The Blind Barber dgf-4

by John Dickson Carr

  "What about Perrigord?" inquired Warren.

  "I'm not forgetting him, darling. That's where Hank comes in. Hank will be the Emperor Charlemagne and also the crafty Banhambra, Sultan of the Moors… "

  "Good for you, old man!" applauded Warren, radiating kindliness and slapping the Emperor Charlemagne on the back.

  "… because I've heard his accent, and it's at least good enough to deceive Perrigord. People will think he is Uncle Jules, because we'll stuff him with pillows and disguise him; and when he speaks the prologue it's behind a lighted gauze screen at the back of the stage, and nobody can tell who it is. Yee, this is wonderful, now I think of it! The rest of the time he's out of sight. I have a typewritten copy of his part, and all he has to do is read it… As for working the marionettes, you can master that in ten minutes while Madame Camposozzi is singing and Kyle's reciting and Perrigord is talking. All you need is to be strong in the arms, which is where Curt and the skipper excel, and you can make 'em fight, can't you? Well—"

  "Yess, but where do ay come in?" asked Valvick. "Ay dunno no French except one or two words. Ay can juggle plates, dough," he suggested hopefully, "and play de piano…"

  "You can play the piano? Then," declared Peggy excitedly, "we're absolutely all right. Because, you see, the only other speaking parts are very small — the Knight Roland, the Knight Oliver, and Bishop Turpin. Those parts will be taken by Curt. I'll prompt him roughly, just a few words; but it won't matter what he says, because the skipper will be playing the piano, loud and hard, with appropriate music…."

  Morgan roared. He couldn't help it. The strengthening sizzle of champagne cried, "Whee!" along his windpipe; weariness dropped from him. He looked round at the radiant Mrs. Perrigord, who was now seated on the stomach of the prostrate Uncle Jules and looking coyly at him. Again plans began to twist and shift in his brain.

  'Right you are!" said he, slapping his hands together. "By Gad! we'll go down in a burst of glory if we do nothing else! It's mad, it's risking a thunderbolt from above, but we'll do it. Up and at 'em! Come on, Skipper; into those uniforms we go — there's no time to be lost… "

  There was not. From above began to sound now a measured and steady clapping; a deeper buzz and hum which rattled the lights of the dressing-table. Stopping only to execute a brief gleeful round-the-mulberry-bush with Warren, Peggy rushed to set out the cosmetics.

  "And this," continued Morgan, excitedly stripping off his coat, "is where Mrs. Perrigord comes in. Sing your prayers, lads, to the blessed stars that sent her to us to-night… "

  "Gloo!" crowed Mrs. Perrigord. "Oh, you positively owful man, you mustn't say things like that! Whee!"

  "… because," he said, tapping Warren on the chest, "she's going to get rid of the people who were to be extras in our places to-night. Don't you see? We can't have anybody behind the scenes but ourselves. Wasn't this Madame Camposozzi to play the piano, and some Russian the violin; yes, and a couple of professors to be warriors…?"

  "O Lord! I'd forgotten that!" cried Peggy, freezing. "Oh, Hank, how can we—?"

  "Easy! Mrs. Perrigord simply puts on one of those chilly stares of hers when they come down here, and says the places have been filled. We have the organiser of the concert talking for us, and she'll be obeyed; otherwise there'd be a row and we could never wangle it… Listen!" he whirled round to her. "That's all right, isn't it? Mrs. Perrigord — Cynthia — you'll do it for me, won't you?"

  There was a world of pleading in his voice. The organiser of the concert did not give him a chilly stare. She said, "Oh, you owful man!" and got up and put her arms round his neck.

  "No, listen! Wait a bit — listen, Cynthia!" said Morgan desperately. "Listen to what I have to say. Let go, damn it!

  I tell you we can't lose time! Let me get my waistcoat off… "

  "I don't think you're making yourself quite clear," observed Warren critically. "Suppose your wife could see you now, you old rip? Let the poor woman go, can't you?"

  "You've got to get her in shape to face 'em, Hank!" cried Peggy, flying across the room. "Oh, it's p-perfectly a-aful the w-way we're p-persecuted and t-tortured with these n-nasty drunken p-people…!"

  "Who's a nasty drunken people, may I ask?" inquired Mrs. Perrigord, suddenly raising a flushed face from Morgan's shoulder.

  "All I was saying, darling—"

  A fusillade of knocks on the door froze the conspirators where they stood.

  "Signor Fortinbras!" exclaimed a voice with a broad rolling accent. The knocks were redoubled.

  "Signor Fortinbras! It ees-a me, Signor Benito — Furioso — Camposozzi! Signor Perrigord he weesha to know eef you are alla-right. He—"

  Peggy raised a quavering voice. "He is quite all right, Signor Camposozzi. He ees-a — I mean, he is dressing now. Please come back in five minutes. Mrs. Perrigord wishes to speak to you."

  "Ah! Good! Tenn-mee-noota and we start. Good! Good! I am averraglad to hear it. Signor Ivan Slifovitz hasa tolda me," bawled Signor Camposozzi, with deplorable Latin lack of reticence, "that he thought you might hava drink too moocha Gin…"

  "Gin?" repeated a sudden, thoughtful, sepulchral voice just behind Morgan. It seemed to come from deep down in the earth. "Gin?"

  Uncle Jules abruptly sat up. He slid off the couch. With eyes half-closed and face intent, as though some illuminating idea had come to him, he walked straight to the door.

  "Je vais chercher le gin," he explained hurriedly.

  Valvick was after him at a bound, but, since his hand was on the knob of the door, nothing less than a full-sized miracle could have prevented discovery if Signor Camposozzi's attention had not been momentarily distracted.

  "Reel" squeaked Signor Camposozzi, for a reason they could not discern. "Sangua delta madonne, who are you? (lo away! You been-a fighting; you area onea begga crook… "

  "Now look 'ere, Guv'nor," protested a hoarse voice, "don't run awy, will yer? 'Ere! Come back! I've got 'ere," continued the Bermondsey Terror, "two gold watches, two sets of cuff-links, two pocket-books, but only one set o' Kinds. I'm looking for a chap nymed Cap'n Valvick, 'oo owns part of it, and I wants ter 'ave 'im tyke his choice. 'Mre! Come back — I only wanted to ask where I could find—"

  There were two sets of frantic footsteps rushing away as the Bermondsey Terror pursued him.

  18 — Gold Watches and Disappearance

  "A little more larceny, of course," said Morgan, "added to the list of our other offences won't matter a great deal. All the same, Skipper, you'd better stop the Bermondsey Terror and give him time to think up some excuses. Also, it mightn't be a bad idea to retrieve Captain Whistler's best studs and cuff-links."

  Valvick took Uncle Jules, who was smiling vacantly, and propped him against the wall with one hand while he unlocked the door. He called "Bermondsey!" and one set of footfalls stopped. Then Valvick set up Uncle Jules like a sign on a couch just beside the door.

  "He's coming round," said Warren, inspecting the red face of the puppet-master. "Look here, Baby, what happens to our new scheme if the old geezer wakes up? He may not be too tight to play, after all. Better give him another drink."

  "We'll do nothing of the kind!" snapped Peggy. "We don't need to abandon our scheme. If he does come round, we can still hide in the back of the stage. Take off your helmet, Curt, and fill it with water. We'll slosh him down, and then maybe—"

  She stopped as the Bermondsey Terror, laden with his plunder, stooped his head under the door. Except for a torn necktie and a scratch down one cheekbone, the Terror was undamaged. A drowsy smile went over his face.

  "Ho!" said the Terror. " 'Ere's the stuff, sir. You and t'other gentleman just pick out whatcher want."

  Valvick peered out hastily, drew him into the cabin, took the booty from his hands and slid it out of sight along the couch.

  "Listen, Bermondsey," he growled, wiping his forehead: "Ay am afraid dere has been a mistake. Ay 'tank you haff smack de wrong men. Ay—"

  "Ho?" inquired the Terror. His s
mile deepened. He Willed his head and closed one eye portentously. 'I sorter thought so, d'yer see, when I see 'oo they wos." Shaken by hoarse mirth, he winked again. "Never yer mind, Guv'nor. Did me good, that workout. Wot's the game? I sorter thought there wos something up when first I see somebody go into the sawbones' room and come out with the green jule thing as that gentleman's got now," he nodded at Morgan, who had disentangled himself from Mrs. Perrigord, "and then I see you two take it back. None o' my ruddy bursness, yer see, till you asks for 'elp."

  Again he laughed hoarsely. Morgan, to whom had come a glimmer of hope that might avert Peggy's insane idea, took it up.

  "Look here, Bermondsey. About those two robbers— just how much damage did you do to them?"

  The Terror smiled complacently. He counted a few Imaginary stars, closed his eyes, and uttered a snore.

  "Out," inquired Morgan.

  "Cold," said the Terror.

  "Did they see you? Would they know you again, I mean?"

  "Ho!" said the Terror. "Not them! Wosn't no light, yer see. 'Ad ter strike a match ter tear the watches orf 'em. Ho-ho-ho!"

  "Bermondsey," said Warren, enthusiastically, as the other stared dully at his costume, "I want to shake your hand. I also want to offer you a drink of champagne… What's on your mind, Hank?"

  Morgan had begun to stalk about excitedly. He picked up the watches and examined them. Then he put them down on the couch with the emerald elephant.

  "If this idea works out," he said, swinging round, "then there'll be no need to he under a heap of marionettes and play dead for two days. Nor will there be any need to go to the brig, either, for any of us except Curt… "

  "That's fine," said Warren. "That's great. Well, all I've not to say is, and I take my oath on it, I am not going back lo that damned padded cell, whatever happens! Get me? furthermore—"

  "Shut up, will you? — and listen! You'll need to go back for not more than an hour. The whole point is, Captain Whistler doesn't know you're out of the brig, does he? Right. Now don't interrupt. So what have we got? We've got in Bermondsey a witness who can definitely prove we were not stealing that emerald out of Kyle's cabin, but were returning it, together with Kyle's papers. Our witness needn't say anything about Curt's having taken it from there. Then—"

  "Ahoy dere!" protested Valvick. "Coroosh! you are not going to try to see Barnacle now, are you?"

  "Listen! Then this is the way it's to be done:

  "Peggy takes the note-cases, watches, and the rest of it, including the emerald. She goes to Whistler and says, 'Captain, do you know what the two people you thought were thieves have done? They've saved your bacon and saved the emerald when it was nearly stolen a second time.'

  «She then tells a story of how, as we were passing by, the skipper and I saw a mysterious masked stranger—" i "Horse feathers!" said Warren, with some definiteness.

  "You're drunk."

  Morgan steadied himself. "All right, we'll omit the mask then. We saw this stranger sneaking out of Kyle's cabin

  laden with Kyle's papers and the emerald. We set on him; i and, although he got away without our learning who he was, we retrieved the whole thing… "A howl of protest arose, and Morgan regarded them sardonically. "Actually, the reason why you oppose it is that you want to hide in with the marionettes and put on that damned show, don't you? Isn't that true?"

  "Yes, ay know," Valvick growled stubbornly, "but what about dem getting beaten up?"

  "That's part of it. You don't honestly imagine even old Whistler would believe we'd pinch his watch and cufflinks, do you? Very well: Admittedly we were in a bad t position and acted hastily when we ran out on him. But our mythical crook, who was ever in attendance, is on the watch; and, thinking Whistler's got the emerald from us, bursts in. By the use of a bottle as a weapon — that's Whistler's own story, remember, and he's got to stick to it whether he believes it or not — the crook lays low the captain and the second officer, and he makes a clean haul of everything…

  He stopped, feeling that the story sounded thin even to his own ears; yet also convinced that their own plan was even more impracticable. It was a case of Mephistopheles in deep water, a toss-up of two insanities, but at least his scheme might do something towards soothing the gigantic wrath of Captain Whistler. Warren grunted.

  "And then you and Valvick attack this crook again, I suppose?" he asked. "Hank, it's the bunk. I'm surprised at you."

  "No! You don't understand, The crook, groggy from (upturn Whistler's powerful smashes, staggers away to full. We, roused by the noise, return. We find the plunder again. At first we daren't take it to Whistler, knowing what he'll think. But Peggy, seeing we have nothing to fear from our noble conduct, persuades us—"

  He saw that Valvick was wavering and scratching his chin, and said desperately:

  "Let's put it to a vote. We do this, while Curt returns to the brig and pacifies Woodcock by a definite promise to get him the testimonial. Listen!" An inspiration struck him. "Do you realise that, while Captain Whistler's authority only extends over the high seas, Woodcock is a private citizen and can prosecute in the civil courts? He can get n thousand pounds damages for that, and he's not got any false dignity to restrain him. Do you want to go to jail, Curt? Well, if you leave Woodcock tied up there much longer — and they may not discover him until to-morrow— he'll be so wild that a bug-powder testimonial from the President himself wouldn't keep him quiet. For God's sake, get the champagne out of your brains for three seconds mid think! You needn't stay in the brig any longer than you like, Curt. Whistler's promised to let you out."

  "I still vote No," said Warren. A babble of voices arose, while they got together in the middle of the cabin waving their arms and shouting. Mrs. Perrigord said it was oil owfully clever, and she voted as Henry did.

  "Eee! Stop it!" cried Peggy, clapping her hands to her ears. "Listen. Let me talk. I'll admit I think it would be rather nice to go to the captain and make goo-goo eyes ai him, sort of. Wait! But we'll let it rest on Uncle Jules and — I don't care what you say, he's my uncle, and I won' have him g-guyed because they s-say he's too drunk to—'

  "Steady now!" said Warren, as she shook her fist! desperately.

  "… to play. And we'll let it rest at that. If he's sober enough to play inside of, say fifteen minutes or half at hour, we can hold the curtain until then; we'll adopt Hank's idea. If not, then we'll carry on as we'd intended… What's that noise?" She broke off suddenly. Her smeary eyes travelled past Morgan's shoulder and widened. Then she screamed.

  "Where," said Peggy, "is Uncle Jules?"

  The door of the cabin was lightly banging with the slight roll of the ship.

  Uncle Jules was gone. Also missing were the watches the cuff-links, the note-case, the studs, and the emerald elephant.

  19 — Indiscretions of Uncle Jules

  The Moorish warrior removed his spiked helmet and flung U on the floor.

  "Sunk!" he said wildly. "Sunk! Done brown. Come on, lake our vote if we want to, but we can't do either one thing or the other now. I'm getting sick of this. What's the Hint ter with the old soak? Is he a kleptomaniac?"

  "You let him alone!" cried Peggy. "He can't help it. lie's drunk, poor darling. Oh, why didn't I think? He's done it before. Only mostly it's only motor-car keys, and there's not an awful lot of harm done, in spite of what awful people say…"

  "What do you mean, motor-car keys?"

  Her eyes wrinkled up. "Why, the keys of the cars, you know; things you turn on the ignition with. He waits till somebody goes away, leaving the key in the car, and then he sneaks up ever so softly and pinches the key out. Then he goes away somewhere until he can find a fence, and throws the key over it. After that he goes on to find another car. There was a most horrible row in St. Louis because he got loose in a ground where they park cars, and pinched thirty-eight keys at one haul… But why don't you do something? Go after him! Get him back before they find—"

  "Hah!" cried a furious voice.

  The door
was flung open. Fat-faced, with vast trembling cheeks, sinister beetle brows and vast moustachios, a tubby little man stood in the doorway. He pointed at Peggy.

  "So! So! You have trieda to deceive me, eh? You have a trieda toa deceive Signor Benito Furiosa Camposozzi, eh? Sangua della madonne, I feex you! You tella me he cesa all-right, eh? Haah! What you call all-aright, eh? I tell you, signorina, to youra face, he ees-a drunk!" Signor (' im isozzi was breathing so hard that he choked. Peggy hurried up to him.

  "You saw him? Oh, please tell me! Where is he?"

  Signor Camposozzi raised one arm to heaven, slapped his forehead, and the whites of his eyes rolled up horribly.

  "Sooah? You aska me if I see heem? Haah! I weela tella you! Never have I beena so insulted! I go up to him. I say, 'Signor Frotinbras!' He say, 'Shhh-h!' In heesa hands he hasa got fourteen gold watches and pocket-books. He open theesa pocket-books and handa me — me — he handa; me wan pound note. He say, 'Sh-hh! You buya me onea* bottle of gin, eh? Sh-h!' Den he go off asaying, 'Shh-h!' and a pooshing wan pound note under every door he see. I say—"

  "There goes the old swordfish's dough," said Warren, staring from under his villainous eyebrows. "Look, Mr. Sozzi, listen. Did you see — I mean, did he have a kind of a jewel thing with him? A sort of green thing on a gold chain?"

  "Haah! Dida I see it?" inquired Signor Camposozzi, with a withering leer. "He hasa fasten it around his neck."

  Morgan turned to Valvick. "The fat's in the fire now anyway, Skipper," he said. "Whatever else we do, we can't be marionettes. But if it occurs to Uncle Jules to give that emerald away to somebody… well, we can't be in more trouble than we are. We'd better go after him. No, Curtli No! You're not coming, do you hear?"

  "Certainly I'm coming," said Warren, drawing his scimitar again and placing a bottle of champagne in the pocket of his robe. "Think I'm going to miss this? It's absolutely safe. My own mother wouldn't recognise me in this outfit. If we run into the old haddock or anybody, I can simply gesture and say, 'No speeka da Eenglish.' See?"