“Yes. I didn’t say so in my letter. There are things one doesn’t write. On a packet of French cigarettes, that had fallen between the front seats of the family car.”
“Those of Tass?”
“Yes. As soon as I had seen Shapely, I sent a man out on the chance, to look at the caravan. The tumblers stand in a rack. After Tass had left him, Shapely had to shift for himself. He’d only used the first three – washed them and used them again. The other three had last been handled by Tass. At least, they bore the same prints as the packet of cigarettes.”
“Dead case,” said I, and stood up.
“I think so,” said Falcon.
“No other prints?” said Jonah.
“Not one.”
“Careless,” said Jonah. “I don’t mean dropping the packet. That’s easy enough. But leaving your prints on a thing that you might so easily drop. And otherwise he was so careful.”
“That’s very true. But I fancy he made the prints when he purchased the packet in France.”
“Probably. What did he look like?”
“Nondescript,” said Falcon. He took his note-case out. “There’s his passport photograph – the only one we can raise. He would never be photographed, because of his eye. Neither dark nor fair. Well-covered. Height five feet ten. But you can’t get away from the eye-shade. That stamps a man. I don’t think the French are trying – and that’s the truth.”
“Looks more than likely,” said Jonah, handing the photograph back. “But what a queer case.”
Falcon looked at him very hard.
“What d’you mean by that, Captain Mansel?”
“In the first place, vengeance cools. Well, it didn’t cool here. It stayed hot – for, say, seven months. In the second place, the timing was perfect: the whole crime might have been rehearsed. Thirdly, the murderer leaves you in no doubt as to who committed the crime – eye-shade, passport and keys are simply presented to you. His one card is disappearance – the poorest card in the pack.”
“I entirely agree,” said Falcon. “It’s worried me quite a lot. But everything points to him, and there’s nobody else. I looked very hard at Shapely. He had a motive worth having for rubbing Sir Steuart out. But his alibi’s copper-bottomed. His passport shows that he wasn’t in England this year until June 14th. And the murder was done on the 8th. I can’t believe he was dropped. And who took him away? And Captain Pleydell saw him at Lally on June 9th.”
“That’s right,” said Jonah, slowly. “Shapely couldn’t have done it; and Tass undoubtedly did. I do hope you get him, Falcon. It was a wicked show.”
We all went to Luz Ortigue the following day.
As the Andret slid out of Cluny, I saw the Rolls ahead pull into the side of the road. Then one of its doors was opened and Falcon got out.
As we drew abreast—
“I’m being a nuisance,” he said. “At Mrs Pleydell’s suggestion. She’s very kind. You see, I didn’t know that there was a Custom House here. Shapely said nothing about it. And I saw them take our number. That suggests records of some sort, and I’ve got a letter here.”
I berthed the Andret forthwith and followed Jonah and Falcon back to the Custom House.
Falcon’s letter worked wonders. When the Custom Officers saw it, they were most deeply impressed.
“We are at your disposal, Monsieur. Pray ask us what questions you please.”
“I saw that you took the number of our car. Do you keep a record of every car that goes by?”
“But certainly, sir. And of the passengers.”
“What exactly is your procedure?”
“As Monsieur may know, the frontier is eighteen miles off: but, since the frontier is bleak, this little village is used as the frontier-post. It is the same in Spain, on the opposite side. Very well. Between this post and the frontier are many beauty spots, which tourists delight to visit, without going into Spain. And so we have three classes of passers-by – those who are making for Spain; those who are going for a picnic and mean to return the same day; and those who mean to camp in the mountains for several days. The first, of course, we deal with in the regular way. We accept the word of the second that they will return the same day – but we note the number of the car and the number of passengers: and if they do not return, the guards go out. Of the third we demand their passports: these are not stamped, but are kept here against their return.”
“And the car and the passengers are noted?”
“Most certainly, sir. We have one book for each class.”
“May I see your book for Class Three? I should like to see the entries for the beginning of June.”
As the officer moved to a shelf—
“Yesterday morning,” said Falcon, “I saw the caravan. There was nothing of interest there, but I thought it a nice-looking job. On the small side, of course. All right for a honeymoon couple – for whom, I assume, it was built.”
Here the sergeant returned with a book.
“There are the entries, sir, for the first week of June.”
There were only four, and the caravan was the third.
EXIT on June 4th, at 11.30 a.m., caravan, dark blue, no. 0E567 GB (Triptyque): passengers two – English owner and English chauffeur – passport D77894 Shapely and passport G19632 Tass.
RE-ENTRY on June 7th, at 11.00 a.m., chauffeur only on foot – passport G19632 Tass returned: on June 10th, at 5.00 p.m., caravan no. 0E567 GB and owner – passport D77894 Shapely returned.
Falcon said nothing, but pointed to June 10th.
“And here,” said the official, “is a note which the chauffeur bore.”
A piece of note-paper passed.
The note was written in French.
To the Custom Officer on duty.
Please give bearer, Albert Edward Tass, his passport and help him to take the bus to Pau. He will not be coming back.
F C SHAPELY.
Falcon laid down the note.
“Were you on duty that morning?”
“No, sir,” said the official. He raised his voice. “Jacques!”
Another man entered the office.
“I think you received this note.”
The other examined the paper.
“Yes, that is right. A poor man with one eye, I remember. He was bearing a heavy suitcase, and it was very hot. He was hard to understand, but the note explained things for him. He caught the bus for Nareth: and there, no doubt, he would take the bus to Pau.”
“Would you know him again?” said Falcon.
“Oh, yes. He had but one eye.”
Falcon laid four photographs down – of men who were wearing shades over one of their eyes.
“Can you pick him out?”
The man bent over the four.
At last, he looked up.
“Monsieur is asking a lot.”
“I know I am. Do your best.”
“It is one of those two, for I know that he had no moustache. But I cannot say which.”
One of the two he had picked was the portrait of Tass.
“Monsieur is seeking this man?”
“I want him badly,” said Falcon. “If you should see him, detain him: if you should hear of him, please telephone at once to the Chief of the Police at Pau.”
“That is understood, Monsieur. It is a serious charge?”
“Murder,” said Falcon, simply – and left it there.
There was a wide-eyed silence.
“What happens at night?” said Falcon.
“The post is closed, Monsieur. Classes Two and Three may return; but no car may go out.”
“And for persons on foot?”
“It is closed also, Monsieur. The way is lighted and barred, and a guard is on duty all night. As you see, the way is most narrow, and the men have orders to shoot.”
“Yes,” said Falcon: “no one, I think, could get by. Well, thank you very much…”
The three of us took our leave.
As we returned to the cars—
&n
bsp; “June 10th – not 9th,” said I. “That alters the shape of the case.”
“It may and it mayn’t,” said Falcon. “Shapely was unsure of his dates. And living and moving as he was, it’s easy enough to forget the day of the month. Even the day of the week. And forgive me for pointing out that you were not caravanning and yet you said that you saw him on Tuesday June 9th.”
“I know. But wait a minute. Let’s get this straight. I’m not excusing myself, but I’ll swear that Shapely said Tuesday when we were talking at Pau.”
“Remember his words?”
“Yes. ‘I passed through Lally on Tuesday, en route for the Col de Fer.’ I know he said that, for I thought ‘Was it Tuesday or Wednesday?’ But we’d had such a busy week that I thought ‘Oh, he’s probably right,’ and let it go.”
I saw Falcon frown.
“He was less definite with me.”
“It looks,” said Jonah, “like an attempt to mislead. But I can’t believe that it was, for Shapely was well aware of the entries which we have just read. And they are proof positive that he wasn’t in Lally on Tuesday and, incidentally, that he couldn’t have committed the crime.”
“I entirely agree,” said Falcon. “His alibi is cast-iron, because at the time of the murder he was on the far side of this post. But why didn’t he tell me that?”
My cousin shrugged his shoulders.
“Qui s’excuse s’accuse,” he quoted.
Falcon laughed.
“You will look at Shapely, won’t you?”
“I think anyone would,” said Jonah.
“And where does Tass come in?”
“D’you really want my guess?”
“I’d love to have it,” said Falcon.
“It was murder by proxy,” said Jonah. “Tass did the job all right, but Shapely set him on.”
A short four miles from Cluny, we turned to the right. For a mile a rough road danced to the tune of a lusty water, with forest on either hand and a ragged ribbon of blue to speak to the sky. Then forest and water fell back and the rough road lost itself in a mighty sward.
Luz Ortigue is a glen. On one hand the mountains rise from an upland lawn: on the other the forests come down to a sturdy torrent, so that its blue and white water is dappled with light and shade. The grass is sweet and close-cropped and is studded with clumps of oaks. In a word, I cannot imagine a fairer camping-ground. It is, of course, not so private as Paradise – because it is more convenient, more ‘indicated’. There were traces of more than one camp, and a tent had been pitched a short furlong from where we stopped. But it was a most lovely spot and made, at a guess, a wonderful starting-point. The tent we saw was empty. Its owners had clearly gone off, to prove the depths of the valley or capture the topless hills.
“I wish I liked camping,” said Falcon. “If I did, I should settle down here for the rest of my leave. But, to tell you the truth, I’m too soft.”
“So are we all,” said Berry. “Camping is all very well when you’re not more than thirty years old. After that, its shortcomings emerge – from the quilt of rapture with which you have smothered them up. Certain rites should be followed in comfort.”
“That will do,” said his wife. “I know you mean washing-up, but not everyone would.”
“I’d love to camp here,” said Jill. “I’d love to explore that valley, before the sun was up and the dew had gone.”
Falcon smiled.
“I’m sure you would. But you give the lie to Shakespeare – and very few can do that.”
Jill looked at him very gravely.
“What do you mean?”
“I may be wrong,” said Falcon, “but I don’t think you feel any older than you did at Shakespeare’s age.”
“What age was that?”
“Sweet and twenty,” said Falcon.
Jill looked round delightedly.
“Isn’t that a nice thing to say? But, if I was ever that, then it’s perfectly true. I don’t feel older at all. But, in their heart, I don’t think anyone does. There’s no reason why they should. I mean, you’re just you – whether you’re twenty-one or a hundred and six. Age is a law of Nature like everything else; but all her laws are so wise that if you obey them truly, you can’t go wrong.” She threw back her lovely head and looked at the sky. “It was awful, you know, when Piers and my babies were killed. They went down in a plane together. But I knew that they were all right. Better off than if they had lived. So I had nothing to grieve for – except, of course, that I’d love to have seen them again.” Two tears welled out of her eyes, but she dashed them away. “The point is – they were all right. And, if they’d lived, they might have been unhappy – you never know. After all, death’s quite natural. And everything that’s natural is right. I often think that the dead must be simply wild when people mourn. It’s really like getting a peerage – being moved up. It’s only that you can’t see them, though they can see you. And love goes on, you know. Love’s stronger than death.”
There was a long silence.
Daphne was biting her lip, and Berry was unashamedly wiping his eyes. Falcon got up and walked off. Jonah was very carefully filling a pipe. And Jill was still looking at the heaven, as though there were something there that her eyes could see.
I rose and followed Falcon.
After two or three minutes of silence—
“Lady Padua,” said Falcon, firmly, “does not belong to this earth.”
“She never has,” said I. “She’s out of the golden world.”
“And quite unsullied,” said Falcon. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”
“I think it’s unique,” said I. “She knows no wrong. It killed us to give up White Ladies: but, though she doesn’t know it, she saw us through. She is entirely selfless, and so – well, she gets things straight. Of course, her life is sheltered. We do our best.”
“By God, I don’t blame you,” said Falcon. “‘And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones…’”
“And, with it all, she’s wise.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. The thing is, she’s natural. She is the most natural being I’ve ever seen. And you have seen her grow up.”
“She’s never grown up,” said I. “She’s just as she always was.”
“Marriage?”
“Made not the slightest difference. She took the state in her stride. My cousin, Jill, is a throw-back. As I said just now, she’s out of the golden world.”
Falcon looked round.
“She belongs to these parts,” he said.
“I think she does. She can hear the tongues in the trees and read the books in the brooks.”
“Ah, but go on,” said Falcon.
“You’re right,” I said. “That is her secret. And how many can? What happens to her is right. Her faith passes all understanding. And that is why she is – Jill.”
Two days had gone by, and Falcon was about to be gone. One day he had spent at the site, talking with Joseph, working on the ruisseau with Jill and watching the great wall rise as if it belonged to him. Unless he was playing up, he was silly about the place. I remember that Daphne asked him if he thought we were mad. “Mrs Pleydell,” he said, “you are sane – in a frantic world. I’m proud to have seen the foundations of something worth while.”
And now he was about to be gone.
He would not go without viewing the site once more; so Jonah and I had gone with him: and we three were sitting together upon the ledge.
“I hope,” said Jonah, “you’ll let us know how you get on.”
“Of course I shall.”
“And if we can ever do anything, let me know.”
“I shall indeed,” said Falcon. He hesitated. “Captain Mansel, I’ve given your ‘guess’ a great deal of thought.”
“I’m not sure it was worth it.”
“I know it was. But it makes it still more important that Tass should be found. More. If your ‘guess’ is a good one, Shapely’s in touch with Tass.”
<
br /> Jonah raised his eyebrows.
“He probably knows where he is. I wouldn’t put it higher than that.”
“For the moment, no: but sooner or later…”
“Yes,” said Jonah, nodding, “I think you’re right. Tass will have to be succoured from time to time. But that’s going to be difficult, Falcon – I mean, to have Shapely watched, perhaps for month after month.”
Falcon shook his head.
“Not in this case, Captain Mansel. I have the Home Office behind me as never before.”
“Then I think it’s a question of time. I believe if you stick to Shapely, Shapely will lead you to Tass.”
6
In Which Hadrian’s Wall is Finished,
and a Village is Entertained
Falcon left Lally on Thursday, the twentieth day of August, exactly four weeks since Berry had ‘turned the first sod’. On that day was finished the little retaining wall at the mouth of the entrance-drive. In fact, it was not ‘little’: but the great wall itself diminished all other masonry. Falcon had compared it to Hadrian’s Wall; and for us it went by that name from that time on.
To return to the ‘little’ wall. This was full twelve feet high by thirty feet long: it was very slightly ‘battered’, that is to say, sloping back, and it had been built in a curve to conform to the spacious sweep of the mouth of the entrance-drive. It did not touch the soil which it had been built to retain: between the two, there was a void of six inches which had been packed with stones. At regular intervals pipes of terracotta protruded for an inch from its face. These had been laid, of course, as the wall was being built, to let pass any water that otherwise might have collected between the soil and the wall.
Now that this work was done, two more masons were free to work upon Hadrian’s Wall. Until this was ten feet high, the gulf between it and the mountain was likewise packed with stones: and, as with the little wall, pipes had been laid through its depth, to drain any water away. I have spoken before of the doorway, gradually taking shape in the western wing. Its threshold was ten feet up from the foot of the wall: if, then, you entered by this, you stepped directly on to the wedge of packed stones. This surface we proposed to concrete without delay, for so there would be a magnificent storeroom and workshop, ready to hand. Its dimensions would be those of the terrace, which would, when the platform was built, lie directly above.
House That Berry Built Page 9
