Berry And Co. (10 page)

“I was walking through Flail according to plan, and following the tram-lines according to the drivelling advice given me by an outside porter with a suggestive nose. Need I say that before I had covered a hundred yards the lines branched? I was still praying for the soul of my informant, when I observed that a large blue constable, who was apparently lining the street, was staring at me as at an apparition. Courteously I gave him ‘Good day.’ In return he handed me a look which I shall try to forget, and asked me how I came by the dispatch-case.

“‘I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I came by train.’

“Noticing that he seemed piqued by my reply, I made haste to suggest that we should repair to a neighbouring dairy and consume two small glasses of buttermilk and a sponge cake at my expense. Not to be outdone in hospitality, he made a counter-proposal, which, after some hesitation, I thought it discreet to accept. Our progress through the streets afforded the acme of gratification to the populace, most of whom accompanied us with every circumstance of enthusiasm and delight. Altogether it was most exhilarating.

“My reception at the police station was cordial in the extreme. They told me their theory, and I gave them my explanation. The fact that the beastly case was still locked was naturally in my favour. In fact, everything in the garden was lovely, and I was on the point of pushing off to catch my train, when that fool of an inspector asked if I’d leave my card, as a matter of form.

“‘I’m afraid I haven’t one on me,’ I said, ‘but I dare say I’ve got an envelope,’ and I started to feel in my pockets. There was only one paper there, and that wasn’t an envelope.
It was Mr Boleton’s letter
.

“The moment I saw what it was, I knew I was done. I couldn’t put it away, or they’d get suspicious. If I showed it them, they’d regard me as a first-class crook, and very big game. I suppose I hesitated, for the Inspector leaned forward and took it out of my hand.

“The rest was easy. I was reviled, searched, cautioned, examined, measured, described and finally told that I should be detained pending inquiries. I was then immured in a poisonous-looking dungeon, which, to judge from its atmosphere, had been recently occupied by an anti-prohibitionist, and, from its condition, not yet reached by the chambermaid.

“Yes,” he concluded, “you have before you the complete gaol-bird.”

“How did you spend your time?” said Jonah.

“B-b-beating my wings against the crool b-b-bars,” said Berry. “My flutterings were most painful. Several turnkeys broke down. The rat which was attached to me for pay and rations gambolled to assuage my grief. Greatly affected by the little animal’s antics, I mounted the plank bed and rang the b-b-bell for the b-b-boots. In due course they appeared full of the feet of a gigantic warder. I told him that I had not ordered vermin and should prefer a fire, and asked if they’d mind if I didn’t dress for dinner. I added that I thought flowers always improved a cell, and would he buy me some white carnations and a b-b-begonia. His reply was evasive and so coarse that I told the rat not to listen, and recited what I could remember of ‘The Lost Chord.’” He turned to me. “The remainder of my time I occupied in making plans for the disposal of your corpse.”

“You’ve only yourself to thank,” said I. “You shouldn’t have borrowed the goods. I acted in good faith.”

“I wonder,” said Berry, “where one gets quicklime.”

It was during the interval between the third and fourth dances, both of which had been given me by Miss Doiran, that the latter consulted her programme.

“I’m dancing the fifth,” she announced, “with the Duke of Blackpool.” I started violently, but she took no notice. “I think you know him. He was released from prison this afternoon. As my aunt’s secretary, I’ve had some correspondence with him under the name of Boleton.”

My brain began to work furiously.

“I scent collusion,” I said. “Diana is in this.”

Miss Doiran laughed.

“She rang me up directly she got your note about the lecture. The rest sort of came natural. I believe you were responsible for the telegrams. I congratulate you. The elephants were a brain-wave. My aunt was tickled to death by them.”

“How dreadful! I mean – it’s very nice of her. I’m afraid it was all rather impertinent.”

“If so, we were the first to offend, and, after all, Major Pleydell has expiated his crime.”

“And he’s fixed my murder for the first week in January. There’s really only you left.”

“Oh, I’m punished already,” said Miss Doiran. “I’ve lost my heart. And he doesn’t love me.”

“Would it be indiscreet to ask his name?”

Miss Doiran looked round the room.

“When I last saw him,” she said, “he was talking to an Irish terrier.”

How Jill’s Education was Improved,

and Daphne Gave Her Husband the Slip

“As I have frequently observed,” said Berry, “your education has been neglected. I’m not blaming those responsible. Your instruction must have been a thankless task.”

“I should think the masters who taught you enjoyed their holidays.”

Such a reply from Jill was like a sudden snowstorm in June, and Berry, who was in the act of drinking, choked with surprise. When he had recovered his breath—

“You rude child,” he said. “My prizes are among my most cherished possessions.”

“Where d’you keep them?” – suspiciously.

“Chancery Lane Safe Deposit,” was the reply. “When I die I shall leave them to the Wallace Collection. The shoes I wore at the first night of
Buzz-Buzz
are already promised to the Imperial Institute.”

“When you’ve quite finished,” said Daphne, “I’ll suggest that we go up for the day on Friday. I don’t mean tomorrow, but the one after.”

“It’s a little early in the year,” said I. “All the same, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go up again later on. It’s always open.”

“If the weather holds,” said Jonah, “it will be looking wonderful.”

Oxford. Some reference had been made to the city while we sat at dessert, and in the midst of a banana Jill had confessed that she had never been there. The rest of us knew the place well. Berry had been at Magdalen, Jonah at New College, and I had fleeted four fat years carelessly as a member of “The House.” But, while my sister had spent many hours there during my residence, Jill had not once visited her brother – largely, no doubt, because there was a disparity of eight years, in her favour, between their ages.

“I warn you,” said Berry, “that I may break down. My return to the haunts of early innocence may be too much for me. Yes,” he added, “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if I were to beat my breast somewhere near The Martyrs’ Memorial.”

“An appropriate locality,” said Jonah. “If my memory serves me, it was for a crime committed almost under the shadow of that monument that you were irrevocably sent down.”

Berry selected a cigar before replying. Then—

“Only a malignant reptile would refer to that miscarriage of justice. It was not my fault that the animal which I employed exceeded its instructions and, as it were, pushed on after attaining its objective.”

“You expected it to consolidate the position?” said I.

“Precisely. To dig itself in. It was like this. It was expedient – no matter why – that a large boar should be introduced into Balliol College shortly before 10 p.m. A gigantic specimen was accordingly procured and brought to the Broad Street entrance in a hansom cab. It was then induced to take up a position commanding the wicket-door. The juxtaposition of two hurdles, held in place by my subordinates, frustrated any attempt at untimely evacuation. At a given signal the customary kick was administered to the gate, indicating that some person or persons sought admission to the foundation. Unhesitatingly the porter responded to the summons. The wicket was opened, and the pig passed in.”

“I think it was very cruel,” said Daphne.

“Not at all,” said her husband. “There was more succulent grass upon the lawns of Balliol than was dreamt of in its ferocity. To continue. My mission accomplished, I entered the hansom and drove to the Club. It was during an unfortunate altercation with the cabman, who demanded an unreasonably exorbitant sum for the conveyance of the pig, that I was accosted by a proctor for being gownless. The cab was still redolent of its late occupant, and, although nothing was said at the time, it was this which afterwards led the authorities to suspect my complicity. Even so, nothing would have been said but for a most distressing development.

“I had expected that the pig would confine its attention to the quadrangles and gardens and to startling such members of the college as happened casually to encounter it. Fate, however, decreed otherwise. It appears that the creature’s admission coincided with the opening of a door which led directly into the Senior Common Room, where the Master and Fellows were still discussing classical criticism and some ’34 port. Attracted by the shaft of light and the mellow atmosphere of good cheer and hilarity which streamed into the comparative gloom of the quadrangle, the pig made a bee-line for the doorway, and a moment later the exclusive circle was enriched by the presence of this simple and unaffected guest. The details of what followed have never transpired, but from the Senior Proctor’s demeanour at a subsequent interview, and the amount of the bill for damage which I was requested to pay, I am inclined to think that the pig must have been a confirmed Bolshevist.”

“I hope you apologized to the Master.”

“I did. I received in reply a letter which I shall always value, It ran as follows—

SIR,

I beg that you will think no more of the matter Youth must be served. Many years ago I assisted your father in a somewhat similar enterprise. Till the other evening I had always believed that the havoc provoked by the introduction of a dancing bear into a concert-room could not be surpassed. I am now less certain.

Yours very faithfully,

…”

“I think,” said Jill, “he was very forgiving.”

“It was deep,” said Berry, “calling to deep. By the way, you’ll all be pleased to hear that I have received peremptory instructions ‘within one week to abolish the existing number by which this house is distinguished, and to mark or affix on some conspicuous part thereof a new number, and to renew the same as often as it is obliterated or defaced.’ Selah.”

“Whatever,” said Daphne, “do you mean?”

“Sorry,” said Berry. “Let me put it another way. Some genii, masquerading as officials, have got a move on. Snuffing the air of ‘Reconstruction,’ they have realized with a shock that the numbers of the houses in this street have not been changed for over half a century. Thirstily they have determined to repair the omission. We’ve always been ‘38.’ In a few days, with apologies to Wordsworth, we shall be ‘7.’ A solemn thought.”

“But can we do nothing?”

“Certainly. In that case somebody else will obliterate the existing number, and I shall be summoned to appear before a Justice of the Peace.”

“It’s outrageous,” said Daphne. “It’ll cause endless confusion, and think of all our notepaper and cards. All the dies will have to be scrapped and new ones cut.”

“Go easy,” said I. “After a decent interval they’ll alter the name of the street. Many people feel that The Quadrant should be renamed ‘The Salient,’ and Piccadilly ‘High Street.’ I’m all for Progress.”

“Is this renumbering stunt a fact?” said Jonah. “Or are you just being funny?”

“It’s a poisonous but copper-bottomed fact,” said Berry. “This is the sort of thing we pay rates and taxes for. Give me Germany.”

“Can’t we refuse?”

“I’ve rung up Merry and Merry, and they’ve looked up the law, and say there’s no appeal. We are at the mercy of some official who came out top in algebra in ’64 and has never recovered. Let us be thankful it wasn’t geography. Otherwise we should be required to name this house ‘Sea View’ or ‘Clovelly.’ Permit me to remark that the port has now remained opposite you for exactly four minutes of time, for three of which my goblet has been empty.”

“I think it’s cruel,” said Jill, passing on the decanter. “I think—”

“Hush,” said Berry. “That wonderful organ, my brain, is working.” Rapidly he began to write upon the back of a
menu
. “We must inform the world through the medium of the Press. An attractive paragraph must appear in
The Times
. What could be more appropriate than an epitaph? Ply me with wine, child. The sage is in labour with a song.” Jill filled his glass and he drank. “Another instant, and you shall hear the deathless words. I always felt I should be buried in the Abbey. Anybody give me a rhyme for ‘bilge’? No, it doesn’t matter. I have ingeniously circumvented the crisis.”

He added one line, held the card at arm’s length, regarded it as a painter a canvas, sighed, and began to read.

A painful tale I must relate.

We used to live at thirty-eight,

But, as we hope to go to heaven,

We’ve come to live at number seven.

Now, if we’d lived at number nine,

I’d got a simply priceless line—

I didn’t want to drag in heaven,

But nothing else will rhyme with seven.

“Soldier, mountebank, and rhymester too!” said Jonah. “And yet we breathe the same air.”

“I admit it’s strange,” said my brother-in-law. “But it was foretold by my predecessor. I think you’ll find the prophecy in
Henry the Fifth
. ‘And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, Neighboured by fruit of baser quality.’ My game, I think. What?”

As was fitting, St George’s Day dawned fair and cloudless. Her passionate weeping of the day before dismissed, April was smiling – shyly at first, as if uncertain that her recent waywardness had been forgiven, and by and by so bravely that all the sweet o’ the year rose up out of the snowy orchards, dewy and odorous, danced in the gleaming meadows and hung, glowing and breathless, in every swaying nursery that Spring had once more built upon the patient trees.

The Rolls sailed through the country, proudly indifferent to hill or dale, melting the leagues to miles with such swift deadliness as made you sorry for the lean old road that once had been so much to reckon with.

I was on the point of communicating this Quixotic reflection to Agatha Deriot, who was seated in front between Jill and myself, when there fell upon my reluctant ears that heavy sigh which only an expiring tyre can heave. As I slowed up, it occurred to me that the puissance of the roads of England was still considerable.

“Which is it?” said Agatha.

“Off hind, I fancy.” We were in the midst of a pleasant beechwood, and I pulled in to the side of the road with a grunt. “If it had to be, it might have happened in a less pleasing locality.”

“I gather,” said Berry’s voice, “I gather that something untoward has befallen the automobile. Should I be wrong, correct me and explain the stoppage.”

“With that singular clarity of intellect which never fails to recognize the obvious, you have correctly diagnosed the case. We have picked up a puncture.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Berry. “I always let them lie. I did gather a bunch of bursts once, but—”

“Sorry,” said I. “I forgot how near we were to Oxford. What I meant was that some hostile body of a sharp nature had penetrated a tyre, thus untimely releasing the air hitherto therein confined.”

“Thank you,” said Berry. “Experience leads me to anticipate a slight delay, the while you effect the necessary repairs. I shall therefore compose myself to slumber and meditation. Possibly I shall toy with a cigarette. Possibly—”

“Your programme will, I fear, miscarry for more than one reason. In the first place, you’re sitting on the jack. In the second place, clumsy fool though you are, Jonah can change the wheel quicker if you help him.” With that I climbed out of the driver’s seat, and lighted a cigarette. “Who,” I added, “will come for a little walk?”

“I’m coming,” said Daphne, setting aside the rug and rising from her seat between Jonah and her husband.

“I forbid you,” said the latter, “to consort with that blasphemous viper.”

My sister leaned down and kissed him.

“A little gentle exercise,” she said, “will do you good. I expect it’ll make you hot, so take your coat off. Then you’ll have something to put on again.”

Coldly Berry regarded her.

“How long,” he said, “did it take you to work that out?”

As we strolled down the sun-flecked road in the wake of Miss Deriot and Jill, I turned and looked back at the car. Something was squatting on the tarmac close to the petrol tank. The fact that Jonah was unstrapping a spare wheel suggested that my brother-in-law was taking exercise…

My sister slid an arm through mine, and we walked idly on. The road curled out of the wood into the unchecked sunlight, rising to where its flashing hedgerows fell back ten paces each, leaving a fair green ride on either side of the highway. Here jacketed elms made up a stately colonnade, ready to nod their gay green crests at each stray zephyr’s touch, and throwing broad equidistant bars of shadow across the fresh turf and the still moist ribbon of metalling beyond. Two piles of stones lay heaped upon the sward, and, as we drew near, we heard the busy chink of a stone-breaker’s hammer, a melodious sound that fitted both morning and venue to perfection. Again I fell to thinking on the old coach road…

The stone-breaker was an old, old man, but the tone in which he gave us “Good day” was blithe and good to hear, while he looked as fit as a fiddle.

“You work very fast,” said I, as he reached for a mammoth flint.

“Aye,” he said. “But it come easy, sir, after so many year.”

“Have you always done this?” said Daphne.

The old fellow plucked the gauze from his brow and touched his battered hat.

“Naught else, m’m. Nine-and-seventy year come Michaelmas I’ve kep’ the Oxford road. An’ me father before me.”

“That’s a wonderful record,” said I amazedly. “And you carry your years well.”

“Thank you, sir. There’s a many as tells me that I’ll be ninety-one in the month o’ June. An’ can’t write me own name, sir.”

“That’s no shame,” said I. “Tell me, you must remember the coaches.”

“That do I. They was took off my road just afore I started breakin’ meself, but long afore that I used to bring me father ‘is dinner, an’ I remember them well. Many a time I’ve watched the ‘Tantivy’ go by, an’ Muster Cracknell drivin’. Always nodded to father, ’e did, an’ passed the time o’ day. An’ father, ’e’d wave is ’ammer, an’ call me an’ tell me ’is name, an’ what a fine coachman ’e were. ’Twas a Birmin’ham coach, the ‘Tantivy,’ but Muster Cracknell used to ’and over at Oxford. London to Oxford was ’is stretch, sir. An’ back.”

“Isn’t that wonderful?” said Daphne.

Agatha and Jill, who had joined us, agreed in awestruck whispers.