Cost Price Page 2

  “Nobody’s backing Ferrers. He isn’t backing himself, as far as I know. But that’s what we’ve got to find out. This is the tenth of April. I shall be ready to leave by the first of May. I must get the hang of the country, find out Ferrers’ movements and things like that. What I call ‘reconnaissance’, Punter. And if you’re coming with me, I must know two days from now. You’d better think it over.” Friar rose and crossed to the door. “Have a word with my servant, Sloper. He will be working with us and he knows my ways.” He opened the door and called. “Sloper, look after Punter for half an hour.”

  “Sez you,” breathed Sloper, backing away from the door.

  1: We Shut the Stable Door

  It was in the early summer of 193– that Jonathan Mansel spent a weekend at Maintenance, which is my country home. My wife and I were never, I think, so happy as when he was staying with us, for we all felt the same about things and had shared the perilous stuff of which friendship is made. ‘Life and death, and a close run’ – of such is the raw material of which are forged those bonds which nothing on earth can break.

  His visit was unexpected; and so I was sure there was something he wished to discuss with me; but not till my wife had retired on the Saturday night did he take his stand on the hearth and fold his hands before him, as I had seen him do when he had some statement to make.

  “There’s a tale,” he said, “which I would like you to hear. I’ll cut it as short as I can, for this is a matter, as usual, in which the importance of words is very slight. I mean, it’s a case for action…

  “One Nicolas Ferrers died a year or two back, leaving his two great-nephews all that he had. This included an estate in Austria, half a day’s run from Salzburg – a very beautiful place. It is called Hohenems. I stayed there twelve months ago, with one great-nephew, John Ferrers, and Lady Olivia, his wife. The other great-nephew likes travelling; but they are there all the time. Well, now they are getting uneasy. The Boche has been looking at Austria very hard, and now his look is turning into a glare. They think – and I agree – that before very long they’ll be under the German flag… Well, that would be the end of their home: for, even if they could bear to live under German rule, as being English, they would receive an attention which would be as unpleasant as it was particular. And so they will have to go. Sell, if they can, and go. It’s a bitter grief to them, for they’re crazy about the place. And I don’t blame them – it is incomparable. But that is life – today. I’m afraid that in two or three years many other innocent landlords will take the same, hard road.

  “But that is not all.

  “The Castle of Hohenems is ancient and once belonged to Pope Alexander the Sixth.”

  “The father of the Borgias,” I said.

  “That’s right. One of the biggest blackguards that ever was foaled. And he concealed in the castle the greatest treasure he had. There this lay, undreamed of, for over four hundred years – and then, at last, it was found by Ferrers and Constable. (That is the other great-nephew – Hubert Constable.) They had, of course, a clue: but it took a lot of finding, because it was well concealed.

  “Well, when they had found it, they decided to let it lie. They had no need of money, the finding had cost three lives, and the treasure was of such value that, once its possession was known, it would have been a constant anxiety. So, to my mind very wisely, they walled up the chamber again and held their peace.

  “But now the case is altered.

  “The castle they must leave to the Boche. And, possibly, most of its contents. But they do not see why he should have the treasure, too. And so they propose to remove it – if they can. This shouldn’t be very hard – from what they say, a suitcase would take the lot. It shouldn’t be very hard, provided that nobody knows that the treasure is there. If somebody knows that secret – somebody ill-disposed, it may not be so easy to take the treasure away. I mean, he might put in his oar…

  “Well, somebody does know.

  “At the very time that the great-nephews found the treasure, a savage attempt was made to take it out of their mouths. Five rogues were involved, and four of the five are dead. But one is alive – and was seen six miles from Hohenems less than three weeks ago.

  “Now, as it happens, we both of us know that rogue: and when I tell you his name, you’ll know he’s not working alone. Nor is he the head of his gang. But he has spilled the beans to somebody greater than he.

  “Well, William, that’s the position.

  “Every day now the Boche is tightening his grip about Austria’s neck: his agents are everywhere: and so, if those gems are to leave that unhappy country, they’ve got to leave before long. And somebody greater than Punter–”

  “Punter?”

  “–Punter, is waiting to pounce.”

  Twice we had brushed against Punter in other days. The man was a common thief and had worked for a master villain, who now was dead.

  Mansel continued slowly.

  “I have been asked my advice – and have offered my help. To tell you the truth, I’ve other things to do; and, while I like the Ferrers, they’re not very much to me. But if they are to be embarrassed by Punter’s gang, those gems will most certainly finish in Hitler’s treasury. And that I cannot stomach. You see, they’re beyond all price. They are one hundred and twenty-seven sculptured jewels…collected by an infamous Pope…and his catalogue is in existence…so that every incomparable item can be identified.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Such a thing’s unheard of,” I said.

  “And yet it’s true,” said Mansel. “I’ve seen the catalogue.”

  There was a little silence.

  Then—

  “You can count me in,” said I. “I’d like to see Punter again, and I am prepared to resent the rape of Austria. After all, it has been our wash-pot.”

  Mansel laughed.

  “It has, indeed,” he said. “But that is the way of the Boche. He’s never so happy as fouling another’s nest.”

  I fingered my chin.

  “Punter,” I said. “Punter, unless he has changed, is a lazy fool. If Ferrers has kept his counsel, why should Punter suspect that the treasure is still where it was?”

  “He didn’t,” said Mansel. “It never entered his head. Punter assumed that the treasure had been removed. He knew of what it consisted and he would assume that it had been turned into cash. Which proves that he mentioned the matter to somebody greater than he – by way of reminiscence, I mean. For they would know at once that no such collection had ever come into the market, or even got into the Press. And that could mean only one thing – that the jewels were still where they were. And don’t forget this, William. The same big shot will know that now is approaching the time when those to whom they belong will endeavour to get them out.”

  Now that I had been shown it, this seemed to be common sense: for Punter’s return to the neighbourhood declared his return to the charge. (And there I was wrong, for in all that came to pass, we never set eyes upon Punter from first to last. John Ferrers had certainly seen him – and he had very good cause to remember his face. And I sometimes think the truth is that, though he belonged to the gang and had led them up to the gates, when he saw Mansel, he made some excuse to withdraw: for he had seen Mansel at work and had no desire to try a fall with him.)

  “Well, there you are,” said Mansel, filling a pipe. “The position is interesting. Our headache will be to get the stuff out of the country. The big shot’s headache will be to get it away from us. If he can do that, he’s home; for thieves have ways and means of getting stuff out of a country that we have not: it’s going on all the time, as, of course, you know. And our joint headache will be to foil the Boche. But I feel that we must have a stab, for German hands are too filthy to finger a treasure like that.”

  Be sure I agreed with him.

  Before ten days had gone by, our arrangements were made.

  The Ferrers, at present in England, were to remain where they were: but
Mansel and I were to go to Austria. We should not visit Hohenems, but were to stay at an inn some thirty miles off. So, with any luck, our presence would not be remarked; for Punter’s friends would have their eyes upon the castle, and not on the neighbourhood. Our object, of course, would be to, so to speak, pick them up: for, if you are to fight someone, it is of great importance to know who it is. Once we had ‘placed’ the gang, we should send word to the Ferrers to come to Hohenems. Their return would excite the thieves: but we should be ready and waiting to see what action these took – and how they could best be dealt with, so that the field was cleared. For a clear field we had to have, if we were to foil the Boche.

  The inn at which we should stay had been for some years the headquarters of a very close friend of the Ferrers, whom Mansel had met. His name was Andrew Palin, and he had been concerned in unearthing the jewels. That we could count upon him, there seemed no doubt: and this was as well, for Constable could not be with us for several weeks. A wire had come from the Congo, to say he had broken a leg…

  The final arrangements were made at Maintenance, for there, by my request, the Ferrers had come to stay. To my great pleasure, their visit was to continue, though Mansel and I were gone; for, if I was to leave my very dutiful wife, I liked to think that she had congenial company. And John and Olivia Ferrers were very natural and easy in all they did.

  And that, thank God, is the end of my introduction. Never before, I think, have I been so long in coming up to my tale: but I beg that I may be excused, for in this case I had to throw back to action which had been taken before we came upon the scene.

  Mansel touched the map with his pencil.

  “There’s the inn,” he said: “about twenty-two miles off. I’d rather get in after dark, so let’s take an easy here and have something to eat.”

  The spot was attractive. A busy stream was tumbling across our road and under a grey, stone bridge; and a little sward, by the side of the hasty water, was kept by a pleasant bulwark of living rock. Above this, beeches were growing, to droop their elegance over its smooth, old face: and I think the truth is that once the stream was broader, and the wall of rock, now idle, had held it back to its bed.

  While Mansel’s servant, Carson, set out some sandwiches, Bell, who was my servant, began to wash the Rolls; for the way had been long and, at times, the dust had been thick, and no one of us four could endure that a car which was travel-stained should await attention.

  There was no pool to bathe in; but, lying on the edge of the turf, we laved our heads and our hands: and I think this did us more good than the food we presently ate, for the day had been very hot, and we had left at dawn and had wasted no time.

  It was when we had broken our fast that Mansel lay down on his back and looked at the fading sky.

  “I have a feeling,” he said, “that we are up against someone who’s pretty good. If he is cultured enough to know that these gems have never made their appearance at home or abroad, he is in a different street to most of the crooks we’ve met. He may not be quite so, er, virile but he’s probably more astute – and more appreciative.”

  “By which you mean…?”

  “That he probably knows that every one of those gems is quite invaluable. His desire to possess them will, therefore, be very great. It may approach the fanatic… Punter would sell the lot for thirty thousand pounds: but, if I am right, his chief will be well aware that, if he can bring it off, that sum will be his income, no matter how long he lives.”

  I fingered my chin.

  “Well, it’s up to us,” I said. “Such stuff should be in a museum.”

  “That is what Ferrers proposes – if we can get so far.”

  “Forever England’s,” said I. “Does Punter know that Palin was in at the death?”

  “He does.”

  “Then they may be nursing Palin.”

  “I think that’s possible.”

  “Has Ferrers put Palin wise – about having seen Punter, I mean?”

  “I’m afraid he hasn’t,” said Mansel.

  “Oh, hell,” said I.

  “Exactly,” said Mansel. “That’s why we’ve come so fast.” He sat up and glanced at his wrist. “Andrew Palin’s no fool, but of course he should have been warned. I never dreamed that he hadn’t, till Ferrers told me at Maintenance two days ago.”

  I sighed.

  “Why will people,” I said, “withhold important facts?”

  “God knows,” said Mansel. And then, “It can’t be helped.”

  Ten minutes later, we were upon the road.

  Sitting on the arm of a chair, Palin read through the letter which we had brought. He was a big, fair man, with a merry face. But this was now grave.

  When he had done, he looked up.

  “I’m to ask you a question,” he said. “To prove your authority. I expect that was your idea.”

  “Yes,” said Mansel, “it was. This is a matter in which we can take no risks.”

  Palin nodded.

  Then—

  “I played for Olivia upstairs on her wedding night. What tune did I play?”

  “A frog he would a-wooing go.”

  “Good enough,” said Palin. “From now on, you may command me. I’m ripe for enterprise. The last time I saw Punter, I had the pleasure of knocking his face through his head. Yet the dog returns to his vomit. I can’t help feeling that’s rash. Never mind. I fancy all’s quiet so far. I was at the castle on Tuesday – three days ago. As you probably know, I have the run of the place.”

  Mansel nodded.

  “I think you’ve a room there,” he said.

  “That’s right. Complete with changes of raiment. The Ferrers spoil their friends. Of course I never use it, unless they’re there: but the servants have orders to receive me at any time.”

  “And when they’re away, you keep an eye on the place?”

  Palin shook his head.

  “That is not necessary. The steward’s a paragon. No; if ever I go, it’s to show the place to a friend.”

  “I see. Was that why you went there on Tuesday?”

  “Yes,” said Palin. “A wallah was staying here – a most entertaining man, with a caustic wit. A fellow and tutor of Oxford. Great authority on old silver. That’s why I took him there the first time – the Ferrers have got some really beautiful stuff.”

  Mansel sat very still.

  “You went more than once?”

  “Twice. Friar was charmed with the place – and they don’t show it now.”

  “You took him round?” said Mansel.

  “Naturally. He was immensely interested.”

  “No doubt,” said Mansel, dryly.

  Palin stared. Then he started up to his feet.

  “My God,” he cried, “you don’t mean…”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Mansel. “You should have been warned. But I think it more than likely that Friar is the head of this gang.”

  “But–”

  “Fellows and tutors of Oxford don’t leave Oxford in June.”

  “Nor they do,” said Palin. “That never occurred to me. And yet I can hardly believe… Still, he did take an interest in the water. God in heaven, I showed the fellow the sluice.”

  There was a dreadful silence.

  The gems were walled into a chamber: over that wall a cascade was falling down: no one could breach that wall, without letting down the sluice. But once the sluice was down, the chamber could be opened in half an hour.

  Mansel got to his feet.

  “I think we should be moving,” he said. “If they didn’t break in last night, we may be in time.”

  I shall always remember that drive.

  Though by rights we should have been tired, the urgency of the business set us alert. And Carson and Bell were a-tiptoe. For such as know its flavour, danger is a wonderful spice.

  As Bell took a pistol from the locker—

  “It’s like old times, sir,” he said.

  And then we were all in the
Rolls, and Palin was sitting with Mansel, to tell him the way to go. I was kneeling behind and between them, to hear what they said.

  “The private road,” said Palin, “is two miles long. If you don’t want to drive that bit, you can berth the car in a wood. By the way, have you got a torch?”

  “Be your age,” said Mansel. “We’re old in sin.”

  “God be praised,” said Palin. “The point is this. If the sluice is down, water will not be flowing down in the woods. I will make my way down there, complete with torch. If the water is flowing, I signal twice. If it is not flowing, which God forbid, I signal five times.”

  “Aren’t you assuming,” said Mansel, “that they will go in by the gate?”

  “Wrong again,” said Palin. “Of course they won’t. The drawbridge is up of nights when the Ferrers are gone. They’ll go in by the postern steps. Not the postern itself. That’s barred. But, if they can reach the terrace…”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I could do it,” said Palin. “A pane of glass and a shutter wouldn’t stop me.”

  “What about the stables? I seem to remember that trees lean over their roofs.”

  “That would bring them into the courtyard. I’d put the terrace first.”

  “The terrace has it,” said Mansel. “What else d’you know?”

  “The water remains,” said Palin. “If that’s not flowing, they’re in.”

  “Or they’ve been and gone,” said Mansel. “Once they’d got the stuff, they wouldn’t pull up the sluice.”

  “You know,” said Palin, “you’ve got a nasty mind. I’ve lost quite half a stone since you sprang the mine. I don’t say I can’t afford it, but must you twist my tail?”

  “Sorry,” said Mansel, laughing, “but facts have got to be faced.”

  “Oh, dear. And he made me laugh. The things he said about Gibbon. D’you really think he’s your man?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Mansel. “He’s just the sort of wallah I thought would be on this job. But it’s not your fault at all. I should have done the same, if I hadn’t been warned. How far is the private road?”