Blandings Castle and Elsewhere (23 page)

Mr Schnellenhamer tried another bootlegger, then another.
They were out on location.

And it was just as he had begun to despair that he bethought
him of his old friend, Isadore Fishbein; and into his darkness
there shot a gleam of hope. By the greatest good fortune it so
happened that he and the president of the Perfecto-Fishbein
were at the moment on excellent terms, neither having slipped
anything over on the other for several weeks. Mr Fishbein,
moreover, possessed as well-stocked a cellar as any man in
California. It would be a simple matter to go round and borrow
from him all he needed.

Patting Mrs Schnellenhamer's hand and telling her that there
were still blue-birds singing in the sunshine, he ran to his car and leaped
into it.

The residence of Isadore Fishbein was only a few hundred
yards away, and Mr Schnellenhamer was soon whizzing in
through the door. He found his friend beating his head against
the wall of the sitting-room and moaning to himself in a quiet
undertone.

'Is something the matter?' he asked, surprised.

'There is,' said Mr Fishbein, selecting a fresh spot on the
tapestried wall and starting to beat his head against that. 'The
police came round this afternoon and took away everything
I had.'

'Everything?'

'Well, not Mrs Fishbein,' said the other, with a touch of
regret in his voice. 'She's up in the bedroom with eight cubes
of ice on her forehead in a linen bag. But they took every drop of
everything else. A serpent, that's what she is.'

'Mrs Fishbein?'

'Not Mrs Fishbein. That parlourmaid. That Vera Prebble.
Just because I stopped her when she got to "boots, boots, boots,
boots, marching over Africa" she ups and informs the police on
me. And Mrs Fishbein with a hundred and eighty people
coming to-night, including the ex-King of Ruritania!'

And, crossing the room, the speaker began to bang his
head against a statue of Genius Inspiring the Motion-Picture
Industry.

A good man is always appalled when he is forced to contemplate
the depths to which human nature can sink, and Mr
Schnellenhamer's initial reaction on hearing of this fresh outrage
on the part of his late parlourmaid was a sort of sick horror.
Then the brain which had built up the Colossal-Exquisite began
to work once more.

'Well, the only thing for us to do,' he said, 'is to go round to
Ben Zizzbaum and borrow some of his stock. How do you stand
with Ben?'

'I stand fine with Ben,' said Mr Fishbein, cheering up. 'I heard
something about him last week which I'll bet he wouldn't care to
have known.'

'Where does he live?'

'Camden Drive.'

'Then tally-ho!' said Mr Schnellenhamer, who had once produced
a drama in eight reels of two strong men battling for a woman's love in the
English hunting district.

They were soon at Mr Zizzbaum's address. Entering the
sitting-room, they were shocked to observe a form rolling in
circles round the floor with its head between its hands. It was
travelling quickly, but not so quickly that they were unable to
recognize it as that of the chief executive of the Zizzbaum-Celluloid
Corporation. Stopped as he was completing his eleventh
lap and pressed for an explanation, Mr Zizzbaum revealed
that a recent parlourmaid of his, Vera Prebble by name, piqued
at having been dismissed for deliberate and calculated reciting of
the works of Mrs Hemans, had informed the police of his stock
of wines and spirits and that the latter had gone off with the
whole collection not half an hour since.

'And don't speak so loud,' added the stricken man, 'or you'll
wake Mrs Zizzbaum. She's in bed with ice on her head.'

'How many cubes?' asked Mr Fishbein.

'Six.'

'Mrs Fishbein needed eight,' said that lady's husband a little
proudly.

The situation was one that might well have unmanned the
stoutest motion-picture executive, and there were few motion-picture
executives stouter than Jacob Schnellenhamer. But it was
characteristic of this man that the tightest corner was always the
one to bring out the full force of his intellect. He thought of
Mrs Schnellenhamer waiting for him at home, and it was as if an
electric shock of high voltage had passed through him.

'I've got it,' he said. 'We must go to Glutz of the Medulla-Oblongata.
He's never been a real friend of mine, but if you loan
him Stella Svelte and I loan him Orlando Byng and Fishbein
loans him Oscar the Wonder-Poodle on his own terms, I think
he'll consent to give us enough to see us through to-night. I'll get
him on the 'phone.'

It was some moments before Mr Schnellenhamer returned
from the telephone booth. When he did so, his associates were
surprised to observe in his eyes a happy gleam.

'Boys,' he said, 'Glutz is away with his family over the weekend.
The butler and the rest of the help are out joy-riding. There's
only a parlourmaid in the house. I've been talking to her. So there
won't be any need for us to give him those stars, after all. We'll
just run across in the car with a few axes and help ourselves. It
won't cost us above a hundred dollars to square this girl. She can
tell him she was upstairs when the burglars broke in and didn't
hear anything. And there we'll be, with all the stuff we need and
not a cent to pay outside of overhead connected with maid.'

There was an awed silence.

'Mrs Fishbein will be pleased.'

'Mrs Zizzbaum will be pleased.'

'And Mrs Schnellenhamer will be pleased,' said the leader of
the expedition. 'Where do you keep your axes, Zizzbaum?'

'In the cellar.'

'Fetch 'em!' said Mr Schnellenhamer in the voice a Crusader
might have used in giving the signal to start against the Paynim.

In the ornate residence of Sigismund Glutz, meanwhile,
Vera Prebble, who had entered the service of the head of the
Medulla-Oblongata that morning and was already under sentence
of dismissal for having informed him with appropriate
gestures that a bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the
Malemute saloon, was engaged in writing on a sheet of paper a
short list of names, one of which she proposed as a
nom de théâtre
as soon as her screen career should begin.

For this girl was essentially an optimist, and not even all the
rebuffs which she had suffered had been sufficient to quench the
fire of ambition in her.

Wiggling her tongue as she shaped the letters, she wrote:

Ursuline Delmaine
Theodora Trix
Uvula Gladwyn

None of them seemed to her quite what she wanted. She
pondered. Possibly something a little more foreign and exotic ...

Greta Garbo

No, that had been used ...

And then suddenly inspiration descended upon her and,
trembling a little with emotion, she inscribed on the paper the
one name that was absolutely and indubitably right.

Minna Nordstrom

The more she looked at it, the better she liked it. And she was
still regarding it proudly when there came the sound of a car
stopping at the door and a few moments later in walked Mr
Schnellenhamer, Mr Zizzbaum and Mr Fishbein. They all wore
Homburg hats and carried axes.

Vera Prebble drew herself up.

'All goods must be delivered in the rear,' she had begun
haughtily, when she recognized her former employers and
paused, surprised.

The recognition was mutual. Mr Fishbein started. So did Mr
Zizzbaum.

'Serpent!' said Mr Fishbein.

'Viper!' said Mr Zizzbaum.

Mr Schnellenhamer was more diplomatic. Though as deeply
moved as his colleagues by the sight of this traitress, he realized
that this was no time for invective.

'Well, well, well,' he said, with a geniality which he
strove to render frank and winning, 'I never dreamed it was
you on the 'phone, my dear. Well, this certainly makes everything
nice and smooth – us all being, as you might say, old
friends.'

'Friends?' retorted Vera Prebble. 'Let me tell you ...'

'I know, I know. Quite, quite. But listen. I've got to have some
liquor to-night ...'

'What do you mean,
you
have?' said Mr Fishbein.

'It's all right, it's all right,' said Mr Schnellenhamer soothingly.
'I was coming to that. I wasn't forgetting you. We're all in
this together. The good old spirit of co-operation. You see, my
dear,' he went on, 'that little joke you played on us ... oh, I'm not
blaming you. Nobody laughed more heartily than myself...'

'Yes, they did,' said Mr Fishbein, alive now to the fact that
this girl before him must be conciliated. 'I did.'

'So did I,' said Mr Zizzbaum.

'We all laughed very heartily,' said Mr Schenellenhamer. 'You
should have heard us. A girl of spirit, we said to ourselves. Still,
the little pleasantry has left us in something of a difficulty, and it
will be worth a hundred dollars to you, my dear, to go upstairs
and put cotton-wool in your ears while we get at Mr Glutz's
cellar door with our axes.'

Vera Prebble raised her eyebrows.

'What do you want to break down the cellar door for? I know
the combination of the lock.'

'You do?' said Mr Schnellenhamer joyfully.

'I withdraw that expression "Serpent,"' said Mr Fishbein.

'When I used the term "Viper,"' said Mr Zizzbaum, 'I was
speaking thoughtlessly.'

'And I will tell it you,' said Vera Prebble, 'at a price.'

She drew back her head and extended an arm, twiddling the
fingers at the end of it. She was plainly registering something,
but they could not discern what it was.

'There is only one condition on which I will tell you the
combination of Mr Glutz's cellar, and that is this. One of you
has got to give me a starring contract for five years.'

The magnates started.

'Listen,' said Mr Zizzbaum, 'you don't want to star.'

'You wouldn't like it,' said Mr Fishbein.

'Of course you wouldn't,' said Mr Schnellenhamer. 'You
would look silly, starring – an inexperienced girl like you. Now,
if you had said a nice small part ...'

'Star.'

'Or featured ...'

'Star.'

The three men drew back a pace or two and put their heads
together.

'She means it,' said Mr Fishbein.

'Her eyes,' said Mr Zizzbaum. 'Like stones.'

'A dozen times I could have dropped something heavy on that
girl's head from an upper landing, and I didn't do it,' said Mr
Schnellenhamer remorsefully.

Mr Fishbein threw up his hands.

'It's no use. I keep seeing that vision of Mrs Fishbein floating
before me with eight cubes of ice on her head. I'm going to star
this girl.'

'
You
are?' said Mr Zizzbaum. 'And get the stuff? And leave me
to go home and tell Mrs Zizzbaum there won't be anything to
drink at her party to-night for a hundred and eleven guests
including the Vice-President of Switzerland? No, sir!
I
am
going to star her.'

'I'll outbid you.'

'You won't outbid
me.
Not till they bring me word that Mrs
Zizzbaum has lost the use of her vocal chords.'

'Listen,' said the other tensely. 'When it comes to using
vocal chords, Mrs Fishbein begins where Mrs Zizzbaum leaves
off.'

Mr Schnellenhamer, that cool head, saw the peril that
loomed.

'Boys,' he said, 'if we once start bidding against one another,
there'll be no limit. There's only one thing to be done. We must
merge.'

His powerful personality carried the day. It was the President
of the newly-formed Perfecto-Zizzbaum Corporation who
a few moments later stepped forward and approached the
girl.

'We agree.'

And, as he spoke, there came the sound of some heavy vehicle
stopping in the road outside. Vera Prebble uttered a stricken
exclamation.

'Well, of all the silly girls!' she cried distractedly. 'I've just
remembered that an hour ago I telephoned the police, informing
them of Mr Glutz's cellar. And here they are!'

Mr Fishbein uttered a cry, and began to look round for
something to bang his head against. Mr Zizzbaum gave a
short, sharp moan, and started to lower himself to the floor.
But Mr Schnellenhamer was made of sterner stuff.

'Pull yourselves together, boys,' he begged them. 'Leave all
this to me. Everything is going to be all right. Things have come
to a pretty pass,' he said, with a dignity as impressive as it was
simple, 'if a free-born American citizen cannot bribe the police
of his native country.'

'True,' said Mr Fishbein, arresting his head when within an
inch and a quarter of a handsome Oriental vase.

'True, true,' said Mr Zizzbaum, getting up and dusting his
knees.

'Just let me handle the whole affair,' said Mr Schnellenhamer.
Ah, boys!' he went on, genially.

Three policemen had entered the room – a sergeant, a patrolman,
and another patrolman. Their faces wore a wooden, hard-boiled
look.

'Mr Glutz?' said the sergeant.

'Mr Schnellenhamer,' corrected the great man. 'But Jacob to
you, old friend.'

The sergeant seemed in no wise mollified by this amiability.

'Prebble, Vera?' he asked, addressing the girl.

'Nordstrom, Minna,' she replied.

'Got the name wrong, then. Anyway, it was you who 'phoned
us that there was alcoholic liquor on the premises?'

Mr Schnellenhamer laughed amusedly.

'You mustn't believe everything that girl tells you, sergeant.
She's a great ladder. Always was. If she said that, it was just one
of her little jokes. I know Glutz. I know his views. And many is
the time I have heard him say that the laws of his country are
good enough for him and that he would scorn not to obey them.
You will find nothing here, sergeant.'

'Well, we'll try,' said the other. 'Show us the way to the cellar,'
he added, turning to Vera Prebble

Mr Schnellenhamer smiled a winning smile.