Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (22 page)

She
paused for breath, as even she has to do sometimes.

‘I say
—‘ I said.

The
lungs refilled, she carried on again.

‘I
wouldn’t have thought my limbs would have been able to support me to the door,
much less down a long passage into the hall, but they did. I followed in the
wake of the procession, giving at the knees but somehow managing to navigate.
What I thought I was doing, joining the party, I don’t know, but I suppose I
had some vague idea of being present when Tom got the bad news and pleading
brokenly for forgiveness. Anyway, I went. Tom opened the safe, and I stood
there as if I had been turned into a pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife.’

I
recalled the incident to which she referred, it having happened to come up in
the examination paper that time I won that prize for Scripture Knowledge at my
private school, but it’s probably new to you, so I will give a brief synopsis.
For some reason which has escaped my memory they told this Mrs. Lot, while out
walking one day, not to look round or she would be turned into a pillar of
salt, so of course she immediately did look round and by what I have always
thought an odd coincidence she
was
turned into a pillar of salt. It just
shows you, what? I mean to say, you never know where you are these days.

‘Time
marched on. Tom took out the jewel-case and passed it over to Spode, who said
“Ah, this is it, is it?” or some damn silly remark like that, and at that
moment, with the hand of doom within a toucher of descending, Seppings
appeared, probably sent by my guardian angel, and told Tom he was wanted on the
phone. “Eh? What? What?” said Tom, his invariable practice when told he is
wanted on the phone, and legged it, followed by Seppings. Woof!’ she said, and
paused for breath again.

‘I say
—‘ I said.

‘You
can imagine how I felt. That stupendous bit of luck had changed the whole
aspect of affairs. For hours I had been wondering how on earth I could get
Spode alone, and now I had got him alone. You can bet I didn’t waste a second.
“Just think, Lord Sidcup,” I said winningly, “I haven’t had a moment yet to
talk to you about all our mutual friends and those happy days at Totleigh
Towers. How is dear Sir Watkyn Bassett?” I asked, still winningly. I fairly
cooed to the man.’

‘I say
—‘ I said.

She
squelched me with an imperious gesture.

‘Don’t
interrupt, curse you! I never saw such a chap for wanting to collar the
conversation. Gabble, gabble, gabble. Listen, can’t you, when I’m telling you
the biggest story that has broken around these parts for years. Where was I?
Oh, yes. “How is dear Sir Watkyn?” I said, and he said dear Sir Watkyn was
pretty oojah-cum-spiff. “And dear Madeline?” I said, and he said dear Madeline
was ticking over all right. And then I drew a deep breath and let him have it.
“And how is that ladies’ underclothing place of yours getting along?” I said.
“Eulalie Sœurs, isn’t it called? Still coining money, I trust?” And next moment
you could have knocked me down with a feather. For with a jolly laugh he
replied, “Eulalie Sœurs? Oh, I haven’t anything to do with that any longer. I
sold out ages ago. It’s a company now.” And as I stood gaping at him, my whole
plan of campaign in ruins, he said, “Well, I may as well have a look at this
necklace. Mr. Travers says he is anxious to have my opinion of it.” And he
pressed his thumb to the catch and the jewel-case flew open. And I was just
commending my soul to God and saying to myself that this was the end, when I
stubbed my foot against something and looked down and there, lying on the floor
… you’ll scarcely believe this … was a cosh.’

She
paused again, took on a cargo of breath quickly, and resumed.

‘Yessir,
a cosh! You wouldn’t know what a cosh is, of course, so I’ll explain. It’s a
small rubber instrument, much used by the criminal classes for socking their
friends and relations. They wait till their mother-in—law’s back is turned and
then let her have it on the tortoiseshell comb. It’s all the rage in underworld
circles, and there it was, as I say, lying at my feet.’

‘I say
—‘ I said.

I got
the imperious gesture between the eyes once more.

‘Well,
for a moment, it rang no bell. I picked it up automatically, the good housewife
who doesn’t like to see things lying around on floors, but it held no message
for me. It simply didn’t occur to me that my guardian angel had been directing
my footsteps and was showing me the way out of my troubles and perplexities.
And then suddenly, in a blinding flash, I got it. I realized what that good old
guardian angel was driving at. He had at last succeeded in penetrating the bone
and getting it into my fat head. There was Spode, with his back turned,
starting to take the necklace out of the case …

I
gasped gurglingly.

‘You
didn’t cosh him?’

‘Certainly
I coshed him. What would you have had me do? What would Napoleon have done? I
took a nice easy half-swing and let go with lots of follow-through, and he fell
to earth he knew not where.’

I could
readily believe it. Just so had Constable Dobbs fallen at Deverill Hall.

‘He’s
in bed now, convinced that he had a touch of vertigo and hit his head on the
floor. Don’t worry about Spode. A good night’s rest and a bland diet, and he’ll
be as right as rain tomorrow. And I’ve got the necklace, I’ve got the necklace,
I’ve got the bally necklace, and I feel as if I could pick up a couple of
tigers and knock their heads together!’

I gaped
at her. The bean was swimming. Through the mist that had risen before the eyes
she appeared to be swaying like an aunt caught in a high wind.

‘You
say you’ve got the necklace?’ I quavered.

‘I
certainly have.’

‘Then
what,’ I said, in about as hollow a voice as ever proceeded from human lips,
‘is this one I’ve got?’

And I
produced my exhibit.

For quite a while it was
plain that she had failed to follow the story sequence. She looked at the
necklace, then at me, then at the necklace again. It was not until I had
explained fully that she got the strength of it.

‘Of
course, yes,’ she said, her brow clearing. ‘I see it all now. What with yelling
for Tom and telling him Spode had had some sort of seizure and listening to him
saying “Oh, my God! Now we’ll have to put the frightful fellow up for the
night!” and trying to comfort him and helping Seppings tote the remains to bed
and all that, I forgot to suggest shutting the safe door. And Tom, of course,
never thought of it. He was much too busy tearing his hair and saying this was
certainly the last time he would invite a club acquaintance to his house, by
golly, it being notorious for the first thing club acquaintances do on finding
themselves in somebody’s home is to have fits and take advantage of them to
stay dug into the woodwork for weeks. And then you came along —‘

‘— and
rummaged in the safe and found a pearl necklace and naturally thought it was
yours —‘

‘— and
swiped it. Very decent of you, Bertie, dear, and I appreciate the kind thought.
If you had been here this morning, I would have told you that Tom insisted on
everybody putting their valuables in the safe, but you had dashed up to London.
What took you there, by the way?’

‘I went
to get the cosh, formerly the property of Aunt Agatha’s son, Thos. I have been
having trouble of late with Menaces.’

She
gazed at me with worshipping eyes, deeply moved.

‘Was it
you, my heart of gold,’ she said brokenly, ‘who provided that cosh? I had been
putting it down as straight guardian-angel stuff. Oh, Bertie, if ever I called
you a brainless poop who ought to be given a scholarship at some good lunatic
asylum, I take back the words.’

I
thanked her briefly.

‘But
what happens now?’

‘I give
three rousing cheers and start strewing roses from my hat.’

I
frowned with a touch of impatience.

‘I am
not talking about you, my dear old ancestor, but about your nephew Bertram, the
latter being waist—high in the mulligatawny and liable at any moment to sink
without trace. Here I am in possession of somebody’s pearl necklace _‘

‘Ma
Trotter’s. I recognize it now. She wears it in the evenings.’

‘Right.
So far, so good. The choker belongs, we find, to Ma Trotter. That point
established, what do I do for the best?’

‘You
put it back.’

‘In the
safe?’

‘That’s
it. You put it back in the safe.’

It
struck me as a most admirable idea, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it
myself.

‘You’ve
hit it!’ I said. ‘Yes, I’ll put it back in the safe.’

‘I’d
run along now, if I were you. No time like the present.’

‘I
will. Oh, by the way, Daphne Dolores Morehead has arrived. She’s out in the
grounds with Stilton.’

‘What
did you think of her?’

‘A
sight for sore eyes, if I may use the expression. I had no idea they were
making female novelists like that these days.’

I would
have gone on to amplify the favourable impression the young visitor’s outer
crust had made on me, but at this moment Mrs. Trotter loomed up in the doorway.
She looked at me as if feeling that I was on the whole pretty superfluous.

‘Oh,
good evening, Mr. Wooster,’ she said in a distant sort of way. ‘I was hoping to
find you alone, Mrs. Travers,’ she added with the easy tact which had made her
the toast of Liverpool.

‘I’m
just off,’ I assured her. ‘Nice evening.’

‘Very
nice.’

‘Well,
toodle-oo,’ I said, and set a course for the hall, feeling pretty bobbish, for
at least a portion of my troubles would soon be over. If, of course, the safe
was still open.

It was.
And I had reached it and was on the point of whipping out the jewel—case and
depositing it, when a voice spoke behind me, and, turning like a startled fawn,
I perceived L.G. Trotter.

Since
my arrival at Brinkley Court I had not fraternized to any great extent with
this weasel-faced old buster. He gave me the impression, as he had done at that
dinner of mine, of not being too frightfully keen on the society of his juniors.
I was surprised that he should be wanting to chat with me now, and wished that
he could have selected some more suitable moment. With that necklace on my
person, solitude was what I desired.

‘Hey,’
he said. ‘Where’s your aunt?’

‘She’s
in her room,’ I replied, ‘talking to Mrs. Trotter.’

‘Oh?
Well, when you see her, tell her I’ve gone to bed.’

This
surprised me.

‘To
bed? Surely the night is yet young?’

‘I’ve
got one of my dyspeptic attacks. You haven’t a digestive pill on you?’

‘I’m
sorry. I came out without any.’

‘Hell!’
he said, rubbing the abdomen. ‘I’m in agony. I feel as if I’d swallowed a
couple of wild cats. Hullo,’ he proceeded, changing the subject, ‘what’s that
safe door doing open?’

I threw
out the suggestion that somebody must have opened it, and he nodded as if
thinking well of the theory.

‘Damned
carelessness,’ he said. ‘That’s the way things get stolen.’ And before my
bulging eyes he stepped across and gave the door a shove. It closed with a
clang.

‘Oof!’ he
said, massaging the abdomen once more, and with a curt ‘Good night’, passed up
the stairs, leaving me frozen to the spot. Lot’s wife couldn’t have been
stiffer.

Any
chance I had of putting things back in the safe had gone with the wind.

19

I don’t know that I have a
particularly vivid imagination — possibly not, perhaps — but in circs like
those which I have just outlined you don’t need a very vivid imagination to
enable you to spot the shape of things to come. As plainly as if it had been
the top line on an oculist’s chart, I could see what the future held for
Bertram.

As I
stood there gaping at the closed door, a vision rose before my eyes, featuring
me and an inspector of police, the latter having in his supporting cast an
unusually nasty-looking sergeant.

‘Are
you coming quietly, Wooster?’ the inspector was saying.

‘Who,
me?’ I said, quaking in every limb. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Ha,
ha,’ laughed the inspector. ‘That’s good. Eh, Fotheringay?’

‘Very
rich, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Makes me chuckle, that does.’

‘Too
late to try anything of that sort, my man,’ went on the inspector, becoming
grave again. ‘The game is up. We have evidence to prove that you went to this
safe and from it abstracted a valuable pearl necklace, the property of Mrs.
L.G. Trotter. If that doesn’t mean five years in the jug for you, I miss my
bet.’

‘But,
honestly, I thought it was Aunt Dahlia’s.’

‘Ha,
ha,’ laughed the inspector.