Berry Scene

by Dornford Yates

  Five minutes later the curious deal was done.

  Then we chocked the wheels of the van and disconnected the car. Thus freed, the car could be backed…

  It was an awkward business, because, as I have said, the van was across the road; but at last I coaxed her round and over the bridge. I berthed her some twenty paces behind the Rolls.

  Then I left the driver’s seat and mopped my face.

  “You see,” said Berwick. “You’re very much better than I am, but—”

  “I don’t know about that. She’s the very devil to handle on roads like this. And if you do make a mistake…”

  “Exactly,” said Berwick.

  He laughed and entered the van, to get his suit-cases out.

  While he was transferring his gear, I disconnected the car.

  Five minutes later, the latter was ready to leave.

  “Well, thank you very much,” said her owner. “You’ve done me a very good turn.”

  “It’s suited us,” said Daphne…

  Berwick squared his shoulders.

  “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” he said. “I feel as Christian did, when his back was freed from the weight of his sack of sins.”

  One minute later, his car was out of sight.

  “And now then,” said Berry.

  “A decent fellow,” said I, “but a full-marks fool. Alone in the car and he brings this thing across country… His only chance was to stick to the main highway. We’ll have to have Fitch and the Vane to get it back. And I shall have to help him.”

  Daphne regarded her husband.

  “You’ll have to stay here,” she said, “and look after the van. Boy and I’ll drive—”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Berry.

  “Well, we can’t leave it unattended.”

  “I can,” said Berry. “In view of the last half-hour, I can even leave it unwept.” He licked a broken knuckle. “If anyone had told me this morning that, before the day was out, I should be coupling and uncoupling my own pantechnicon in a Wiltshire Lane—”

  “But what about the contents?” screamed Daphne. “Those mattresses alone—”

  “We must lock it up,” said her husband. “Lock it up and forget it. And tomorrow Fitch and George Weston can hale it to Caracol.”

  “That’s all right,” said I.

  And so it would have been, if Francis Berwick had remembered to leave the key.

  All three of us ransacked that van in search of that key. First, I did so: then Daphne: confronted with our reports, appalled by their fearful import, Berry refused to accept them and did so again.

  With yells of disappointment, he wrenched the lockers open and scrabbled inside: he heaved the mattresses up, to grope beneath and beyond them, muttering fearful things: he scoured the bathroom and pantry, all the time shouting predictions regarding such as saw fit to embarrass the godly, till Daphne and I, weak with laughter, withdrew to the Rolls. And there he presently joined us, with dirt all over his hands and fairly streaming with sweat.

  “You didn’t tell me,” he said, “about the larder. It’s beautifully conceived. But you ought to be able to open it when you’re outside the van. I mean, I think it’s been forgotten. Of course this heat is unusual. But I do think they might have let the sausages out. And now we needn’t bother about the key. The first man who opens that door will run for the police. Talk about trunk murder.”

  “My darling,” said Daphne, “you know we can’t leave it like this. If someone dishonest comes by—”

  “We’ve been here for over an hour and seen nobody yet.”

  “I know. But the road is public. Supposing, as soon as we’ve gone, some gypsies come round that bend.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Berry.

  “Exactly. When we returned tomorrow, the van would be stripped. I’m really dreadfully sorry, but Boy will be as quick as he can.”

  “Yes, I know that bit,” said her husband, consulting his watch. “The hour is now half-past five. You won’t be back at White Ladies by half-past six. Say, a quarter to seven. Boy leaves again with the Vane at seven o’clock. With luck, he ought to be here by half-past eight. And then the fun begins. And I’m to sit here for three hours and then spend five more hours—”

  “Listen,” said I. “I shall go back to White Ladies by way of Caracol. There I’ll give the Westons the low-down and say that I’ll pick up George in a quarter of an hour. I then take Daphne on, find Fitch and return to Caracol. There we pick up George and then return to this spot. I should be here soon after eight. George will spend the night here, and early tomorrow morning Fitch will arrive with the Vane. And he and George together can bring the van home.”

  “I see,” said Berry. “Could you say that again, beginning at ‘low-down’? Never mind.” He laughed idiotically. “Sounds like a nursery rhyme, doesn’t it. ‘Boy, Boy, seek Fitch: Fitch, Fitch, drive Vane: Vane, Vane, bring George: George, George, occupy van, or I shan’t get home tonight.’ And now let’s play Bananas and Jellies, The Bells of Slow Bellies.”

  “Will you be quiet?” said Daphne.

  “I can’t,” said Berry. “I’m deranged. I must be. To do you pleasure, I’ve just spent seventy-five semi-precious pounds to my wounding. In return for that important sum of money, I have acquired not only a verminous pantechnicon, but the apparently inalienable right to watch the same, fasting, for the next four hours.”

  “My darling, what else can we do?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” said her husband. “I might tell you. Oh, and before you take your departure in this very elegant car, I should like all the cigarettes you’ve got.” We emptied the contents of our cases into his hands. “Thank you. And you might take my case and refill it.” I accepted his empty case. “Thank you, again. And if you should see any millstones about my size… Fifteen and a half – don’t forget. Oh, no. You have to put them over the head, don’t you? Well, say twenty. But I won’t pay more than five pounds.”

  As the Rolls slipped over the bridge, Berry was tiptoeing about his purchase with the traditional ecstasy of a nymph who has encountered an altar, raised to the glory of Pan.

  At exactly a quarter-past eight, I re-entered the curling lane that ran beside the water and led to the little bridge.

  All had gone very well.

  George Weston, greatly excited, was sitting in the back of the Rolls – with his blankets and bag and two lanterns, to light the van fore and aft: Fitch was seated beside me, marking the way I took; and I was looking forward to sharing with Berry the beer which lolled in a bucket by George’s feet.

  Then the Rolls stole over the bridge, and I saw a car at rest in front of the caravan and a man, with his hands behind him, pacing the road.

  As I brought the Rolls to a standstill, my brother-in-law rose up from the step of the van, and the other swung round and came forward, wearing a menacing mien.

  He was tall and heavily built, clean-shaven and going grey. His powerful jaw was set, and his mouth was a long, straight line. He was just controlling his temper – but only just.

  As Fitch opened my door—

  “Mention no names,” said Berry. “But kindly tell this gentleman how and when I came to acquire this van.”

  “You bought it,” I said, alighting, “at about a quarter to five this afternoon. At this very spot. Its owner was stuck on the farther side of that bridge: he wanted to get back to Town, and the van was round his neck: he was ripe to give it away, and he sold it to us with his blessing for less than a third of its cost: that suited us very well, for we wanted just such a thing for two of our friends.”

  Berry turned to the stranger.

  “You hear?” he said.

  The other stamped upon the road.

  “Of course he tells the same lies. You took care to prepare them together, before he left.”

  Berry expired.

  Then he indicated the Rolls.

  “According to your information, does that resemble the car that was drawing the caravan?”


  “I neither know nor care. Very likely it isn’t the same. Your confederate took the one and came back with that”

  “But what’s the trouble?” said I.

  Berry sighed.

  “If this gentleman may be believed—”

  “What the devil d’you mean, sir?” roared the other.

  “Well, you don’t believe me,” said Berry, “so why should I believe you? And don’t interrupt again. I dislike your voice.”

  “Before you’re through, you’ll dislike it a damn sight more.”

  “That were impossible,” said Berry. “And now perhaps you’ll permit me to put my ‘confederate’ wise.” He returned to me. “If this gentleman may be believed, at about two o’clock today this caravan touched his car.”

  “Touched?” screamed the other. “Touched? It damn well rammed it, sir, as you very well know. Stove it in. Smashed it to matchwood. Three hundred pounds’ worth of damage. And I only bought it last week.”

  “Let us say ‘impaired its value’.” The other choked. “The occurrence of this contretemps or hitch—”

  “‘Hitch?’” yelled the other. “How dare you?”

  “—coincided with the absence of this gentleman, who had left his car unattended, without some private house. It was not until he emerged, with the object of going his way, that he perceived that, such was the condition of his car, he must either proceed on foot or procure the services of some other vehicle.” Berry turned to the stranger. “I think that’s right.”

  The latter’s reply was to make a rattling noise.

  “Exactly. Annoyed by this inconvenience, he approached a bystander and inquired if, by any chance, he could throw some light upon the, er, discrepancy between the state of his car, as he had left it, and its subsequent condition. He was immediately informed that ‘a caravan had done it ‘–and, having done it, had been rapidly withdrawn, to be last seen proceeding North at a dangerous speed. Upon further inquiry, it appeared that the caravan had a start of a quarter of an hour, and, by the time that Mr Wireworm – for that is this gentleman’s name – had procured another car, with which to take up the pursuit, nearly an hour had elapsed since the contretemps had occurred.

  “In a word, at three o’clock the hunt was up. From then until six today this gentleman was scouring the countryside, fortified by a belief, which was obviously well founded, that the process which is known as that of exhaustion must end in his overtaking a vehicle whose nature and design were precluding anything approaching celerity, except upon the straightest of roads. And so it fell out. At six o’clock this evening, he crossed that picturesque bridge, to see before him his quarry, at rest by the side of the way.

  “Now whether this is the van that, in fact, impaired the value of Mr Wireworm’s car, I have no idea. There are certainly marks upon its rear or hind quarters, which I had not before observed, which may be traces of the contact he so much deplores. But that, as I tell him, is quite beside the point. Until half-past four today, neither you nor I nor any one of our house had ever set eyes upon this van. That being so, it is out of all reason to associate us with a contretemps in which this van was involved at two o’clock.”

  “Where did it happen?” said I.

  “At some place called Nether Beauchamp. D’you know the name?”

  I shook my head.

  “At two o’clock,” I said, “we were still at table at Buckram.”

  “I know. I’ve said so – over and over again. I have declared that, counting the servants, we can bring at least nine or ten people to prove our alibi. But Mr Wireworm won’t have it. And I don’t know that I should blame him, if he hadn’t been so rude.”

  The other burst out.

  “I’ll have no more of this.”

  “You’re nearly right,” said Berry. “We’ve got to be getting on.”

  “No, you don’t,” snarled the other. “I’ve got you now, and I’m going to give you in charge.”

  Berry sighed.

  “As I have told you before, that statement is one which only an idiot would make. You might as well say you were going to flay me alive. You can’t flay me alive, because, in the first place, the resistance I should certainly offer would place the operation beyond your power: in the second place, I very much doubt if you have the requisite tools: and, in the third place, I’m quite sure you don’t know how to flay. I believe it to be a most difficult handicraft… In the same way, you cannot give me in charge, because, in the first place, there is no constable here, and, in the second, if there was, he would assuredly decline to put me under arrest. He would tell you, as I have told you, that this is a case for a summons. Summon me if you will – I’ve offered you my name and address. But your summons will be dismissed, for I’m not your man.”

  Mr Wireworm shook his fist.

  “I’ll see about that, you twister. I know the law. ‘Failing to stop after an accident.’”

  “Quite right,” said Berry. “That is the offence, which, if I may believe you, was committed at Nether Beauchamp early this afternoon.”

  “By you. And then you bolted. And now I’ve got you, you’re trying to bolt again. What a fool you must think me.”

  “I do,” said Berry. “I think you’re a poisonous fool. Except to admit that I’m guilty, I’ve met you in every way. I’ve told you how to proceed and I’ve offered you my name and address. I’ve shown you how you can prove the truth of my alibi. My cousin has returned to this spot, as I said he would, and, unprompted by me, has borne out all that I said. I told you he’d bring two men with him – and there they are.”

  “D’you know who I am?” blared the other.

  “No, I don’t,” said Berry wearily. “For all I know you may be a pillar of the Society for the Propagation of Blue-based Baboons, but that doesn’t faze me.”

  “If you did, you’d know I don’t stand for treatment like this. You’ve come to the wrong shop. When I’ve got my hooks on a blackguard, I never let go.”

  Berry looked at me.

  “You see?” he said. “I’ve had two hours of this, and I’m getting tired. My tale is strange, but everything bears it out. He finds me alone with the van. If I am, in fact, the delinquent, what have I done with the car? Oh, my confederate took that. Why should he do such a thing? To avoid arrest. In that case, why didn’t I accompany him? Because I was looking after the van. He’s an answer for everything, no matter how drivelling it is. The truth is he’s out for blood, and, so long as he gets it, he doesn’t care whose it is.”

  Fitch approached with a bottle of beer and a glass.

  “You must be thirsty, sir.”

  “Thank you,” said Berry. “I am.”

  Fitch poured the beverage out.

  Berry took the glass and offered it to Mr Wireworm.

  “I expect there’s some more,” he said.

  The other snatched the glass and flung it over the hedge.

  There was a pregnant silence.

  Then Berry returned to the chauffeur.

  “Another glass,” he said.

  “Very good, sir.”

  “George.”

  “Sir.”

  “Behold your future home. I should enter and take possession without delay.”

  “Thank you, sir,” and, with that, George took up his gear and entered the van.

  Fitch returned with another glass…

  Berry drank gratefully. Then he pointed to the stream.

  “I expect Captain Pleydell’s thirsty. You might wash the glass there and see.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And then, I think, we’ll be going.”

  Wireworm started forward.

  “Not on your life.”

  Coldly Berry regarded him.

  “Are you proposing to detain us, against our will?”

  The other swallowed.

  “You’re coming to the station,” he said. “And I’ll see you don’t get bail.”

  Berry raised his eyebrows.

  “Also a
mong the prophets? I fear I shall prove you false. Damn it, man, I’m sorry your car’s been bent. This may or may not be the van that did the mischief. But, whether or no, I’ve told you that I’m not guilty – and here’s my card.”

  Wireworm snatched the paste-board and tore it up.

  “You won’t be helped, will you?” said Berry. “Perhaps you’d prefer to take the number of my car. That should enable you to run me to earth.”

  “It’s probably stolen,” said Wireworm.

  Steadily Berry regarded him.

  “You know,” he said, “I’m beginning to regret that you weren’t beside your car when the contact was made. Bending over…looking into the bonnet.”

  The other started forward.

  “How d’you know she was hit in the bonnet?”

  “I don’t,” said Berry. “That was a bow at a venture. For all I know, she was hit in the camisole. Or hadn’t you got your washing out today?”

  Mr Wireworm went over the edge, stamping and shouting and vowing most hideous vengeance on ‘conduct likely to lead to a breach of the peace’.

  When the storm had subsided—

  “Allow me to commend,” said Berry, “to your consideration a passage in Holy Writ, in which a mote and a beam and a human eye are concerned. In the last two hours you have offered me enough provocation – not for a breach of the peace, but for a whole series of aggravated assaults. So far from committing these, I have made every allowance for your ravening state of mind. But all in vain. I confess that some of my answers have not been soft, but that is because I’m human – if you flog a willing horse, he’s apt to lash out. And now I’ve said my last word.” He turned to me. “Have you had your beer?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. George.”

  “Sir,” said George, from the step of the caravan.

  “We’re going now. Fitch will be back in the morning at eight o’clock.”

  “Thank you very much, sir.”

  “And don’t you stand any rot. The van is mine, and you are the tenant in charge.”

  “I’ll see to that, sir. Am I to give any information?”

  “You may say what ever you please. I’ve nothing to hide.”