Free B-Berry and I Look Back by Dornford Yates Page A

that I don’t realize that I have in no way substantiated my statement that it was in the public interest that this case should be suppressed. For that, I can only ask you to take my word: for it would be most improper for me to defeat the object of the Authorities, to achieve which they went such lengths. I can only say that, in my humble opinion, they were more than justified. The victim did not deserve to be avenged and the consequent revelation of a very great and far-reaching scandal would have done irreparable harm.”
    There was another silence.
    Then –
    “Most interesting,” said Jonah. “Detective-Inspector — was clearly an exceptional man.”
    “For that, I can vouch,” I said.
    “And what a relief,” said Berry, “to know that, where the public interest was at stake, the Authorities were prepared to take the responsibility of driving a coach and six through the Criminal Law.”
    “I entirely agree.”

7
    I looked at my brother-in-law.
    “What about a few words about Cheiro?”
    “Ah,” said Berry. “Cheiro. A very likable man. And very talented. I knew him fairly well. He wrote me a very nice letter shortly before he died.” He stopped there and looked at Daphne. “Another small wet of port would spare the vocal cords.”
    “It’s just as likely to give you gout,” said his wife.
    “I’ll take the risk,” said Berry. “Er, would you mind, er, passing the decanter?”
    “If,” said my sister, “I could reach it without rising, I shouldn’t mind at all. As it is…”
    Berry looked round.
    “Will nobody succour the head of their house?” he said.
    Jill, beside me, began to shake with laughter.
    “That’s right,” said Berry. “Derision. When Boy wants another snort, you get it quick enough.”
    “He’s got a game leg,” said my wife. “With you, it’s laziness.”
    “No port, no Cheiro,” said Berry.
    Jonah got to his feet.
    “It happens,” he said, “that I want some more port myself.”
    “You shall have my blessing,” said Berry. “I’ll make a note of your smell. That’s what Isaac went by. He was stung, I know. But then he went by the clothes. Esau probably kept his in naphthaline. As they all had BO, the flesh itself was no help.”
    “That’s right,” said Daphne. “Be bestial. And now that you’ve got your port, what’s Cheiro done?”
    Her husband sat back in his chair.
    “It is not my practice,” he said, “to patronize soothsayers – much less to pay two guineas to have my fortune told. For that was Cheiro’s fee. But more than once Cheiro told my fortune – and never would let me pay him a penny piece.
    “In his day, of course, he was a very big man. He was consulted by many most eminent people – that I know. His Majesty King Edward the Seventh was one of these. And the King commanded Cheiro to tell him the date of his death.”
    “Never,” said Daphne.
    “He did, indeed, and Cheiro begged to be excused. But the King was insistent. In the end Cheiro begged him to be very careful indeed when he was sixty-eight. Now on the sixth of March, 1910, the King left London for Biarritz. It was a Sunday evening. Whether His Majesty travelled by special train or the Royal coach was attached to the ordinary boat-train, I do not know: but, as he was crossing the platform, his quick eye caught sight of Cheiro, who had come to the station, I think to see somebody off. So Cheiro was summoned. ‘Well, Cheiro,’ said the King, ‘here I am, in spite of my sixty-eight years.’ Cheiro smiled. ‘I’m only too thankful, sir, to see your Majesty looking so very well.’ ‘I may prove you right yet,’ said the King. ‘That, sir, I decline to believe’. The King chatted with him for a minute of other things… Two months later, to the day, His Majesty died, aged sixty-eight years and six months.
    “I don’t think that sad story has ever been told before.”
    “It was so terrible,” said Daphne. “We were at White Ladies at the time. We heard he was