‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Will you have one?’
‘Thanks, I think I will.’ He made a little ceremony of giving me the cigarette and lighting it for me, and again he put the used match back in the box. Then we got up and walked slowly down the grass slope.
We came upon them silently, through an archway in the yew hedge, and it was naturally quite a surprise.
‘What’s the matter here?’ Sir Basil asked. He spoke softly, with a dangerous softness that I’m sure his wife had never heard before.
‘She’s gone and put her head through the hole and now she can’t get it out,’ Major Haddock said. ‘Just for a lark, you know.’
‘For a what?’
‘Basil!’ Lady Turton shouted. ‘Don’t be such a damn fool! Do something, can’t you!’ She may not have been able to move much, but she could still talk.
‘Pretty obvious we’re going to have to break up this lump of wood,’ the Major said. There was a small smudge of red on his grey moustache, and this, like the single extra touch of colour that ruins a perfect painting, managed somehow to destroy all his manly looks. It made him comic.
‘You mean break the Henry Moore?’
‘My dear sir, there’s no other way of setting the lady free. God knows how she managed to squeeze it in, but I know for a fact that she can’t pull it out. It’s the ears get in the way.’
‘Oh dear,’ Sir Basil said. ‘What a terrible pity. My beautiful Henry Moore.’
At this stage Lady Turton began abusing her husband in a most unpleasant manner, and there’s no knowing how long it would have gone on had not Jelks suddenly appeared out of the shadows. He came sidling silently on to the lawn and stationed himself at a respectful distance from Sir Basil, as though awaiting instructions. His black clothes looked perfectly ridiculous in the morning sunlight, and with his ancient pink-white face and white hands he was like some small crabby animal that has lived all its life in a hole under the ground.
‘Is there anything I can do, Sir Basil?’ He kept his voice level, but I didn’t think his face was quite straight. When he looked at Lady Turton there was a little exulting glimmer in his eyes.
‘Yes Jelks, there is. Go back and get me a saw or something so I can cut out a section of this wood.’
‘Shall I call one of the men, Sir Basil? William is a good carpenter.’
‘No, I’ll do it myself. Just get the tools – and hurry,’
While they were waiting for Jelks, I strolled away because I didn’t want to hear any more of the things that Lady Turton was saying to her husband. But I was back in time to see the butler returning, followed now by the other woman, Carmen La Rosa, who made a rush for the hostess.
‘Nata-li-a! My dear Nata-li-a! What have they done to you?’
‘Oh shut up,’ the hostess said. ‘And get out of the way, will you.’
Sir Basil took up a position close to his lady’s head, waiting for Jelks. Jelks advanced slowly, carrying a saw in one hand, an axe in the other, and he stopped maybe a yard away. He then held out both implements in front of him so his master could choose, and there was a brief moment – no more than two or three seconds – of silence, and of waiting, and it just happened that I was watching Jelks at this time. I saw the hand that was carrying the axe come forward an extra fraction of an inch towards Sir Basil. It was so slight a movement it was barely noticeable – a tiny pushing forward of the hand, slow and secret, a little offer, a little coaxing offer that was accompanied perhaps by an infinitesimal lift of the eyebrows.
I’m not sure whether Sir Basil saw it, but he hesitated, and again the hand that held the axe came edging forward, and it was almost exactly like that card trick where the man says ‘Take one, whichever one you want,’ and you always get the one he means you to have. Sir Basil got the axe. I saw him reach out in a dreamy sort of way, accepting it from Jelks, and then, the instant he felt the handle in his grasp he seemed to realize what was required of him and he sprang to life.
For me, after that, it was like the awful moment when you see a child running out into the road and a car is coming and all you can do is shut your eyes tight and wait until the noise tells you it has happened. The moment of waiting becomes a long lucid period of time with yellow and red spots dancing on a black field, and even if you open your eyes again and find that nobody has been killed or hurt, it makes no difference because so far as you and your stomach were concerned you saw it all.
I saw this one all right, every detail of it, and I didn’t open my eyes again until I heard Sir Basil’s voice, even softer than usual, calling in gentle protest to the butler.
‘Jelks,’ he was saying, and I looked and saw him standing there as calm as you please, still holding the axe. Lady Turton’s head was there too, still sticking through the hole, but her face had turned a terrible ashy grey, and the mouth was opening and shutting and making a kind of gurgling sound.
‘Look here, Jelks,’ Sir Basil was saying. ‘What on earth are you thinking about. This thing’s much too dangerous. Give me the saw.’ And as he exchanged implements I noticed for the first time two little warm roses of colour appearing on his cheeks, and above them, all around the corners of his eyes, the twinkling tiny wrinkles of a smile.
The Sound Machine
It was a warm summer evening and Klausner walked quickly through the front gate and around the side of the house and into the garden at the back. He went on down the garden until he came to a wooden shed and he unlocked the door, went inside and closed the door behind him.
The interior of the shed was an unpainted room. Against one wall, on the left, there was a long wooden workbench, and on it, among a littering of wires and batteries and small sharp tools, there stood a black box about three feet long, the shape of a child’s coffin.
Klausner moved across the room to the box. The top of the box was open, and he bent down and began to poke and peer inside it among a mass of different-coloured wires and silver tubes. He picked up a piece of paper that lay beside the box, studied it carefully, put it down, peered inside the box and started running his fingers along the wires, tugging gently at them to test the connexions, glancing back at the paper, then into the box, then at the paper again, checking each wire. He did this for perhaps an hour.
Then he put a hand around to the front of the box where there were three dials, and he began to twiddle them, watching at the same time the movement of the mechanism inside the box. All the while he kept speaking softly to himself, nodding his head, smiling sometimes, his hands always moving, the fingers moving swiftly, deftly, inside the box, his mouth twisting into curious shapes when a thing was delicate or difficult to do, saying, ‘Yes