“Are you ready?” I called.
A hurricane of affirmatory invective answered me.
I started the engine, changed into first and let in the clutch. As I changed into second, uprose a medley of cries and barking. I leaned out, exhorting the pedestrians by words and gestures to come aboard…
Head up, teeth bared, fists clenched and arms working, Mr Dunkelsbaum was running like a stag. Berry was loping along just behind, apparently offering encouragement and advice, while the Sealyham was alternately running and jumping up and down in front of the frantic alien, barking as if he were possessed. Even as I looked, the inevitable happened. Nobby miscalculated his distance and landed too close to the object of his attentions, Berry gave a warning, but belated, shout, and Mr Dunkelsbaum made a desperate effort to avoid the stumbling-block, tripped, recovered himself, crossed his legs, and with an unearthly cry fell heavily to the ground.
I changed into third speed.
As we swung round the corner at the top of the hill, I threw a glance over my shoulder.
Berry was sitting on the bank by the side of the road with his head in his hands, Mr Dunkelsbaum had risen to his feet and was in the act of hurling himself in the direction of Nobby, and the latter, with his small tail well over his back, was circling delightedly about his victim, still barking like a fiend and ricochetting like a roulette ball.
The next moment we were out of sight, and I changed into top speed.
Adèle caught at my arm.
“You’re not going to leave them?”
I nodded.
“Best way out,” I said. “Berry’ll understand and pull out somehow. You see, we’re too well known about here to take any chances. And now I think we’ll slip along to
The Fountain
and find Sir Anthony.”
“You tell me I speak good English,” said Adèle.
“So you do.”
“Well, I don’t want to spoil my record. What’s the Anglo-Saxon for ‘a thaw-proof nerve’?”
“Can’t be done,” said I. “But I can put your mouth into Italian.
Bocca bella carissima
. Now, isn’t that nice?”
The sweet pretty lips began to tremble with laughter.
“You’re incorrigible,” she announced. “Fifteen long months, and you haven’t changed a bit.”
“Long months, Adèle?”
The soft rose of her cheeks was glowing as she turned to reply.
“The longest I’ve ever spent,” she said softly. “That – that’s the worst of cutting your hair. I thought it was never going to grow.”
“They’ve been very long ones for me, Adèle.”
Up went the delicate eyebrows.
“Have they?”
I nodded.
“A close scrutiny will reveal that my hair, once a rich mud colour, is now flecked with grey.”
“I should attribute that to the march of Time.”
I shook my head.
“The responsibility,” I said, “rests with the United States of America. Seriously, I missed you terribly.”
“That,” said Adèle, “I refuse to believe. If you had, you would have paid us a visit.”
“I was not invited.”
Adèle shrugged her shoulders.
“Any old way,” she announced, “I’m here now. And, while we’re on the subject of hair, please remember that since you last saw me, I’ve put mine up.”
“Which means?”
“That I am a dangerous woman of the world, who gives nothing and takes everything – with a grain of salt. I warn you, I’ve changed.”
“Unquestionably,” said I, “you have had a violent love-affair. That is as plain as is the dainty nose upon your charming face.”
Adèle regarded me with a dazzling smile.
“I forgot,” she said, “that I was addressing an expert. Tell me, d’you think I shall get over it?”
“If you don’t,” said I, “it shan’t be my fault.”
“You’re very good.”
“Not at all,” said I. “Can you spell ‘homoeopathy’?”
For a man who had just parted with the home of his fathers, poor old Sir Anthony was in high spirits. Lock, stock and barrel, Merry Down had been sold to the highest bidder. Of that there was no manner of doubt. What was more to the point was that the purchaser, who had paid a good price, was of English blood, and had known Derry Bagot at Eton, and soldiered with him first in South Africa and afterwards in France. The place had passed into good clean hands and was to be well cared for.
“A very civil fellow,” said Sir Anthony, whom we had brought back to White Ladies to tea, “and a sportsman. I’m truly thankful. Spoke so nicely of Derry – said he’d always looked up to him and he was proud to think he was to carry on his – his home.” His voice faltered, and something of the old stricken look hung for an instant in the keen grey eyes. The next moment it was ousted by the flash of victory, and they were bent upon me. “So you deported the alien to Ramilly? Gad, but I’d ’ve liked to see the terrier bring him down.”
As he spoke there was the noise of a familiar scamper, and a moment later Nobby had hurled himself across the terrace into my lap and was licking my face with an enthusiastic violence which could not have been more pronounced if he had not seen me for years.
And in his wake came Berry.
I had told Sir Anthony that, if he desired to thank any one, he must thank my brother-in-law, because, but for the latter’s quick wit, Merry Down would have fallen into the enemy’s hands. But, when the old baronet had clapped him upon the back, Berry nodded at me.
“I believe,” he said, “I was the first to conceive the felony. That comes of being a magistrate. But that’s the merchant who carried it out. Largely at my expense, I admit. But that’s a matter for him and me to settle. I tell you, Sir Anthony, you must thank him – and the – er – hell-hound. A more masterly display of devilry I never witnessed.” He sank into a chair. “Let refreshment be brought me.”
Daphne blew him a kiss.
“One moment, old chap. Did the servants see you come in?”
Her husband nodded.
“Then there’ll be some fresh tea in a moment. And now, what happened? We’re simply wild to hear.”
“Yes,” cried Jill eagerly. “And did you really call him ‘Stunkenblotch’? And what happened to his boot? And where—”
“The last thing we saw,” said Adèle, “was the fellow get up and go for Nobby. You were sitting by the side of the road.”
“And before you begin,” said I, “let me say that I wouldn’t have left you, brother, if I could have thought of any other way out. But it seemed the only thing to do.”
Berry put up his hand.
“Strange as it may seem,” he said, “for once I don’t blame you. If I hadn’t been so weak with laughter I might have boarded the car, but it was then or never. I didn’t expect you to wait.”
“How did you get on?”
“I fear,” said Berry, “that Mr Dunkelsbaum did expect the car to be waiting at the top of the hill. What he said when he found that the road, which we could see for about five furlongs, was unoccupied, I shall try to forget. Suffice it that he perspired with great freedom, and for a long time appeared to be afflicted with an impediment in his speech. Occasionally he addressed me in Patagonian, but since the only words I could remember were
schloss, ausgang
and
bahnhof
, my replies, judging from their reception, were unsatisfactory and sometimes, I grieve to think, even irrelevant.
“Presently I suggested that we should return for his boot. For this he sought, whilst I detained Nobby. I had recommended that the latter’s services should be employed in the search, but the bare suggestion provoked such a shocking outburst of profanity that I said no more. When, after exploring the undergrowth for nearly half an hour, he suddenly descried his footgear lodged in the branches of a neighbouring ash, Mr Dunkelsbaum’s behaviour gave me cause to fear for his reason. My theory that some dim-sighted fowl must have mistaken the truant for a piece of refuse met with a furious dismissal, and, from the perfectly poisonous stare with which he declined my offer of assistance to secure his quarry, I was forced to the conclusion that he associated me with its elevation. This discovery caused me much pain, but the rude man was soon to pay dearly for his foul suspicion. True, he got it down: but it seemed as if the ravages of wear and tear, to say nothing of its immersion, had heavily discounted the value of the boot as an article of wearing apparel, for, after several agonized endeavours to replace it upon his foot, Mr Dunkelsbaum screamed, flung it down, spat upon it, and offered up what I took to be a short prayer for immediate death.
“After this horrible exhibition of temper, I felt that no useful purpose could be served by remaining within sight or earshot of the abandoned creature, so I released the terrier and made ready to depart.
“‘Herr Splodgenblunk,’ I said, ‘I must now leave you. Should you be still anxious to arrive at Bloat, you cannot do better than–’
“He interrupted me with a terrible cry.
“‘I vos neffer vant to ’ave arrive at Bloat!’
“‘But you said–’
“‘No! No!’ he raved. ‘It vos
Brrrooch
, I ’ave say –
Brrrooch!
’
“ I affected the utmost surprise.
“‘Oh, Brooch. Why, we came miles out of our way. Brooch is over there. Back the way we came, out of the enclosure, and the first on the right. That’s the worst of a Scotch accent.’”
Berry paused for the laughter to subside. As it died down—
“That,” said I, “was refined cruelty.”
“I confess,” said Berry, “that, compared with the paroxysm which succeeded my statement, its predecessors were pale and colourless. Indeed, but for a timely diversion, I believe the gent would have gone up in smoke.
“You see, it was like this.
“Ever since his release, Nobby had evinced a pardonable curiosity regarding Mr Dunkelsbaum’s bootless foot. Unknown to its owner, he had subjected this remarkable member to the closest scrutiny, and it was in the midst of the other’s spirited study of ‘A Lost Soul’ that he decided to remove the objectionable cloak or covering, which it is charity to describe as a sock.
“It was, of course, unmannerly. The dog should have controlled his morbid thirst for knowledge. But there you are. Still, it was imprudent of Mr Dunkelsbaum to kick him in the ribs. I felt that instinctively. Had the gentleman remained to argue, I should have said as much. But he didn’t.
“Going extremely short upon the near fore, he rocketed down the hill, with Nobby in the immediate future, barking like a fiend and striving, so to speak, to take Time by the forelock. From the fragment of cashmere with which he presently returned, I fear that he was successful.
“And there you are. All things considered, if he’s still alive, I should think he’d make Brooch about half-past eight.”
“He may get a lift,” said Jonah.
“Not he. Once bitten, twice shy. After all, he asked for it, didn’t he? And now shall I have some tea? Or would that be greedy?”
Sir Anthony wiped his eyes.
“If he’d known you,” he crowed, “as well as I do, he’d ’ve been more careful. Who sups with the devil should hold a long spoon.”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Berry. “I’m a respectable—”
“Exactly,” said I. “And meek. Thanks to Uranus.”
How Adèle Broke Her Dream,
and Vandy Pleydell Took Exercise
“What, again?” said I, staring at the breakfast cup which Jill was offering me, that I might pass it to Daphne. “How many more cups is he going to drink? He’s had three to my knowledge.”
“That vessel,” said Berry, “was passed to you for information and immediate action. So, as they say in the Army, close your perishin’ head and get down to it.”
“What you want,” said I, “is a bucket. Or a private urn.”
“What’s the matter with a trough?” said Jonah. “That’d be more in keeping.”
Berry turned to Adèle.
“You see?” he said. “Two putrid minds with but a single snort. But there you are. Don’t dwell on it. Pass the marmalade instead.” He turned to his wife. “And what’s the programme for today? The glass has gone up, it’s already raining, ‘all’s right with the world.’ Anybody like to play ping-pong?”
“Fool,” said his wife. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think it would be a bad idea if we went over to Broken Ash for tea.” Berry made a grimace, and Jill and I groaned. Even Jonah looked down his nose at the suggestion. “Yes,” my sister continued, “I didn’t think it’d be a popular move, but I’d like Adèle to see the pictures, and we haven’t shown a sign of life since we left Town.”
At Broken Ash lived the other branch of the Pleydell family, consisting of our Cousin Vandy and his two sisters. Between them and us there was little love lost. Of their jealousy of us, they made but an open secret. But for our grandfather’s birth, White Ladies would have been theirs: and then, to make matters worse, the terms of our grandfather’s Will had ruled out for ever such hopes as they might have had. And Berry’s marriage to my sister had finished everything. The conventions were, however, observed. Calendars were exchanged at Christmas, birthdays were recognized with a cold epistolary nod, and occasional calls were paid and invitations issued. Their possession of all but two of the family portraits was undoubted, and with nine points of the law in their favour they were well armed. It was an open question whether the tenth point, which was ours, was sufficiently doughty to lay the other nine by the heels. Years ago counsel had advised that the law was dead in our favour, but it was certain that Vandy and his sisters would resist any claim we made with great bitterness, and the settlement of a family quarrel in the public ring of the High Court was more than we could stomach.
Still, the pictures were worth seeing. There were a Holbein, a Van Dyck, three Gainsboroughs, and two from the brush of Reynolds among them, and, so soon as she had learned of their existence, Adèle Feste, who was on a visit from the United States, had evinced an eagerness to be shown the collection.
There was a moment’s silence. Then—
“I’d hate to think you were going for my sake,” said Adèle.
“We’re not, dear,” said Daphne. “Even if you weren’t here, we should have to go some day soon.”
“Yes,” said Berry. “We hate one another like poison, but we’ve never declared war. Consequently, diplomatic relations are still maintained, and in due season we meet and are charmingly offensive to one another. When war broke out they were very sticky about billeting a few Yeomanry chargers, and crawled and lied about their stabling till the authorities got fed up and commandeered all they’d got. Therefore, whenever we meet, I chivvy the conversation in the direction of horseflesh. In the same way, having regard to the burglary which we suffered last month, Vandy will spread himself on the subject of old silver. The moment they heard of it, they sent us a triumphant telegram of condolence.”
My sister laughed.
“If you say much more,” she said, “Adéle will be afraid to come with us. I admit it’s a duty call, pure and simple. All the same, there won’t be any bloodshed.”
“I’m ready for anything,” said Adèle thoughtfully. “Shall I wear a red or white rose?”
“Don’t tell us you can control your cheeks,” said I. “It’s unheard of. And why are you so pensive this morning? Is it because of Ireland? Or have you trodden on your sponge?”
“I believe she’s broken the soap-dish,” said Berry, “and is afraid to tell us.”
“Don’t tease her,” said Jill. “Why shouldn’t she be quiet if she likes?”
But Adèle was bubbling with laughter.
“The truth is,” she announced, “I’m trying to remember a dream I had last night.” She looked across the table to me. “You know what it is to dream something rather vivid and interesting, and then not to be able to remember what it was?”
I nodded.
“But you can’t do anything,” I said. “It’s no good trying to remember it. Either you’ll think of it, or you won’t.”
“Exactly,” said my brother-in-law. “There’s no other alternative. It’s one of the laws of Nature. I well remember dreaming that I was a disused columbarium which had been converted into a brewery and was used as a greenhouse. I was full of vats and memorial tablets and creeping geraniums. Just as they were going to pull me down to make room for a cinema, Daphne woke me up to say there was a bat in the room. I replied suitably, but, before turning over to resume my slumbers, I tried to recapture my dream. My efforts were vain. It was gone for ever.”
“Then how d’you know what it was about?” said Jill.
“I don’t,” said Berry. “What I have told you is pure surmise. And now will you pass me the toast, or shall I come and get it?”
Choking with indignation, Jill stretched out a rosy hand in the direction of the toast rack… Suddenly the light of mischief leapt into her grey eyes, and she called Nobby. In a flash the Sealyham – never so vigilant as at meal-time – was by her side. Cheerfully she gave him the last piece of toast. Then she turned to Berry with a seraphic smile.
“I’m afraid there’s none left,” she said.
Before we had finished lunch, the rain had ceased, and by the time we were under weigh,
en route
for Broken Ash, the afternoon sun was turning a wet world into a sweet-smelling jewel. Diamonds dripped from her foliage, emerald plumes glistened on every bank, silver lay spilt upon her soft brown roads. No scentbag was ever stuffed with such rare spicery. Out of the dewy soil welled up the fresh clean breath of magic spikenard, very precious.
Punctually at half-past four we swept up the avenue of poplars that led to our cousins’ house.
The visit had been arranged by Daphne upon the telephone, and Vandy and his two sisters were ready and waiting…
The
réunion
was not cordial. Ease and Familiarity were not among the guests. But it was eminently correct. The most exacting Master of Ceremonies, the most severe authority upon Etiquette, would have been satisfied. We were extraordinarily polite. We made engaging conversation, we begged one another’s pardon, we enjoyed one another’s jokes. The dispensation and acceptance of hospitality did the respective forces infinite credit.
After tea we were taken to see the pictures.
Vandy, as showman, naturally escorted Adèle. The rest of us, decently grouped about his sisters, followed like a party of sightseers in the wake of a verger.
To do our host justice, he knew his own fathers. For what it was worth, the history of the Pleydell family lay at his fingers’ ends. Men, manners and exploits – he knew them all. Indeed, years ago he had collected his knowledge and had it published in the form of a book. We had a copy somewhere.
We were half-way along the gallery, and our cousin was in full blast, when Adèle, to whom he was introducing the portraits with triumphant unction, started forward with a low cry.
“That’s the very man,” she exclaimed, pointing at the picture of a middle-aged gentleman in a plum-coloured coat, which, I seemed to remember, was unsigned but attributed – without much confidence – to the brush of Gonzales Coques. “What an extraordinary thing! I’ve broken my dream.”
In the twinkling of an eye Vandy’s importance was snatched from him, and the prophet’s mantle had fallen upon Adèle. Where, but a moment before, he had been strutting in all the pride of a proprietor, she held the stage. More. Neither our discomfited host nor his sisters could divine what was toward, and the fact that their guests crowded eagerly about Adèle, encouraging her to “let them have it,” was more disconcerting than ever.
“It was in a garden,” said Adèle, “a quiet sort of place. I think I was walking behind him. I don’t know how I got there, but he didn’t see me. All the same, he kept looking round, as if he was afraid he was being watched. Presently we came to a place where there was a stone pedestal standing. It wasn’t exactly a pillar – it wasn’t high enough. And it was too high for a seat. Well, he stared at this for a moment; then he looked around again, very cautiously, and then – it sounds idiotic, but he began to prod the turf with his stick. At first he did it just casually, here and there: but, after a little, he started prodding at regular intervals, methodically. The ground was quite soft, and his stick seemed to go in like a skewer. Suddenly he seemed to hear something or somebody, for he listened very carefully, and then walked on tiptoe to the pedestal and leaned up against it as if he were resting. The next moment somebody – some man in ordinary clothes came out of…” She hesitated. “I don’t know whether it was some bushes or a wall he came out of. Some bushes, I guess. Any way, he appeared, and – don’t laugh – gave him a green tomato. Then I woke up.”
“And this is the man you saw?” cried Daphne, pointing.
Adèle nodded.
“Dress and everything. He was wearing the same plumed hat and that identical coat, buttoned all down the front, with the pockets low down on either side. And I’ll never forget his face. That’s a wonderful picture. It’s life-like.”
“What an extraordinary thing!” said I. Then I turned to Vandy. “Has this portrait ever been reproduced?”
He did not seem to hear me.
With dropped jaw and bulging eyes, the fellow was staring at Adèle, staring…
Suddenly, as with an effort, he pulled himself together.
“Was that all you saw?” he said hoarsely.
Adèle pondered.
“I think so,” she said slowly. “Except that there were some words carved on the pedestal. PER…IMP…PERIMP,… No. That wasn’t it. Something like that. Not English. I can’t remember.”
“Ah!”
Berry took up the running.
“You say the merchant was prodding the ground?” he said.
“That’s right. It sounds silly, but—”
“Not at all,” said Berry excitedly. “He was looking for something. It’s as clear as daylight.” He turned to the picture. “That’s William Pleydell, isn’t it, Vandy? Seventeenth-century bloke. The one Pepys mentions.”
My cousin nodded abstractedly. With unseeing eyes he was staring out of a window. It was patent that Adèle’s recital had affected him strangely…
Berry laid a hand on his arm.
“Where’s the book you wrote?” he said gently. “That may throw some light on it.”
One of our hostesses turned, as though she would fetch the volume.
“It went to be rebound yesterday,” cried Vandy in a strained, penetrating voice.
His sister stopped and stood still in her tracks. A moment later she had turned back and was murmuring a confirmation.
Jonah, who had been busy with a pencil and the back of an envelope, limped towards us from one of the windows.
“The pedestal was a sundial,” he said. Vandy looked at him sharply. He turned to Adèle. “PER…IMP…you said. Try PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR. Latin. ‘The hours pass and are charged against us.’ You’ll find the phrase on five sundials out of six.”
A buzz of excited applause greeted this admirable contribution.
Adèle looked at the written words.
“You are clever,” she said. “Of course, that’s it. It must be.”
Vandy’s reception of Jonah’s discovery convinced me that it had already occurred to him. He applauded theatrically. The fellow was playing a part, feverishly. Besides, I did not believe his rotten book was being rebound. That was a lie. There was something there which he did not want us to see. Not a doubt of it. Well, we had a copy at White Ladies. No! Our copy was in Town. Hang it! What a sweep the man was!
With a horse-laugh he interrupted my reflections.
“Well, well, Miss Feste, I confess you gave me a shock. Still, if you had to meet one of our forefathers, I could have wished it had been any other than the notorious William. We enjoy his portrait, but we deplore his memory. Ha! Ha! Now, we’re really proud of the next one – his cousin, James Godstow Pleydell. He it was who was responsible—”
“Forgive me,” purred Daphne, “but I’m going to say we must fly. I’d no idea it was so late. People are coming to dinner, and we must go back by Brooch, because we’ve run out of ice.”
Our host protested – not very heartily – and was overruled. Mutual regret was suitably expressed. Without more ado we descended into the hall. Here at the front door the decencies of leave-taking were observed. The host and hostesses were thanked, the parting guests sped. A moment later, we were sliding down the avenue to the lodge-gates. As we swung on to the road—
“Where’s the book?” said Daphne. “That man’s a liar.”
“At Cholmondeley Street,” said I. “But you’re right about Vandy. He’s trying to keep something back.”
“He’s so excited he doesn’t know what to do,” said Daphne. “That’s clear.”
“Well, what the deuce is it?” said Berry. “I’ve read the blinkin’ book, but I’ll swear there’s nothing in it about buried treasure.”
“Whatever it is,” said I, “it’s in that book. I’ll get it tomorrow. D’you really want any ice?”
Daphne shook her head.
“But I couldn’t stay there with that man another minute.”
Adèle lifted up her sweet voice.
“I feel very guilty,” she said. “I’ve upset you all, I’ve given everything away to your cousin with both hands, and I’ve—”
“Nonsense, darling,” said Daphne. “You did the natural thing. How could you know—”
Jonah interrupted her with a laugh.
“One thing’s certain,” he said. “I’ll bet old Vandy’s cursing the day he rushed into print.”
Upon reflection it seemed idle for any one of us to journey to London and back merely to fetch a volume, so the next morning one of the servants was dispatched instead, armed with a note to the housekeeper at Cholmondeley Street, telling her exactly where the book would be found.