Pongo
staggered to a chair. He sat down heavily. And some rough indication of his
frame of mind may be gathered from the fact that he forgot to pull the knees of
his trousers up.
‘Wouldn’t
he take it on?’
‘He
would, and did. As I had anticipated, there was a certain huffiness at first,
but I soon talked him round and he assented to the plan, saying in the most
sporting spirit that all I had got to do was to provide Emsworth, and he would
do the rest. He pulled out his pack of cards and fingered it lovingly, like
some grand old warrior testing the keenness of his blade before a battle. And
at this moment Emsworth entered.’
Pongo
nodded heavily.
‘I see
where you’re heading. Emsworth wouldn’t play?’
‘Oh
yes, he played. This is a long and intricate story, my boy, and I think you had
better not interrupt too much, or it will be dinner-time before we can get down
to the agenda.’
‘What
agenda?’
‘I have
a scheme or plan of action which I propose to place before you in due course.
Meanwhile, let me relate the sequence of events. As I say, Emsworth entered,
and it was plain from his manner that he was in the grip of some strong
emotion. His eyes goggled, his pince-nez were adrift and he yammered at me
silently for a while, as is his habit when moved. It then came out that his pig
had been stolen. He had gone down to refresh himself with an after-tea look at
it, and it was not there. Its sty was empty, and its bed had not been slept in.’
‘Oh?’
‘I
should have thought you could have found some more adequate comment on a great
human tragedy than a mere “Oh?”‘ said Lord Ickenham reprovingly. ‘Youth is very
callous. Yes, the pig had been stolen, and Emsworth’s suspicions immediately
leaped, of course, to the Duke. He was considerably taken aback when I pointed
out that the latter could scarcely be the guilty person, seeing that he had
been in his room all the afternoon. He retired there immediately after lunch,
and was not seen again. And he could not have gone out into the garden through
his bedroom window, because we find that Baxter was sitting on the lawn from
one-thirty onwards. You may recall that Baxter was not with us at lunch. It
appears that he had a slight attack of dyspepsia and decided to skip the meal.
He testifies that Dunstable did not emerge. The thing, therefore, becomes one
of the great historic mysteries, ranking with the Man in the Iron Mask and the
case of the
Mary Celeste.
One seeks in vain for a solution.’
Pongo,
who had been listening to the narrative with growing impatience, denied this. ‘I
don’t. I don’t give a single, solitary damn. Dash all pigs, is the way I look
at it. You didn’t come here to talk about pigs, did you? What happened about
Pott and the card game?’
Lord
Ickenham apologized.
‘I’m
sorry. I’m afraid we old fellows have a tendency to ramble on. I should have
remembered that your interest in the fortunes of Emsworth’s pig is only tepid.
Well, I suggested to Emsworth that what he wanted was to take his mind off the
thing, and that an excellent method of doing this would be to play cards.
Mustard said that curiously enough he happened to have a pack handy, and the
next moment they had settled down to the game.’
Lord
Ickenham paused, and drew his breath in reverently.
‘It was
a magnificent exhibition. Persian Monarchs at its best. I never expect to
witness a finer display of pure science than Mustard gave. He was playing for
his daughter’s happiness, and the thought seemed to inspire him. Generally, I
believe, on these occasions, it is customary to allow the mug to win from time
to time as a sort of gesture, but it was clear that Mustard felt that in a
crisis like this old-world courtesy would be out of place. Ignoring the
traditions, he won every coup, and when they had finished Emsworth got up,
thanked him for a pleasant game, said that it was fortunate that they had not
been playing for money or he might have lost a considerable sum, and left the
room.’
‘Oh, my
gosh!’
‘Yes,
it was a little disconcerting. Mustard tells me he was once bitten by a pig,
but I doubt if even on that occasion — high spot in his life though it must
have been — he can have been more overcome by emotion. For about five minutes
after Emsworth’s departure, all he could do was to keep saying in a dazed sort
of way that this had never happened to him before. One gets new experiences.
And then suddenly I saw his face light up, and he seemed to revive like a
watered flower. And, looking round, I found that the Duke had come in.’
‘Ah!’
Lord
Ickenham shook his head.
‘It’s
no good saying “Ah!” my boy. I told you at the beginning that this story hadn’t
a happy ending.’
‘The
Duke wouldn’t play?’
‘You
keep saying that people wouldn’t play. People always play when Mustard wants
them to. He casts a sort of spell. No, the Duke was delighted to play. He said
that he had had a boring afternoon, cooped up in his room, and that now he was
out for a short breather a game of Persian Monarchs was just what he would
enjoy. He said that as a young man he had been very gifted at the pastime. I
saw Mustard’s eyes glisten. They sat down.’
Lord
Ickenham paused. He seemed to be torn between the natural desire of a raconteur
to make the most of his material and a humane urge to cut it short and put his
nephew out of his suspense. The latter triumphed.
‘Dunstable’s
claim to excellence at the game was proved to the hilt,’ he said briefly. ‘Mark
you, I don’t think Mustard was at his best. That supreme effort so short a
while before had left him weak and listless. Be that as it may, Dunstable took
three hundred pounds off him in ten minutes.’
Pongo
was staring.
‘Three
hundred pounds?’
‘That
was the sum.’
‘In
ready money, do you mean?’
‘Paid
right across the counter.’
‘But if
he had all that on him, why didn’t he give it to Miss Pott?’
‘Ah, I
see what you mean. Well, Mustard is a peculiar chap in some ways. It is
difficult enough to get him to part with his winnings. Not even for a daughter’s
sake would he give up his working capital. One dimly understands his
view-point.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well,
there it is.
‘And
now what do we do?’
‘Eh?
Oh, now, of course, we nip into the Duke’s room and pinch the stuff.’
That
strange nightmare feeling which had grown so familiar to Pongo of late came
upon him again. He presumed he had heard aright — his uncle’s enunciation had
been beautifully clear — but it seemed incredible that he could have done so.
‘Pinch
it?’
‘Pinch
it.’
‘But
you can’t pinch money.’
‘Dashed
bad form, of course, I know. But I shall look upon it as a loan, to be paid
back at intervals — irregular intervals — each instalment accompanied by a posy
of white violets.’
‘But,
dash it —’
‘I know
what you are thinking. To that highly trained legal mind of yours it is
instantly clear that the act will constitute a tort or misdemeanour, if not
actual barratry or socage in fief. But it has got to be done. Folly’s need is
paramount. I remember Mustard saying once, apropos of my affection for Polly,
that I seemed to look on her more like a daughter than a whatnot, and he was
right. I suppose my feelings towards her are roughly those of Emsworth towards
his pig, and when I have the chance to ensure her happiness I am not going to
allow any far-fetched scruples to stand in my way. I am a mild, law-abiding
man, but to make that kid happy I would willingly become one of those fiends
with hatchet who seem to spend their time slaying six. So, as I say, we will
pinch the stuff.’
‘You
aren’t proposing to lug me into this?’
Lord
Ickenham was astounded.
‘Lug
you? What an extraordinary expression. I had naturally supposed that you would
be overjoyed to do your bit.’
‘You
don’t get me mixed up in this sort of game,’ said Pongo firmly. ‘Dog Races,
yes. Crashing the gate at castles, right. Burglary, no.’
‘But,
my dear boy, when you reflect that but for you Polly would have all the money
she needs —’
‘Oh,
golly!’
Once
more, remorse had burst over Pongo like a tidal wave. In the agitation of the
moment, he had forgotten this aspect of the affair. He writhed with shame.
‘You
mustn’t overlook that. In a sense, you are morally bound to sit in.’
‘That’s
right.’
‘Then
you will?’
‘Of
course. Rather.’
‘Good.
I knew you would. You shouldn’t pull the old man’s leg, Pongo. For a minute I
thought you were serious. Well, I am relieved, for your co-operation is
essential to the success of the little scheme I have roughed out. What sort of
voice are you in these days? Ah, but I remember. When we met in the road, you
were warbling like a nightingale. I mistook you for Lily Pons. Excellent.’
‘Why?’
‘Because
it will be your task — your simple, easy task — I will attend to all the really
testing work — to flit about the lawn outside Dunstable’s window, singing the “Bonny
Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond”.’
‘Eh?
Why?’
‘You do
keep saying “Why?” don’t you. It is quite simple. Dunstable, for some reason,
is keeping closely to his room. Our first move must be to get him out of it.
Even a novice to burglary like myself can see that if you are proposing to
ransack a man’s room for money, it is much pleasanter to do it when he is not
there. Your rendering of “Loch Lomond” will lure him out. We know how readily
he responds to that fine old song. I see your role in this affair as a sort of
blend of Lorelei and Will-o’-the-Wisp. You get Dunstable out with your siren
singing, and you keep him out by flitting ahead of him through the darkness.
Meanwhile, I sneak in and do the needful. No flaws in that?’
‘Not so
long as nobody sees you.’
‘You
are thinking of Baxter? Quite right. Always think of everything. If Baxter sees
us slip away on some mysterious errand, his detective instincts will
undoubtedly be roused. But I have the situation well in hand. I shall give
Baxter a knock-out drop.’
‘A
what?’
‘Perhaps
you are more familiar with it under the name of Mickey Finn.’
‘But
where on earth are you going to get a knock-out drop?’
‘From
Mustard. Unless his whole mode of life has changed since I used to know him, he
is sure to have one. In the old days, he never moved without them. When he was
running that club of his, it was only by a judicious use of knock-out drops
that he was able to preserve order and harmony in his little flock.’
‘But
how do you propose to make him take it?’
‘I
shall find a way. He would be in his room now, I imagine?’
‘I
suppose so.’
‘Then
after paying a brief call on Mustard I will look in on him and enquire after
his dyspepsia. You may leave all this side of the thing to me with every
confidence. Your duties will not begin till after dinner. Zero hour is at
nine-thirty sharp.’
It was plain to Lord
Ickenham, directly he thrust his unwanted society on him a few minutes later,
that Rupert Baxter was far from being the stern, steely young fellow of their
previous encounters. The message, conveyed by Beach the butler to Lady
Constance shortly after noon, that Mr Baxter regretted he would be unable to
lunch today had been no mere ruse on the secretary’s part to enable him to
secure the solitude and leisure essential to the man who is planning to steal
pigs. The effect of his employer’s assignment had been to induce a genuine disorder
of the digestive organs. There is always a weak spot in the greatest men. With
Baxter, as with Napoleon, it was his stomach.
He had
felt a little better towards evening, but now the thought that there lay before
him the fearful ordeal of removing the Empress from her temporary lodging in
the Duke’s bathroom to the car which was to convey her to her new home had
brought on another and an even severer attack. At the moment of Lord Ickenham’s
entry, wild cats to the number of about eighteen had just begun to conduct a
free-for-all in his interior.
It was
not to be expected, therefore, that he should beam upon his visitor. Nor did
he. Ceasing for an instant to massage his waistcoat, he glared in a manner
which only the dullest person could have failed to recognize as unfriendly.
‘Well?’
he said, between clenched teeth.
Lord
Ickenham, who had not expected cordiality, was in no way disconcerted by his
attitude. He proceeded immediately to supply affability enough for two, which
was the amount required.
‘I just
dropped in,’ he explained, ‘to make enquiries and offer condolences. You will
have been thinking me remiss in not coming before, but you know how it is at a
country house. Distractions all the time. Well, my dear fellow, how are you? A
touch of the collywobbles, I understand. Too bad, too bad. We all missed you at
lunch, and there was a great deal of sympathy expressed — by myself, of course,
no less than the others.’