I did what I could to soothe him, but without avail.
“I warn you,” he continued, “there’s worse to come. Misfortunes hunt in threes. First we fool and are fooled over that rotten villa. Now this balloon lets me down. You wait.”
I decided that to argue that the failure of the air-cushion could hardly be reckoned a calamity would be almost as provocative as to suggest that the immersion of the cigar should rank as the third disaster, so I moistened the lips and illustrated an indictment of our present system of education by a report of my encounter with Susan.
Berry heard me in silence, and then desired me to try the chairs at the Château, and, if they were favouring repose, to inquire whether the place would be let furnished. Stifling an inclination to assault him, I laughed pleasantly and related my meeting with the engaging Spaniard. When I had finished —
“How much did you lend him?” inquired my brother-in-law. “Or is a pal of his taking care of your watch?”
The fox-trot came to an end, and I rose to my feet.
“The average weight,” I said, “of the spleen is, I believe, six ounces. But spleens have been taken weighing twenty pounds.”
“Net or rod?” said Berry.
“Now you see,” I continued, “why you’re so heavy on the chairs.”
With that, I sought my wife and led her away to watch the Baccarat…
Before we had been in the gaming room for twenty seconds, Adèle caught me by the arm.
“D’you see that man over there, Boy? With a bangle on his wrist?”
“And a shirt behind his diamond? I do.”
“That’s one of the men I saw in the Villa Buichi.”
“The devil it is,” said I. “Then I take it he’s the new lessee. Well, well. He’ll go well with the ballroom, won’t he?”
It was a gross-looking fellow, well-groomed and oily. His fat hands were manicured and he was overdressed. He gave the impression that money was no longer an object. As if to corroborate this, he had been winning heavily. I decided that he was a bookmaker.
While I was staring, Adèle moved to speak with a friend.
“And who,” said a quiet voice, “is attracting such faithful attention?”
It was the Spaniard.
“You see that fat cove?” I whispered. “He did us out of a house today. Overbid us, you know.”
My companion smiled.
“No worse than that?” he murmured. “You must count yourselves lucky.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“You know him?”
The other nodded.
“Not personally, of course,” he said. Then: “I think he’s retired now.”
“What was he?” said I.
“The biggest receiver in France.”
Ere we retired to rest, my brother-in-law’s prophecy that there was ‘worse to come’ was distressingly fulfilled.
As the ‘evening’ advanced, it improved out of all knowledge. The later the hour, the hotter became the fun. Berry’s ill humour fell away. Adèle and I danced furiously together. Vain things were imagined and found diverting. Hospitality was dispensed. The two spare ‘baubles’ were reinforced…
Not until half past two was the tambourine of gaiety suffered to tumble in its tracks.
We climbed into the cars flushed and hilarious…
Late though we were, whenever we had been dancing there was one member of the household who always looked for our return and met us upon our threshold.
Nobby.
However silently the cars stole up the drive, by the time the door was opened, always the Sealyham was on parade, his small feet together, his tail up, his rough little head upon one side, waiting to greet us with an explosion of delight. In his bright eyes the rite was never stale, never laborious. It was the way of his heart.
Naturally enough, we came to look for his welcome. Had we looked in vain some night, we should have been concerned…
We were concerned this night.
We opened the door to find the hall empty.
Nobby was not upon parade.
Tired as we were, we searched the whole house. Presently I found a note upon my pyjamas.
SIR,
Must tell you we cannot find Nobby, the chauffeur and me looking everywhere and Fitch as been out in Pau all evening in quest. Hoping his whereabouts is perhaps known to you,
Yours respectfully,
J FALCON.
I was at the Villa Buichi the following morning by a quarter to ten.
It seemed just possible that the terrier was there a captive. That he was with us before we visited the house we well remembered. Whether he had entered with us and, if so, left when we did, we could not be sure. We had had much to think about…
The caretaker took an unconscionable time to answer the bell, and when I had stated my business, stoutly refused to let me search the villa without an order. My offer of money was offensively refused. I had to content myself with standing within the hall and whistling as loud as I could. No bark replied, but I was not satisfied, and determined to seek the agent and obtain a permit, the moment that Susan and I had ‘done’ the Château.
It was in some irritation that I made my way to the Boulevard. I had no desire to see the inside of the Château then or at any time; I particularly wished to prosecute my search for the Sealyham without delay. I had had less than four hours’ sleep, and was feeling rotten.
In a smart white coat and skirt and a white felt hat over one eye, Susan looked most attractive. Her fresh, pretty face was glowing, her wonderful golden hair was full of lights, and the line of her slim figure, as – hands thrust deep into her coat-pockets – she leaned her small back against the balustrade, was more than dainty. Her little feet and ankles were those of a thoroughbred.
As I descended from the car —
“I say,” said Susan, “I’ve got a stone in my shoe. Where can I get it out?”
I eyed her severely.
“You will have a lot to tell them,” I said, “won’t you? Go on. Get into the car.”
She climbed in, sat down and leaned back luxuriously. Then she thrust out a foot with the air of a queen…
When I had replaced her shoe, she thanked me with a shy smile. Then —
“I say,” she said suddenly, “don’t let’s go to the Château. I don’t want to see the rotten place. Let’s go for a drive instead – somewhere where you can let her out. And on the way back you can take me to get some gloves.”
“Susan,” said I, “there’s nothing doing. I know a drive in a high-powered car sounds a good deal more chic than being shown round a Château, but you can’t have everything. Orders is orders. Besides, I’ve lost my dog, and I want to get a move on. But for that, you should have done the Château and had your drive into the bargain. As it is…”
Susan is a good girl.
The moment she heard of my trouble, she was out of the car and haling me up to the Château as if there was a mob at our heels…
I was not in the mood for sightseeing, but my annoyance went down before the tapestries as wheat before the storm.
Standing before those aged exquisites – those glorious embodiments of patience infinite, imagination high, and matchless craftsmanship, I forgot everything. The style of them was superb. They had quality. About them was nothing mean. They were so rich, so mellow, so delicate. There was a softness to the lovely tones no brush could ever compass. Miracles of detail, marvels of stately effect, the panels were breathing the spirit of their age. Looking upon them, I stepped into another world. I heard the shouts of the huntsmen and the laughter of the handmaidens, I smelled the sweat of the chargers and the sweet scent of the grapes, I felt the cool touch of the shade upon my cheeks. Always the shouts were distant, the scent faint, the laughter low. I wandered up faery glades, loitered in lazy markets, listened to the music of fountains, sat before ample boards, bowed over lily-white hands…
Here, then, was magic. Things other than silk went to the weaving of so potent a spell. The laborious needle put in the dainty threads: the hearts of those that plied it put in most precious memories – treasures of love and laughter…the swift brush of lips…the echo of a call in the forest…a patch of sunlight upon the slope of a hill… such stuff, indeed, as dreams are made on…
And there is the bare truth, gentlemen, just as I have stumbled upon it. The tapestries of Pau are dreams – which you may go and share any day except Sundays.
We had almost finished our tour of the apartments, and were standing in the Bedroom of Jeanne d’Albret, staring at a beautiful Gobelin, when I heard the “flop” of something alighting upon the floor.
With one consent, the keeper, Susan, and I swung on our heels.
Advancing stiffly towards us and wagging his scrap of a tail was a small grey-brown dog. His coat was plastered with filth, upon one of his ears was a blotch of dried blood, his muzzle and paws might have been steeped in liquid soot. He stank abominably.
I put up a hand to my head.
“Nobby?” I cried, peering. And then again, “
Nobby
?”
The urchin crept to my feet, put his small dirty head on one side, lowered it to the ground, and then rolled over upon his back. With his legs in the air, he regarded me fixedly, tentatively wagging his tail.
Dazedly I stooped and patted the mud upon his stomach…
The bright eyes flashed. Then, with a squirm, the Sealyham was on his feet and leaping to lick my face.
“B-b-but,” shrieked Susan, shaking me by the arm, “is this the – the dog you’d lost?”
“Yes,” I shouted, “it is!”
Not until then did the custodian of the apartments find his tongue.
“It is your dog, then!” he raved. “He has marched with us all the time, and I have not seen him. Without an attachment in all these noble rooms!
Mon Dieu
! dogs may not enter even the grounds, but he must junket in the Château, all vile as he is and smelling like twenty goats.”
“Listen,” said I. “It’s my dog all right, but I never brought him. I’ve been looking all over Pau. What on earth—”
“But you must have brought him. It is evident. Myself I have shut all the doors. No one has the keys except me. It is impossible.”
I pointed to the carved bedstead.
“See for yourself,” said I. “He’s just jumped down.”
The keeper ran to the bed and peered behind the gorgeous parapet. Then he let out a scream of agony.
“Ah, it is true. Ten thousand devils! That so beastly a dog should have soiled Jeanne d’Albret’s bed! Observe the nest he has made in her counterpane.
Mon Dieu!
it is scandalous.
Monsieur
, you will answer for this.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said I. “But, unless you keep your mouth shut, you will. You shouldn’t have let him get in.”
I thought the fellow would have choked.
“But it was not I that – A-a-ah!” he screamed. “See how he approaches the Queen’s screen, to destroy it as he has destroyed her bed.”
“Nonsense,” I said shortly. “He’s very struck with the furniture. That’s all. Anybody would be. But how the deuce…”
With tears in his eyes the keeper besought me to remove my dog forthwith.
In the circumstances, it seemed best to comply, so, wishing very much that Nobby could speak for himself, I tied my handkerchief to his collar and, with Susan chattering excitedly and clinging to my arm, followed our gibbering guide to the foot of the great staircase.
“He
must
have followed him in,” cried Susan. “He simply must. I looked at the chimney, but it’s stopped up, and the man says there’s no other door. And you know he unlocked each one as we came to it this morning.”
“But why’s he so filthy?” I said. “And how did he fetch up here? Let’s see. He must have come with us as far as Bouzom’s. That’s only five minutes from here. Then we forgot all about him and left him outside. We were there for ages. I suppose he got fed up with waiting or found a pal or something, and drifted down here. All the same…” I turned to the custodian and took out a fifty-franc note. “He doesn’t usually pay so much for a room, but, as this isn’t a hotel and he had Jeanne d’Albret’s bed…”
The money passed in silence.
I fancy the keeper dared not trust himself to speak.
After all, I was very thankful that Nobby was found.
As we passed out of the gate, a sudden thought came to me, and I turned back.
“I say,” I cried, “when last did you visit that room?”
“The Queen’s room, Monsieur?”
I nodded.
“Yesterday morning, Monsieur. At nine o’clock.”
You could have knocked me down.
I walked towards the car like a man in a dream. The business smacked of a conjuring trick.
Having lost the terrier in the town, I had been sent to view the Château against my will, there to discover my missing chattel in a locked chamber upon the second floor.
To add to the confusion of my wits, Susan was talking furiously.
“…I’ve read of such things. You know. In case of a revolution, for the king to escape. They say there’s one at Buckingham Palace.”
“One what?” said I abstractedly.
“Underground passage,” said Susan. “Leading out into the open. The one from Buckingham Palace goes into a house, I suppose it was country once, and then the ground was built over, or, of course, it might always have led into the house, and they just had loyal people living there or someone from the Court, so that—”
“Heaven and earth!” I roared. “The Villa Buichi.”
Susan recoiled with a cry.
I caught her white arm.
“Susan,” I yelled, “you’ve got it in one! The last time we saw him was there. It’s a house we saw yesterday. We thought of taking it, but, as soon as he saw us coming, another chap got in quick.”
“What a shame!” said Susan. “If only you’d had it, you’d ’ve been able to go and look at the tapestries whenever you – Oh, whatever’s the matter?”
I suppose my eyes were blazing. I know my brain was.
The murder was out.
“I must see my friend, the Spaniard,” I said. “He’s made a mistake.
The biggest receiver in France has not retired.
”
Susan stared at me with big eyes.
With a smile, I flung open its door and waved her into the car…
I followed her in.
Then I put my arm round her waist and kissed her pink cheek.