And Berry Came Too (23 page)

“Dope,” said Berry. “Distributing dope to addicts – and making a steady profit of four or five thousand per cent.”

“Good God,” said I. And then, “But why are they here?”

“D’you remember what Colyer said? ‘They’re the men we want, but they’d never travel the stuff.’ Well, Colyer was perfectly right. They were not travelling the stuff.
We were travelling it for them. Whilst we were down by the river, they planted it in the Rolls
.”

With his words, the parts of the puzzle fell into place, and I saw the interpretation of what had befallen that night.

Perdita’s intuition, the check at the level crossing, the chase to Maidenhair, the scene in the harness room – all that had happened slid suddenly into focus. Robbed of his whelps, Moloch had pursued us in person – to get his subsistence back. Berry was speaking again.

“By the Grace of God, our wily, if leprous, cousin was not abed. To be precise, he was still in the library: and before I’d been speaking one minute, he’d got it straight. ‘Dope-mongers,’ he said. ‘They knew that the net was spread, so they let you carry it through. And they’ll be here any minute, sure as a gun.’ He fell on the telephone and asked for the county police. The idea was to get hold of Colyer – headquarters could telephone through to the signal box. He’d hardly put the call through, when the Knave came streaking in and got hold of my coat. ‘They’re here,’ says Jonah. ‘Boy’s sent him. I’ll lay they’re out in the stables, holding him up.’ Then he told me to go and gain time. ‘Hold them in check for ten minutes – that’s all I want. I’ve got to have a word with the police and then I must find the Lowland and put her out. Oh, and ring for William, will you? As for the wallahs, play with them all you know. And when you’re through, walk out – they’ll be only too thankful to see the back of your necks. But mind you forget the word
dope
. I should try and believe they’re burglars – just for a quarter of an hour. And then come down to the gates: I’ll try and have William there, to pick you up.’ He’s damned efficient, Jonah. He can set a sum while he’s working another out. And as for making plans – why, he’s got his cut and dried before most people’s are sown.”

Here the Knave leaned out of the shadows, with William behind.

The man was agog with excitement.

“Two hundred yards to the left, sir. They’ve left her in Three Horse Lane.”

One minute later the four of us joined my cousin, who was lying behind a hedge perhaps twelve feet from the car.

When Berry had made his report—

“Splendid,” he said. “And Colyer is under way. I think we must wait till he comes, but I’ve done my best to ensure that we shan’t be dull. After all, their tails deserve twisting. The purveyor of dope is no saint. That good-looking car was purchased out of the money that men received for their souls.”

We were not dull.

In fact, for the next twenty minutes, our one concern was lest we should be unable to smother our mirth. To say that we laughed till we cried conveys nothing at all. No music-hall turn was ever one half so diverting as that which Len and Winnie provided that summer night.

They reached the lane, blown and breathless – Winnie bearing a suitcase and going extremely lame. It seemed that his boots were tight, for, whilst Len climbed into the Lowland, he sat himself down on the step and proceeded to take them off, condemning the shop that had sold them in shocking terms and finally hurling them into the back of the car.

As he did so, his fellow let fly…

When he stopped for breath—

“An’ wot’s biting you?” said Winnie, caressing a frightful foot.

“Wot’s going to bite you,” snarled the other. “The starter’s dead.”

“Dead?” cried Winnie. “It can’t be.”

“I tell you it
is
,” yelped Len. “I’ve damned near shoved me thumb through the instrument board. Get out the starting-handle – she’ll ’ave to be swung.”

“But I’ve got my boots off,” screamed Winnie. The concise directions Len issued concerning his fellow’s boots were quite unprintable, and, after a fearful scene, poor Winnie stood up to the tool-box, to search for the starting-handle he could not see. He was not, I think, accustomed to handling tools, for he plucked and dug and fumbled till Len was half out of his mind. At length, however, his fingers encountered the handle he sought, but, in dragging it out, he brought the jack with it and this fell on to his foot.

His screech of pain would have made a statue start, and I know I hung on to the Knave, lest he should forget his orders and give our presence away: but, on learning his cause of complaint, Len only expressed his pleasure at what had occurred and then demanded that he should employ the handle in the way it was meant to be used.

“
Wot, swing her?
” howled Winnie. “Me swing her? Why, I don’t know ’ow to stand up. My foot’s a – jelly. I shan’t be able to walk for—”

With a soul-shaking oath, the other bade him proceed…

Muttering hideously to himself, Winnie made his way round to the front of the car and, squatting down in the shadows, felt, I suppose, for the socket into which the handle should go.

After a while he stood up.

“There ain’t no hole,” he reported.

Len’s reply was to hurl himself out of the car.

“Look out for my feet,” snarled Winnie. “If you was to—”

“You bet,” spat Len, viciously.

Mistrustful of this assurance, Winnie started aside from the
rendez-vous
: but he fouled a wing in the dark and, striving to recover his balance, stepped on to a stone…

“That’s right,” hissed Len. “Wake up the blasted world.”

“I wish I could,” mourned Winnie. “I’m ripe for an ambulance.”

Len snapped its cap from the socket and thrust the starting-handle into the bowels of the car.

If the engine was heavy, at least it was more than warm, and after one or two efforts, he managed to swing the shaft. But my cousin had done his work well, and though we could hear her breathing, the engine refused to fire.

After two frantic minutes, Len wrung the sweat from his face and tore off his coat.

From his seat at the edge of the lane—

“You’ve overdrove her,” said Winnie. “That’s wot you’ve done. If you ’adn’t—”

The impeachment was furiously received.

“An’ see here,” concluded Len. “I don’t want no wise cracks from you. Wot do you know about cars? Shovin’ a pram on rails is about your mark. ‘Please teacher, there ain’t no hole.’ An’ you ’ave the lip to talk about over-drivin’…”

With that, he returned to his labour, turning the shaft like a madman until he could turn it no more.

He was, indeed, so much exhausted that two or three moments elapsed before he could talk: but when he had recovered his breath, he dealt with the situation in terms which I dare not set down.

“Perhaps it’s them Willies,” said Winnie.

“Wot d’you mean – them Willies?”

“Well, perhaps they’ve done it on us. Turned off the jooce, or something, indulgin’ their wicked spite.”

“Ow could they?” snarled Len. “They didn’t know where she was, an’ they ’aven’t ’ad time.”

For all that, he stepped to the bonnet and opened one side. He peered and poked about, grunting and dashing the sweat from his eyes, but, because he had no torch, he could not see what he was doing or trying to do: in fact, if the truth were known, I think his action was that of a desperate man, who hopes against hope that by touching some rod or connection he may correct the fault which he cannot find. Be that as it may, in his efforts to see behind something, he laid the side of his head against the exhaust, which was still, of course, nearly red-hot, for the night was warm. The bellow he gave might well have been heard a mile off, and Berry swears that he jumped straight up in the air. I can vouch for the fact that he stamped all over the road, yelling most shocking imprecations and condemning to dreadful dooms the men that had built the car, and that when his companion ventured to ask what the matter might be, he turned and ran upon him – I fear, with the wicked intention of treading upon his feet. Perceiving his horrid design, Winnie fled screaming before him, and the two went down Three Horse Lane, polluting the night with a clamour which might have been rising from Hell.

I think we had all expected that this was the end of the masque, but, when they returned, it was clear that they had agreed together to make a joint endeavour to start the car. Winnie climbed gingerly into the driver’s seat – no doubt to play with the throttle, while Len was turning the shaft.

Now the Lowland was equipped with twin post horns, fitted to the front of the car and ready to sound such a call as would waken the dead. As Len laid hold of the handle, the two let fly, making their master leap almost out of his skin and letting a blast of uproar that shook the night.

Len danced into the roadway, convulsed with rage.

“You clumsy wash-out,” he roared. “Who told you to—”

“I never done it,” wailed Winnie. “It give me no end of a start.”

“In course you done it,” blared Len. “Why can’t you keep your fists to yourself?”

“But I never touched nothing,” screamed Winnie. “It done it all on itself.”

I must confess that I thought he was in the wrong and had happened to touch the switch without knowing what he did. His character, however, was almost instantly cleared, for, without any further warning, the horns began to blow – with a steady, constant fury which showed that some short circuit was doing its worst.

My cousin later denied that this was his work, so that I can only suppose that Fortune herself had decided to take a hand. She could hardly have played the two rogues a more disconcerting trick. Not only was the racket distracting, but its awful persistence gave it the air of a tocsin, advising all within range to arise and repair to its station with all convenient speed. That the two were alive to this danger was very plain, for, though, of course, we could not hear one word that was said, their frenzy declared itself in the action they took. Instead of cutting the wires, they sought, like madmen, to silence the horns themselves, wrenching and slamming the metal with that unprofitable fury which only despair can provoke. Each of them dealt with one horn, but the twins were close together, and the violence displayed was so reckless that sooner or later someone was bound to be hurt. Of this contingency Winnie was plainly aware, and when Len, in his agony, clung like some ape to a head-lamp and sought to kick his trumpet into collapse, I think we all felt that Winnie was badly placed. Indeed, our fears were realized almost at once, for Winnie ‘stopped one’ with his elbow which would have disabled a horse. As a matter of fact, it broke the camel’s back. For a moment the subordinate writhed: then he stepped back behind Len and swung to the jaw… His victim fell over the wing and into the road.

Electricity knows no law. For me, the jar of Len’s fall just happened to break the short circuit which had been made. Be that as it may, in that moment the noise stopped dead – and we all of us heard, close at hand, the drone of another car.

As Len sat up, the police turned into the lane.

Seated on the lawn the next morning, my sister surveyed her husband with high contempt.

“Three o’clock,” she declared. “That was the time you came up. Past three, really, because my wristwatch is slow. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I am,” said Berry, sinking into a chair. “I am covered with confusion.”

“You don’t look it.”

“I am though,” said Berry, selecting a cigarette. “Simply smothered with it. I don’t know how to hold up my head.”

There was an indignant silence.

Then—

“It’s really indecent,” said Daphne.

“Obscene,” said Berry, “obscene. Has anyone got a match?”

“Breakfast at a quarter to twelve! You can’t expect any servants to—”

“Well, that’s your fault,” said Berry. “If you’d let me lie, I should have arisen refreshed about half past nine.”

“I only woke you to say that the barber was there. You always have him on Fridays. You haven’t apologized yet for what you said.”

“What did I say?” said Berry.

“You said he could put his scissors where Winnie kept her boots.” Jonah and I began to shake with laughter. “Yes, I thought it was something vulgar. Of course there was nothing to do but to tell them to send him away.”

“That’s what I meant,” said Berry. “But you didn’t let me lie even then.”

“Yes, I did,” said Daphne. “I only got up.”

“Only,” said Berry. “Your idea of rising is to put it across the world. You seem to glory in uproar. That gurgling noise you make—”

“What gurgling noise?”

“Like a bath running out against time. I can’t think how you do it.”

“Well, it
is
the bath running out.”

“No, it’s worse than that,” said Berry. “Never mind. Let’s try and forget it. If you gave your mind to it, I expect you could think of some failing that I’ve got. Just look at that sky. You know, it reminds me of heaven.”

The silence which succeeded his words was big with frightfulness.

My sister, however, decided to fight upon ground she knew.

“And I hear you had William up…at one o’clock in the morning…to bring some more ice.”

Berry put a hand to his head.

“I don’t think he minded,” he said. “And he did very well.”

“What d’you mean – did very well?”

“Well, he brought up the ice very well,” said Berry, hastily. “Beautifully cold it was.” He threw a frantic look round. “And I do wish you’d live and let live. I’m not at my best this morning.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Looking ready to burst—

“Mine,” said Berry, wildly. “For sitting up, carousing, when I ought to have been in bed.”

“Well, you know it’s true” – reproachfully.

There was another silence, which I very nearly disgraced.

Perdita lifted her voice.

“Talking of uproar, what was that funny noise? It woke me up – I think about half past one.”

“It was Daphne snoring,” said Berry. “It almost always means her stomach’s upset.”

“You wicked liar,” said his wife.

Perdita turned to Jonah.