Berry And Co. (19 page)

“Altogether,” concluded my sister, “a thoroughly nice-feeling woman. I offered her lunch, but she said she was anxious to try and see her sister before she caught her train back, so she didn’t have any. I almost forgot to give her her fare, poor girl. In fact, she had to remind me. She apologized very humbly, but said the journey to London was so terribly expensive that she simply couldn’t afford to let it stand over.”

We had lunched at Ranelagh, and were sitting in a quiet corner of the pleasant grounds, taking our ease after the alarms and excursions of the day before.

Later on we made our way to the polo-ground.

Almost the first person we saw was Katharine Festival.

“Hurray,” said Daphne. “I meant to have rung her up last night, but what with the Camille episode and dining out I forgot all about it. When I tell her we’re suited, she’ll be green with envy.”

Her unsuspecting victim advanced beaming. Being of the opposite sex, I felt sorry for her.

“Daphne, my dear,” she announced, “I meant to have rung you up last night. I’ve got a cook.”

The pendulum of my emotions described the best part of a semicircle, and I felt sorry for Daphne.

“I am glad,” said my sister, with an audacity which took my breath away. “How splendid! So’ve we.”

“Hurray,” said Katharine, with a sincerity which would have deceived a diplomat. “Don’t you feel quite strange? I can hardly believe it’s really happened. Mine rejoices in the name of Pauline,” she added.

I started violently, and Berry’s jaw dropped.

“
Pauline
?” cried Daphne and Jill.

“Yes,” said Katharine. “It’s a queer name for a cook, but – What’s the matter?”

“But so’s ours! Ours is Pauline! What’s her other name?”

“Roper,” cried Katharine breathlessly.

“Not from Torquay?” – in a choking voice.

Katharine nodded and put a trembling handkerchief to her lips.

“I paid her fare,” she said faintly. “It came to—”

“Two pounds nine and fourpence halfpenny,” said my sister. “I gave her two pounds ten.”

“So did I,” said Katharine. “She was to come on – on Monday.”

“Six years in her last place?” said Daphne shakily.

“Yes. And a clergyman’s daughter,” wailed Katharine.

“Did – did you take up her reference?”

“Wired last night,” was the reply.

In silence I brought two chairs, and they sat down.

“But – but,” stammered Jill, “she spoke from Torquay on Wednesday.”

“Did she?” said Berry. “I wonder.”

“Yes,” said Katharine. “She did.”

“You know she did,” said Daphne and Jill.

“Who,” said I, “answered the telephone?”

“My parlour maid did,” said Katharine.

“And Jill answered ours,” said I. Then I turned to my cousin. “When you took off the receiver,” I asked, “what did you hear?”

“I remember perfectly,” said Jill. “Exchange asked if we were Mayfair 9999 and then said, ‘You’re through to a call-office.’ Then Pauline spoke.”

“Precisely,” said I. “But not from Torquay. In that case Exchange would have said, ‘Torquay wants you,’ or ‘Exeter,’ or something. Our Pauline rang up from London. She took a risk and got away with it.”

“I feel dazed,” said Daphne, putting a hand to her head. “There must be some mistake. I can’t believe—”

“‘A thoroughly nice-feeling woman,’” said Berry. “I think I should feel nice if I could make five pounds in two hours by sitting on the edge of a chair and saying I was a clergyman’s daughter. And now what are we going to do? Shall we be funny and inform the police? Or try and stop Camille at Amiens?”

“Now, don’t you start,” said his wife, “because I can’t bear it. Jonah, for goodness’ sake, get hold of the car, and let’s go.”

“Yes,” said Berry. “And look sharp about it. Time’s getting on, and I should just hate to be late for dinner. Or shall we be reckless and take a table at Lockhart’s?”

We drove home in a state of profound melancholy.

Awaiting our arrival was a “service” communication upon a buff sheet, bluntly addressed to “Pleydell.”

It was the official death-warrant of an unworthy trust.

SIR,

I beg leave to inform you that your telegram handed in at the Grosvenor Street Post Office at 10.2 a.m. on the 26th June addressed to Reply paid Hamilton Smythe Fair Lawns Torquay has not been delivered for the reason indicated below.

ADDRESS NOT KNOWN.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

WB,

Postmaster.

How Jill Slept Undisturbed,

and Nobby Attended Church Parade

“What d’you do,” said Berry, “when you want to remember something?”

“Change my rings,” said Daphne. “Why?”

“I only wondered. D’you find that infallible?”

My sister nodded.

“Absolutely,” she said. “Of course, I don’t always remember what I’ve changed them for, but it shows me there’s something I’ve forgotten.”

“I see. Then you’ve only got to remember what that is, and there you are. Why don’t I wear rings?”

“Change your shoes instead,” said I drowsily. “Or wear your waistcoat next to your skin. Then, whenever you want to look at your watch, you’ll have to undress. That’ll make you think.”

“You go and change your face,” said Berry. “Don’t wait for something to remember. Just go and do it by deed-poll. And then advertise it in
The Times
. You’ll get so many letters of gratitude that you’ll get tired of answering them.”

Before I could reply to this insult—

“I suppose,” said my sister, “this means that you can’t remember something which concerns me and really matters.”

In guilty silence her husband prepared a cigar for ignition with the utmost care. At length—

“I wouldn’t go as far as that,” he said. “But I confess that at the back of my mind, in, as it were, the upper reaches of my memory, there is a faint ripple of suggestion for which I cannot satisfactorily account. Now, isn’t that beautifully put?”

With a look of contempt, Daphne returned to the digestion of a letter which she had that morning received from the United States. Reflectively Berry struck a match and lighted his cigar. I followed the example of Jill and began to doze.

With the exception of Jonah, who was in Somerset with the Fairies, we had been to Goodwood. I had driven the car both ways and was healthily tired, but the long ride had rendered us all weary, and the prospect of a full night and a quiet morrow was good to contemplate.

On the following Tuesday we were going out of Town. Of this we were all unfeignedly glad, for London was growing stale. The leaves upon her trees were blown and dingy, odd pieces of paper crept here and there into her parks, the dust was paramount. What sultry air there was seemed to be second-hand. Out of the pounding traffic the pungent reek of oil and fiery metal rose up oppressive. Paint three months old was seamed and freckled. Look where you would, the silver sheen of Spring was dull and tarnished, the very stones were shabby, and in the summer sunshine even proud buildings of the smartest streets wore but a jaded look and lost their dignity. The vanity of bricks stood out in bold relief unsightly, dressing the gentle argument of Nature with such authority as set tired senses craving the airs and graces of the countryside and mourning the traditions of the children of men.

“Adèle,” said Daphne suddenly, “is sailing next week.”

“Hurray,” said Jill, waking up.

“Liverpool or Southampton?” said I.

“She doesn’t say. But I told her to come to Southampton.”

“I expect she’s got to take what she can get; only, when you’re making for Hampshire, it seems a pity to go round by the Mersey.”

“I like Adèle,” said Berry. “She never seeks to withstand that feeling of respect which I inspire. When with me, she recognizes that she is in the presence of a holy sage, and, as it were, treading upon hallowed ground. Woman,” he added, looking sorrowfully upon his wife, “I could wish that something of her piety were there to lessen your corruption. Poor vulgar shrew, I weep—”

“She says something about you,” said Daphne, turning over a sheet. “Here you are.
Give Berry my love. If I’d been with you at Oxford, when he got busy, I should just have died. All the same, you must admit he’s a scream. I’m longing to see Nobby. He sounds as if he were a dog of real character…”

“Thank you,” said her husband, with emotion. “Thank you very much. ‘A scream,’ I think you said. Yes. And Nobby, ‘a dog of character.’ I can’t bear it.”

“So he is,” said I. “Exceptional character.”

“I admit,” said Berry, “he’s impartial. His worst enemy can’t deny that. His offerings at the shrine of Gluttony are just as ample as those he lays before the altar of Sloth.”

“All dogs are greedy,” said Jill. “It’s natural. And you’d be tired, if you ran about like him.”

“He’s useful and ornamental and diverting,” said I. “I don’t know what more you want.”

“Useful?” said Berry, with a yawn. “Useful? Oh, you mean scavenging? But then you discourage him so. Remember that rotten fish in Brook Street the other day? Well, he was making a nice clean job of that, he was, when you stopped him.”

“That was a work of supererogation. I maintain, however, that nobody can justly describe Nobby as a useless dog. For instance—”

The sudden opening of the door at once interrupted and upheld my contention.

Into the room bustled the Sealyham, the personification of importance, with tail up, eyes sparkling, and gripped in his large mouth the letters which had just been delivered by the last post.

As the outburst of feminine approval subsided—

“Out of his own mouth,” said I, “you stand confuted.”

Either of gallantry or because her welcome was the more compelling, the terrier made straight for my sister and pleasedly delivered his burden into her hands. Of the three letters she selected two and then, making much of the dog, returned a foolscap envelope to his jaws and instructed him to bear it to Berry. Nobby received it greedily, but it was only when he had simultaneously spun into the air, growled and, placing an emphatic paw upon the projecting end, torn the letter half-way asunder, that it became evident that he was regarding her return of the missive as a
douceur
or reward of his diligence.

With a cry my brother-in-law sprang to enlighten him; but Nobby, hailing his action as the first move in a game of great promise, darted out of his reach, tore round the room at express speed, and streaked into the hall.

By dint of an immediate rush to the library door, we were just in time to see Berry slip on the parquet and, falling heavily, miss the terrier by what was a matter of inches, and by the time we had helped one another upstairs, the medley of worrying and imprecations which emanated from Daphne’s bedroom made it clear that the quarry had gone to ground.

As we drew breath in the doorway—

“Get him from the other side!” yelled Berry, who was lying flat on his face, with one arm under the bed. “Quick! It may be unsporting, but I don’t care. A-a-ah!” His voice rose to a menacing roar, as the rending of paper became distinctly audible. “Stop it, you wicked swine! D’you hear?
Stop it!
”

From beneath the bed a further burst of mischief answered him…

Once again feminine subtlety prevailed where the straightforward efforts of a man were fruitless. As I flung myself down upon the opposite side of the bed—

“Nobby,” said Jill In a stage whisper, “chocolates!”

The terrier paused in his work of destruction. Then he dropped the mangled remains of the letter and put his head on one side.

“Chocolates!”

The next second he was scrambling towards the foot of the bed…

I gathered together the
débris
and rose to my feet.

Nobby was sitting up in front of Jill, begging irresistibly.

“What a shame!” said the latter. “And I haven’t any for you. And if I had, I mightn’t give you them.” She looked round appealingly. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Extraordinary how that word’ll fetch him,” said I. “I think his late mistress must have—”

“I’m sure she must,” said Berry, taking the ruins of his correspondence out of my hand. “Perhaps she also taught him to collect stamps. And/or crests. And do you mean to say you’ve got no chocolates for him? How shameful! I’d better run round and knock up Gunter’s. Shall I slip on a coat, or will the parquet do?”

“There’s no vice in him,” I said shakily. “It was a misunderstanding.”

With an awful look Berry gingerly withdrew from what remained of the envelope some three-fifths of a dilapidated dividend warrant, which looked as if it had been immersed In water and angrily disputed by a number of rats.

“It’s – it’s all right,” I said unsteadily. “The company’ll give you another.”

“Give me air,” said Berry weakly. “Open the wardrobe, somebody, and give me air. You know, this is the violation of Belgium over again. The little angel must have been the mascot of a double-breasted Jaeger battalion In full blast.” With a shaking finger he indicated the cheque. “Bearing this in mind, which would you say he was tonight – useful or ornamental?”

“Neither the one, nor the other,” said I. “Merely diverting.”

Expectantly my brother-in-law regarded the ceiling.

“I wonder what’s holding it,” he said. “I suppose the whitewash has seized. And now, if you’ll assist me downstairs and apply the usual restoratives, I’ll forgive you the two pounds I owe you. There’s a letter I want to write before I retire.”

Half an hour later the following letter was dispatched—

SIR,

The enclosed are, as a patient scrutiny will reveal, the remains of a dividend warrant in my favour for seventy-two pounds five shillings.

Owing to its dilapidation, which you will observe includes the total loss of the date, signature and stamp, I am forced to the reluctant conclusion that your bankers will show a marked disinclination to honour what was once a valuable security.

Its reduction to the lamentable condition in which you now see it is due to the barbarous treatment it received at the teeth and claws of a dog or hound which, I regret to say, has recently frequented this house and is indubitably possessed of a malignant devil.

In fairness to myself I must add, first, that it was through no improvidence on my part that the domestic animal above referred to obtained possession of the document, and, secondly, that I made such desperate efforts to recover it intact as resulted in my sustaining a fall of considerable violence upon one of the least resilient floors I have ever encountered. If you do not believe me, your duly accredited representative is at liberty to inspect the many and various contusions upon my person any day between ten and eleven at the above address.

Yours faithfully,

etc.

P.S. – My cousin-german has just read this through, and says I’ve left out something. I think the fat-head is being funny, but I just mention it, in case.

P.P.S. – It’s just occurred to me that the fool means I haven’t asked you to send me another one. But you will, won’t you?

For no apparent reason I was suddenly awake.

Invariably a sound sleeper, I lay for a moment pondering the phenomenon. Then a low growl from the foot of the bed furnished one explanation only to demand another.

I put up a groping hand and felt for the dangling switch.

For a moment I fumbled. Then from above my head a deeply-shaded lamp flung a sudden restricted light on to the bed.

I raised myself on an elbow and looked at Nobby.

His body was still curled, with his small strong legs tucked out of sight, but his head was raised, and he was listening intently.

I put my head on one side and did the same…

Only the hoot of a belated car faintly disturbed the silence.

I looked at my wristwatch. This showed one minute to one. As I raised my eyes, an impatient clock somewhere confirmed its tale.

With a yawn I conjured the terrier to go to sleep and reached for the switch.

As I did so, he growled again.

With my fingers about the “push,” I hesitated, straining my ears…

The next moment I was out of bed and fighting my way into my dressing-gown, while Nobby, his black nose clapped to the sill of the doorway, stood tense and rigid and motionless as death.

As I picked him up, he began to quiver, and I could feel his heart thumping, but he seemed to appreciate the necessity for silence, and licked my face noiselessly.

I switched off the light and opened the door.

There was a lamp burning on the landing, and I stepped directly to the top of the stairs.

Except that there was a faint light somewhere upon the ground floor, I could see nothing, but, as I stood peering, the sound of a stealthy movement, followed by the low grumble of utterance, rose unmistakably to my ears. Under my left arm Nobby stiffened notably.

For a moment I stood listening and thinking furiously…

It was plain that there was more than one visitor, for burglars do not talk to themselves, and Discretion suggested that I should seek assistance before descending. Jonah was out of Town, the men-servants slept in the basement, the telephone was downstairs. Only Berry remained.

The faint chink of metal meeting metal and a stifled laugh decided me.

With the utmost caution I stole to the door of my sister’s room and turned the handle. As I glided into the chamber—

“Who’s that?” came in a startled whisper.

Before I could answer, there was a quick rustle, a switch clicked, and there was Daphne, propped on a white arm, looking at me with wide eyes and parted lips. Her beautiful dark hair was tumbling about her breast and shoulders. Impatiently she brushed it clear of her face.

“What is it, Boy?”

I laid a finger upon my lips.

“There’s somebody downstairs. Wake Berry.”

Slowly her husband rolled on to his left side and regarded me with one eye.

“What,” he said, “is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Don’t be a fool,” I whispered. “The house is being burgled.”

“Gurgled?”

“Burgled, you fool.”

“No such word,” said Berry. “What you mean is ‘burglariously rifled.’ And then you’re wrong. Why, there’s Nobby.”

I could have stamped with vexation.

My sister took up the cudgels.

“Don’t lie there,” she said. “Get up and see.”

“What?” said her husband.

“What’s going on.”

Berry swallowed before replying. Then—