morning and closed himself at night. He was a jealous warden. Every shutter was fastened by his own hand.

Berry was consulting his diary.

“We should be able to enter on August the tenth. The furniture at Asen is all ready: they want twenty-four hours’ notice, to send it up. The stuff that’s coming from England will leave the last week of July. One large van will accept the whole of it – luggage and all. It ought to be here on time; but we can’t go in till it comes, for it’s got all the plate and linen, as well as the china and glass.”

“Fuel?” said Daphne.

“The oil-tank is full, and fifty loads of wood will be delivered next week.”

“Fifty?” cried everyone.

“Foresight,” said Berry. “Wood is going up. Fifty loads will last us two years – and more than that. I did the deal through Guillaume, the bloke at the marble-mills; and once it’s stacked in the guard-room, you’ll hardly know that it’s there. You’ll live to thank me all right. All oak, too – a metre in length. We cut it in half as we need it – one of us does. I’m not too good with a saw.”

“I suppose we’re wise to have an electric range. Eugène is not enthusiastic.”

“If Eugène had had his way, we should have the kind of range that they used at Windsor Castle when Henry the Eighth was King. It’d burn a ton a week, and you’d want a fireman’s kit to enter the kitchen at all. As for the dirt… But he’ll be converted all right. After one week of electricity, there’d be a riot, if you suggested coal. Anyway, the chimney is there: and if the cooker’s a failure, we’ve only to hand it back and get in a stove.”

“About August the tenth, then?”

“Yes. And since we can do no more, I suggest that we go to Freilles for three or four days. Change is good, and a bathe in the Bay of Biscay would tone me up.”

“I must be here,” said Daphne, “before they begin the walls. The paint will have to be mixed, and then we’re going to try samples, to see how they look.”

“The walls will not be started until the week after next. They can’t go wrong with the woodwork. Let’s go to Freilles on Monday for three or four days.”

After a moment’s hesitation—

“Right oh,” said everyone.

We had spent a week at Biarritz in April, and, whilst we were there, we had taken a look at Freilles. This was a little resort, some twenty miles north of Bayonne. It was sunk in the pinewoods, on the edge of the roaring surf, and it was being very well done. I say ‘was being’, because it had not been developed. Freilles was in existence, but it was hardly known.

That evening I telephoned to a tiny hotel…

My sister laid a hand on my arm.

“Freilles on Monday,” she said. “D’you know – before we go, I’d love to see over my home. Quite quietly, you know. When nobody else is there. Could we get up early on Monday, just you and I?”

“Very early,” said I. “The painters will be here by seven.”

“What about six?”

I sighed.

“I wouldn’t do it,” I said, “for anyone else.”

I thought it best to tell Joseph.

“That is right and proper,” he said, “that Madame should consider her home, with nothing to distract her – no workmen, no noise, no movement… The house to herself. All shall be ready, Monsieur, on Monday at six o’clock.”

“But you’ll be at Pau,” said I. “You must leave me the keys.”

“No, Monsieur: I shall be here. I shall not be seen, of course; but I shall be here. From now on, I sleep in the guard-room. It is my will. Till Mesdames and Messieurs enter, I shall not leave the house.”

“You’re very good, Joseph,” I said.

“It is my pleasure, Monsieur.”

“And I am going to Freilles, to lie on the
plage
.”

“That is as it should be, Monsieur. But I shall be happier here. To be honest, I slept here last night: and I stood on the terrace this morning and watched the dawn get up. It was a famous experience. Believe me, I shall be sad when my tenancy comes to an end.”

“We’ll be back on Friday, Joseph. I’ll ring you up each day at a quarter past two.”

Joseph inclined his head.

“And I shall be ready and waiting to listen to Monsieur’s voice.”

Daphne looked up at the house.

“Why everything’s open,” she said. “And the awnings are down.”

“Yes,” I said; “that’s Joseph. But nobody will be there.”

“What a dear he is,” said Daphne. “He has the most charming nature. How can we ever repay him for all he’s done?”

“I don’t think we can. We can only keep up with him and make him welcome here whenever he comes.”

As we came to the entrance-drive—

“Don’t think me foolish, Boy; but I’ve a whim to enter the house by the terrace.”

“Splendid,” said I. “We’ll go by the little footpath we’ve made through the scarecrow field. That’ll bring us up to the garden; and then we can walk along and take the terrace steps.”

We passed through the dewy meadows, glanced at the
ruisseau
thundering through its grille and into its pipe, and, taking the upper terrace, approached the house from the west.

As I have said, the stone terrace proper was seven feet longer than the house: so we could gain it, without passing through the house: this, on the west side only, but that was the way we had come.

We passed up the three broad steps and moved to the parapet…

And there lay a bouquet of flowers.

The dew was still upon them. They must have been growing in their garden a short half-hour before.

The scrap of ribbon that bound them was threading a battered card.

Je présente à Madame, avec mon plus profond respect, l’assurance de tout mon dévouement.

JOSEPH.

My sister read the card. Then she picked up the bouquet and put it up to her face…

With one accord we entered the library.

Facing us was the door, with book-shelves on either hand. These rose to the ceiling: below them ran a series of cupboards, each of which could be locked. To our right stood a wide brick fireplace: on our left, two large French windows, now open wide, were commanding the sweep of the valley and the road running up towards Besse. Behind us, three ‘door-windows’, as they are called in France, gave to the sunlit terrace we had but that moment left. The panelling looked very nice. It was not the ‘linen-fold’, which we had known all our lives: it had not that lovely colour which only age can bring; but it looked very fresh and pleasant, and the moulding which Jill had designed was a great success.

I opened the plain oak door and we entered the gallery.

The morning sun was lighting it halfway down, just reaching the foot of the semicircular stair, which rose to our left. The doors of the rooms were shut, and their plain sheets of oak looked well. It was all very simple, but it had dignity.

Immediately on our left, the flash of blue and white tiles declared the lavatory. In the telephone booth, by its side, a broad, oak shelf accepted the telephone: by this lay a pad and pencil, and, just to the right, within reach, was the switch for electric light. The shelf was low, to stand to; but a stool had been made at Asen, so that whoever was speaking could take his seat. Lesser shelves had been hung above the first, for hats and gardening gloves. All the dimensions had been worked out by Berry, and all three walls were sound-proof – that I knew.

I opened the service door, the next on the left.

At once we saw the beauty of Lavarini’s work. The floors were tiled and the walls were tiled head-high. It was fresh and gay and effective. No dirt could lie here. On the right was a spreading switch-board: every fuse upon it was well within reach. On the left was a long row of hooks, on which coats could be hung. Above the hooks hung the only bell in the house. This consisted of two polished, tubular, gongs which, when struck, rendered different notes. One was reserved for the front door and the other for the first floor: if anyone rang from the ground floor, both gongs would sound. (Berry had written to America for this very attractive toy. For some strange reason, it had been sent post free and had cost considerably less than any ordinary bells which we could have purchased in France.)

Daphne tapped with her toe on the floor of the servants’ hall.

“D’you think they’ll be cold?” she said. “We’ll have to give them a rug.”

“There’s a plug,” said I, “for a radiator. And, of course, they’ve the ordinary heating.”

“Tiles make the feet cold,” said Daphne. “ Besides, they’ll love a rug. And the shelf?”

“For the wireless,” said I. “Your husband again. A set is waiting in Pau. Observe the plugs, if you please. One for the power, and one, combined, for the earth and the aerial. We’ve the same in the library.”

The scullery looked very smart. An electric ‘washer’ took up some of its room.

“I hope it works,” said Daphne. “Therèse is mad to try it. If it does, she says, we needn’t send anything out.”

As did the other two rooms, the kitchen looked to the west – over Pernot’s field and the depths of the valley below. Another, ground-glass window gave to the north. Its electric range was in place. All along the length of one wall ran a broad, tiled slab. And there were two fine cupboards from ceiling to floor.

Beyond the kitchen, the lavatory looked very fresh.

Opposite was the larder. Two large, tiled shelves were offering ample space. An electric refrigerator was waiting. A cage, or bin, for bottles stood at the end. And one side was nothing but cupboards, again from ceiling to floor. The open windows faced north and were carefully screened.

“If Eugène complains,” said Daphne, “then he can go.”

We turned and came back to the pantry, facing east. As in the larder, one wall was nothing but cupboards. The sink had been hung at a height which Therèse had determined, ‘for most,’ she said, ‘are either too high or too low.’ The draining-board – eight feet long – was made of some special wood. Berry, Therèse and the brothers had seen to that.

We passed to the furnace-room.

“Make it work, Boy,” said my sister. “Just for fun.”

To be sure that the water was running, I turned on a tap. Then I pressed the master switch…

There was a moment’s hum, and then, with a roar, the furnace sprang to life. I made my sister come down and I opened the furnace door. A gigantic tongue of flame was licking the special bricks.