Jonah started up to his feet.
“By God,” he cried, “you’ve got it! And it’s been lying under our nose for more than a year. From what de Moulin said, to walk from Lally to Echelle would take no more than five hours. Tass reached Echelle, exhausted, at three o’clock – exhausted…an easy prey. Shapely met him, heard his report and killed him. He had the grave all ready. All he had to do was to add his lime and cover the body up.”
“Quick work,” said I, finger to lip. “Shapely passed through the Customs at five o’clock. And I’ll lay any money Tass didn’t arrive before four. A chauffeur walking over the mountains?”
“Don’t pull your case to pieces. I’m sure you’re right. But what’s the matter with us – that we never saw it before? And now come and ring up de Moulin. Quick work or no, we have the truth in the bag. Tass’ body is in that barn. We’ll have to make sure, of course. But the moment we know, I’ll wire for Falcon to come.”
We walked back to Cluny and entered the little hotel.
Two minutes later, de Moulin was on the line.
Jonah made his request.
“With pleasure, Monsieur. What is the number again?”
“It’s numbered 534 upon the Cadastral Plan. I want to know the name of the owner and when it changed hands.”
“I shall know within the hour. It is now just four o’clock. I will ring you up at five – at your beautiful house.”
“If you please,” said Jonah.
We left the hotel and made our way back to the car.
As we came up, a Customs Officer smiled and put a hand to his hat.
“The sergeant has gone off duty; but he commended to me the care of Monsieur’s excellent car.”
“Why, it’s Jacques,” said Jonah.
“That is right,” said the fellow, grinning. “It was I who was sent for when Monsieur the Inspector was here.”
“I remember. You picked out two photographs.”
“That is quite right, Monsieur. I was the one, you see, who saw the murderer.”
“‘A poor man, with one eye.’ I remember. But you haven’t seen him since.”
“Alas, no, Monsieur, although I have strained my eyes. Once I was sure that I had him. A man came by in a car. My God, if I was excited. He had his features. I could have sworn it was him. And he bowed his head, as though he would not be seen. But when I had run round the car – well, it was not he. Alas, he had two eyes, Monsieur; and the murderer had but one. And yet, you know, I was sure I had seen him before.”
Jonah stood very still.
“At last,” he said quietly. “I think that was in December.”
Jacques recoiled.
“It was just before Christmas,” he said. “But how does Monsieur know?”
“Common sense,” said Jonah. “And don’t forget this, Jacques. A man may wear a patch. But it doesn’t follow, my friend, that he hasn’t two eyes.”
With that, he entered the car and took the wheel.
I followed him in, and he turned the car about.
As we slid out of Cluny—
“We’re so many fools,” said Jonah. “Falcon and all. Shapely purchased the lime before he came up to Echelle. He came up on June the fourth. On June the fifth he reconnoitred the path which he knew existed, which led to Lally on the other side of the hills. He told you in the train that he had known Lally for years. He killed Tass the following day. And buried the corpse in the barn. The next day he put on Tass’ eye-shade and Tass’ clothes, collected Tass’ passport and took the bus to Pau. He travelled to Paris and Dover and did Old Rowley in. He had the keys, of course, and he took the family car. And he left in the car a packet of cigarettes, upon which were Tass’ finger-prints – very ingenious that. He returned to Paris; and there he took off his patch and changed out of Tass’ clothes. So Tass disappeared in Paris. That night he travelled to Pau, shoved Tass’ case in the cloak-room and caught the bus to Lally arriving at ten o’clock. Then he walked over the mountain and back to the caravan. And you recognised him in Lally at half-past five that day. Damn it, the thing’s too easy. To judge from those photographs, he’s not at all unlike Tass. And who would ever look further than the patch on a fellow’s eye? We didn’t. No one did. That patch in itself was a passport… But he had to get rid of the suitcase, for men who are living don’t leave their luggage unclaimed. And so he came back in September and picked it up. As like as not he chucked it into the Gave. The Gave d’Oloron. Weighted it first, of course. But that is why he was round about Navarrenx. And there we have the whole thing. I know I’m right.”
So did I.
There was no more doubt about it.
Everything fitted in.
At five o’clock precisely de Moulin rang up.
“The owner of that field, Monsieur, is one of your compatriots. A Monsieur F C Shapely. He purchased it in December, and the sale was registered in January this year.”
“Thank you very much,” said Jonah.
“One moment, Monsieur. That is what the register says. But it will not say that very long, for the sale and the registration are going to be revoked.”
“Revoked?”
“Revoked. I cannot explain just now, but this evening I leave for Lally for two or three days. Will you come to my villa tomorrow that I may give you the facts?”
“With pleasure,” said Jonah. “What about half-past ten?”
“That,” said the lawyer, “will suit me admirably.”
17
In Which Justice is Done
That evening we laid our plans.
So far, we could prove next to nothing. We never should be able to prove that F C Shapely, his stepson, had put Old Rowley to death. But, provided that Tass’ body lay in the barn at Echelle, we ought to be able to prove that Shapely had murdered Tass.
That the body was there, we had not the slightest doubt. But we dared not wire for Falcon, until we knew. Well, that was easy enough. We could visit the barn and see. But, if the body was there, then, without any delay, we should have to inform the French police.
We decided to visit the barn the next morning at eight o’clock. An hour should be time enough for us to discover whether it held a grave. If it did, we would stop at Cluny on our way back and send a wire requesting that Falcon should leave at once. We would then return to Lally, to keep our appointment with de Moulin at half-past ten. And when we had heard what he said, we would tell him what we had found and the whole of the truth.
The thing was this. Even though the body was there, the murder was old. Shapely would be arrested and extradited and tried. But an able counsel might very well get him off. And we did not want him to get off. We knew that he had murdered two innocent men. One of these was our very good friend. It was a cruel and barbarous double crime – for which it was right and proper that Shapely should pay the price. Yet, unless the case was carefully handled, he would not pay the price. If the French police would not hear us, handled the body roughly, declined to take photographs and other precautions like that, then Shapely would be acquitted, when he came to be tried. But de Moulin was sympathetic and very shrewd. He had authority. When he heard what we had to tell, he would see in a flash the importance of moving with very great care. More. He was a just man. The crimes would provoke his indignation. And he would do his best to see that justice was done.
We ran into Cluny the next morning at eight o’clock.
As I slowed up for the Customs, the sergeant came out.
“Ah, good morning, Monsieur. And how can I help you today?”
Jonah smiled.
“Only by letting us pass. We’re going to have a look at Echelle.”
“Proceed, then, Monsieur. But if you go climbing, be careful. The cliffs are dangerous.”
“Not today,” said Jonah. “We shan’t be very long. We’ve got to get back.”
Ten minutes later I brought the Rolls to rest at the foot of the ramp.
Perhaps because it was early Paradise seemed more lovely tha
n ever before. Since it was summer, the water had put off its wrath and, though a decent head was still coming down, it was tumbling cheerily and leaping as though at play. Beneath the oaks in the meadow, the long grass was bright with dew, and the cliffs beyond hung like a giant back-cloth, down which two threads of silver were making their lively way.
“Reconnaissance, first,” said Jonah. “We want to be sure we’re alone. You stay with the car, Carson. If anyone enters the ramp, just touch the horn.”
We crossed the little bridge and walked round about the meadow and back to the barn. And saw not a soul. We had the place, as usual, all to ourselves.
Jonah drew a screwdriver out of his coat.
“Get the things, will you?” he said. “I don’t think Carson should leave the foot of the ramp.”
The padlock was securing a hasp. By the time I was back the staple was hanging free.
And then we were in the barn, and the door was shut.
Jonah lighted his torch and I laid the things I had brought against the wall – a pick, a diminutive shovel and two steel rods.
Foot by foot, we examined the floor of earth.
As we reached the end of the barn, Jonah picked up a pinch of something between his finger and thumb.
“Lime,” he said quietly. “This, of course, is the obvious place. Oh, yes. Look. That’s where he piled his earth. Damned careless workmanship: but then he never expected a light to be lit in this barn. I imagine the body’s lying against the wall. Yes, that’s right. You can see the marks of his rammer. He must have used a mallet… Give me the pick, will you? You hold the torch.”
The earth was soft. Once the crust had been broken, we had little need of the pick. Sixteen inches down, we came to the lime.
Jonah laid down the shovel and put on a pair of gloves…
Two minutes later we had the awful proof that a human body was there.
“Poor wretched fellow,” said Jonah. “God rest his soul.”
My cousin replaced the lime and most of the soil. Then he took the shovel and beat the earth tight.
As he got to his feet—
“Thank God that’s over,” he said. And then, “It might have been worse.”
It might, indeed. Very much worse. But slack lime devours the gases which a body puts off.
Ten minutes later, the staple was back in its place, and we were, all three, in the car.
Jonah had his telegram ready, and we stopped for a minute at Cluny, to send it off.
Send Falcon immediately stop strongly suggest Aunt Mary has day and night nurse.
Then we drove back to Gracedieu and bathed and changed.
“Let me explain,” said de Moulin. “The meadow was sold and purchased in perfect good faith. All, in fact, was in order, except one thing. Monsieur Shapely does not happen to be a Frenchman by birth. No one but a Frenchman by birth may own or lease land which stands within twenty miles of this frontier of France: and Echelle is within that limit by nearly four miles. The lawyer should have observed that the title could not pass: but he does not convey much land. He is a Monsieur Schurch and his work lies more in the courts. What is inexcusable is that the Land Registry also failed to perceive this flaw. But twice in the year, in January and July, all registrations of sales are sent to the Head Office, Paris, from all over France. And there they are scrutinized, before they are filed. This registration went up to Paris last month, and only ten days ago an order came down to Pau that it must be revoked. And so, of course, must the sale. The money will be handed back. But now the trouble is this – that Monsieur Schurch has not Monsieur Shapely’s address. On the Deed he is entered as of an hotel in Pau. But there he left no address. Yet, he must, of course, be informed. And his signature is required.”
“I think,” said Jonah, “that I can help you there.”
“Ah.”
“But, before I do that, I have a story to tell. It deeply concerns the purchase of this particular field. We shall have to go to the police, but we’d like to do that through you. I mean, this mustn’t be bungled, if they are to get their man.”
De Moulin sat back in his chair.
“I will see that nothing is bungled. The Procurateur Général is a personal friend of mine.”
“What could be better?” said Jonah. “Well, here we go.”
He told the whole tale very well, and de Moulin sat and listened with half-closed eyes.
When it was done, the lawyer got to his feet and put out his hands.
“I felicitate you, my friends. A beautiful piece of work. It is like a story one reads. But in the stories, right at the last, the villain is always brought low. And so it must be this time. Mon Dieu, but it is a mercy that you did not go to the police. They can shoot an assassin or trace a motorcar. But this business requires finesse. This murder is old. And the man who did it is rich. He will have the very finest advice. And let me tell you this – that if you arrest him in England and if he employs a French lawyer with half as good a brain as my own, he will never come to be tried…
“You see, you can prove so little. Do not think that I do not believe you: but courts require proof. Consider this only, Messieurs. That Customs official who thought that Shapely was Tass…and gave him Tass’ passport…and helped him to take the bus. That official, you know, is paid not to make mistakes like that. And when it comes to making a statement – well, he will think of his pension and he will insist upon oath that he made no mistake and that it was Tass that went by, and no other man. And if it was Tass that went by, but did not come back, then it cannot be Tass’ body that lies in the barn. So this monster, Shapely, must not be arrested in England.
“‘What, then?’ you say. I will tell you.”
He set a foot on a chair, an elbow upon his knee and cupped his chin in a palm.
“He will be arrested here – at the scene of his crime.
“You see, it is very simple. The stars have fought against him, and no one can stand against the stars. You will give me his English address, and Schurch will write to him and tell him that the sale of the meadow must be revoked. That will bring him here hot-foot. At least, it would me. And if he is told, when he comes, that in forty-eight hours the meadow will cease to be his, I think that, if I were he, I should seek to use that time…by trying to remove or destroy the evidence of my crime.
“So he may be caught red-handed…”
“I congratulate you,” said Jonah. “That is a brilliant idea.”
“We will try to bring it off,” said de Moulin. “ I shall see the Procurateur this afternoon. He will, of course, wish to see you – and the English Inspector. And there is a happy chance – that he should be arriving tomorrow.” An eye-lid flicked. “A bad combination for Shapely – you and the stars.”
We afterwards learned that Shapely had been in Scotland when Schurch’s letter arrived. He had rented a deer-forest there, and a very mixed bag of guests was having fun and games at a castle which had made history in days gone by. The letter had reached him on Sunday – and Shapely had left for London within the hour.
The next day he left for Paris, and early on Tuesday morning he came to Pau.
When the French police like, they can put up a lovely show. Red tape goes by the board, and the scene becomes a stage. In Shapely’s case, of course, they had only to spread the net. But it was a very fine net, and they spread it extremely well.
Shapely’s appointment with Schurch had been fixed for ten o’clock. Schurch would receive him, of course, in his private room. This had two doors. One had been taken away and a curtain had been hung in its place. And Schurch had moved his table, so that when he was facing his client, the curtain would be at his back.
At half-past nine that morning, six people took their seats in the office the curtain hid. Jonah and I made two, and a shorthand-writer, a third. Falcon stood by the curtain, with his back to the wall…
Though I never saw Shapely’s face, I knew that his nerves were ragged the moment I heard his voice. I am sure th
at he knew that he had been mad to come: I am equally sure that he came, because he would have gone mad if he had stayed away. So it was with Eugène Aram. Be that as it may, the man was beside himself.
Only a man of iron nerve could have done what he had done. Having murdered one man, he had set out to murder another, bearing his victim’s passport and wearing his victim’s clothes. Apart from obtaining the passport, four several times he had to produce that passport and meet men’s scrutiny. Had he fallen at but one of those fences, he must have lost his life. But because he never faltered, he did not fall. Then again, in the train, with me… He took the count, when, with my tale of Crippen, I hit him between the eyes: but long before we parted, he had me where I belonged, and, but for the chance which sent Carson to fetch the lime, that he had put Tass to death would never have entered my head.
But now that iron nerve was broken, and, but for what he had done, I could have pitied him.
In that dingy lawyer’s office, I heard him put the rope round his neck. He refused to accept the revocation. He shouted and raved. He swore to raise the matter in Parliament. He spoke of international complications – the man was mad. Then he tried bribery. He gave the lawyer instructions to offer the Registrar five hundred pounds. And then, after forty minutes, he threw in his hand.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll sign. But not today. Have the papers ready on Thursday. Till then, the meadow is mine. I’ve a right to go up and enjoy it. Besides, I’ve left some gear, there.”
“But, Monsieur, of course. So long as—”
“And get this – and pass it on. You’re a treacherous race of blackguards. The glorious French Republic goes back on its solemn word.”
With that, he flung out of the room.
But he did not wait till the morrow. He hired a car at a garage and drove alone to Echelle that afternoon.
But we were there before him – we and the police.
He was shadowed wherever he went. And at four o’clock that day a message came through to Cluny to say that he had left Pau, and was driving south.
House That Berry Built Page 28
