House That Berry Built (16 page)

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 deposited 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.

In the letter in which we made this request of the French, we also asked that, on the next occasion on which Shapely visited France, he should be carefully shadowed either by their people or ours.

We have now received a reply.

This says:

(a) that the district in question was very carefully searched without result.

(b) that, as there is no charge against Shapely, the authorities cannot consent to shadow him or allow our people to do so in France.

(c) that since we ‘permitted Tass to escape from England’, we had better await his return which will doubtless take place before long.

Well, there we are.

Yours very sincerely,

RICHARD FALCON.

I looked from the letter to Jonah, filling his pipe.

“And now what?” said I.

“Finish,” said Jonah. “There’s nothing more to be done. Tass may lie low for years – if he has any sense, he will. If he or Shapely are careless, they might give the Yard a chance. But as long as they are both careful, the incident will stay closed.”

“What a blasted scandal!”

“It is. But what can we do? Old Rowley’s blood cries out: but they laid their plans too well.”

“But the French can’t have combed that district.”

My cousin shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t suppose they have. You see, they’re not interested. It isn’t their show. And they’re quite within their rights in declining to shadow Shapely. On the face of things, he’s a perfectly innocent tourist.”

“Succouring a man who’s wanted for murder?”

“So we say.”

There was a little silence.

Then—

“One thing beats me,” I said. “Well, it doesn’t exactly beat me, but it doesn’t seem to fit in. Shapely told Falcon that Tass did not like ‘foreign parts’. Well, that rings true. An English chauffeur doesn’t. He doesn’t like the food and he misses his beer and his ‘scotch’. Yet Tass is faced with more or less indefinite exile. And he must have considered that, if the crime was arranged.”

Jonah tapped his teeth with his pipe.

“That’s a good point,” he said. “And it hadn’t occurred to me. And I don’t see the answer.” He smiled. “But then I never do – to the questions you ask. You wouldn’t last long at the Yard. You’d break their hearts.”

Jonah showed me his answer to Falcon, before he sent it off.

It was very short; but at least it left the door open, and that was all I desired.

October 22nd.

DEAR FALCON,

I am very sorry for you. But irons cool quickly in this country, and this particular iron was never more than warm.

I can, of course, promise nothing; but we have eyes and ears, and if Shapely should leave England, you might care to let me know. If you telegraph, call him ‘Aunt Mary’.

Yours,

JONATHAN MANSEL.

“But I don’t understand,” said Daphne. “We asked you for estimates for tiling walls and floors, and we asked you to show us samples of the tiles you proposed to use. You asked for a copy of the plans, and that you had. We did not ask for these sketches.”

Monsieur Antoine Caratib bowed from the waist.

“So many have said that,” he said, “and they have lived as will Madame, to bless my name. Regard this exquisite confection of black and green. That is the bathroom which I have produced from my brain for Mademoiselle. Believe me, I worked through the night.” He produced another sketch. “And this for Madame herself – all brown and grey. Subdued, of course. But I know. It is the personality—”

“Look here,” said Berry. “You may be very discerning, but that’s neither here nor there. We did not ask for discernment. We asked for estimates – and samples. Can you produce them, or not?”

“Monsieur will be patient. He will not find work like this in the
Basses Pyrénées
.”

“I’m not looking for it,” said Berry. “Madame’s judgment is quite good enough for me. She and Miladi, between them designed the house. If they could do that, they are presumably capable of choosing the hues in which the bathrooms should be hung.”

The other spluttered with excitement.

“That is just where Monsieur is wrong. What is a house? A shell. A shell of bricks and mortar – to house a shrine. And I have devised three shrines – three…” He broke off to gaze upon Jill. “Did I hear Monsieur say ‘Miladi’? I was not aware.”

Berry flung himself down on the sofa, and Jonah picked up the torch.

“Monsieur Caratib, these sketches do not interest us. In any event they are useless. In this one, for instance, the bath is in the wrong place. The plumbing requires—”

“Plumbing?” cried Caratib. “You talk to me of plumbing. The plumber crawls before me. Show me your plumber, and I will spit in his face.”

“Stop talking like that,” said Jonah, “and listen to me. You had the plans – to assist your calculations. Have you brought us an estimate?”

“But, of course.”

“Then be good enough to produce it.”

Caratib re-opened his dispatch-case. As he rummaged among its contents—

“I should like to reconsider the bathroom I had designed for Mademoiselle. I did not know that she was noble. I did one in scarlet and gold for the Duchesse de Dome. I could not repeat that, of course, for a model must stand alone. Ah, here is what I was seeking. Three bathrooms, according to plan. There was a fourth, I believe; but I have omitted that. I do not tile bathrooms for servants. In fact, they do not have bathrooms in the houses to which I go.”

“Perhaps they don’t have servants in the houses to which you go.”

The fellow recoiled.

“Monsieur insults me.”

“That,” said Jonah coldly, “would be impossible.” He put out his hand. “Give me your estimate – as a matter of form.”

The paper passed.

Estimate for designing and carrying out three bathrooms in a villa to be built at Lally.

Two hundred and fourteen pounds.

One third of the above sum to be paid on the acceptance of the estimate and the balance on the completion of the work.

Jonah handed the estimate round.

Then he addressed Caratib.

“Your estimate is refused. Take your sketches and go.”

“Refused?” cried the other.

“Refused.”

“But I do not understand what you mean.”

Berry rose to his feet, made his way to the fireplace and touched the bell – twice.

Then he turned to Caratib.

“You understand perfectly well. We do not accept your estimate. That is not only because it is fraudulent. It is because today you have shown us that you are not the sort of person with whom we care to deal. For one thing only, we like and respect the plumber whom we have engaged. And strange as you may find it, we like and respect our servants, one of whom–” he glanced at Carson “–is waiting to show you out.”

Caratib folded his arms and set his back to the wall.

Daphne rose to her feet and followed Jill out of the room.

As the door closed behind them—

“Take up your things,” said Berry, “and go your way. If you don’t, you will be assisted.”

“Yes, that is easy,” said Caratib. “You commission my works of art and then seek to withdraw.”

Solemnly Berry regarded him.

“You know,” he said, “you’d be improved by death. You’re a filthy, incompetent snob of the vilest type. You live by cheap bluff, and why you’ve survived so long I cannot conceive. And now get out.”

“I will go,” said Caratib. “But first you will pay me for making my estimate. Those very beautiful drawings took up a week of my time.” He produced a bill, already receipted and stamped. “That is a nominal charge, but let that go.”

Estimate, as agreed, ten guineas.

“What a fool you are,” said Berry, “to try this stuff upon me. If you wish to pursue the matter, you’d better see Monsieur de Moulin. He’ll put you where you belong.”

“You refuse to pay?”

“I give money to beggars,” said Berry, “but not to impertinent knaves.” He glanced at me. “Has he got the plans in his dispatch-case?”

Carson held the man, while I took them out.

Caratib was trembling with rage.

“You will pay for this,” he snarled. “You forget that you are in France.”

“I have yet to learn that France supports blackmailing swindlers. I happen to know what it costs to tile a bathroom. Go to the Courts, my friend, and show them this estimate.”

“You have your plans. I demand that estimate back.”

“Demand and be damned,” said Berry. “Carson, remove this fellow. He gives me a pain.”

Caratib seized his dispatch-case and bolted out of the room…

Less than an hour later, Jill and I were seated in an old-fashioned ironmonger’s shop.

“I think you’re an agent,” I said, “for Ulic tiles.”

The ironmonger bowed.

“That is quite true, sir. They are the best in France.”

“Can I see some samples and prices?”

“Certainly, sir. I have a booklet here which I will give you at once. It is illustrated in colour. But that is never satisfactory: before an order is given, the tiles themselves should be seen. If Monsieur will mark in the booklet the tiles he would like to see, I will have the samples here within forty-eight hours. And if the samples do not suit, then Monsieur shall give me the colour and tiles shall be made.”

“That’s more like it,” said I. “And the prices are in the booklet?”

“Precisely, sir. They are the actual prices which Ulic lays down. My commission, of course, is included.”

“Splendid,” said I. “And now what about a tiler? I suppose you don’t happen to know one.”

“I know a good tiler, sir. He bears an Italian name, but he is naturalized French. He is modest and conscientious and he does beautiful work. At the moment he is working at Lally.”

“What could be better?” said I. “May I have his name and address?”

“With pleasure, sir. I believe I am right in saying that it is Monsieur who is building that wonderful château by Besse.”

“A villa,” said I. “It’s a very beautiful site.”

“If rumour is true, it will be a beautiful house. And may I say this – that if Monsieur requires many tiles, I shall, of course, make a reduction. I can afford and am allowed to do that.”

“You’re very good,” said I: “but we shall be happy to pay the prices laid down in the book.”

On the following day we made the tiler’s acquaintance.

His name was Lavarini. He was tall and broad and fair and his eyes were of china blue. He stood before us, twisting his shabby béret in nervous hands.

“It would give me great pleasure, sir, to work at Monsieur’s house. And Monsieur will not regret it. Always I do my best. Monsieur Joseph will speak for me: he knows that I try.”

“Can we see your work?” said I. “Some work you have done.”

He led us upstairs to a bathroom. He had done the floor and was now at work on the walls. It was the very best tiling that I have ever seen.

“And how do you charge?” said I.

“By the hour or square metre, sir: whichever you please. If it is to be intricate, I would rather charge by the hour. This bathroom, to give an idea, will have taken me thirty-two hours. At half a crown an hour that is exactly four pounds.”

I put out my hand.

“We can’t ask fairer than that. Keep in touch with Joseph. We’ll want you some time next spring.”

“At your service, sir,” said Lavarini…