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G. Wodehouse</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Leave it to Psmith</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: P. G. Wodehouse</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 6, 2019 [eBook #60067]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Ramon Pajares Box, Jim Adcock and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEAVE IT TO PSMITH ***</div> - -<div class="front"> - <hr class="full" /> - <p><a href="#tnote">Transcriber's note</a></p> - <p><a href="#ToC">Table of Contents</a></p> -</div> - -<div class="screenonly"> - <hr class="chap" /> - <div class="figcenter"> - <img class="thin" - src="images/cover.jpg" - alt="Book cover" /> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="aftit pt6"> - <hr class="chap" /> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[p. 1]</span></p> - <h1>LEAVE IT TO PSMITH</h1> - <hr class="chap" /> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[p. 2]</span></p> - <div class="caja"> - <p class="centra ws1">WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT</p> - </div> - <div class="caja"> - <p>Freddie Threepwood and his uncle are in difficulties. Freddie - wants a thousand pounds to start a bookmaker’s business and to - marry Eve, while his uncle wants to raise three thousand pounds, - unbeknown to his wife, to help a runaway daughter. Freddie - persuades his uncle to steal his wife’s necklace and sees Psmith’s - advertisement in a daily paper.</p> - - <p>Freddie enlists the services of Psmith to steal the necklace. - There are plots and counterplots. Psmith is not successful in - stealing the necklace but succeeds in stealing the affections of - Eve.</p> - </div> - <div class="caja"> - <p class="centra fs90 under ws1"><i>BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></p> - - <table class="book" summary="List of other author's books"> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">THE HEART OF A GOOF</td> - <td class="tdrb">7s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">CARRY ON, JEEVES</td> - <td class="tdrb">3s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">UKRIDGE</td> - <td class="tdrb">3s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">THE INIMITABLE JEEVES</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">THE GIRL ON THE BOAT</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">JILL THE RECKLESS</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">PICCADILLY JIM</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">ADVENTURES OF SALLY</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">THE CLICKING OF CUTHBERT</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdlh">THE COMING OF BILL</td> - <td class="tdrb">2s. 6d. net</td> - </tr> - </table> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[p. 3]</span></p> - <div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/title.jpg" - alt="Title page" /> - </div> -</div> - - -<div class="tit pt3"> - <p class="fs300 lh100 ws1 g1">LEAVE IT</p> - <p class="fs300 ws1">TO PSMITH</p> - - <p class="fs130 ws1 mt15">BY<br /> - P. G. WODEHOUSE</p> - - <p class="g1 mt4">HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED</p> - <p class="ws1">3 YORK STREET LONDON S.W.1</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="aftit pt6"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[p. 4]</span></p> - <div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/logo.jpg" - alt="Publisher's logo" /> - <p class="caption">A HERBERT JENKINS’ BOOK</p> - </div> - <p class="fs90 mt6"><i>Printed in Great Britain by Wyman & Sons Ltd., London, Reading and Fakenham</i></p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="ToC"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[p. 5]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class="toc" summary="Table of contents"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> - <td class="tdrb"><small>PAGE</small></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">I</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_1">DARK PLOTTINGS AT BLANDINGS CASTLE</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">7</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">II</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_2">ENTER PSMITH</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">38</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">III</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_3">EVE BORROWS AN UMBRELLA</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">59</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">IV</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_4">PAINFUL SCENE AT THE DRONES CLUB</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">66</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">V</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_5">PSMITH APPLIES FOR EMPLOYMENT</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">70</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">VI</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_6">LORD EMSWORTH MEETS A POET</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">80</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">VII</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_7">BAXTER SUSPECTS</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">112</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">VIII</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_8">CONFIDENCES ON THE LAKE</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">135</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">IX</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_9">PSMITH ENGAGES A VALET</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">167</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">X</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_10">SENSATIONAL OCCURRENCE AT A POETRY READING</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">206</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">XI</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_11">ALMOST ENTIRELY ABOUT FLOWER-POTS</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">239</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">XII</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_12">MORE ON THE FLOWER-POT THEME</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">270</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">XIII</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_13">PSMITH RECEIVES GUESTS</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">282</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdru">XIV</td> - <td class="tdlh"><a href="#Ch_14">PSMITH ACCEPTS EMPLOYMENT</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">313</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class="aftit pt6"> - <hr class="chap" /> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[p. 6]</span></p> - <p class="fs90 ws1">TO MY DAUGHTER LEONORA,</p> - <p class="fs90 ws1">QUEEN OF HER SPECIES.</p> - <hr class="chap" /> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_1"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[p. 7]</span></p> - <p class="centra fs250 ws1">LEAVE IT TO PSMITH</p> - <h2 class="nobreak mt15">CHAPTER I</h2> - <p class="subh2">DARK PLOTTINGS AT BLANDINGS CASTLE</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_1_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">A</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap2"><span class="upc">At</span> the open window of the -great library of Blandings Castle, drooping like a wet sock, as was -his habit when he had nothing to prop his spine against, the Earl of -Emsworth, that amiable and boneheaded peer, stood gazing out over his -domain.</p> - -<p>It was a lovely morning and the air was fragrant with gentle -summer scents. Yet in his lordship’s pale blue eyes there was a look -of melancholy. His brow was furrowed, his mouth peevish. And this -was all the more strange in that he was normally as happy as only a -fluffy-minded man with excellent health and a large income can be. A -writer, describing Blandings Castle in a magazine article, had once -said: “Tiny mosses have grown in the cavities of the stones, until, -viewed near at hand, the place seems shaggy with vegetation.” It -would not have been a bad description of the proprietor. Fifty-odd -years of serene and unruffled placidity had given Lord Emsworth<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[p. 8]</span> a curiously moss-covered -look. Very few things had the power to disturb him. Even his younger -son, the Hon. Freddie Threepwood, could only do it occasionally.</p> - -<p>Yet now he was sad. And—not to make a mystery of it any longer—the -reason of his sorrow was the fact that he had mislaid his glasses and -without them was as blind, to use his own neat simile, as a bat. He was -keenly aware of the sunshine that poured down on his gardens, and was -yearning to pop out and potter among the flowers he loved. But no man, -pop he never so wisely, can hope to potter with any good result if the -world is a mere blur.</p> - -<p>The door behind him opened, and Beach the butler entered, a -dignified procession of one.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that?” inquired Lord Emsworth, spinning on his axis.</p> - -<p>“It is I, your lordship—Beach.”</p> - -<p>“Have you found them?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet, your lordship,” sighed the butler.</p> - -<p>“You can’t have looked.”</p> - -<p>“I have searched assiduously, your lordship, but without avail. -Thomas and Charles also announce non-success. Stokes has not yet made -his report.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“I am re-despatching Thomas and Charles to your lordship’s bedroom,” -said the Master of the Hunt. “I trust that their efforts will be -rewarded.”</p> - -<p>Beach withdrew, and Lord Emsworth turned to the window again. The -scene that spread itself beneath him—though he was unfortunately not -able to see it—was a singularly beautiful one, for the castle, which is -one of the oldest inhabited houses in England, stands upon a knoll of -rising ground at the southern end of the celebrated Vale of Blandings -in the county of Shropshire. Away in the blue distance wooded hills -ran down to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[p. 9]</span> where -the Severn gleamed like an unsheathed sword; while up from the river -rolling park-land, mounting and dipping, surged in a green wave almost -to the castle walls, breaking on the terraces in a many-coloured -flurry of flowers as it reached the spot where the province of Angus -McAllister, his lordship’s head gardener, began. The day being June -the thirtieth, which is the very high-tide time of summer flowers, the -immediate neighbourhood of the castle was ablaze with roses, pinks, -pansies, carnations, hollyhocks, columbines, larkspurs, London pride, -Canterbury bells, and a multitude of other choice blooms of which only -Angus could have told you the names. A conscientious man was Angus; -and in spite of being a good deal hampered by Lord Emsworth’s amateur -assistance, he showed excellent results in his department. In his -beds there was much at which to point with pride, little to view with -concern.</p> - -<p>Scarcely had Beach removed himself when Lord Emsworth was called -upon to turn again. The door had opened for the second time, and a -young man in a beautifully-cut suit of grey flannel was standing in the -doorway. He had a long and vacant face topped by shining hair brushed -back and heavily brilliantined after the prevailing mode, and he was -standing on one leg. For Freddie Threepwood was seldom completely at -his ease in his parent’s presence.</p> - -<p>“Hallo, guv’nor.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Frederick?”</p> - -<p>It would be paltering with the truth to say that Lord Emsworth’s -greeting was a warm one. It lacked the note of true affection. A -few weeks before he had had to pay a matter of five hundred pounds -to settle certain racing debts for his offspring; and, while this -had not actually dealt an irretrievable blow<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_10">[p. 10]</span> at his bank account, it had undeniably -tended to diminish Freddie’s charm in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Hear you’ve lost your glasses, guv’nor.”</p> - -<p>“That is so.”</p> - -<p>“Nuisance, what?”</p> - -<p>“Undeniably.”</p> - -<p>“Ought to have a spare pair.”</p> - -<p>“I have broken my spare pair.”</p> - -<p>“Tough luck! And lost the other?”</p> - -<p>“And, as you say, lost the other.”</p> - -<p>“Have you looked for the bally things?”</p> - -<p>“I have.”</p> - -<p>“Must be somewhere, I mean.”</p> - -<p>“Quite possibly.”</p> - -<p>“Where,” asked Freddie, warming to his work, “did you see them -last?”</p> - -<p>“Go away!” said Lord Emsworth, on whom his child’s conversation had -begun to exercise an oppressive effect.</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“Go away!”</p> - -<p>“Go away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, go away!”</p> - -<p>“Right ho!”</p> - -<p>The door closed. His lordship returned to the window once more.</p> - -<p>He had been standing there some few minutes when one of those -miracles occurred which happen in libraries. Without sound or warning -a section of books started to move away from the parent body and, -swinging out in a solid chunk into the room, showed a glimpse of a -small, study-like apartment. A young man in spectacles came noiselessly -through and the books returned to their place.</p> - -<p>The contrast between Lord Emsworth and the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_11">[p. 11]</span> new-comer, as they stood there, was -striking, almost dramatic. Lord Emsworth was so acutely spectacle-less; -Rupert Baxter, his secretary, so pronouncedly spectacled. It was his -spectacles that struck you first as you saw the man. They gleamed -efficiently at you. If you had a guilty conscience, they pierced you -through and through; and even if your conscience was one hundred per -cent. pure you could not ignore them. “Here,” you said to yourself, “is -an efficient young man in spectacles.”</p> - -<p>In describing Rupert Baxter as efficient, you did not overestimate -him. He was essentially that. Technically but a salaried subordinate, -he had become by degrees, owing to the limp amiability of his employer, -the real master of the house. He was the Brains of Blandings, the man -at the switch, the person in charge, and the pilot, so to speak, who -weathered the storm. Lord Emsworth left everything to Baxter, only -asking to be allowed to potter in peace; and Baxter, more than equal to -the task, shouldered it without wincing.</p> - -<p>Having got within range, Baxter coughed; and Lord Emsworth, -recognising the sound, wheeled round with a faint flicker of hope. It -might be that even this apparently insoluble problem of the missing -pince-nez would yield before the other’s efficiency.</p> - -<p>“Baxter, my dear fellow, I’ve lost my glasses. My glasses. I have -mislaid them. I cannot think where they can have gone to. You haven’t -seen them anywhere by any chance?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Lord Emsworth,” replied the secretary, quietly equal to the -crisis. “They are hanging down your back.”</p> - -<p>“Down my back? Why, bless my soul!” His lordship tested the -statement and found it—like all Baxter’s statements—accurate. “Why, -bless my soul,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[p. 12]</span> so -they are! Do you know, Baxter, I really believe I must be growing -absent-minded.” He hauled in the slack, secured the pince-nez, adjusted -them beamingly. His irritability had vanished like the dew off one of -his roses. “Thank you, Baxter, thank you. You are invaluable.”</p> - -<p>And with a radiant smile Lord Emsworth made buoyantly for the door, -en route for God’s air and the society of McAllister. The movement drew -from Baxter another cough—a sharp, peremptory cough this time; and -his lordship paused, reluctantly, like a dog whistled back from the -chase. A cloud fell over the sunniness of his mood. Admirable as Baxter -was in so many respects, he had a tendency to worry him at times; and -something told Lord Emsworth that he was going to worry him now.</p> - -<p>“The car will be at the door,” said Baxter with quiet firmness, “at -two sharp.”</p> - -<p>“Car? What car?”</p> - -<p>“The car to take you to the station.”</p> - -<p>“Station? What station?”</p> - -<p>Rupert Baxter preserved his calm. There were times when he found his -employer a little trying, but he never showed it.</p> - -<p>“You have perhaps forgotten, Lord Emsworth, that you arranged with -Lady Constance to go to London this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Go to London!” gasped Lord Emsworth, appalled. “In weather like -this? With a thousand things to attend to in the garden? What a -perfectly preposterous notion! Why should I go to London? I hate -London.”</p> - -<p>“You arranged with Lady Constance that you would give Mr. McTodd -lunch to-morrow at your club.”</p> - -<p>“Who the devil is Mr. McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“The well-known Canadian poet.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[p. 13]</span>“Never heard of -him.”</p> - -<p>“Lady Constance has long been a great admirer of his work. She -wrote inviting him, should he ever come to England, to pay a visit to -Blandings. He is now in London and is to come down to-morrow for two -weeks. Lady Constance’s suggestion was that, as a compliment to Mr. -McTodd’s eminence in the world of literature, you should meet him in -London and bring him back here yourself.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth remembered now. He also remembered that this -positively infernal scheme had not been his sister Constance’s in the -first place. It was Baxter who had made the suggestion, and Constance -had approved. He made use of the recovered pince-nez to glower through -them at his secretary; and not for the first time in recent months -was aware of a feeling that this fellow Baxter was becoming a dashed -infliction. Baxter was getting above himself, throwing his weight -about, making himself a confounded nuisance. He wished he could get rid -of the man. But where could he find an adequate successor? That was the -trouble. With all his drawbacks, Baxter was efficient. Nevertheless, -for a moment Lord Emsworth toyed with the pleasant dream of dismissing -him. And it is possible, such was his exasperation, that he might on -this occasion have done something practical in that direction, had not -the library door at this moment opened for the third time, to admit -yet another intruder—at the sight of whom his lordship’s militant mood -faded weakly.</p> - -<p>“Oh—hallo, Connie!” he said, guiltily, like a small boy caught -in the jam cupboard. Somehow his sister always had this effect upon -him.</p> - -<p>Of all those who had entered the library that morning the new -arrival was the best worth looking at. Lord<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_14">[p. 14]</span> Emsworth was tall and lean and scraggy; -Rupert Baxter thick-set and handicapped by that vaguely grubby -appearance which is presented by swarthy young men of bad complexion; -and even Beach, though dignified, and Freddie, though slim, would -never have got far in a beauty competition. But Lady Constance Keeble -really took the eye. She was a strikingly handsome woman in the middle -forties. She had a fair, broad brow, teeth of a perfect even whiteness, -and the carriage of an empress. Her eyes were large and grey, and -gentle—and incidentally misleading, for gentle was hardly the adjective -which anybody who knew her would have applied to Lady Constance. Though -genial enough when she got her way, on the rare occasions when people -attempted to thwart her she was apt to comport herself in a manner -reminiscent of Cleopatra on one of the latter’s bad mornings.</p> - -<p>“I hope I am not disturbing you,” said Lady Constance with a bright -smile. “I just came in to tell you to be sure not to forget, Clarence, -that you are going to London this afternoon to meet Mr. McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“I was just telling Lord Emsworth,” said Baxter, “that the car would -be at the door at two.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Baxter. Of course I might have known that you would -not forget. You are so wonderfully capable. I don’t know what in the -world we would do without you.”</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter bowed. But, though gratified, he was not -overwhelmed by the tribute. The same thought had often occurred to him -independently.</p> - -<p>“If you will excuse me,” he said, “I have one or two things to -attend to . . .”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, Mr. Baxter.”</p> - -<p>The Efficient One withdrew through the door in<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_15">[p. 15]</span> the bookshelf. He realised that his -employer was in fractious mood, but knew that he was leaving him in -capable hands.</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth turned from the window, out of which he had been -gazing with a plaintive detachment.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Connie,” he grumbled feebly. “You know I hate literary -fellows. It’s bad enough having them in the house, but when it comes to -going to London to fetch ’em . . .”</p> - -<p>He shuffled morosely. It was a perpetual grievance of his, this -practice of his sister’s of collecting literary celebrities and dumping -them down in the home for indeterminate visits. You never knew when -she was going to spring another on you. Already since the beginning of -the year he had suffered from a round dozen of the species at brief -intervals; and at this very moment his life was being poisoned by the -fact that Blandings was sheltering a certain Miss Aileen Peavey, the -mere thought of whom was enough to turn the sunshine off as with a -tap.</p> - -<p>“Can’t stand literary fellows,” proceeded his lordship. “Never -could. And, by Jove, literary females are worse. Miss Peavey . . .” -Here words temporarily failed the owner of Blandings. “Miss -Peavey . . .” he resumed after an eloquent pause. “Who is Miss -Peavey?”</p> - -<p>“My dear Clarence,” replied Lady Constance tolerantly, for the fine -morning had made her mild and amiable, “if you do not know that Aileen -is one of the leading poetesses of the younger school, you must be very -ignorant.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean that. I know she writes poetry. I mean who <i>is</i> she? -You suddenly produced her here like a rabbit out of a hat,” said his -lordship, in a tone of strong resentment. “Where did you find her?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[p. 16]</span>“I first made -Aileen’s acquaintance on an Atlantic liner when Joe and I were coming -back from our trip round the world. She was very kind to me when I -was feeling the motion of the vessel. . . . If you mean what is her -family, I think Aileen told me once that she was connected with the -Rutlandshire Peaveys.”</p> - -<p>“Never heard of them!” snapped Lord Emsworth. “And, if they’re -anything like Miss Peavey, God help Rutlandshire!”</p> - -<p>Tranquil as Lady Constance’s mood was this morning, an ominous -stoniness came into her grey eyes at these words, and there is little -doubt that in another instant she would have discharged at her mutinous -brother one of those shattering come-backs for which she had been -celebrated in the family from nursery days onward; but at this juncture -the Efficient Baxter appeared again through the bookshelf.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me,” said Baxter, securing attention with a flash of -his spectacles. “I forgot to mention, Lord Emsworth, that, to suit -everybody’s convenience, I have arranged that Miss Halliday shall call -to see you at your club to-morrow after lunch.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord, Baxter!” The harassed peer started as if he had -been bitten in the leg. “Who’s Miss Halliday? Not another literary -female?”</p> - -<p>“Miss Halliday is the young lady who is coming to Blandings to -catalogue the library.”</p> - -<p>“Catalogue the library? What does it want cataloguing for?”</p> - -<p>“It has not been done since the year 1885.”</p> - -<p>“Well, and look how splendidly we’ve got along without it,” said -Lord Emsworth acutely.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be so ridiculous, Clarence,” said Lady Constance, annoyed. -“The catalogue of a great library like this must be brought up to -date.” She moved<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[p. 17]</span> to -the door. “I do wish you would try to wake up and take an interest -in things. If it wasn’t for Mr. Baxter, I don’t know what would -happen.”</p> - -<p>And with a beaming glance of approval at her ally she left the room. -Baxter, coldly austere, returned to the subject under discussion.</p> - -<p>“I have written to Miss Halliday suggesting two-thirty as a suitable -hour for the interview.”</p> - -<p>“But look here . . .”</p> - -<p>“You will wish to see her before definitely confirming the -engagement.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but look here, I wish you wouldn’t go tying me up with all -these appointments.”</p> - -<p>“I thought that as you were going to London to meet Mr. -McTodd . . .”</p> - -<p>“But I’m not going to London to meet Mr. McTodd,” cried Lord -Emsworth with weak fury. “It’s out of the question. I can’t possibly -leave Blandings. The weather may break at any moment. I don’t want to -miss a day of it.”</p> - -<p>“The arrangements are all made.”</p> - -<p>“Send the fellow a wire . . . ‘unavoidably detained.’”</p> - -<p>“I could not take the responsibility for such a course myself,” said -Baxter coldly. “But possibly if you were to make the suggestion to Lady -Constance . . .”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dash it!” said Lord Emsworth unhappily, at once realising the -impossibility of the scheme. “Oh, well, if I’ve got to go, I’ve got to -go,” he said after a gloomy pause. “But to leave my garden and stew in -London at this time of the year . . .”</p> - -<p>There seemed nothing further to say on the subject. He took off his -glasses, polished them, put them on again, and shuffled to the door. -After all, he reflected, even though the car was coming for him at two, -at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[p. 18]</span> least he had the -morning, and he proposed to make the most of it. But his first careless -rapture at the prospect of pottering among his flowers was dimmed, and -would not be recaptured. He did not entertain any project so mad as -the idea of defying his sister Constance, but he felt extremely bitter -about the whole affair. Confound Constance! . . . Dash Baxter! . . . -Miss Peavey . . .</p> - -<p>The door closed behind Lord Emsworth.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_1_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>Lady Constance meanwhile, proceeding downstairs, had reached the big -hall, when the door of the smoking-room opened and a head popped out. A -round, grizzled head with a healthy pink face attached to it.</p> - -<p>“Connie!” said the head.</p> - -<p>Lady Constance halted.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Joe?”</p> - -<p>“Come in here a minute,” said the head. “Want to speak to you.”</p> - -<p>Lady Constance went into the smoking-room. It was large and cosily -book-lined, and its window looked out on to an Italian garden. A wide -fire-place occupied nearly the whole of one side of it, and in front -of this, his legs spread to an invisible blaze, Mr. Joseph Keeble had -already taken his stand. His manner was bluff, but an acute observer -might have detected embarrassment in it.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Joe?” asked Lady Constance, and smiled pleasantly -at her husband. When, two years previously, she had married this -elderly widower, of whom the world knew nothing beyond the fact -that he had amassed a large fortune in South African diamond mines, -there had not been wanting cynics to set the match down as one of -convenience, a purely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[p. 19]</span> -business arrangement by which Mr. Keeble exchanged his money for Lady -Constance’s social position. Such was not the case. It had been a -genuine marriage of affection on both sides. Mr. Keeble worshipped his -wife, and she was devoted to him, though never foolishly indulgent. -They were a happy and united couple.</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble cleared his throat. He seemed to find some difficulty -in speaking. And when he spoke it was not on the subject which he -had intended to open, but on one which had already been worn out in -previous conversations.</p> - -<p>“Connie, I’ve been thinking about that necklace again.”</p> - -<p>Lady Constance laughed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t be silly, Joe. You haven’t called me into this stuffy -room on a lovely morning like this to talk about that for the hundredth -time.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you know, there’s no sense in taking risks.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be absurd. What risks can there be?”</p> - -<p>“There was a burglary over at Winstone Court, not ten miles from -here, only a day or two ago.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be so fussy, Joe.”</p> - -<p>“That necklace cost nearly twenty thousand pounds,” said Mr. Keeble, -in the reverent voice in which men of business traditions speak of -large sums.</p> - -<p>“I know.”</p> - -<p>“It ought to be in the bank.”</p> - -<p>“Once and for all, Joe,” said Lady Constance, losing her amiability -and becoming suddenly imperious and Cleopatrine, “I will <i>not</i> keep -that necklace in a bank. What on earth is the use of having a beautiful -necklace if it is lying in the strong-room of a bank all the time? -There is the County Ball coming on, and the Bachelors’ Ball after that, -and . . . well, I <i>need</i> it. I will send the -thing to the bank when we pass through London on our way to Scotland, -but not till then.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[p. 20]</span> -And I do wish you would stop worrying me about it.”</p> - -<p>There was a silence. Mr. Keeble was regretting now that his -unfortunate poltroonery had stopped him from tackling in a -straightforward and manly fashion the really important matter which -was weighing on his mind: for he perceived that his remarks about the -necklace, eminently sensible though they were, had marred the genial -mood in which his wife had begun this interview. It was going to be -more difficult now than ever to approach the main issue. Still, ruffled -though she might be, the thing had to be done: for it involved a matter -of finance, and in matters of finance Mr. Keeble was no longer a free -agent. He and Lady Constance had a mutual banking account, and it -was she who supervised the spending of it. This was an arrangement, -subsequently regretted by Mr. Keeble, which had been come to in the -early days of the honeymoon, when men are apt to do foolish things.</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble coughed. Not the sharp, efficient cough which we have -heard Rupert Baxter uttering in the library, but a feeble, strangled -thing like the bleat of a diffident sheep.</p> - -<p>“Connie,” he said. “Er—Connie.”</p> - -<p>And at the words a sort of cold film seemed to come over Lady -Constance’s eyes: for some sixth sense told her what subject it was -that was now about to be introduced.</p> - -<p>“Connie, I—er—had a letter from Phyllis this morning.”</p> - -<p>Lady Constance said nothing. Her eyes gleamed for an instant, then -became frozen again. Her intuition had not deceived her.</p> - -<p>Into the married life of this happy couple only one shadow -had intruded itself up to the present. But<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_21">[p. 21]</span> unfortunately it was a shadow of -considerable proportions, a kind of super-shadow; and its effect had -been chilling. It was Phyllis, Mr. Keeble’s stepdaughter, who had -caused it—by the simple process of jilting the rich and suitable young -man whom Lady Constance had attached to her (rather in the manner -of a conjurer forcing a card upon his victim) and running off and -marrying a far from rich and quite unsuitable person of whom all that -seemed to be known was that his name was Jackson. Mr. Keeble, whose -simple creed was that Phyllis could do no wrong, had been prepared to -accept the situation philosophically; but his wife’s wrath had been -deep and enduring. So much so that the mere mentioning of the girl’s -name must be accounted to him for a brave deed, Lady Constance having -specifically stated that she never wished to hear it again.</p> - -<p>Keenly alive to this prejudice of hers, Mr. Keeble stopped after -making his announcement, and had to rattle his keys in his pocket in -order to acquire the necessary courage to continue. He was not looking -at his wife, but he knew just how forbidding her expression must be. -This task of his was no easy, congenial task for a pleasant summer -morning.</p> - -<p>“She says in her letter,” proceeded Mr. Keeble, his eyes on the -carpet and his cheeks a deeper pink, “that young Jackson has got -the chance of buying a big farm . . . in -Lincolnshire, I think she said . . . if he can -raise three thousand pounds.”</p> - -<p>He paused, and stole a glance at his wife. It was as he had feared. -She had congealed. Like some spell, the name Jackson had apparently -turned her to marble. It was like the Pygmalion and Galatea business -working the wrong way round. She was presumably breathing, but there -was no sign of it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[p. 22]</span>“So I was just -thinking,” said Mr. Keeble, producing another <i>obbligato</i> on the -keys, “it just crossed my mind . . . it isn’t as if the thing were a -speculation . . . the place is apparently coining money . . . present -owner only selling because he wants to go abroad . . . it occurred to -me . . . and they would pay good interest on the loan . . .”</p> - -<p>“What loan?” inquired the statue icily, coming to life.</p> - -<p>“Well, what I was thinking . . . just a suggestion, you know . . . -what struck me was that if you were willing we might . . . good -investment, you know, and nowadays it’s deuced hard to find good -investments . . . I was thinking that we might lend them the money.”</p> - -<p>He stopped. But he had got the thing out and felt happier. He -rattled his keys again, and rubbed the back of his head against the -mantelpiece. The friction seemed to give him confidence.</p> - -<p>“We had better settle this thing once and for all, Joe,” said Lady -Constance. “As you know, when we were married, I was ready to do -everything for Phyllis. I was prepared to be a mother to her. I gave -her every chance, took her everywhere. And what happened?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know. But . . .”</p> - -<p>“She became engaged to a man with plenty of money . . .”</p> - -<p>“Shocking young ass,” interjected Mr. Keeble, perking up for a -moment at the recollection of the late lamented, whom he had never -liked. “And a rip, what’s more. I’ve heard stories.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! If you are going to believe all the gossip you hear -about people, nobody would be safe. He was a delightful young man -and he would have made Phyllis perfectly happy. Instead of marrying -him, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[p. 23]</span> chose to -go off with this—Jackson.” Lady Constance’s voice quivered. Greater -scorn could hardly have been packed into two syllables. “After what -has happened, I certainly intend to have nothing more to do with her. -I shall not lend them a penny, so please do not let us continue this -discussion any longer. I hope I am not an unjust woman, but I must say -that I consider, after the way Phyllis behaved . . .”</p> - -<p>The sudden opening of the door caused her to break off. Lord -Emsworth, mould-stained and wearing a deplorable old jacket, -pottered into the room. He peered benevolently at his sister and -his brother-in-law, but seemed unaware that he was interrupting a -conversation.</p> - -<p>“‘Gardening As A Fine Art,’” he murmured. “Connie, have you seen a -book called ‘Gardening As A Fine Art’? I was reading it in here last -night. ‘Gardening As A Fine Art.’ That is the title. Now, where can -it have got to?” His dreamy eye flitted to and fro. “I want to show -it to McAllister. There is a passage in it that directly refutes his -anarchistic views on . . .”</p> - -<p>“It is probably on one of the shelves,” said Lady Constance -shortly.</p> - -<p>“On one of the shelves?” said Lord Emsworth, obviously impressed by -this bright suggestion. “Why, of course, to be sure.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble was rattling his keys moodily. A mutinous expression -was on his pink face. These moments of rebellion did not come to him -very often, for he loved his wife with a dog-like affection and had -grown accustomed to being ruled by her, but now resentment filled him. -She was unreasonable, he considered. She ought to have realised how -strongly he felt about poor little Phyllis. It was too infernally<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[p. 24]</span> cold-blooded to abandon the -poor child like an old shoe simply because . . .</p> - -<p>“Are you going?” he asked, observing his wife moving to the door.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I am going into the garden,” said Lady Constance. “Why? Was -there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mr. Keeble despondently. “Oh, no.”</p> - -<p>Lady Constance left the room, and a deep masculine silence fell. -Mr. Keeble rubbed the back of his head meditatively against the -mantelpiece, and Lord Emsworth scratched among the book-shelves.</p> - -<p>“Clarence!” said Mr. Keeble suddenly. An idea—one might almost say -an inspiration—had come to him.</p> - -<p>“Eh?” responded his lordship absently. He had found his book and was -turning its pages, absorbed.</p> - -<p>“Clarence, can you . . .”</p> - -<p>“Angus McAllister,” observed Lord Emsworth bitterly, “is an -obstinate, stiff-necked son of Belial. The writer of this book -distinctly states in so many words . . .”</p> - -<p>“Clarence, can you lend me three thousand pounds on good security -and keep it dark from Connie?”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth blinked.</p> - -<p>“Keep something dark from Connie?” He raised his eyes from his book -in order to peer at this visionary with a gentle pity. “My dear fellow, -it can’t be done.”</p> - -<p>“She would never know. I will tell you just why I want this -money . . .”</p> - -<p>“Money?” Lord Emsworth’s eye had become vacant again. He was reading -once more. “Money? Money, my dear fellow? Money? Money? What money? -If I have said once,” declared Lord Emsworth, “that Angus McAllister -is all wrong on the subject of hollyhocks, I’ve said it a hundred -times.”</p> - -<p>“Let me explain. This three thousand pounds . . .”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[p. 25]</span>“My dear fellow, -no. No, no. It was like you,” said his lordship with a vague -heartiness, “it was like you—good and generous—to make this offer, -but I have ample, thank you, ample. I don’t <i>need</i> three thousand -pounds.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t understand. I . . .”</p> - -<p>“No, no. No, no. But I am very much obliged, all the same. It was -kind of you, my dear fellow, to give me the opportunity. Very kind. -Very, very, very kind,” proceeded his lordship, trailing to the door -and reading as he went. “Oh, very, very, very . . .”</p> - -<p>The door closed behind him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>damn</i>!” said Mr. Keeble.</p> - -<p>He sank into a chair in a state of profound dejection. He thought of -the letter he would have to write to Phyllis. Poor little Phyllis . . . -he would have to tell her that what she asked could not be managed. -And why, thought Mr. Keeble sourly, as he rose from his seat and went -to the writing-table, could it not be managed? Simply because he was a -weak-kneed, spineless creature who was afraid of a pair of grey eyes -that had a tendency to freeze.</p> - -<p>“<i>My dear Phyllis</i>,” he wrote.</p> - -<p>Here he stopped. How on earth was he to put it? What a letter to -have to write! Mr. Keeble placed his head between his hands and groaned -aloud.</p> - -<p>“Hallo, Uncle Joe!”</p> - -<p>The letter-writer, turning sharply, was aware—without pleasure—of -his nephew Frederick, standing beside his chair. He eyed him -resentfully, for he was not only exasperated but startled. He had not -heard the door open. It was as if the smooth-haired youth had popped up -out of a trap.</p> - -<p>“Came in through the window,” explained the Hon. Freddie. “I say, -Uncle Joe.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[p. 26]</span>“Well, what is -it?”</p> - -<p>“I say, Uncle Joe,” said Freddie, “can you lend me a thousand -quid?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble uttered a yelp like a pinched Pomeranian.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_1_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>As Mr. Keeble, red-eyed and overwrought, rose slowly from his chair -and began to swell in ominous silence, his nephew raised his hand -appealingly. It began to occur to the Hon. Freddie that he had perhaps -not led up to his request with the maximum of smooth tact.</p> - -<p>“Half a jiffy!” he entreated. “I say, don’t go in off the deep end -for just a second. I can explain.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble’s feelings expressed themselves in a loud snort.</p> - -<p>“Explain!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can. Whole trouble was, I started at the wrong end. -Shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. The fact is, Uncle Joe, -I’ve got a scheme. I give you my word that, if you’ll only put off -having apoplexy for about three minutes,” said Freddie, scanning his -fermenting relative with some anxiety, “I can shove you on to a good -thing. Honestly I can. And all I say is, if this scheme I’m talking -about is worth a thousand quid to you, will you slip it across? I’m -game to spill it and leave it to your honesty to cash up if the thing -looks good to you.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand pounds!”</p> - -<p>“Nice round sum,” urged Freddie ingratiatingly.</p> - -<p>“Why,” demanded Mr. Keeble, now somewhat recovered, “do you want a -thousand pounds?”</p> - -<p>“Well, who doesn’t, if it comes to that?” said Freddie. “But I don’t -mind telling you my special<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[p. -27]</span> reason for wanting it at just this moment, if you’ll swear -to keep it under your hat as far as the guv’nor is concerned.”</p> - -<p>“If you mean that you wish me not to repeat to your father anything -you may tell me in confidence, naturally I should not dream of doing -such a thing.”</p> - -<p>Freddie looked puzzled. His was no lightning brain.</p> - -<p>“Can’t quite work that out,” he confessed. “Do you mean you will -tell him or you won’t?”</p> - -<p>“I will not tell him.”</p> - -<p>“Good old Uncle Joe!” said Freddie, relieved. “A topper! I’ve always -said so. Well, look here, you know all the trouble there’s been about -my dropping a bit on the races lately?”</p> - -<p>“I do.”</p> - -<p>“Between ourselves, I dropped about five hundred of the best. And I -just want to ask you one simple question. <i>Why</i> did I drop it?”</p> - -<p>“Because you were an infernal young ass.”</p> - -<p>“Well, yes,” agreed Freddie, having considered the point, “you might -put it that way, of course. But why was I an ass?”</p> - -<p>“Good God!” exclaimed the exasperated Mr. Keeble. “Am I a -psycho-analyst?”</p> - -<p>“I mean to say, if you come right down to it, I lost all that stuff -simply because I was on the wrong side of the fence. It’s a mug’s game -betting on horses. The only way to make money is to be a bookie, and -that’s what I’m going to do if you’ll part with that thousand. Pal -of mine, who was up at Oxford with me, is in a bookie’s office, and -they’re game to take me in too if I can put up a thousand quid. Only I -must let them know quick, because the offer’s not going to be open for -ever. You’ve no notion what a deuce of a lot of competition there is -for that sort of job.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[p. 28]</span>Mr. Keeble, who -had been endeavouring with some energy to get a word in during this -harangue, now contrived to speak.</p> - -<p>“And do you seriously suppose that I would . . . But what’s the use -of wasting time talking? I have no means of laying my hands on the sum -you mention. If I had,” said Mr. Keeble wistfully. “If I had . . .” And -his eye strayed to the letter on the desk, the letter which had got as -far as “My dear Phyllis” and stuck there.</p> - -<p>Freddie gazed upon him with cordial sympathy.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know how you’re situated, Uncle Joe, and I’m dashed sorry for -you. I mean, Aunt Constance and all that.”</p> - -<p>“What!” Irksome as Mr. Keeble sometimes found the peculiar condition -of his financial arrangements, he had always had the consolation of -supposing that they were a secret between his wife and himself. “What -do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I know that Aunt Constance keeps an eye on the doubloons -and checks the outgoings pretty narrowly. And I think it’s a dashed -shame that she won’t unbuckle to help poor old Phyllis. A girl,” said -Freddie, “I always liked. Bally shame! Why the dickens shouldn’t she -marry that fellow Jackson? I mean, love’s love,” said Freddie, who felt -strongly on this point.</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble was making curious gulping noises.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I ought to explain,” said Freddie, “that I was having a -quiet after-breakfast smoke outside the window there and heard the -whole thing. I mean, you and Aunt Constance going to the mat about poor -old Phyllis and you trying to bite the guv’nor’s ear and so forth.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble bubbled for awhile.</p> - -<p>“You—you listened!” he managed to ejaculate at length.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[p. 29]</span>“And dashed lucky -for you,” said Freddie with a cordiality unimpaired by the frankly -unfriendly stare under which a nicer-minded youth would have withered; -“dashed lucky for you that I did. Because I’ve got a scheme.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble’s estimate of his young relative’s sagacity was not a -high one, and it is doubtful whether, had the latter caught him in a -less despondent mood, he would have wasted time in inquiring into the -details of this scheme, the mention of which had been playing in and -out of Freddie’s conversation like a will-o’-the-wisp. But such was his -reduced state at the moment that a reluctant gleam of hope crept into -his troubled eye.</p> - -<p>“A scheme? Do you mean a scheme to help me out of—out of my -difficulty?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely! You want the best seats, we have ’em. I mean,” Freddie -went on in interpretation of these peculiar words, “you want three -thousand quid, and I can show you how to get it.”</p> - -<p>“Then kindly do so,” said Mr. Keeble; and, having opened the door, -peered cautiously out, and closed it again, he crossed the room and -shut the window.</p> - -<p>“Makes it a bit fuggy, but perhaps you’re right,” said Freddie, -eyeing these manœuvres. “Well, it’s like this, Uncle Joe. You remember -what you were saying to Aunt Constance about some bird being apt to -sneak up and pinch her necklace?”</p> - -<p>“I do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, why not?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I mean, why don’t you?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble regarded his nephew with unconcealed astonishment. He had -been prepared for imbecility, but this exceeded his expectations.</p> - -<p>“Steal my wife’s necklace!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[p. 30]</span>“That’s it. -Frightfully quick you are, getting on to an idea. Pinch Aunt Connie’s -necklace. For, mark you,” continued Freddie, so far forgetting the -respect due from a nephew as to tap his uncle sharply on the chest, “if -a husband pinches anything from a wife, it isn’t stealing. That’s law. -I found that out from a movie I saw in town.”</p> - -<p>The Hon. Freddie was a great student of the movies. He could tell -a super-film from a super-super-film at a glance, and what he did not -know about erring wives and licentious clubmen could have been written -in a sub-title.</p> - -<p>“Are you insane?” growled Mr. Keeble.</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t be hard for you to get hold of it. And once you’d got -it everybody would be happy. I mean, all you’d have to do would be to -draw a cheque to pay for another one for Aunt Connie—which would make -her perfectly chirpy, as well as putting you one up, if you follow -me. Then you would have the other necklace, the pinched one, to play -about with. See what I mean? You could sell it privily and by stealth, -ship Phyllis her three thousand, push across my thousand, and what was -left over would be a nice little private account for you to tuck away -somewhere where Aunt Connie wouldn’t know anything about it. And a -dashed useful thing,” said Freddie, “to have up your sleeve in case of -emergencies.”</p> - -<p>“Are you . . . ?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble was on the point of repeating his previous remark when -suddenly there came the realisation that, despite all preconceived -opinions, the young man was anything but insane. The scheme, at which -he had been prepared to scoff, was so brilliant, yet simple, that it -seemed almost incredible that its sponsor could have worked it out for -himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[p. 31]</span>“Not my own,” said -Freddie modestly, as if in answer to the thought. “Saw much the same -thing in a movie once. Only there the fellow, if I remember, wanted to -do down an insurance company, and it wasn’t a necklace that he pinched -but bonds. Still, the principle’s the same. Well, how do we go, Uncle -Joe? How about it? Is that worth a thousand quid or not?”</p> - -<p>Even though he had seen in person to the closing of the door and the -window, Mr. Keeble could not refrain from a conspirator-like glance -about him. They had been speaking with lowered voices, but now words -came from him in an almost inaudible whisper.</p> - -<p>“Could it really be done? Is it feasible?”</p> - -<p>“Feasible? Why, dash it, what the dickens is there to stop you? You -could do it in a second. And the beauty of the whole thing is that, if -you were copped, nobody could say a word, because husband pinching from -wife isn’t stealing. Law.”</p> - -<p>The statement that in the circumstances indicated nobody could say -a word seemed to Mr. Keeble so at variance with the facts that he was -compelled to challenge it.</p> - -<p>“Your aunt would have a good deal to say,” he observed ruefully.</p> - -<p>“Eh? Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Well, you would have to risk -that. After all, the chances would be dead against her finding out.”</p> - -<p>“But she might.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, if you put it like that, I suppose she might.”</p> - -<p>“Freddie, my boy,” said Mr. Keeble weakly, “I daren’t do it!”</p> - -<p>The vision of his thousand pounds slipping from his grasp so wrought -upon Freddie that he expressed himself in a manner far from fitting in -one of his years towards an older man.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[p. 32]</span>“Oh, I say, don’t -be such a rabbit!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No,” he repeated, “I daren’t.”</p> - -<p>It might have seemed that the negotiations had reached a deadlock, -but Freddie, with a thousand pounds in sight, was in far too stimulated -a condition to permit so tame an ending to such a promising plot. As -he stood there, chafing at his uncle’s pusillanimity, an idea was -vouchsafed to him.</p> - -<p>“By Jove! I’ll tell you what!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“Not so loud!” moaned the apprehensive Mr. Keeble. “Not so loud!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what,” repeated Freddie in a hoarse whisper. “How -would it be if <i>I</i> did the pinching?”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“How would it . . .”</p> - -<p>“Would you?” Hope, which had vanished from Mr. Keeble’s face, came -flooding back. “My boy, would you really?”</p> - -<p>“For a thousand quid you bet I would.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble clutched at his young relative’s hand and gripped it -feverishly.</p> - -<p>“Freddie,” he said, “the moment you place that necklace in my hands, -I will give you not a thousand but two thousand pounds.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Joe,” said Freddie with equal intensity, “it’s a bet!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble mopped at his forehead.</p> - -<p>“You think you can manage it?”</p> - -<p>“Manage it?” Freddie laughed a light laugh. “Just watch me!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble grasped his hand again with the utmost warmth.</p> - -<p>“I must go out and get some air,” he said. “I’m all upset. May I -really leave this matter to you, Freddie?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[p. 33]</span></p> - -<p>“Rather!”</p> - -<p>“Good! Then to-night I will write to Phyllis and say that I may be -able to do what she wishes.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say ‘may,’” cried Freddie buoyantly. “The word is ‘will.’ -Bally will! What ho!”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_1_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>Exhilaration is a heady drug; but, like other drugs, it has the -disadvantage that its stimulating effects seldom last for very -long. For perhaps ten minutes after his uncle had left him, Freddie -Threepwood lay back in his chair in a sort of ecstasy. He felt strong, -vigorous, alert. Then by degrees, like a chilling wind, doubt began to -creep upon him—faintly at first, then more and more insistently, till -by the end of a quarter of an hour he was in a state of pronounced -self-mistrust. Or, to put it with less elegance, he was suffering from -an exceedingly severe attack of cold feet.</p> - -<p>The more he contemplated the venture which he had undertaken, the -less alluring did it appear to him. His was not a keen imagination, -but even he could shape with a gruesome clearness a vision of the -frightful bust-up that would ensue should he be detected stealing his -Aunt Constance’s diamond necklace. Common decency would in such an -event seal his lips as regarded his Uncle Joseph’s share in the matter. -And even if—as might conceivably happen—common decency failed at the -crisis, reason told him that his Uncle Joseph would infallibly disclaim -any knowledge of or connection with the rash act. And then where would -he be? In the soup, undoubtedly. For Freddie could not conceal it from -himself that there was nothing in his previous record to make it seem -inconceivable to his nearest and dearest that he should steal the -jewellery of a female relative for purely personal ends. The<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[p. 34]</span> verdict in the event of -detection would be one of uncompromising condemnation.</p> - -<p>And yet he hated the idea of meekly allowing that two thousand -pounds to escape from his clutch . . .</p> - -<p>A young man’s cross-roads.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The agony of spirit into which these meditations cast him had -brought him up with a bound from the comfortable depths of his -arm-chair and had set him prowling restlessly about the room. His -wanderings led him at this point to collide somewhat painfully with -the long table on which Beach the butler, a tidy soul, was in the -habit of arranging in a neat row the daily papers, weekly papers, and -magazines which found their way into the castle. The shock had the -effect of rousing him from his stupor, and in an absent way he clutched -the nearest daily paper, which happened to be the <i>Morning Globe</i>, -and returned to his chair in the hope of quieting his nerves with a -perusal of the racing intelligence. For, though far removed now from -any practical share in the doings of the racing world, he still took -a faint melancholy interest in ascertaining what Captain Curb, the -Head Lad, Little Brighteyes, and the rest of the newspaper experts -fancied for the day’s big event. He lit a cigarette and unfolded the -journal.</p> - -<p>The next moment, instead of passing directly, as was his usual -practice, to the last page, which was devoted to sport, he was gazing -with a strange dry feeling in his throat at a certain advertisement on -page one.</p> - -<p>It was a well-displayed advertisement, and one that had caught -the eye of many other readers of the paper that morning. It was -worded to attract attention, and it had achieved its object. But -where others who read it had merely smiled and marvelled idly how -anybody<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[p. 35]</span> could -spend good money putting nonsense like this in the paper, to Freddie -its import was wholly serious. It read to him like the Real Thing. -His motion-picture-trained mind accepted this advertisement at its -face-value.</p> - -<p>It ran as follows:—</p> - - -<p class="centra mt1"><i>LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!</i></p> - -<p class="centra">Psmith Will Help You</p> - -<p class="centra">Psmith Is Ready For Anything</p> - -<p class="centra">DO YOU WANT</p> - -<p class="centra">Someone To Manage Your Affairs?</p> - -<p class="centra">Someone To Handle Your Business?</p> - -<p class="centra">Someone To Take The Dog For A Run?</p> - -<p class="centra">Someone To Assassinate Your Aunt?</p> - -<p class="centra">PSMITH WILL DO IT</p> - -<p class="centra">CRIME NOT OBJECTED TO</p> - -<p class="centra">Whatever Job You Have To Offer</p> - -<p class="centra">(Provided It Has Nothing To Do With Fish)</p> - -<p class="centra"><i>LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!</i></p> - -<p class="centra">Address Applications To ‘R. Psmith, Box 365’</p> - -<p class="centra"><i>LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!</i></p> - - -<p class="mt1">Freddie laid the paper down with a deep intake of -breath. He picked it up again, and read the advertisement a second -time. Yes, it sounded good.</p> - -<p>More, it had something of the quality of a direct answer to prayer. -Very vividly now Freddie realised that what he had been wishing for -was a partner to share the perils of this enterprise which he had -so rashly undertaken. In fact, not so much to share them as to take -them off his shoulders altogether. And such a partner he was now in a -position to command. Uncle Joe was going to give him two thousand if he -brought the thing off. This advertisement fellow<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_36">[p. 36]</span> would probably be charmed to come in for a -few hundred . . .</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Two minutes later, Freddie was at the writing-desk, -scribbling a letter. From time to time he glanced -furtively over his shoulder at the door. But the house -was still. No footsteps came to interrupt him at his -task.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_1_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>Freddie went out into the garden. He had not wandered far when -from somewhere close at hand there was borne to him on the breeze a -remark in a high voice about Scottish obstinacy, which could only have -proceeded from one source. He quickened his steps.</p> - -<p>“Hallo, guv’nor.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Frederick?”</p> - -<p>Freddie shuffled.</p> - -<p>“I say, guv’nor, do you think I might go up to town with you this -afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“Fact is, I ought to see my dentist. Haven’t been to him for a deuce -of a time.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot see the necessity for you to visit a London dentist. There -is an excellent man in Shrewsbury, and you know I have the strongest -objection to your going to London.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, this fellow understands my snappers. Always been to -him, I mean to say. Anybody who knows anything about these things will -tell you greatest mistake go buzzing about to different dentists.”</p> - -<p>Already Lord Emsworth’s attention was wandering back to the waiting -McAllister.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[p. 37]</span>“Oh, very well, -very well.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks awfully, guv’nor.”</p> - -<p>“But on one thing I insist, Frederick. I cannot have you loafing -about London the whole day. You must catch the twelve-fifty train -back.”</p> - -<p>“Right ho. That’ll be all right, guv’nor.”</p> - -<p>“Now, listen to reason, McAllister,” said his lordship. “That is all -I ask you to do—listen to reason . . .”</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_2"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[p. 38]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II</h2> - <p class="subh2">ENTER PSMITH</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_2_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">A</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap2"><span class="upc">At</span> about the hour when Lord -Emsworth’s train, whirling him and his son Freddie to London, had -reached the half-way point in its journey, a very tall, very thin, very -solemn young man, gleaming in a speckless top hat and a morning-coat of -irreproachable fit, mounted the steps of Number Eighteen, Wallingford -Street, West Kensington, and rang the front-door bell. This done, he -removed the hat; and having touched his forehead lightly with a silk -handkerchief, for the afternoon sun was warm, gazed about him with a -grave distaste.</p> - -<p>“A scaly neighbourhood!” he murmured.</p> - -<p>The young man’s judgment was one at which few people with an eye for -beauty would have cavilled. When the great revolution against London’s -ugliness really starts and yelling hordes of artists and architects, -maddened beyond endurance, finally take the law into their own hands -and rage through the city burning and destroying, Wallingford Street, -West Kensington, will surely not escape the torch. Long since it must -have been marked down for destruction. For, though it possesses certain -merits of a low practical kind, being inexpensive in the matter of -rents and handy for the buses and the Underground, it is a peculiarly -beastly little street. Situated in the middle of one of those<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[p. 39]</span> districts where London -breaks out into a sort of eczema of red brick, it consists of two -parallel rows of semi-detached villas, all exactly alike, each guarded -by a ragged evergreen hedge, each with coloured glass of an extremely -regrettable nature let into the panels of the front door; and sensitive -young impressionists from the artists’ colony up Holland Park way may -sometimes be seen stumbling through it with hands over their eyes, -muttering between clenched teeth “How long? How long?”</p> - -<p>A small maid-of-all-work appeared in answer to the bell, and stood -transfixed as the visitor, producing a monocle, placed it in his right -eye and inspected her through it.</p> - -<p>“A warm afternoon,” he said cordially.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“But pleasant,” urged the young man. “Tell me, is Mrs. Jackson at -home?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Not at home?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>The young man sighed.</p> - -<p>“Ah well,” he said, “we must always remember that these -disappointments are sent to us for some good purpose. No doubt they -make us more spiritual. Will you inform her that I called? The name is -Psmith. P-smith.”</p> - -<p>“Peasmith, sir?”</p> - -<p>“No, no. P-s-m-i-t-h. I should explain to you that I started life -without the initial letter, and my father always clung ruggedly to the -plain Smith. But it seemed to me that there were so many Smiths in the -world that a little variety might well be introduced. Smythe I look on -as a cowardly evasion, nor do I approve of the too prevalent custom of -tacking another name<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[p. 40]</span> -on in front by means of a hyphen. So I decided to adopt the Psmith. The -p, I should add for your guidance, is silent, as in phthisis, psychic, -and ptarmigan. You follow me?”</p> - -<p>“Y-yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t think,” he said anxiously, “that I did wrong in pursuing -this course?”</p> - -<p>“N-no, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Splendid!” said the young man, flicking a speck of dust from his -coat-sleeve. “Splendid! Splendid!”</p> - -<p>And with a courteous bow he descended the steps and made his way -down the street. The little maid, having followed him with bulging -eyes till he was out of sight, closed the door and returned to her -kitchen.</p> - -<p>Psmith strolled meditatively on. The genial warmth of the afternoon -soothed him. He hummed lightly—only stopping when, as he reached the -end of the street, a young man of his own age, rounding the corner -rapidly, almost ran into him.</p> - -<p>“Sorry,” said the young man. “Hallo, Smith.”</p> - -<p>Psmith gazed upon him with benevolent affection.</p> - -<p>“Comrade Jackson,” he said, “this is well met. The one man of -all others whom I would have wished to encounter. We will pop off -somewhere, Comrade Jackson, should your engagements permit, and restore -our tissues with a cup of tea. I had hoped to touch the Jackson family -for some slight refreshment, but I was informed that your wife was -out.”</p> - -<p>Mike Jackson laughed.</p> - -<p>“Phyllis isn’t out. She . . .”</p> - -<p>“Not out? Then,” said Psmith, pained, “there has been dirty work -done this day. For I was turned from the door. It would not be -exaggerating to say that I was given the bird. Is this the boasted -Jackson hospitality?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[p. 41]</span>“Phyllis is giving -a tea to some of her old school pals,” explained Mike. “She told the -maid to say she wasn’t at home to anybody else. I’m not allowed in -myself.”</p> - -<p>“Enough, Comrade Jackson!” said Psmith agreeably. “Say no more. -If you yourself have been booted out in spite of all the loving, -honouring, and obeying your wife promised at the altar, who am I to -complain? And possibly, one can console oneself by reflecting, we are -well out of it. These gatherings of old girls’-school chums are not -the sort of function your man of affairs wants to get lugged into. -Capital company as we are, Comrade Jackson, we should doubtless have -been extremely in the way. I suppose the conversation would have dealt -exclusively with reminiscences of the dear old school, of tales of -surreptitious cocoa-drinking in the dormitories and what the deportment -mistress said when Angela was found chewing tobacco in the shrubbery. -Yes, I fancy we have not missed a lot. . . . By the way, I don’t think -much of the new home. True, I only saw it from the outside, but . . . -no, I don’t think much of it.”</p> - -<p>“Best we can afford.”</p> - -<p>“And who,” said Psmith, “am I to taunt my boyhood friend with his -honest poverty? Especially as I myself am standing on the very brink of -destitution.”</p> - -<p>“You?”</p> - -<p>“I in person. That low moaning sound you hear is the wolf bivouacked -outside my door.”</p> - -<p>“But I thought your uncle gave you rather a good salary.”</p> - -<p>“So he did. But my uncle and I are about to part company. From now -on he, so to speak, will take the high road and I’ll take the low road. -I dine with him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[p. 42]</span> -to-night, and over the nuts and wine I shall hand him the bad news -that I propose to resign my position in the firm. I have no doubt -that he supposed he was doing me a good turn by starting me in his -fish business, but even what little experience I have had of it has -convinced me that it is not my proper sphere. The whisper flies round -the clubs ‘Psmith has not found his niche!’</p> - -<p>“I am not,” said Psmith, “an unreasonable man. I realise that -humanity must be supplied with fish. I am not averse from a bit of fish -myself. But to be professionally connected with a firm that handles -the material in the raw is not my idea of a large life-work. Remind me -to tell you some time what it feels like to sling yourself out of bed -at four a.m. and go down to toil in Billingsgate Market. No, there is -money in fish—my uncle has made a pot of it—but what I feel is that -there must be other walks in life for a bright young man. I chuck it -to-night.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do, then?”</p> - -<p>“That, Comrade Jackson, is more or less on the knees of the gods. -To-morrow morning I think I will stroll round to an employment agency -and see how the market for bright young men stands. Do you know a good -one?”</p> - -<p>“Phyllis always goes to Miss Clarkson’s in Shaftesbury Avenue. -But . . .”</p> - -<p>“Miss Clarkson’s in Shaftesbury Avenue. I will make a note of -it . . . Meanwhile, I wonder if you saw the <i>Morning Globe</i> to-day?”</p> - -<p>“No. Why?”</p> - -<p>“I had an advertisement in it, in which I expressed myself as -willing—indeed, eager—to tackle any undertaking that had nothing to -do with fish. I am confidently expecting shoals of replies. I look -forward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[p. 43]</span> to winnowing -the heap and selecting the most desirable.”</p> - -<p>“Pretty hard to get a job these days,” said Mike doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“Not if you have something superlatively good to offer.”</p> - -<p>“What have you got to offer?”</p> - -<p>“My services,” said Psmith with faint reproach.</p> - -<p>“What as?”</p> - -<p>“As anything. I made no restrictions. Would you care to take a look -at my manifesto? I have a copy in my pocket.”</p> - -<p>Psmith produced from inside his immaculate waistcoat a folded -clipping.</p> - -<p>“I should welcome your opinion of it, Comrade Jackson. I have -frequently said that for sturdy common sense you stand alone. Your -judgment should be invaluable.”</p> - -<p>The advertisement, which some hours earlier had so electrified the -Hon. Freddie Threepwood in the smoking-room at Blandings Castle, seemed -to affect Mike, whose mind was of the stolid and serious type, somewhat -differently. He finished his perusal and stared speechlessly.</p> - -<p>“Neat, don’t you think?” said Psmith. “Covers the ground adequately? -I think so, I think so.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say you’re going to put drivel like that in the -paper?” asked Mike.</p> - -<p>“I <i>have</i> put it in the paper. As I told you, it appeared this -morning. By this time to-morrow I shall no doubt have finished sorting -out the first batch of replies.”</p> - -<p>Mike’s emotion took him back to the phraseology of school days.</p> - -<p>“You <i>are</i> an ass!”</p> - -<p>Psmith restored the clipping to his waistcoat pocket.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[p. 44]</span>“You wound me, -Comrade Jackson,” he said. “I had expected a broader outlook from you. -In fact, I rather supposed that you would have rushed round instantly -to the offices of the journal and shoved in a similar advertisement -yourself. But nothing that you can say can damp my buoyant spirit. -The cry goes round Kensington (and district) ‘Psmith is off!’ In what -direction the cry omits to state: but that information the future -will supply. And now, Comrade Jackson, let us trickle into yonder -tea-shop and drink success to the venture in a cup of the steaming. I -had a particularly hard morning to-day among the whitebait, and I need -refreshment.”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_2_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>After Psmith had withdrawn his spectacular person from it, there was -an interval of perhaps twenty minutes before anything else occurred to -brighten the drabness of Wallingford Street. The lethargy of afternoon -held the thoroughfare in its grip. Occasionally a tradesman’s cart -would rattle round the corner, and from time to time cats appeared, -stalking purposefully among the evergreens. But at ten minutes to five -a girl ran up the steps of Number Eighteen and rang the bell.</p> - -<p>She was a girl of medium height, very straight and slim; and her -fair hair, her cheerful smile, and the boyish suppleness of her body -all contributed to a general effect of valiant gaiety, a sort of golden -sunniness—accentuated by the fact that, like all girls who looked to -Paris for inspiration in their dress that season, she was wearing -black.</p> - -<p>The small maid appeared again.</p> - -<p>“Is Mrs. Jackson at home?” said the girl. “I think she’s expecting -me. Miss Halliday.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[p. 45]</span>“Yes, miss?”</p> - -<p>A door at the end of the narrow hall had opened.</p> - -<p>“Is that you, Eve?”</p> - -<p>“Hallo, Phyl, darling.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis Jackson fluttered down the passage like a rose-leaf on the -wind, and hurled herself into Eve’s arms. She was small and fragile, -with great brown eyes under a cloud of dark hair. She had a wistful -look, and most people who knew her wanted to pet her. Eve had always -petted her, from their first days at school together.</p> - -<p>“Am I late or early?” asked Eve.</p> - -<p>“You’re the first, but we won’t wait. Jane, will you bring tea into -the drawing-room.”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m.”</p> - -<p>“And, remember, I don’t want to see anyone for the rest of the -afternoon. If anybody calls, tell them I’m not at home. Except Miss -Clarkson and Mrs. McTodd, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m.”</p> - -<p>“Who is Mrs. McTodd?” inquired Eve. “Is that Cynthia?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Didn’t you know she had married Ralston McTodd, the Canadian -poet? You knew she went out to Canada?”</p> - -<p>“I knew that, yes. But I hadn’t heard that she was married. Funny -how out of touch one gets with girls who were one’s best friends at -school. Do you realise it’s nearly two years since I saw you?”</p> - -<p>“I know. Isn’t it awful! I got your address from Elsa Wentworth -two or three days ago, and then Clarkie told me that Cynthia was over -here on a visit with her husband, so I thought how jolly it would -be to have a regular reunion. We three were such friends in the old -days. . . . You remember Clarkie, of course? Miss<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_46">[p. 46]</span> Clarkson, who used to be English mistress -at Wayland House.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course. Where did you run into her?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see a lot of her. She runs a Domestic Employment Agency in -Shaftesbury Avenue now, and I have to go there about once a fortnight -to get a new maid. She supplied Jane.”</p> - -<p>“Is Cynthia’s husband coming with her this afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“No. I wanted it to be simply us four. Do you know him? But of -course you don’t. This is his first visit to England.”</p> - -<p>“I know his poetry. He’s quite a celebrity. Cynthia’s lucky.”</p> - -<p>They had made their way into the drawing-room, a gruesome little -apartment full of all those antimacassars, wax flowers, and china -dogs inseparable from the cheaper type of London furnished house. -Eve, though the exterior of Number Eighteen should have prepared her -for all this, was unable to check a slight shudder as she caught the -eye of the least prepossessing of the dogs, goggling at her from the -mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>“Don’t look at them,” recommended Phyllis, following her gaze. “I -try not to. We’ve only just moved in here, so I haven’t had time to -make the place nice. Here’s tea. All right, Jane, put it down there. -Tea, Eve?”</p> - -<p>Eve sat down. She was puzzled and curious. She threw her mind back -to the days at school and remembered the Phyllis of that epoch as -almost indecently opulent. A millionaire stepfather there had been -then, she recollected. What had become of him now, that he should allow -Phyllis to stay in surroundings like this? Eve scented a mystery, and -in her customary straightforward way went to the heart of it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[p. 47]</span>“Tell me all about -yourself,” she said, having achieved as much comfort as the peculiar -structure of her chair would permit. “And remember that I haven’t seen -you for two years, so don’t leave anything out.”</p> - -<p>“It’s so difficult to know where to start.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you signed your letter ‘Phyllis Jackson.’ Start with the -mysterious Jackson. Where does he come in? The last I heard about you -was an announcement in the <i>Morning Post</i> that you were engaged to—I’ve -forgotten the name, but I’m certain it wasn’t Jackson.”</p> - -<p>“Rollo Mountford.”</p> - -<p>“Was it? Well, what has become of Rollo? You seem to have mislaid -him. Did you break off the engagement?”</p> - -<p>“Well, it—sort of broke itself off. I mean, you see, I went and -married Mike.”</p> - -<p>“Eloped with him, do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!”</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully ashamed about that, Eve. I suppose I treated Rollo -awfully badly.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind. A man with a name like that was made for suffering.”</p> - -<p>“I never really cared for him. He had horrid swimmy eyes . . .”</p> - -<p>“I understand. So you eloped with your Mike. Tell me about him. Who -is he? What does he do?”</p> - -<p>“Well, at present he’s master at a school. But he doesn’t like it. -He wants to get back to the country again. When I met him, he was agent -on a place in the country belonging to some people named Smith. Mike -had been at school and Cambridge with the son. They were very rich then -and had a big estate. It was the next place to the Edgelows. I had gone -to stay with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[p. 48]</span> Mary -Edgelow—I don’t know if you remember her at school? I met Mike first at -a dance, and then I met him out riding, and then—well, after that we -used to meet every day. And we fell in love right from the start and we -went and got married. Oh, Eve, I wish you could have seen our darling -little house. It was all over ivy and roses, and we had horses and dogs -and . . .”</p> - -<p>Phyllis’ narrative broke off with a gulp. Eve looked at her -sympathetically. All her life she herself had been joyously -impecunious, but it had never seemed to matter. She was strong and -adventurous, and revelled in the perpetual excitement of trying to make -both ends meet. But Phyllis was one of those sweet porcelain girls -whom the roughnesses of life bruise instead of stimulating. She needed -comfort and pleasant surroundings. Eve looked morosely at the china -dog, which leered back at her with an insufferable good-fellowship.</p> - -<p>“We had hardly got married,” resumed Phyllis, blinking, “when poor -Mr. Smith died and the whole place was broken up. He must have been -speculating or something, I suppose, because he hardly left any money, -and the estate had to be sold. And the people who bought it—they were -coal people from Wolverhampton—had a nephew for whom they wanted the -agent job, so Mike had to go. So here we are.”</p> - -<p>Eve put the question which she had been waiting to ask ever since -she had entered the house.</p> - -<p>“But what about your stepfather? Surely, when we were at school, -you had a rich stepfather in the background. Has he lost his money, -too?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Well, why doesn’t he help you, then?”</p> - -<p>“He would, I know, if he was left to himself. But it’s Aunt -Constance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[p. 49]</span>“What’s Aunt -Constance? And who <i>is</i> Aunt Constance?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I call her that, but she’s really my stepmother—sort of. I -suppose she’s really my step-stepmother. My stepfather married again -two years ago. It was Aunt Constance who was so furious when I married -Mike. She wanted me to marry Rollo. She has never forgiven me, and she -won’t let my stepfather do anything to help us.”</p> - -<p>“But the man must be a worm!” said Eve indignantly. “Why doesn’t he -insist? You always used to tell me how fond he was of you.”</p> - -<p>“He isn’t a worm, Eve. He’s a dear. It’s just that he has let her -boss him. She’s rather a terror, you know. She can be quite nice, -and they’re awfully fond of each other, but she is as hard as nails -sometimes.” Phyllis broke off. The front door had opened, and there -were footsteps in the hall. “Here’s Clarkie. I hope she has brought -Cynthia with her. She was to pick her up on her way. Don’t talk about -what I’ve been telling you in front of her, Eve, there’s an angel.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“She’s so motherly about it. It’s sweet of her, but . . .”</p> - -<p>Eve understood.</p> - -<p>“All right. Later on.”</p> - -<p>The door opened to admit Miss Clarkson.</p> - -<p>The adjective which Phyllis had applied to her late schoolmistress -was obviously well chosen. Miss Clarkson exuded motherliness. She was -large, wholesome, and soft, and she swooped on Eve like a hen on its -chicken almost before the door had closed.</p> - -<p>“Eve! How nice to see you after all this time! My dear, you’re -looking perfectly lovely! And <i>so</i> prosperous. What a beautiful -hat!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[p. 50]</span>“I’ve been envying -it ever since you came, Eve,” said Phyllis. “Where did you get it?”</p> - -<p>“Madeleine Sœurs, in Regent Street.”</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson, having acquired and stirred a cup of tea, started -to improve the occasion. Eve had always been a favourite of hers at -school. She beamed affectionately upon her.</p> - -<p>“Now doesn’t this show—what I always used to say to you in the -dear old days, Eve—that one must never despair, however black the -outlook may seem? I remember you at school, dear, as poor as a -church mouse, and with no prospects, none whatever. And yet here you -are—rich . . .”</p> - -<p>Eve laughed. She got up and kissed Miss Clarkson. She regretted that -she was compelled to strike a jarring note, but it had to be done.</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully sorry, Clarkie dear,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’ve -misled you. I’m just as broke as I ever was. In fact, when Phyllis -told me you were running an Employment Agency, I made a note to come -and see you and ask if you had some attractive billet to dispose of. -Governess to a thoroughly angelic child would do. Or isn’t there some -nice cosy author or something who wants his letters answered and his -press-clippings pasted in an album?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear!” Miss Clarkson was deeply concerned. “I did hope . . . -That hat . . . !”</p> - -<p>“The hat’s the whole trouble. Of course I had no business even -to think of it, but I saw it in the shop-window and coveted it for -days, and finally fell. And then, you see, I had to live up to it—buy -shoes and a dress to match. I tell you it was a perfect orgy, and I’m -thoroughly ashamed of myself now. Too late, as usual.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear! You always were such a wild, impetuous<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[p. 51]</span> child, even at school. I -remember how often I used to speak to you about it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, when it was all over and I was sane again, I found I had only -a few pounds left, not nearly enough to see me through till the relief -expedition arrived. So I thought it over and decided to invest my -little all.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you chose something safe?”</p> - -<p>“It ought to have been. The <i>Sporting Express</i> called it ‘To-day’s -Safety Bet.’ It was Bounding Willie for the two-thirty race at Sandown -last Wednesday.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear!”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I said when poor old Willie came in sixth. But -it’s no good worrying, is it? What it means is that I simply must -find something to do that will carry me through till I get my next -quarter’s allowance. And that won’t be till September. . . . But don’t -let’s talk business here. I’ll come round to your office, Clarkie, -to-morrow. . . . Where’s Cynthia? Didn’t you bring her?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I thought you were going to pick Cynthia up on your way, -Clarkie,” said Phyllis.</p> - -<p>If Eve’s information as to her financial affairs had caused Miss -Clarkson to mourn, the mention of Cynthia plunged her into the very -depths of woe. Her mouth quivered and a tear stole down her cheek. Eve -and Phyllis exchanged bewildered glances.</p> - -<p>“I say,” said Eve after a moment’s pause and a silence broken only -by a smothered sob from their late instructress, “we aren’t being very -cheerful, are we, considering that this is supposed to be a joyous -reunion? Is anything wrong with Cynthia?”</p> - -<p>So poignant was Miss Clarkson’s anguish that Phyllis, in a flutter -of alarm, rose and left the room swiftly in search of the only remedy -that suggested itself to her—her smelling-salts.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[p. 52]</span>“Poor dear -Cynthia!” moaned Miss Clarkson.</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter with her?” asked Eve. She was not callous to -Miss Clarkson’s grief, but she could not help the tiniest of smiles. In -a flash she had been transported to her school-days, when the other’s -habit of extracting the utmost tragedy out of the slimmest material had -been a source of ever-fresh amusement to her. Not for an instant did -she expect to hear any worse news of her old friend than that she was -in bed with a cold or had twisted her ankle.</p> - -<p>“She’s married, you know,” said Miss Clarkson.</p> - -<p>“Well, I see no harm in that, Clarkie. If a few more Safety Bets go -wrong, I shall probably have to rush out and marry someone myself. Some -nice, rich, indulgent man who will spoil me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Eve, my dear,” pleaded Miss Clarkson, bleating with alarm, -“do please be careful whom you marry. I never hear of one of my girls -marrying without feeling that the worst may happen and that, all -unknowing, she may be stepping over a grim precipice!”</p> - -<p>“You don’t <i>tell</i> them that, do you? Because I should think it would -rather cast a damper on the wedding festivities. Has Cynthia gone -stepping over grim precipices? I was just saying to Phyllis that I -envied her, marrying a celebrity like Ralston McTodd.”</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson gulped.</p> - -<p>“The man must be a <i>fiend</i>!” she said brokenly. “I have just left -poor dear Cynthia in floods of tears at the Cadogan Hotel—she has a -very nice quiet room on the fourth floor, though the carpet does not -harmonise with the wall-paper. . . . She was broken-hearted, poor -child. I did what I could to console her, but it was useless. She -always was so highly strung. I must be getting back to her very soon. -I only came on here<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[p. 53]</span> -because I did not want to disappoint you two dear girls . . .”</p> - -<p>“Why?” said Eve with quiet intensity. She knew from experience that -Miss Clarkson, unless firmly checked, would pirouette round and round -the point for minutes without ever touching it.</p> - -<p>“Why?” echoed Miss Clarkson, blinking as if the word was something -solid that had struck her unexpectedly.</p> - -<p>“Why was Cynthia in floods of tears?”</p> - -<p>“But I’m telling you, my dear. That man has left her!”</p> - -<p>“Left her!”</p> - -<p>“They had a quarrel, and he walked straight out of the hotel. That -was the day before yesterday, and he has not been back since. This -afternoon the curtest note came from him to say that he never intended -to return. He had secretly and in a most underhand way arranged for his -luggage to be removed from the hotel to a District Messenger office, -and from there he has taken it no one knows where. He has completely -disappeared.”</p> - -<p>Eve stared. She had not been prepared for news of this momentous -order.</p> - -<p>“But what did they quarrel about?”</p> - -<p>“Cynthia, poor child, was too overwrought to tell me!”</p> - -<p>Eve clenched her teeth.</p> - -<p>“The beast! . . . Poor old Cynthia. . . . Shall I come round with -you?”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear, better let me look after her alone. I will tell her to -write and let you know when she can see you. I must be going, Phyllis -dear,” she said, as her hostess re-entered, bearing a small bottle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[p. 54]</span>“But you’ve only -just come!” said Phyllis, surprised.</p> - -<p>“Poor old Cynthia’s husband has left her,” explained Eve briefly. -“And Clarkie’s going back to look after her. She’s in a pretty bad way, -it seems.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed. And I really must be going at once,” said Miss -Clarkson.</p> - -<p>Eve waited in the drawing-room till the front door banged and -Phyllis came back to her. Phyllis was more wistful than ever. She -had been looking forward to this tea-party, and it had not been the -happy occasion she had anticipated. The two girls sat in silence for a -moment.</p> - -<p>“What brutes some men are!” said Eve at length.</p> - -<p>“Mike,” said Phyllis dreamily, “is an angel.”</p> - -<p>Eve welcomed the unspoken invitation to return to a more agreeable -topic. She felt very deeply for the stricken Cynthia, but she hated -aimless talk, and nothing could have been more aimless than for her -and Phyllis to sit there exchanging lamentations concerning a tragedy -of which neither knew more than the bare outlines. Phyllis had her -tragedy, too, and it was one where Eve saw the possibility of doing -something practical and helpful. She was a girl of action, and was glad -to be able to attack a living issue.</p> - -<p>“Yes, let’s go on talking about you and Mike,” she said. “At present -I can’t understand the position at all. When Clarkie came in, you were -just telling me about your stepfather and why he wouldn’t help you. And -I thought you made out a very poor case for him. Tell me some more. -I’ve forgotten his name, by the way.”</p> - -<p>“Keeble.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[p. 55]</span>“Oh? Well, I think -you ought to write and tell him how hard-up you are. He may be under -the impression that you are still living in luxury and don’t need any -help. After all, he can’t know unless you tell him. And I should ask -him straight out to come to the rescue. It isn’t as if it was your -Mike’s fault that you’re broke. He married you on the strength of a -very good position which looked like a permanency, and lost it through -no fault of his own. I should write to him, Phyl. Pitch it strong.”</p> - -<p>“I have. I wrote to-day. Mike’s just been offered a wonderful -opportunity. A sort of farm place in Lincolnshire. You know. Cows and -things. Just what he would like and just what he would do awfully well. -And we only need three thousand pounds to get it. . . . But I’m afraid -nothing will come of it.”</p> - -<p>“Because of Aunt Constance, you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You must <i>make</i> something come of it.” Eve’s chin went up. She -looked like a Goddess of Determination. “If I were you, I’d haunt their -doorstep till they had to give you the money to get rid of you. The -idea of anybody doing that absurd driving-into-the-snow business in -these days! Why <i>shouldn’t</i> you marry the man you were in love with? If -I were you, I’d go and chain myself to their railings and howl like a -dog till they rushed out with cheque-books just to get some peace. Do -they live in London?”</p> - -<p>“They are down in Shropshire at present at a place called Blandings -Castle.”</p> - -<p>Eve started.</p> - -<p>“Blandings Castle? Good gracious!”</p> - -<p>“Aunt Constance is Lord Emsworth’s sister.”</p> - -<p>“But this is the most extraordinary thing. I’m going to Blandings -myself in a few days.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[p. 56]</span>“No!”</p> - -<p>“They’ve engaged me to catalogue the castle library.”</p> - -<p>“But, Eve, were you only joking when you asked Clarkie to find you -something to do? She took you quite seriously.”</p> - -<p>“No, I wasn’t joking. There’s a drawback to my going to Blandings. I -suppose you know the place pretty well?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve often stayed there. It’s beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“Then you know Lord Emsworth’s second son, Freddie Threepwood?”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s the drawback. He wants to marry me, and I certainly -don’t want to marry him. And what I’ve been wondering is whether a -nice easy job like that, which would tide me over beautifully till -September, is attractive enough to make up for the nuisance of having -to be always squelching poor Freddie. I ought to have thought of -it right at the beginning, of course, when he wrote and told me to -apply for the position, but I was so delighted at the idea of regular -work that it didn’t occur to me. Then I began to wonder. He’s such a -persevering young man. He proposes early and often.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you meet Freddie?”</p> - -<p>“At a theatre party. About two months ago. He was living in London -then, but he suddenly disappeared and I had a heart-broken letter -from him, saying that he had been running up debts and things and his -father had snatched him away to live at Blandings, which apparently is -Freddie’s idea of the Inferno. The world seems full of hard-hearted -relatives.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord Emsworth isn’t really hard-hearted.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_57">[p. 57]</span> You will love him. He’s so dreamy and -absent-minded. He potters about the garden all the time. I don’t think -you’ll like Aunt Constance much. But I suppose you won’t see a great -deal of her.”</p> - -<p>“Whom <i>shall</i> I see much of—except Freddie, of course?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Baxter, Lord Emsworth’s secretary, I expect. I don’t like him -at all. He’s a sort of spectacled cave-man.”</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t sound attractive. But you say the place is nice?”</p> - -<p>“It’s gorgeous. I should go, if I were you, Eve.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I had intended not to. But now you’ve told me about Mr. -Keeble and Aunt Constance, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have to look in -at Clarkie’s office to-morrow and tell her I’m fixed up and shan’t need -her help. I’m going to take your sad case in hand, darling. I shall go -to Blandings, and I will dog your stepfather’s footsteps. . . . Well, I -must be going. Come and see me to the front door, or I’ll be losing my -way in the miles of stately corridors. . . . I suppose I mayn’t smash -that china dog before I go? Oh, well, I just thought I’d ask.”</p> - -<p>Out in the hall the little maid-of-all-work bobbed up and -intercepted them.</p> - -<p>“I forgot to tell you, mum, a gentleman called. I told him you was -out.”</p> - -<p>“Quite right, Jane.”</p> - -<p>“Said his name was Smith, ’m.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis gave a cry of dismay.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! What a shame! I particularly wanted you to meet him, Eve. I -wish I’d known.”</p> - -<p>“Smith?” said Eve. “The name seems familiar. Why were you so anxious -for me to meet him?”</p> - -<p>“He’s Mike’s best friend. Mike worships him.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_58">[p. 58]</span> He’s the son of the Mr. Smith I was telling -you about—the one Mike was at school and Cambridge with. He’s a perfect -darling, Eve, and you would love him. He’s just your sort. I do wish -we had known. And now you’re going to Blandings for goodness knows how -long, and you won’t be able to see him.”</p> - -<p>“What a pity,” said Eve, politely uninterested.</p> - -<p>“I’m so sorry for him.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“He’s in the fish business.”</p> - -<p>“Ugh!”</p> - -<p>“Well, he hates it, poor dear. But he was left stranded like all -the rest of us after the crash, and he was put into the business by an -uncle who is a sort of fish magnate.”</p> - -<p>“Well, why does he stay there, if he dislikes it so much?” said Eve -with indignation. The helpless type of man was her pet aversion. “I -hate a man who’s got no enterprise.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think you could call him unenterprising. He never struck -me like that. . . . You simply must meet him when you come back to -London.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Eve indifferently. “Just as you like. I might put -business in his way. I’m very fond of fish.”</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_3"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[p. 59]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III</h2> - <p class="subh2">EVE BORROWS AN UMBRELLA</p> -</div> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">W</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">What</span> strikes the visitor to -London most forcibly, as he enters the heart of that city’s fashionable -shopping district, is the almost entire absence of ostentation in the -shop-windows, the studied avoidance of garish display. About the front -of the premises of Messrs. Thorpe & Briscoe, for instance, who sell -coal in Dover Street, there is as a rule nothing whatever to attract -fascinated attention. You might give the place a glance as you passed, -but you would certainly not pause and stand staring at it as at the -Sistine Chapel or the Taj Mahal. Yet at ten-thirty on the morning after -Eve Halliday had taken tea with her friend Phyllis Jackson in West -Kensington, Psmith, lounging gracefully in the smoking-room window of -the Drones Club, which is immediately opposite the Thorpe & Briscoe -establishment, had been gazing at it fixedly for a full five minutes. -One would have said that the spectacle enthralled him. He seemed unable -to take his eyes off it.</p> - -<p>There is always a reason for the most apparently inexplicable -happenings. It is the practice of Thorpe (or Briscoe) during the months -of summer to run out an awning over the shop. A quiet, genteel awning, -of course, nothing to offend the eye—but an awning which offers a quite -adequate protection against those sudden showers which are such a -delightfully piquant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[p. 60]</span> -feature of the English summer: one of which had just begun to sprinkle -the West End of London with a good deal of heartiness and vigour. And -under this awning, peering plaintively out at the rain, Eve Halliday, -on her way to the Ada Clarkson Employment Bureau, had taken refuge. It -was she who had so enchained Psmith’s interest. It was his considered -opinion that she improved the Thorpe & Briscoe frontage by about -ninety-five per cent.</p> - -<p>Pleased and gratified as Psmith was to have something nice to look -at out of the smoking-room window, he was also somewhat puzzled. -This girl seemed to him to radiate an atmosphere of wealth. Starting -at farthest south and proceeding northward, she began in a gleam of -patent-leather shoes. Fawn stockings, obviously expensive, led up to -a black crêpe frock. And then, just as the eye was beginning to feel -that there could be nothing more, it was stunned by a supreme hat of -soft, dull satin with a black bird of Paradise feather falling down -over the left shoulder. Even to the masculine eye, which is notoriously -to seek in these matters, a whale of a hat. And yet this sumptuously -upholstered young woman had been marooned by a shower of rain beneath -the awning of Messrs. Thorpe & Briscoe. Why, Psmith asked himself, -was this? Even, he argued, if Charles the chauffeur had been given the -day off or was driving her father the millionaire to the City to attend -to his vast interests, she could surely afford a cab-fare? We, who are -familiar with the state of Eve’s finances, can understand her inability -to take cabs, but Psmith was frankly perplexed.</p> - -<p>Being, however, both ready-witted and chivalrous, he perceived -that this was no time for idle speculation. His not to reason why; -his obvious duty was to take<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[p. -61]</span> steps to assist Beauty in distress. He left the window of -the smoking-room, and, having made his way with a smooth dignity to the -club’s cloak-room, proceeded to submit a row of umbrellas to a close -inspection. He was not easy to satisfy. Two which he went so far as to -pull out of the rack he returned with a shake of the head. Quite good -umbrellas, but not fit for this special service. At length, however, he -found a beauty, and a gentle smile flickered across his solemn face. He -put up his monocle and gazed searchingly at this umbrella. It seemed to -answer every test. He was well pleased with it.</p> - -<p>“Whose,” he inquired of the attendant, “is this?”</p> - -<p>“Belongs to the Honourable Mr. Walderwick, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Psmith tolerantly.</p> - -<p>He tucked the umbrella under his arm and went out.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Eve Halliday, lightening up the sombre austerity of -Messrs. Thorpe & Briscoe’s shop-front, continued to think hard -thoughts of the English climate and to inspect the sky in the hope of -detecting a spot of blue. She was engaged in this cheerless occupation -when at her side a voice spoke.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me!”</p> - -<p>A hatless young man was standing beside her, holding an umbrella. -He was a striking-looking young man, very tall, very thin, and very -well dressed. In his right eye there was a monocle, and through this he -looked down at her with a grave friendliness. He said nothing further, -but, taking her fingers, clasped them round the handle of the umbrella, -which he had obligingly opened, and then with a courteous bow proceeded -to dash with long strides across the road, disappearing through the -doorway of a gloomy building<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[p. -62]</span> which, from the number of men who had gone in and out during -her vigil, she had set down as a club of some sort.</p> - -<p>A good many surprising things had happened to Eve since first -she had come to live in London, but nothing quite so surprising as -this. For several minutes she stood where she was without moving, -staring round-eyed at the building opposite. The episode was, however, -apparently ended. The young man did not reappear. He did not even show -himself at the window. The club had swallowed him up. And eventually -Eve, deciding that this was not the sort of day on which to refuse -umbrellas even if they dropped inexplicably from heaven, stepped out -from under the awning, laughing helplessly, and started to resume her -interrupted journey to Miss Clarkson’s.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The offices of the Ada Clarkson International Employment Bureau -(“Promptitude—Courtesy—Intelligence”) are at the top of Shaftesbury -Avenue, a little way past the Palace Theatre. Eve, closing the -umbrella, which had prevented even a spot of rain falling on her hat, -climbed the short stair leading to the door and tapped on the window -marked “Enquiries.”</p> - -<p>“Can I see Miss Clarkson?”</p> - -<p>“What name, please?” responded Enquiries promptly and with -intelligent courtesy.</p> - -<p>“Miss Halliday.”</p> - -<p>Brief interlude, involving business with speaking-tube.</p> - -<p>“Will you go into the private office, please,” said Enquiries -a moment later, in a voice which now added respect to the other -advertised qualities, for she had had time to observe and digest the -hat.</p> - -<p>Eve passed in through the general waiting-room with<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[p. 63]</span> its magazine-covered table, -and tapped at the door beyond marked “Private.”</p> - -<p>“Eve, dear!” exclaimed Miss Clarkson the moment she had entered, “I -don’t know how to tell you, but I have been looking through my books -and I have nothing, simply nothing. There is not a single place that -you could possibly take. What <i>is</i> to be done?”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Clarkie.”</p> - -<p>“But . . .”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t come to talk business. I came to ask after Cynthia. How is -she?”</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson sighed.</p> - -<p>“Poor child, she is still in a dreadful state, and no wonder. No -news at all from her husband. He has simply deserted her.”</p> - -<p>“Poor darling! Can’t I see her?”</p> - -<p>“Not at present. I have persuaded her to go down to Brighton for -a day or two. I think the sea air will pick her up. So much better -than mooning about in a London hotel. She is leaving on the eleven -o’clock train. I gave her your love, and she was most grateful that you -should have remembered your old friendship and be sorry for her in her -affliction.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can write to her. Where is she staying?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know her Brighton address, but no doubt the Cadogan Hotel -would forward letters. I think she would be glad to hear from you, -dear.”</p> - -<p>Eve looked sadly at the framed testimonials which decorated the -wall. She was not often melancholy, but it was such a beast of a day -and all her friends seemed to be having such a bad time.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Clarkie,” she said, “what a lot of trouble there is in the -world!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes!” sighed Miss Clarkson, a specialist on this subject.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[p. 64]</span>“All the horses you -back finish sixth and all the girls you like best come croppers. Poor -little Phyllis! weren’t you sorry for her?”</p> - -<p>“But her husband, surely, is most devoted?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but she’s frightfully hard up, and you remember how opulent -she used to be at school. Of course, it must sound funny hearing -me pitying people for having no money. But somehow other people’s -hard-upness always seems so much worse than mine. Especially poor old -Phyl’s, because she really isn’t fit to stand it. I’ve been used to -being absolutely broke all my life. Poor dear father always seemed to -be writing an article against time, with creditors scratching earnestly -at the door.” Eve laughed, but her eyes were misty. “He was a brick, -wasn’t he? I mean, sending me to a first-class school like Wayland -House when he often hadn’t enough money to buy tobacco, poor angel. I -expect he wasn’t always up to time with fees, was he?”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, of course I was only an assistant mistress at -Wayland House and had nothing to do with the financial side, but I did -hear sometimes. . .”</p> - -<p>“Poor darling father! Do you know, one of my earliest -recollections—I couldn’t have been more than ten—is of a ring at the -front-door bell and father diving like a seal under the sofa and poking -his head out and imploring me in a hoarse voice to hold the fort. -I went to the door and found an indignant man with a blue paper. I -prattled so prettily and innocently that he not only went away quite -contentedly but actually patted me on the head and gave me a penny. -And when the door had shut father crawled out from under the sofa and -gave me twopence, making threepence in all—a good morning’s work. -I bought father a diamond ring with it at a shop down the street, -I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[p. 65]</span> remember. At least -I thought it was a diamond. They may have swindled me, for I was very -young.”</p> - -<p>“You have had a hard life, dear.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but hasn’t it been a lark! I’ve loved every minute of it. -Besides, you can’t call me really one of the submerged tenth. Uncle -Thomas left me a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and mercifully I’m -not allowed to touch the capital. If only there were no hats or safety -bets in the world, I should be smugly opulent. . . . But I mustn’t -keep you any longer, Clarkie dear. I expect the waiting-room is full -of dukes who want cooks and cooks who want dukes, all fidgeting -and wondering how much longer you’re going to keep them. Good-bye, -darling.”</p> - -<p>And, having kissed Miss Clarkson fondly and straightened her hat, -which the other’s motherly embrace had disarranged, Eve left the -room.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_4"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[p. 66]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV</h2> - <p class="subh2">PAINFUL SCENE AT THE DRONES CLUB</p> -</div> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">M</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">Meanwhile,</span> at the Drones -Club, a rather painful scene had been taking place. Psmith, regaining -the shelter of the building, had made his way to the wash-room, where, -having studied his features with interest for a moment in the mirror, -he smoothed his hair, which the rain had somewhat disordered, and -brushed his clothes with extreme care. He then went to the cloak-room -for his hat. The attendant regarded him as he entered with the air of -one whose mind is not wholly at rest.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Walderwick was in here a moment ago, sir,” said the -attendant.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Psmith, mildly interested. “An energetic, bustling soul, -Comrade Walderwick. Always somewhere. Now here, now there.”</p> - -<p>“Asking about his umbrella, he was,” pursued the attendant with a -touch of coldness.</p> - -<p>“Indeed? Asking about his umbrella, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Made a great fuss about it, sir, he did.”</p> - -<p>“And rightly,” said Psmith with approval. “The good man loves his -umbrella.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I had to tell him that you had took it, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I would not have it otherwise,” assented Psmith heartily. “I -like this spirit of candour. There must be no reservations, no -subterfuges between you and Comrade Walderwick. Let all be open and -above-board.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[p. 67]</span>“He seemed very put -out, sir. He went off to find you.”</p> - -<p>“I am always glad of a chat with Comrade Walderwick,” said Psmith. -“Always.”</p> - -<p>He left the cloak-room and made for the hall, where he desired the -porter to procure him a cab. This having drawn up in front of the club, -he descended the steps and was about to enter it, when there was a -hoarse cry in his rear, and through the front door there came bounding -a pinkly indignant youth, who called loudly:</p> - -<p>“Here! Hi! Smith! Dash it!”</p> - -<p>Psmith climbed into the cab and gazed benevolently out at the -new-comer.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Comrade Walderwick!” he said. “What have we on our mind?”</p> - -<p>“Where’s my umbrella?” demanded the pink one. “The cloak-room waiter -says you took my umbrella. I mean, a joke’s a joke, but that was a -dashed good umbrella.”</p> - -<p>“It was, indeed,” Psmith agreed cordially. “It may be of interest to -you to know that I selected it as the only possible one from among a -number of competitors. I fear this club is becoming very mixed, Comrade -Walderwick. You with your pure mind would hardly believe the rottenness -of some of the umbrellas I inspected in the cloak-room.”</p> - -<p>“Where is it?”</p> - -<p>“The cloak-room? You turn to the left as you go in at the main -entrance and . . .”</p> - -<p>“My umbrella, dash it! Where’s my umbrella?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, there,” said Psmith, and there was a touch of manly regret in -his voice, “you have me. I gave it to a young lady in the street. Where -she is at the present moment I could not say.”</p> - -<p>The pink youth tottered slightly.</p> - -<p>“You gave my umbrella to a girl?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[p. 68]</span>“A very loose way -of describing her. You would not speak of her in that light fashion if -you had seen her. Comrade Walderwick, she was wonderful! I am a plain, -blunt, rugged man, above the softer emotions as a general thing, but -I frankly confess that she stirred a chord in me which is not often -stirred. She thrilled my battered old heart, Comrade Walderwick. There -is no other word. Thrilled it!”</p> - -<p>“But, dash it! . . .”</p> - -<p>Psmith reached out a long arm and laid his hand paternally on the -other’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Be brave, Comrade Walderwick!” he said. “Face this thing like a -man! I am sorry to have been the means of depriving you of an excellent -umbrella, but as you will readily understand I had no alternative. It -was raining. She was over there, crouched despairingly beneath the -awning of that shop. She wanted to be elsewhere, but the moisture -lay in wait to damage her hat. What could I do? What could any man -worthy of the name do but go down to the cloak-room and pinch the -best umbrella in sight and take it to her? Yours was easily the best. -There was absolutely no comparison. I gave it to her, and she has -gone off with it, happy once more. This explanation,” said Psmith, -“will, I am sure, sensibly diminish your natural chagrin. You have -lost your umbrella, Comrade Walderwick, but in what a cause! In what -a cause, Comrade Walderwick! You are now entitled to rank with Sir -Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh. The latter is perhaps the closer -historical parallel. He spread his cloak to keep a queen from wetting -her feet. You—by proxy—yielded up your umbrella to save a girl’s hat. -Posterity will be proud of you, Comrade Walderwick. I shall be vastly -surprised if you do not go down in legend and song. Children in ages -to come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[p. 69]</span> will cluster -about their grandfather’s knees, saying, ‘Tell us how the great -Walderwick lost his umbrella, grandpapa!’ And he will tell them, and -they will rise from the recital better, deeper, broader children. . . . -But now, as I see that the driver has started his meter, I fear I must -conclude this little chat—which I, for one, have heartily enjoyed. -Drive on,” he said, leaning out of the window. “I want to go to Ada -Clarkson’s International Employment Bureau in Shaftesbury Avenue.”</p> - -<p>The cab moved off. The Hon. Hugo Walderwick, after one passionate -glance in its wake, realised that he was getting wet and went back into -the club.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Arriving at the address named, Psmith paid his cab and, having -mounted the stairs, delicately knuckled the ground-glass window of -Enquiries.</p> - -<p>“My dear Miss Clarkson,” he began in an affable voice, the instant -the window had shot up, “if you can spare me a few moments of your -valuable time . . .”</p> - -<p>“Miss Clarkson’s engaged.”</p> - -<p>Psmith scrutinised her gravely through his monocle.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t <i>you</i> Miss Clarkson?”</p> - -<p>Enquiries said she was not.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Psmith, “there has been a misunderstanding, for which,” -he added cordially, “I am to blame. Perhaps I could see her anon? You -will find me in the waiting-room when required.”</p> - -<p>He went into the waiting-room, and, having picked up a magazine from -the table, settled down to read a story in <i>The Girl’s Pet</i>—the January -number of the year 1919, for Employment Agencies, like dentists, prefer -their literature of a matured vintage. He was absorbed in this when Eve -came out of the private office.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_5"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[p. 70]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V</h2> - <p class="subh2">PSMITH APPLIES FOR EMPLOYMENT</p> -</div> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">P</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">Psmith</span> rose courteously as she -entered.</p> - -<p>“My dear Miss Clarkson,” he said, “if you can spare me a moment of -your valuable time . . .”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” said Eve. “How extraordinary!”</p> - -<p>“A singular coincidence,” agreed Psmith.</p> - -<p>“You never gave me time to thank you for the umbrella,” said Eve -reproachfully. “You must have thought me awfully rude. But you took my -breath away.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Miss Clarkson, please do not . . .”</p> - -<p>“Why do you keep calling me that?”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t <i>you</i> Miss Clarkson either?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I’m not.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Psmith, “I must start my quest all over again. These -constant checks are trying to an ardent spirit. Perhaps you are a young -bride come to engage her first cook?”</p> - -<p>“No. I’m not married.”</p> - -<p>“Good!”</p> - -<p>Eve found his relieved thankfulness a little embarrassing. In -the momentary pause which followed his remark, Enquiries entered -alertly.</p> - -<p>“Miss Clarkson will see you now, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Leave us,” said Psmith with a wave of his hand. “We would be -alone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[p. 71]</span>Enquiries stared; -then, awed by his manner and general appearance of magnificence, -withdrew.</p> - -<p>“I suppose really,” said Eve, toying with the umbrella, “I ought to -give this back to you.” She glanced at the dripping window. “But it -<i>is</i> raining rather hard, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Like the dickens,” assented Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Then would you mind very much if I kept it till this evening?”</p> - -<p>“Please do.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks ever so much. I will send it back to you to-night if you -will give me the name and address.”</p> - -<p>Psmith waved his hand deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>“No, no. If it is of any use to you, I hope that you will look on it -as a present.”</p> - -<p>“A present!”</p> - -<p>“A gift,” explained Psmith.</p> - -<p>“But I really can’t go about accepting expensive umbrellas from -people. Where shall I send it?”</p> - -<p>“If you insist, you may send it to the Hon. Hugo Walderwick, Drones -Club, Dover Street. But it really isn’t necessary.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t forget. And thank you very much, Mr. Walderwick.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you call me that?”</p> - -<p>“Well, you said . . .”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I see. A slight confusion of ideas. No, I am not Mr. -Walderwick. And between ourselves I should hate to be. His is a very C3 -intelligence. Comrade Walderwick is merely the man to whom the umbrella -belongs.”</p> - -<p>Eve’s eyes opened wide.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say you gave me somebody else’s umbrella?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[p. 72]</span>“I had -unfortunately omitted to bring my own out with me this morning.”</p> - -<p>“I never heard of such a thing!”</p> - -<p>“Merely practical Socialism. Other people are content to talk about -the Redistribution of Property. I go out and do it.”</p> - -<p>“But won’t he be awfully angry when he finds out it has gone?”</p> - -<p>“He <i>has</i> found out. And it was pretty to see his delight. I -explained the circumstances, and he was charmed to have been of service -to you.”</p> - -<p>The door opened again, and this time it was Miss Clarkson in person -who entered. She had found Enquiries’ statement over the speaking-tube -rambling and unsatisfactory, and had come to investigate for herself -the reason why the machinery of the office was being held up.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I must go,” said Eve, as she saw her. “I’m interrupting your -business.”</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad you’re still here, dear,” said Miss Clarkson. “I have -just been looking over my files, and I see that there <i>is</i> one vacancy. -For a nurse,” said Miss Clarkson with a touch of the apologetic in her -voice.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, that’s all right,” said Eve. “I don’t really need anything. -But thanks ever so much for bothering.”</p> - -<p>She smiled affectionately upon the proprietress, bestowed another -smile upon Psmith as he opened the door for her, and went out. Psmith -turned away from the door with a thoughtful look upon his face.</p> - -<p>“Is that young lady a nurse?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Do you want a nurse?” inquired Miss Clarkson, at once the woman of -business.</p> - -<p>“I want that nurse,” said Psmith with conviction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[p. 73]</span>“She is a -delightful girl,” said Miss Clarkson with enthusiasm. “There is no one -in whom I would feel more confidence in recommending to a position. She -is a Miss Halliday, the daughter of a very clever but erratic writer, -who died some years ago. I can speak with particular knowledge of Miss -Halliday, for I was for many years an assistant mistress at Wayland -House, where she was at school. She is a charming, warm-hearted, -impulsive girl. . . . But you will hardly want to hear all this.”</p> - -<p>“On the contrary,” said Psmith, “I could listen for hours. You have -stumbled upon my favourite subject.”</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson eyed him a little doubtfully, and decided that it -would be best to reintroduce the business theme.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, when you say you are looking for a nurse, you mean you -need a hospital nurse?”</p> - -<p>“My friends have sometimes suggested it.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Halliday’s greatest experience has, of course, been as a -governess.”</p> - -<p>“A governess is just as good,” said Psmith agreeably.</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson began to be conscious of a sensation of being out of -her depth.</p> - -<p>“How old are your children, sir?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I fear,” said Psmith, “you are peeping into Volume Two. This -romance has only just started.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” said Miss Clarkson, now completely fogged, “I do not -quite understand. What exactly are you looking for?”</p> - -<p>Psmith flicked a speck of fluff from his coat-sleeve.</p> - -<p>“A job,” he said.</p> - -<p>“A job!” echoed Miss Clarkson, her voice breaking in an amazed -squeak.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[p. 74]</span>Psmith raised his -eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“You seem surprised. Isn’t this a job emporium?”</p> - -<p>“This <i>is</i> an Employment Bureau,” admitted Miss Clarkson.</p> - -<p>“I knew it, I knew it,” said Psmith. “Something seemed to tell me. -Possibly it was the legend ‘Employment Bureau’ over the door. And -those framed testimonials would convince the most sceptical. Yes, Miss -Clarkson, I want a job, and I feel somehow that you are the woman -to find it for me. I have inserted an advertisement in the papers, -expressing my readiness to undertake any form of employment, but I have -since begun to wonder if after all this will lead to wealth and fame. -At any rate, it is wise to attack the great world from another angle as -well, so I come to you.”</p> - -<p>“But you must excuse me if I remark that this application of yours -strikes me as most extraordinary.”</p> - -<p>“Why? I am young, active, and extremely broke.”</p> - -<p>“But your—er—your clothes . . .”</p> - -<p>Psmith squinted, not without complacency, down a faultlessly fitting -waistcoat, and flicked another speck of dust off his sleeve.</p> - -<p>“You consider me well dressed?” he said. “You find me natty? Well, -well, perhaps you are right, perhaps you are right. But consider, Miss -Clarkson. If one expects to find employment in these days of strenuous -competition, one must be neatly and decently clad. Employers look -askance at a baggy trouser-leg. A zippy waistcoat is more to them than -an honest heart. This beautiful crease was obtained with the aid of -the mattress upon which I tossed feverishly last night in my attic -room.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t take you seriously.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t say that, please.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[p. 75]</span>“You really want me -to find you work?”</p> - -<p>“I prefer the term ‘employment.’”</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson produced a notebook.</p> - -<p>“If you are really not making this application just as a -joke . . .”</p> - -<p>“I assure you, no. My entire capital consists, in specie, of about -ten pounds.”</p> - -<p>“Then perhaps you will tell me your name.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Things are beginning to move. The name is Psmith. P-smith. The -p is silent.”</p> - -<p>“Psmith?”</p> - -<p>“Psmith.”</p> - -<p>Miss Clarkson brooded over this for a moment in almost pained -silence, then recovered her slipping grip of affairs.</p> - -<p>“I think,” she said, “you had better give me a few particulars about -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing I should like better,” responded Psmith warmly. “I -am always ready—I may say eager—to tell people the story of my life, -but in this rushing age I get little encouragement. Let us start at -the beginning. My infancy. When I was but a babe, my eldest sister was -bribed with sixpence an hour by my nurse to keep an eye on me and see -that I did not raise Cain. At the end of the first day she struck for a -shilling, and got it. We now pass to my boyhood. At an early age I was -sent to Eton, everybody predicting a bright career for me. Those were -happy days, Miss Clarkson. A merry, laughing lad with curly hair and a -sunny smile, it is not too much to say that I was the pet of the place. -The old cloisters. . . . But I am boring you. I can see it in your -eye.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” protested Miss Clarkson. “But what I meant was . . . I -thought you might have had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[p. -76]</span> some experience in some particular line of . . . In fact, -what sort of work . . . ?”</p> - -<p>“Employment.”</p> - -<p>“What sort of employment do you require?”</p> - -<p>“Broadly speaking,” said Psmith, “any reasonably salaried position -that has nothing to do with fish.”</p> - -<p>“Fish!” quavered Miss Clarkson, slipping again. “Why fish?”</p> - -<p>“Because, Miss Clarkson, the fish trade was until this morning my -walk in life, and my soul has sickened of it.”</p> - -<p>“You are in the <i>fish</i> trade?” squeaked Miss Clarkson, with an -amazed glance at the knife-like crease in his trousers.</p> - -<p>“These are not my working clothes,” said Psmith, following and -interpreting her glance. “Yes, owing to a financial upheaval in my -branch of the family, I was until this morning at the beck and call -of an uncle who unfortunately happens to be a Mackerel Monarch or a -Sardine Sultan, or whatever these merchant princes are called who -rule the fish market. He insisted on my going into the business to -learn it from the bottom up, thinking, no doubt, that I would follow -in his footsteps and eventually work my way to the position of a -Whitebait Wizard. Alas! he was too sanguine. It was not to be,” said -Psmith solemnly, fixing an owl-like gaze on Miss Clarkson through his -eyeglass.</p> - -<p>“No?” said Miss Clarkson.</p> - -<p>“No. Last night I was obliged to inform him that the fish business -was all right, but it wouldn’t do, and that I proposed to sever my -connection with the firm for ever. I may say at once that there ensued -something in the nature of a family earthquake. Hard words,” sighed -Psmith. “Black looks. Unseemly wrangle. And the upshot of it all -was that my uncle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[p. 77]</span> -washed his hands of me and drove me forth into the great world. Hence -my anxiety to find employment. My uncle has definitely withdrawn his -countenance from me, Miss Clarkson.”</p> - -<p>“Dear, dear!” murmured the proprietress sympathetically.</p> - -<p>“Yes. He is a hard man, and he judges his fellows solely by their -devotion to fish. I never in my life met a man so wrapped up in a -subject. For years he has been practically a monomaniac on the subject -of fish. So much so that he actually looks like one. It is as if he -had taken one of those auto-suggestion courses and had kept saying -to himself, ‘Every day, in every way, I grow more and more like a -fish.’ His closest friends can hardly tell now whether he more nearly -resembles a halibut or a cod. . . . But I am boring you again with this -family gossip?”</p> - -<p>He eyed Miss Clarkson with such a sudden and penetrating glance that -she started nervously.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“You relieve my apprehensions. I am only too well aware that, when -fairly launched on the topic of fish, I am more than apt to weary my -audience. I cannot understand this enthusiasm for fish. My uncle used -to talk about an unusually large catch of pilchards in Cornwall in -much the same awed way as a right-minded curate would talk about the -spiritual excellence of his bishop. To me, Miss Clarkson, from the very -start, the fish business was what I can only describe as a wash-out. It -nauseated my finer feelings. It got right in amongst my fibres. I had -to rise and partake of a simple breakfast at about four in the morning, -after which I would make my way to Billingsgate Market and stand for -some hours knee-deep in dead fish of every description. A jolly life -for a cat,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[p. 78]</span> no doubt, -but a bit too thick for a Shropshire Psmith. Mine, Miss Clarkson, is -a refined and poetic nature. I like to be surrounded by joy and life, -and I know nothing more joyless and deader than a dead fish. Multiply -that dead fish by a million, and you have an environment which only -a Dante could contemplate with equanimity. My uncle used to tell me -that the way to ascertain whether a fish was fresh was to peer into -its eyes. Could I spend the springtime of life staring into the eyes -of dead fish? No!” He rose. “Well, I will not detain you any longer. -Thank you for the unfailing courtesy and attention with which you have -listened to me. You can understand now why my talents are on the market -and why I am compelled to state specifically that no employment can be -considered which has anything to do with fish. I am convinced that you -will shortly have something particularly good to offer me.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know that I can say that, Mr. Psmith.”</p> - -<p>“The p is silent, as in pshrimp,” he reminded her. “Oh, by the -way,” he said, pausing at the door, “there is one other thing before -I go. While I was waiting for you to be disengaged, I chanced on an -instalment of a serial story in <i>The Girl’s Pet</i> for January, 1919. My -search for the remaining issues proved fruitless. The title was ‘Her -Honour At Stake,’ by Jane Emmeline Moss. You don’t happen to know how -it all came out in the end, do you? Did Lord Eustace ever learn that, -when he found Clarice in Sir Jasper’s rooms at midnight, she had only -gone there to recover some compromising letters for a girl friend? You -don’t know? I feared as much. Well, good morning, Miss Clarkson, good -morning. I leave my future in your hands with a light heart.”</p> - -<p>“I will do my best for you, of course.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[p. 79]</span>“And what,” said -Psmith cordially, “could be better than Miss Clarkson’s best?”</p> - -<p>He closed the door gently behind him, and went out. Struck by -a kindly thought, he tapped upon Enquiries’ window, and beamed -benevolently as her bobbed head shot into view.</p> - -<p>“They tell me,” he said, “that Aspidistra is much fancied for the -four o’clock race at Birmingham this afternoon. I give the information -without prejudice, for what it is worth. Good day!”</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_6"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[p. 80]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI</h2> - <p class="subh2">LORD EMSWORTH MEETS A POET</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_6_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">T</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">The</span> rain had stopped when -Psmith stepped out into the street, and the sun was shining again in -that half blustering, half apologetic manner which it affects on its -reappearance after a summer shower. The pavements glistened cheerfully, -and the air had a welcome freshness. Pausing at the corner, he pondered -for a moment as to the best method of passing the hour and twenty -minutes which must elapse before he could reasonably think of lunching. -The fact that the offices of the <i>Morning Globe</i> were within easy -strolling distance decided him to go thither and see if the first post -had brought anything in the shape of answers to his advertisements. -And his energy was rewarded a few minutes later when Box 365 on being -opened yielded up quite a little budget of literary matter. No fewer -than seven letters in all. A nice bag.</p> - -<p>What, however, had appeared at first sight evidence of a pleasing -ebullition of enterprise on the part of the newspaper-reading public -turned out on closer inspection, when he had retired to a corner where -he could concentrate in peace, a hollow delusion. Enterprising in a -sense though the communications were—and they certainly showed the -writers as men of considerable ginger and business push—to Psmith they -came as a disappointment. He had expected better things. These<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[p. 81]</span> letters were not at -all what he had paid good money to receive. They missed the point -altogether. The right spirit, it seemed to him, was entirely absent.</p> - -<p>The first envelope, attractive though it looked from the outside, -being of an expensive brand of stationery and gaily adorned with a -somewhat startling crest merely contained a pleasantly-worded offer -from a Mr. Alistair MacDougall to advance him any sum from ten to fifty -thousand pounds on his note of hand only. The second revealed a similar -proposal from another Scot named Colin MacDonald. While in the third -Mr. Ian Campbell was prepared to go as high as one hundred thousand. -All three philanthropists had but one stipulation to make—they would -have no dealings with minors. Youth, with all its glorious traditions, -did not seem to appeal to them. But they cordially urged Psmith, in the -event of his having celebrated his twenty-first birthday, to come round -to the office and take the stuff away in a sack.</p> - -<p>Keeping his head well in the midst of this shower of riches, Psmith -dropped the three letters with a sigh into the waste-paper basket, -and opened the next in order. This was a bulky envelope, and its -contents consisted of a printed brochure entitled, “This Night Shall -Thy Soul Be Required Of Thee”—while, by a curious and appropriate -coincidence, Number Five proved to be a circular from an energetic firm -of coffin-makers offering to bury him for eight pounds ten. Number -Six, also printed, was a manifesto from one Howard Hill, of Newmarket, -recommending him to apply without delay for “Hill’s Three-Horse -Special,” without which—(“Who,” demanded Mr. Hill in large type, “gave -you Wibbly-Wob for the Jubilee Cup?”)—no sportsman could hope to -accomplish the undoing of the bookmakers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[p. 82]</span>Although by doing -so he convicted himself of that very lack of enterprise which he had -been deploring in the great public, Psmith placed this communication -with the others in the waste-paper baskets. There now remained only -Number Seven, and a slight flicker of hope returned to him when -he perceived that this envelope was addressed by hand and not in -typescript. He opened it.</p> - -<p>Beyond a doubt he had kept the pick of the bunch to the last. -Here was something that made up for all those other disappointments. -Written in a scrawly and apparently agitated hand, the letter ran as -follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“<i>If R. Psmith will meet the writer in the lobby of the Piccadilly -Palace Hotel at twelve sharp, Friday, July 1, business may result -if business meant and terms reasonable. R. Psmith will wear a pink -chrysanthemum in his buttonhole, and will say to the writer, ‘There -will be rain in Northumberland to-morrow,’ to which the writer will -reply, ‘Good for the crops.’ Kindly be punctual.</i>”</p> - -</blockquote> - -<p>A pleased smile played about Psmith’s solemn face as he read this -communication for the second time. It was much more the sort of thing -for which he had been hoping. Although his closest friend, Mike -Jackson, was a young man of complete ordinariness, Psmith’s tastes when -he sought companionship lay as a rule in the direction of the bizarre. -He preferred his humanity eccentric. And “the writer,” to judge him by -this specimen of his correspondence, appeared to be eccentric enough -for the most exacting taste. Whether this promising person turned -out to be a ribald jester or an earnest crank, Psmith felt no doubt -whatever as to the advisability of following the matter up.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[p. 83]</span> Whichever he might be, his -society ought to afford entertainment during the interval before lunch. -Psmith glanced at his watch. The hour was a quarter to twelve. He would -be able to secure the necessary chrysanthemum and reach the Piccadilly -Palace Hotel by twelve sharp, thus achieving the businesslike -punctuality on which the unknown writer seemed to set such store.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>It was not until he had entered a florist’s shop on the way to -the tryst that it was borne in upon him that the adventure was going -to have its drawbacks. The first of these was the chrysanthemum. -Preoccupied with the rest of the communication, Psmith, when he had -read the letter, had not given much thought to the decoration which -it would be necessary for him to wear; and it was only when, in reply -to his demand for a chrysanthemum, the florist came forward, almost -hidden, like the army at Dunsinane, behind what looked like a small -shrubbery, that he realised what he, a correct and fastidious dresser, -was up against.</p> - -<p>“Is that a chrysanthemum?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. Pink chrysanthemum.”</p> - -<p>“One?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. One pink chrysanthemum.”</p> - -<p>Psmith regarded the repellent object with disfavour through his -eyeglass. Then, having placed it in his buttonhole, he proceeded on his -way, feeling like some wild thing peering through the undergrowth. The -distressing shrub completely spoiled his walk.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the hotel and standing in the lobby, he perceived the -existence of further complications. The lobby was in its usual state of -congestion, it being a recognised meeting-place for those who did not -find it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[p. 84]</span> convenient -to go as far east as that traditional rendezvous of Londoners, the -spot under the clock at Charing Cross Station; and “the writer,” while -giving instructions as to how Psmith should ornament his exterior, had -carelessly omitted to mention how he himself was to be recognised. A -rollicking, slap-dash conspirator, was Psmith’s opinion.</p> - -<p>It seemed best to take up a position as nearly as possible in -the centre of the lobby and stand there until “the writer,” lured -by the chrysanthemum, should come forward and start something. This -he accordingly did, but when at the end of ten minutes nothing had -happened beyond a series of collisions with perhaps a dozen hurrying -visitors to the hotel, he decided on a more active course. A young -man of sporting appearance had been standing beside him for the last -five minutes, and ever and anon this young man had glanced with some -impatience at his watch. He was plainly waiting for someone, so Psmith -tried the formula on him.</p> - -<p>“There will be rain,” said Psmith, “in Northumberland to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>The young man looked at him, not without interest, certainly, but -without that gleam of intelligence in his eye which Psmith had hoped to -see.</p> - -<p>“What?” he replied.</p> - -<p>“There will be rain in Northumberland to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, Zadkiel,” said the young man. “Deuced gratifying, I’m -sure. I suppose you couldn’t predict the winner of the Goodwood Cup as -well?”</p> - -<p>He then withdrew rapidly to intercept a young woman in a large hat -who had just come through the swing doors. Psmith was forced to the -conclusion that this was not his man. He was sorry on the whole, for he -had seemed a pleasant fellow.</p> - -<p>As Psmith had taken up a stationary position and<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[p. 85]</span> the population of the -lobby was for the most part in a state of flux, he was finding himself -next to someone new all the time; and now he decided to accost the -individual whom the re-shuffle had just brought elbow to elbow with -him. This was a jovial-looking soul with a flowered waistcoat, a white -hat, and a mottled face. Just the man who might have written that -letter.</p> - -<p>The effect upon this person of Psmith’s meteorological remark -was instantaneous. A light of the utmost friendliness shone in his -beautifully-shaven face as he turned. He seized Psmith’s hand and -gripped it with a delightful heartiness. He had the air of a man who -has found a friend, and what is more, an old friend. He had a sort of -journeys-end-in-lovers’-meeting look.</p> - -<p>“My dear old chap!” he cried. “I’ve been waiting for you to speak -for the last five minutes. Knew we’d met before somewhere, but couldn’t -place you. Face familiar as the dickens, of course. Well, well, well! -And how are they all?”</p> - -<p>“Who?” said Psmith courteously.</p> - -<p>“Why, the boys, my dear chap.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the boys?”</p> - -<p>“The dear old boys,” said the other, specifying more exactly. He -slapped Psmith on the shoulder. “What times those were, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Which?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“The times we all used to have together.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>those</i>?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>Something of discouragement seemed to creep over the other’s -exuberance, as a cloud creeps over the summer sky. But he -persevered.</p> - -<p>“Fancy meeting you again like this!”</p> - -<p>“It is a small world,” agreed Psmith.</p> - -<p>“I’d ask you to come and have a drink,” said the jovial one, -with the slight increase of tensity which<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_86">[p. 86]</span> comes to a man who approaches the core -of a business deal, “but the fact is my ass of a man sent me out -this morning without a penny. Forgot to give me my note-case. Damn’ -careless! I’ll have to sack the fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Annoying, certainly,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“I wish I could have stood you a drink,” said the other -wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might -have been,’” sighed Psmith.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what,” said the jovial one, inspired. “Lend me a -fiver, my dear old boy. That’s the best way out of the difficulty. I -can send it round to your hotel or wherever you are this evening when I -get home.”</p> - -<p>A sweet, sad smile played over Psmith’s face.</p> - -<p>“Leave me, comrade!” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“Pass along, old friend, pass along.”</p> - -<p>Resignation displaced joviality in the other’s countenance.</p> - -<p>“Nothing doing?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there was no harm in trying,” argued the other.</p> - -<p>“None whatever.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” said the now far less jovial man confidentially, “you -look such a perfect mug with that eyeglass that it tempts a chap.”</p> - -<p>“I can quite understand how it must!”</p> - -<p>“No offence.”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly not.”</p> - -<p>The white hat disappeared through the swing doors, and Psmith -returned to his quest. He engaged the attention of a middle-aged man in -a snuff-coloured suit who had just come within hail.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[p. 87]</span>“There will be rain -in Northumberland to-morrow,” he said.</p> - -<p>The man peered at him inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“Hey?” he said.</p> - -<p>Psmith repeated his observation.</p> - -<p>“Huh?” said the man.</p> - -<p>Psmith was beginning to lose the unruffled calm which made him -such an impressive figure to the public eye. He had not taken into -consideration the possibility that the object of his search might be -deaf. It undoubtedly added to the embarrassment of the pursuit. He was -moving away, when a hand fell on his sleeve.</p> - -<p>Psmith turned. The hand which still grasped his sleeve belonged -to an elegantly dressed young man of somewhat nervous and feverish -appearance. During his recent vigil Psmith had noticed this young man -standing not far away, and had had half a mind to include him in the -platoon of new friends he was making that morning.</p> - -<p>“I say,” said this young man in a tense whisper, “did I hear you say -that there would be rain in Northumberland to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Psmith, “you were anywhere within the radius of a dozen -yards while I was chatting with the recent deaf adder, I think it is -possible that you did.”</p> - -<p>“Good for the crops,” said the young man. “Come over here where we -can talk quietly.”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_6_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>“So you’re R. Psmith?” said the young man, when they had made their -way to a remote corner of the lobby, apart from the throng.</p> - -<p>“The same.”</p> - -<p>“I say, dash it, you’re frightfully late, you know.<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[p. 88]</span> I told you to be here at -twelve sharp. It’s nearly twelve past.”</p> - -<p>“You wrong me,” said Psmith. “I arrived here precisely at twelve. -Since when, I have been standing like Patience on a monument. . . .”</p> - -<p>“Like what?”</p> - -<p>“Let it go,” said Psmith. “It is not important.”</p> - -<p>“I asked you to wear a pink chrysanthemum. So I could recognise you, -you know.”</p> - -<p>“I <i>am</i> wearing a pink chrysanthemum. I should have imagined that -that was a fact that the most casual could hardly have overlooked.”</p> - -<p>“That thing?” The other gazed disparagingly at the floral -decoration. “I thought it was some kind of cabbage. I meant one of -those little what-d’you-may-call-its that people do wear in their -button-holes.”</p> - -<p>“Carnation, possibly?”</p> - -<p>“Carnation! That’s right.”</p> - -<p>Psmith removed the chrysanthemum and dropped it behind his chair. He -looked at his companion reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“If you had studied botany at school, comrade,” he said, “much -misery might have been averted. I cannot begin to tell you the -spiritual agony I suffered, trailing through the metropolis behind that -shrub.”</p> - -<p>Whatever decent sympathy and remorse the other might have shown at -these words was swept away in the shock resultant on a glance at his -watch. Not for an instant during this brief return of his to London -had Freddie Threepwood been unmindful of his father’s stern injunction -to him to catch the twelve-fifty train back to Market Blandings. If -he missed it, there would be the deuce of a lot of unpleasantness, -and unpleasantness in the home was the one thing Freddie wanted to -avoid nowadays; for, like a prudent convict in a prison, he<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[p. 89]</span> hoped by exemplary -behaviour to get his sentence of imprisonment at Blandings Castle -reduced for good conduct.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! I’ve only got about five minutes. Got to talk -quick. . . . About this thing. This business. That advertisement of -yours.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes. My advertisement. It interested you?”</p> - -<p>“Was it on the level?”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly. We Psmiths do not deceive.”</p> - -<p>Freddie looked at him doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“You know, you aren’t a bit like I expected you’d be.”</p> - -<p>“In what respect,” inquired Psmith, “do I fall short of the -ideal?”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t so much falling short. It’s—oh, I don’t know . . . Well, -yes, if you want to know, I thought you’d be a tougher specimen -altogether. I got the impression from your advertisement that you were -down and out and ready for anything, and you look as if you were on -your way to a garden-party at Buckingham Palace.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Psmith, enlightened. “It is my costume that is causing -these doubts in your mind. This is the second time this morning that -such a misunderstanding has occurred. Have no misgivings. These -trousers may sit well, but, if they do, it is because the pockets are -empty.”</p> - -<p>“Are you really broke?”</p> - -<p>“As broke as the Ten Commandments.”</p> - -<p>“I’m hanged if I can believe it.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose I brush my hat the wrong way for a moment?” said Psmith -obligingly. “Would that help?”</p> - -<p>His companion remained silent for a few moments. In spite of the -fact that he was in so great a hurry and that every minute that -passed brought nearer the moment when he would be compelled to tear -himself away and make a dash for Paddington Station, Freddie<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[p. 90]</span> was finding it difficult to -open the subject he had come there to discuss.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he said at length, “I shall have to trust you, dash -it.”</p> - -<p>“You could pursue no better course.”</p> - -<p>“It’s like this. I’m trying to raise a thousand quid . . .”</p> - -<p>“I regret that I cannot offer to advance it to you myself. I have, -indeed, already been compelled to decline to lend a gentleman who -claimed to be an old friend of mine so small a sum as a fiver. But -there is a dear, obliging soul of the name of Alistair MacDougall -who . . .”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! You don’t think I’m trying to touch you?”</p> - -<p>“That impression did flit through my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dash it, no. No, but—well, as I was saying, I’m frightfully -keen to get hold of a thousand quid.”</p> - -<p>“So am I,” said Psmith. “Two minds with but a single thought. -How do <i>you</i> propose to start about it? For my part, I must freely -confess that I haven’t a notion. I am stumped. The cry goes round the -chancelleries, ‘Psmith is baffled!’”</p> - -<p>“I say, old thing,” said Freddie plaintively, “you couldn’t talk a -bit less, could you? I’ve only got about two minutes.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon. Proceed.”</p> - -<p>“It’s so dashed difficult to know how to begin the thing. I mean, -it’s all a bit complicated till you get the hang of it. . . . Look -here, you said in your advertisement that you had no objection to -crime.”</p> - -<p>Psmith considered the point.</p> - -<p>“Within reason—and if undetected—I see no objection to two-pennorth -of crime.”</p> - -<p>“Well, look here . . . look here . . . Well, look<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[p. 91]</span> here,” said Freddie, “will -you steal my aunt’s diamond necklace?”</p> - -<p>Psmith placed his monocle in his eye and bent gravely toward his -companion.</p> - -<p>“Steal your aunt’s necklace?” he said indulgently.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You do not think she might consider it a liberty from one to whom -she has never been introduced?”</p> - -<p>What Freddie might have replied to this pertinent question will -never be known, for at this moment, looking nervously at his watch for -the twentieth time, he observed that the hands had passed the half-hour -and were well on their way to twenty-five minutes to one. He bounded up -with a cry.</p> - -<p>“I must go! I shall miss that damned train!”</p> - -<p>“And meanwhile . . . ?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>The familiar phrase—the words “And meanwhile” had occurred at least -once in every film Freddie had ever seen—had the effect of wrenching -the latter’s mind back to the subject in hand for a moment. Freddie was -not a clear-thinking young man, but even he could see that he had left -the negotiations suspended at a very satisfactory point. Nevertheless, -he had to catch that twelve-fifty.</p> - -<p>“Write and tell me what you think about it,” panted Freddie, -skimming through the lobby like a swallow.</p> - -<p>“You have unfortunately omitted to leave a name and address,” Psmith -pointed out, following him at an easy jog-trot.</p> - -<p>In spite of his hurry, a prudence born of much movie-seeing -restrained Freddie from supplying the information asked for. Give away -your name and address and you never knew what might happen.</p> - -<p>“I’ll write to you,” he cried, racing for a cab.</p> - -<p>“I shall count the minutes,” said Psmith courteously.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[p. 92]</span>“Drive like -blazes!” said Freddie to the chauffeur.</p> - -<p>“Where?” inquired the man, not unreasonably.</p> - -<p>“Eh? Oh, Paddington.”</p> - -<p>The cab whirled off, and Psmith, pleasantly conscious of a morning -not ill-spent, gazed after it pensively for a moment. Then, with -the feeling that the authorities of Colney Hatch or some kindred -establishment had been extraordinarily negligent, he permitted his mind -to turn with genial anticipation in the direction of lunch. For, though -he had celebrated his first day of emancipation from Billingsgate Fish -Market by rising late and breakfasting later, he had become aware by -now of that not unpleasant emptiness which is the silent luncheon-gong -of the soul.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_6_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>The minor problem now presented itself of where to lunch; and with -scarcely a moment’s consideration he dismissed those large, noisy, and -bustling restaurants which lie near Piccadilly Circus. After a morning -spent with Eve Halliday and the young man who was going about the place -asking people to steal his aunt’s necklace, it was imperative that he -select some place where he could sit and think quietly. Any food of -which he partook must be consumed in calm, even cloistral surroundings, -unpolluted by the presence of a first violin who tied himself into -knots and an orchestra in whose lexicon there was no such word as -<i>piano</i>. One of his clubs seemed indicated.</p> - -<p>In the days of his prosperity, Psmith’s father, an enthusiastic -clubman, had enrolled his son’s name on the list of several -institutions: and now, although the lean years had arrived, he was -still a member of six, and would continue to be a member till the -beginning of the new year and the consequent call for fresh<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[p. 93]</span> subscriptions. These clubs -ranged from the Drones, frankly frivolous, to the Senior Conservative, -solidly worthy. Almost immediately Psmith decided that for such a mood -as was upon him at the moment, the latter might have been specially -constructed.</p> - -<p>Anybody familiar with the interior of the Senior Conservative Club -would have applauded his choice. In the whole of London no better -haven could have been found by one desirous of staying his interior -with excellently-cooked food while passing his soul under a leisurely -examination. They fed you well at the Drones, too, no doubt: but -there Youth held carnival, and the thoughtful man, examining his -soul, was apt at any moment to have his meditations broken in upon -by a chunk of bread, dexterously thrown by some bright spirit at an -adjoining table. No horror of that description could possibly occur -at the Senior Conservative. The Senior Conservative has six thousand -one hundred and eleven members. Some of the six thousand one hundred -and eleven are more respectable than the others, but they are all -respectable—whether they be numbered among the oldest inhabitants like -the Earl of Emsworth, who joined as a country member in 1888, or are -among the recent creations of the last election of candidates. They are -bald, reverend men, who look as if they are on their way to the City to -preside at directors’ meetings or have dropped in after conferring with -the Prime Minister at Downing Street as to the prospects at the coming -by-election in the Little Wabsley Division.</p> - -<p>With the quiet dignity which atoned for his lack in years in this -stronghold of mellow worth, Psmith mounted the steps, passed through -the doors which were obligingly flung open for him by two uniformed -dignitaries, and made his way to the coffee-room.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_94">[p. 94]</span> Here, having selected a table in the middle -of the room and ordered a simple and appetising lunch, he gave himself -up to thoughts of Eve Halliday. As he had confessed to his young -friend Mr. Walderwick, she had made a powerful impression upon him. -He was tearing himself from his day-dreams in order to wrestle with -a mutton chop, when a foreign body shot into his orbit and blundered -heavily against the table. Looking up, he perceived a long, thin, -elderly gentleman of pleasantly vague aspect, who immediately began to -apologise.</p> - -<p>“My dear sir, I am extremely sorry. I trust I have caused no -damage.”</p> - -<p>“None whatever,” replied Psmith courteously.</p> - -<p>“The fact is, I have mislaid my glasses. Blind as a bat without -them. Can’t see where I’m going.”</p> - -<p>A gloomy-looking young man with long and disordered hair, who -stood at the elderly gentleman’s elbow, coughed suggestively. He was -shuffling restlessly, and appeared to be anxious to close the episode -and move on. A young man, evidently, of highly-strung temperament. He -had a sullen air.</p> - -<p>The elderly gentleman started vaguely at the sound of the cough.</p> - -<p>“Eh?” he said, as if in answer to some spoken remark. “Oh, yes, -quite so, quite so, my dear fellow. Mustn’t stop here chatting, eh? Had -to apologise, though. Nearly upset this gentleman’s table. Can’t see -where I’m going without my glasses. Blind as a bat. Eh? What? Quite so, -quite so.”</p> - -<p>He ambled off, doddering cheerfully, while his companion still -preserved his look of sulky aloofness. Psmith gazed after them with -interest.</p> - -<p>“Can you tell me,” he asked of the waiter, who was rallying round -with the potatoes, “who that was?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[p. 95]</span>The waiter followed -his glance.</p> - -<p>“Don’t know who the young gentleman is, sir. Guest here, I fancy. -The old gentleman is the Earl of Emsworth. Lives in the country and -doesn’t often come to the club. Very absent-minded gentleman, they tell -me. Potatoes, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>The waiter drifted away, and returned.</p> - -<p>“I have been looking at the guest-book, sir. The name of the -gentleman lunching with Lord Emsworth is Mr. Ralston McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much. I am sorry you had the trouble.”</p> - -<p>“No trouble, sir.”</p> - -<p>Psmith resumed his meal.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_6_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>The sullen demeanour of the young man who had accompanied Lord -Emsworth through the coffee-room accurately reflected the emotions -which were vexing his troubled soul. Ralston McTodd, the powerful young -singer of Saskatoon (“Plumbs the depths of human emotion and strikes a -new note”—<i>Montreal Star</i>. “Very readable”—<i>Ipsilanti Herald</i>), had not -enjoyed his lunch. The pleasing sense of importance induced by the fact -that for the first time in his life he was hob-nobbing with a genuine -earl had given way after ten minutes of his host’s society to a mingled -despair and irritation which had grown steadily deeper as the meal -proceeded. It is not too much to say that by the time the fish course -arrived it would have been a relief to Mr. McTodd’s feelings if he -could have taken up the butter-dish and banged it down, butter and all, -on his lordship’s bald head.</p> - -<p>A temperamental young man was Ralston McTodd.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_96">[p. 96]</span> He liked to be the centre of the picture, -to do the talking, to air his views, to be listened to respectfully -and with interest by a submissive audience. At the meal which had just -concluded none of these reasonable demands had been permitted to him. -From the very beginning, Lord Emsworth had collared the conversation -and held it with a gentle, bleating persistency against all assaults. -Five times had Mr. McTodd almost succeeded in launching one of his best -epigrams, only to see it swept away on the tossing flood of a lecture -on hollyhocks. At the sixth attempt he had managed to get it out, -complete and sparkling, and the old ass opposite him had taken it in -his stride like a hurdle and gone galloping off about the mental and -moral defects of a creature named Angus McAllister, who appeared to be -his head gardener or something of the kind. The luncheon, though he was -a hearty feeder and as a rule appreciative of good cooking, had turned -to ashes in Mr. McTodd’s mouth, and it was a soured and chafing Singer -of Saskatoon who dropped scowlingly into an arm-chair by the window -of the lower smoking-room a few moments later. We introduce Ralston -McTodd to the reader, in short, at a moment when he is very near the -breaking-point. A little more provocation, and goodness knows what he -may not do. For the time being, he is merely leaning back in his chair -and scowling. He has a faint hope, however, that a cigar may bring some -sort of relief, and he is waiting for one to be ordered for him.</p> - -<p>The Earl of Emsworth did not see the scowl. He had not really seen -Mr. McTodd at all from the moment of his arrival at the club, when -somebody, who sounded like the head porter, had informed him that a -gentleman was waiting to see him and had led him up to a shapeless -blur which had introduced itself as his<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_97">[p. 97]</span> expected guest. The loss of his glasses had -had its usual effect on Lord Emsworth, making the world a misty place -in which indefinite objects swam dimly like fish in muddy water. Not -that this mattered much, seeing that he was in London, for in London -there was never anything worth looking at. Beyond a vague feeling that -it would be more comfortable on the whole if he had his glasses—a -feeling just strong enough to have made him send off a messenger boy to -his hotel to hunt for them—Lord Emsworth had not allowed lack of vision -to interfere with his enjoyment of the proceedings.</p> - -<p>And, unlike Mr. McTodd, he had been enjoying himself very much. -A good listener, this young man, he felt. Very soothing, the way he -had constituted himself a willing audience, never interrupting or -thrusting himself forward, as is so often the deplorable tendency of -the modern young man. Lord Emsworth was bound to admit that, much as -he had disliked the idea of going to London to pick up this poet or -whatever he was, the thing had turned out better than he had expected. -He liked Mr. McTodd’s silent but obvious interest in flowers, his tacit -but warm-hearted sympathy in the matter of Angus McAllister. He was -glad he was coming to Blandings. It would be agreeable to conduct him -personally through the gardens, to introduce him to Angus McAllister -and allow him to plumb for himself the black abysses of that outcast’s -mental processes.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, he had forgotten all about ordering that cigar . . .</p> - -<p>“In large gardens where ample space permits,” said Lord Emsworth, -dropping cosily into his chair and taking up the conversation at -the point where it had been broken off, “nothing is more desirable -than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[p. 98]</span> that there -should be some places, or one at least, of quiet greenery alone, -without any flowers whatever. I see that you agree with me.”</p> - -<p>Mr. McTodd had not agreed with him. The grunt which Lord Emsworth -had taken for an exclamation of rapturous adhesion to his sentiments -had been merely a sort of bubble of sound rising from the tortured -depths of Mr. McTodd’s suffering soul—the cry, as the poet beautifully -puts it, “of some strong smoker in his agony.” The desire to smoke had -now gripped Mr. McTodd’s very vitals; but, as some lingering remains -of the social sense kept him from asking point-blank for the cigar for -which he yearned, he sought in his mind for a way of approaching the -subject obliquely.</p> - -<p>“In no other way,” proceeded Lord Emsworth, “can the brilliancy of -flowers be so keenly enjoyed as by . . .”</p> - -<p>“Talking of flowers,” said Mr. McTodd, “it is a fact, I believe, -that tobacco smoke is good for roses.”</p> - -<p>“. . . as by pacing for a time,” said Lord Emsworth, “in some -cool, green alley, and then passing on to the flowery places. It is -partly, no doubt, the unconscious working out of some optical law, the -explanation of which in everyday language is that the eye . . .”</p> - -<p>“Some people say that smoking is bad for the eyes. I don’t agree -with them,” said Mr. McTodd warmly.</p> - -<p>“. . . being, as it were, saturated with the green colour, is -the more attuned to receive the others, especially the reds. It was -probably some such consideration that influenced the designers of the -many old gardens of England in devoting so much attention to the cult -of the yew tree. When you come to Blandings, my dear fellow, I will -show you our celebrated yew alley. And, when you see it, you will agree -that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[p. 99]</span> I was right in -taking the stand I did against Angus McAllister’s pernicious views.”</p> - -<p>“I was lunching in a club yesterday,” said Mr. McTodd, with the -splendid McTodd doggedness, “where they had no matches on the tables in -the smoking-room. Only spills. It made it very inconvenient . . .”</p> - -<p>“Angus McAllister,” said Lord Emsworth, “is a professional gardener. -I need say no more. You know as well as I do, my dear fellow, what -professional gardeners are like when it is a question of moss . . .”</p> - -<p>“What it meant was that, when you wanted to light your -after-luncheon cigar, you had to get up and go to a gas-burner on a -bracket at the other end of the room . . .”</p> - -<p>“Moss, for some obscure reason, appears to infuriate them. It rouses -their basest passions. Nature intended a yew alley to be carpeted with -a mossy growth. The mossy path in the yew alley at Blandings is in true -relation for colour to the trees and grassy edges; yet will you credit -it that that soulless disgrace to Scotland actually wished to grub it -all up and have a rolled gravel path staring up from beneath those -immemorial trees! I have already told you how I was compelled to give -in to him in the matter of the hollyhocks—head gardeners of any ability -at all are rare in these days and one has to make concessions—but this -was too much. I was perfectly friendly and civil about it. ‘Certainly, -McAllister,’ I said, ‘you may have your gravel path if you wish it. I -make but one proviso, that you construct it over my dead body. Only -when I am weltering in my blood on the threshold of that yew alley -shall you disturb one inch of my beautiful moss. Try to remember, -McAllister,’ I said, still quite cordially, ‘that you are not laying -out a recreation ground in a Glasgow suburb—you are proposing to<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[p. 100]</span> make an eyesore of what -is possibly the most beautiful nook in one of the finest and oldest -gardens in the United Kingdom.’ He made some repulsive Scotch noise at -the back of his throat, and there the matter rests. . . . Let me, my -dear fellow,” said Lord Emsworth, writhing down into the depths of his -chair like an aristocratic snake until his spine rested snugly against -the leather, “let me describe for you the Yew Alley at Blandings. -Entering from the west . . .”</p> - -<p>Mr. McTodd gave up the struggle and sank back, filled with black and -deleterious thoughts, into a tobacco-less hell. The smoking-room was -full now, and on all sides fragrant blue clouds arose from the little -groups of serious thinkers who were discussing what Gladstone had said -in ’78. Mr. McTodd, as he watched them, had something of the emotions -of the Peri excluded from Paradise. So reduced was he by this time that -he would have accepted gratefully the meanest straight-cut cigarette in -place of the Corona of his dreams. But even this poor substitute for -smoking was denied him.</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth droned on. Having approached from the west, he was now -well inside the yew alley.</p> - -<p>“Many of the yews, no doubt, have taken forms other than those that -were originally designed. Some are like turned chessmen; some might -be taken for adaptations of human figures, for one can trace here -and there a hat-covered head or a spreading petticoat. Some rise in -solid blocks with rounded roof and stemless mushroom finial. These -have for the most part arched recesses, forming arbours. One of the -tallest . . . Eh? What?”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth blinked vaguely at the waiter who had sidled up. A -moment before he had been a hundred odd miles away, and it was not easy -to adjust<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[p. 101]</span> his mind -immediately to the fact that he was in the smoking-room of the Senior -Conservative Club.</p> - -<p>“Eh? What?”</p> - -<p>“A messenger boy has just arrived with these, your lordship.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth peered in a dazed and woolly manner at the proffered -spectacle-case. Intelligence returned to him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. My glasses. Capital! Thank you, -thank you, thank you.”</p> - -<p>He removed the glasses from their case and placed them on his nose: -and instantly the world sprang into being before his eyes, sharp and -well-defined. It was like coming out of a fog.</p> - -<p>“Dear me!” he said in a self-congratulatory voice.</p> - -<p>Then abruptly he sat up, transfixed. The lower smoking-room at the -Senior Conservative Club is on the street level, and Lord Emsworth’s -chair faced the large window. Through this, as he raised his now -spectacled face, he perceived for the first time that among the row of -shops on the opposite side of the road was a jaunty new florist’s. It -had not been there at his last visit to the metropolis, and he stared -at it raptly, as a small boy would stare at a saucer of ice-cream if -such a thing had suddenly descended from heaven immediately in front of -him. And, like a small boy in such a situation, he had eyes for nothing -else. He did not look at his guest. Indeed, in the ecstasy of his -discovery, he had completely forgotten that he had a guest.</p> - -<p>Any flower shop, however small, was a magnet to the Earl of -Emsworth. And this was a particularly spacious and arresting flower -shop. Its window was gay with summer blooms. And Lord Emsworth, slowly -rising<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[p. 102]</span> from his -chair, “pointed” like a dog that sees a pheasant.</p> - -<p>“Bless my soul!” he murmured.</p> - -<p>If the reader has followed with the closeness which it deserves the -extremely entertaining conversation of his lordship recorded in the -last few paragraphs, he will have noted a reference to hollyhocks. Lord -Emsworth had ventilated the hollyhock question at some little length -while seated at the luncheon table. But, as we had not the good fortune -to be present at that enjoyable meal, a brief résumé of the situation -must now be given and the intelligent public allowed to judge between -his lordship and the uncompromising McAllister.</p> - -<p>Briefly, the position was this. Many head gardeners are apt to -favour in the hollyhock forms that one cannot but think have for their -aim an ideal that is a false and unworthy one. Angus McAllister, -clinging to the head-gardeneresque standard of beauty and correct form, -would not sanction the wide outer petal. The flower, so Angus held, -must be very tight and very round, like the uniform of a major-general. -Lord Emsworth, on the other hand, considered this view narrow, and -claimed the liberty to try for the very highest and truest beauty -in hollyhocks. The loosely-folded inner petals of the hollyhock, he -considered, invited a wonderful play and brilliancy of colour; while -the wide outer petal, with its slightly waved surface and gently -frilled edge . . . well, anyway, Lord Emsworth liked his hollyhocks -floppy and Angus McAllister liked them tight, and bitter warfare had -resulted, in which, as we have seen, his lordship had been compelled -to give way. He had been brooding on this defeat ever since, and in -the florist opposite he saw a possible sympathiser, a potential ally, -an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[p. 103]</span> intelligent chum -with whom he could get together and thoroughly damn Angus McAllister’s -Glaswegian obstinacy.</p> - -<p>You would not have suspected Lord Emsworth, from a casual glance, of -having within him the ability to move rapidly; but it is a fact that -he was out of the smoking-room and skimming down the front steps of -the club before Mr. McTodd’s jaw, which had fallen at the spectacle of -his host bounding out of his horizon of vision like a jack-rabbit, had -time to hitch itself up again. A moment later, Mr. McTodd, happening -to direct his gaze out of the window, saw him whiz across the road and -vanish into the florist’s shop.</p> - -<p>It was at this juncture that Psmith, having finished his lunch, -came downstairs to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee. The room was rather -crowded, and the chair which Lord Emsworth had vacated offered a wide -invitation. He made his way to it.</p> - -<p>“Is this chair occupied?” he inquired politely. So politely that -Mr. McTodd’s reply sounded by contrast even more violent than it might -otherwise have done.</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t!” snapped Mr. McTodd.</p> - -<p>Psmith seated himself. He was feeling agreeably disposed to -conversation.</p> - -<p>“Lord Emsworth has left you then?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Is he a friend of yours?” inquired Mr. McTodd in a voice that -suggested that he was perfectly willing to accept a proxy as a target -for his wrath.</p> - -<p>“I know him by sight. Nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“Blast him!” muttered Mr. McTodd with indescribable virulence.</p> - -<p>Psmith eyed him inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“Correct me if I am wrong,” he said, “but I seem to detect in your -manner a certain half-veiled annoyance. Is anything the matter?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[p. 104]</span>Mr. McTodd barked -bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. Nothing’s the matter. Nothing whatever, except that that -old beaver—”—here he wronged Lord Emsworth, who, whatever his faults, -was not a bearded man—“that old beaver invited me to lunch, talked -all the time about his infernal flowers, never let me get a word in -edgeways, hadn’t the common civility to offer me a cigar, and now has -gone off without a word of apology and buried himself in that shop over -the way. I’ve never been so insulted in my life!” raved Mr. McTodd.</p> - -<p>“Scarcely the perfect host,” admitted Psmith.</p> - -<p>“And if he thinks,” said Mr. McTodd, rising, “that I’m going to go -and stay with him at his beastly castle after this, he’s mistaken. I’m -supposed to go down there with him this evening. And perhaps the old -fossil thinks I will! After this!” A horrid laugh rolled up from Mr. -McTodd’s interior. “Likely! I see myself! After being insulted like -this . . . Would <i>you</i>?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>Psmith gave the matter thought.</p> - -<p>“I am inclined to think no.”</p> - -<p>“And so am I damned well inclined to think no!” cried Mr. McTodd. -“I’m going away now, this very minute. And if that old total loss ever -comes back, you can tell him he’s seen the last of me.”</p> - -<p>And Ralston McTodd, his blood boiling with justifiable indignation -and pique to a degree dangerous on such a warm day, stalked off towards -the door with a hard, set face. Through the door he stalked to the -cloak-room for his hat and cane; then, his lips moving silently, he -stalked through the hall, stalked down the steps, and passed from the -scene, stalking furiously round the corner in quest of a tobacconist’s. -At the moment of his disappearance, the Earl of Emsworth<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[p. 105]</span> had just begun to -give the sympathetic florist a limpid character-sketch of Angus -McAllister.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Psmith shook his head sadly. These clashings of human temperament -were very lamentable. They disturbed the after-luncheon repose of the -man of sensibility. He ordered coffee, and endeavoured to forget the -painful scene by thinking of Eve Halliday.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_6_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>The florist who had settled down to ply his trade opposite the -Senior Conservative Club was a delightful fellow, thoroughly sound on -the hollyhock question and so informative in the matter of delphiniums, -achilleas, coreopsis, eryngiums, geums, lupines, bergamot and early -phloxes that Lord Emsworth gave himself up whole-heartedly to the feast -of reason and the flow of soul; and it was only some fifteen minutes -later that he remembered that he had left a guest languishing in the -lower smoking-room and that this guest might be thinking him a trifle -remiss in the observance of the sacred duties of hospitality.</p> - -<p>“Bless my soul, yes!” said his lordship, coming out from under the -influence with a start.</p> - -<p>Even then he could not bring himself to dash abruptly from the shop. -Twice he reached the door and twice pottered back to sniff at flowers -and say something he had forgotten to mention about the Stronger -Growing Clematis. Finally, however, with one last, longing, lingering -look behind, he tore himself away and trotted back across the road.</p> - -<p>Arrived in the lower smoking-room, he stood in the doorway for a -moment, peering. The place had been a blur to him when he had left it, -but he remembered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[p. 106]</span> -that he had been sitting in the middle window and, as there were only -two seats by the window, that tall, dark young man in one of them must -be the guest he had deserted. That he could be a changeling never -occurred to Lord Emsworth. So pleasantly had the time passed in the -shop across the way that he had the impression that he had only been -gone a couple of minutes or so. He made his way to where the young man -sat. A vague idea came into his head that the other had grown a bit in -his absence, but it passed.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow,” he said genially, as he slid into the other chair, -“I really must apologise.”</p> - -<p>It was plain to Psmith that the other was under a misapprehension, -and a really nice-minded young man would no doubt have put the matter -right at once. The fact that it never for a single instant occurred -to Psmith to do so was due, no doubt, to some innate defect in his -character. He was essentially a young man who took life as it came, -and the more inconsequently it came the better he liked it. Presently, -he reflected, it would become necessary for him to make some excuse -and steal quietly out of the other’s life; but meanwhile the situation -seemed to him to present entertaining possibilities.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” he replied graciously. “Not at all.”</p> - -<p>“I was afraid for a moment,” said Lord Emsworth, “that you -might—quite naturally—be offended.”</p> - -<p>“Absurd!”</p> - -<p>“Shouldn’t have left you like that. Shocking bad manners. But, my -dear fellow, I simply had to pop across the street.”</p> - -<p>“Most decidedly,” said Psmith. “Always pop across streets. It is the -secret of a happy and successful life.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth looked at him a little perplexedly, and wondered -if he had caught the last remark correctly. But his mind had never -been designed for the purpose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[p. -107]</span> of dwelling closely on problems for any length of time, and -he let it go.</p> - -<p>“Beautiful roses that man has,” he observed. “Really an -extraordinarily fine display.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Nothing to touch mine, though. I wish, my dear fellow, you could -have been down at Blandings at the beginning of the month. My roses -were at their best then. It’s too bad you weren’t there to see -them.”</p> - -<p>“The fault no doubt was mine,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Of course you weren’t in England then.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! That explains it.”</p> - -<p>“Still, I shall have plenty of flowers to show you when you are at -Blandings. I expect,” said Lord Emsworth, at last showing a host-like -disposition to give his guest a belated innings, “I expect you’ll write -one of your poems about my gardens, eh?”</p> - -<p>Psmith was conscious of a feeling of distinct gratification. Weeks -of toil among the herrings of Billingsgate had left him with a sort of -haunting fear that even in private life there clung to him the miasma -of the fish market. Yet here was a perfectly unprejudiced observer -looking squarely at him and mistaking him for a poet—showing that in -spite of all he had gone through there must still be something notably -spiritual and unfishy about his outward appearance.</p> - -<p>“Very possibly,” he said. “Very possibly.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you get ideas for your poetry from all sorts of things,” -said Lord Emsworth, nobly resisting the temptation to collar the -conversation again. He was feeling extremely friendly towards this poet -fellow. It was deuced civil of him not to be put out and huffy at being -left alone in the smoking-room.</p> - -<p>“From practically everything,” said Psmith, “except fish.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[p. 108]</span>“Fish?”</p> - -<p>“I have never written a poem about fish.”</p> - -<p>“No?” said Lord Emsworth, again feeling that a pin had worked loose -in the machinery of the conversation.</p> - -<p>“I was once offered a princely sum,” went on Psmith, now floating -happily along on the tide of his native exuberance, “to write a ballad -for the <i>Fishmonger’s Gazette</i> entitled, ‘Herbert the Turbot.’ But I -was firm. I declined.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed?” said Lord Emsworth.</p> - -<p>“One has one’s self-respect,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Oh, decidedly,” said Lord Emsworth.</p> - -<p>“It was painful, of course. The editor broke down completely when -he realised that my refusal was final. However, I sent him on with a -letter of introduction to John Drinkwater, who, I believe, turned him -out quite a good little effort on the theme.”</p> - -<p>At this moment, when Lord Emsworth was feeling a trifle dizzy, and -Psmith, on whom conversation always acted as a mental stimulus, was on -the point of plunging even deeper into the agreeable depths of light -persiflage, a waiter approached.</p> - -<p>“A lady to see you, your lordship.”</p> - -<p>“Eh? Ah, yes, of course, of course. I was expecting her. It is a -Miss —— what is the name? Holliday? Halliday. It is a Miss Halliday,” -he said in explanation to Psmith, “who is coming down to Blandings to -catalogue the library. My secretary, Baxter, told her to call here and -see me. If you will excuse me for a moment, my dear fellow?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly.”</p> - -<p>As Lord Emsworth disappeared, it occurred to Psmith that the moment -had arrived for him to get his hat and steal softly out of the other’s -life for ever. Only so could confusion and embarrassing explanations -be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[p. 109]</span> avoided. And -it was Psmith’s guiding rule in life always to avoid explanations. It -might, he felt, cause Lord Emsworth a momentary pang when he returned -to the smoking-room and found that he was a poet short, but what is -that in these modern days when poets are so plentiful that it is almost -impossible to fling a brick in any public place without damaging some -stern young singer. Psmith’s view of the matter was that, if Lord -Emsworth was bent on associating with poets, there was bound to be -another one along in a minute. He was on the point, therefore, of -rising, when the laziness induced by a good lunch decided him to remain -in his comfortable chair for a few minutes longer. He was in one of -those moods of rare tranquillity which it is rash to break.</p> - -<p>He lit another cigarette, and his thoughts, as they had done after -the departure of Mr. McTodd, turned dreamily in the direction of the -girl he had met at Miss Clarkson’s Employment Bureau. He mused upon -her with a gentle melancholy. Sad, he felt, that two obviously kindred -spirits like himself and her should meet in the whirl of London life, -only to separate again—presumably for ever—simply because the etiquette -governing those who are created male and female forbids a man to cement -a chance acquaintanceship by ascertaining the lady’s name and address, -asking her to lunch, and swearing eternal friendship. He sighed as he -gazed thoughtfully out of the lower smoking-room window. As he had -indicated in his conversation with Mr. Walderwick, those blue eyes and -that cheerful, friendly face had made a deep impression on him. Who was -she? Where did she live? And was he ever to see her again?</p> - -<p>He was. Even as he asked himself the question, two figures came -down the steps of the club, and paused. One was Lord Emsworth, -without his hat. The other—and Psmith’s usually orderly heart gave a -spasmodic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[p. 110]</span> bound -at the sight of her—was the very girl who was occupying his thoughts. -There she stood, as blue-eyed, as fair-haired, as indescribably jolly -and charming as ever.</p> - -<p>Psmith rose from his chair with a vehemence almost equal to that -recently displayed by Mr. McTodd. It was his intention to add himself -immediately to the group. He raced across the room in a manner that -drew censorious glances from the local greybeards, many of whom had -half a mind to write to the committee about it.</p> - -<p>But when he reached the open air the pavement at the foot of the -club steps was empty. The girl was just vanishing round the corner into -the Strand, and of Lord Emsworth there was no sign whatever.</p> - -<p>By this time, however, Psmith had acquired a useful working -knowledge of his lordship’s habits, and he knew where to look. He -crossed the street and headed for the florist’s shop.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my dear fellow,” said his lordship amiably, suspending his -conversation with the proprietor on the subject of delphiniums, “must -you be off? Don’t forget that our train leaves Paddington at five -sharp. You take your ticket for Market Blandings.”</p> - -<p>Psmith had come into the shop merely with the intention of asking -his lordship if he happened to know Miss Halliday’s address, but these -words opened out such a vista of attractive possibilities that he had -abandoned this tame programme immediately. He remembered now that among -Mr. McTodd’s remarks on things in general had been one to the effect -that he had received an invitation to visit Blandings Castle—of which -invitation he did not propose to avail himself; and he argued that if -he had acted as substitute for Mr. McTodd at the club, he might well -continue the kindly work by officiating for him at Blandings. Looking -at the matter altruistically, he would prevent<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_111">[p. 111]</span> his kind host much disappointment by -taking this course; and, looking at it from a more personal viewpoint, -only by going to Blandings could he renew his acquaintance with this -girl. Psmith had never been one of those who hang back diffidently when -Adventure calls, and he did not hang back now.</p> - -<p>“At five sharp,” he said. “I will be there.”</p> - -<p>“Capital, my dear fellow,” said his lordship.</p> - -<p>“Does Miss Halliday travel with us?”</p> - -<p>“Eh? No, she is coming down in a day or two.”</p> - -<p>“I shall look forward to meeting her,” said Psmith. He turned to the -door, and Lord Emsworth with a farewell beam resumed his conversation -with the florist.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_7"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[p. 112]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII</h2> - <p class="subh2">BAXTER SUSPECTS</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_7_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">T</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">The</span> five o’clock train, -having given itself a spasmodic jerk, began to move slowly out of -Paddington Station. The platform past which it was gliding was crowded -with a number of the fauna always to be seen at railway stations at -such moments, but in their ranks there was no sign of Mr. Ralston -McTodd: and Psmith, as he sat opposite Lord Emsworth in a corner seat -of a first-class compartment, felt that genial glow of satisfaction -which comes to the man who has successfully taken a chance. Until now, -he had been half afraid that McTodd, having changed his mind, might -suddenly appear with bag and baggage—an event which must necessarily -have caused confusion and discomfort. His mind was now tranquil. -Concerning the future he declined to worry. It would, no doubt, -contain its little difficulties, but he was prepared to meet them -in the right spirit; and his only trouble in the world now was the -difficulty he was experiencing in avoiding his lordship’s legs, which -showed a disposition to pervade the compartment like the tentacles -of an octopus. Lord Emsworth rather ran to leg, and his practice of -reclining when at ease on the base of his spine was causing him to -straddle, like Apollyon in Pilgrim’s Progress, “right across the way.” -It became manifest that in a journey lasting<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_113">[p. 113]</span> several hours his society was likely to -prove irksome. For the time being, however, he endured it, and listened -with polite attention to his host’s remarks on the subject of the -Blandings gardens. Lord Emsworth, in a train moving in the direction -of home, was behaving like a horse heading for his stable. He snorted -eagerly, and spoke at length and with emotion of roses and herbaceous -borders.</p> - -<p>“It will be dark, I suppose, by the time we arrive,” he said -regretfully, “but the first thing to-morrow, my dear fellow, I must -take you round and show you my gardens.”</p> - -<p>“I shall look forward to it keenly,” said Psmith. “They are, I can -readily imagine, distinctly oojah-cum-spiff.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?” said Lord Emsworth with a start.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said Psmith graciously.</p> - -<p>“Er—what did you say?” asked his lordship after a slight pause.</p> - -<p>“I was saying that, from all reports, you must have a very nifty -display of garden-produce at your rural seat.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. Oh, most,” said his lordship, looking puzzled. He examined -Psmith across the compartment with something of the peering curiosity -which he would have bestowed upon a new and unclassified shrub. “Most -extraordinary!” he murmured. “I trust, my dear fellow, you will not -think me personal, but, do you know, nobody would imagine that you were -a poet. You don’t look like a poet, and, dash it, you don’t talk like a -poet.”</p> - -<p>“How should a poet talk?”</p> - -<p>“Well . . .” Lord Emsworth considered the point. “Well, Miss -Peavey . . . But of course you don’t know Miss Peavey . . . Miss Peavey -is a poetess, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[p. 114]</span> -she waylaid me the other morning while I was having a most important -conference with McAllister on the subject of bulbs and asked me if I -didn’t think that it was fairies’ tear-drops that made the dew. Did you -ever hear such dashed nonsense?”</p> - -<p>“Evidently an aggravated case. Is Miss Peavey staying at the -castle?”</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, you couldn’t shift her with blasting-powder. Really -this craze of my sister Constance for filling the house with these -infernal literary people is getting on my nerves. I can’t stand these -poets and what not. Never could.”</p> - -<p>“We must always remember, however,” said Psmith gravely, “that poets -are also God’s creatures.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!” exclaimed his lordship, aghast. “I had forgotten -that you were one. What will you think of me, my dear fellow! But, of -course, as I said a moment ago, you are different. I admit that when -Constance told me that she had invited you to the house I was not -cheered, but, now that I have had the pleasure of meeting you . . .”</p> - -<p>The conversation had worked round to the very point to which Psmith -had been wishing to direct it. He was keenly desirous of finding out -why Mr. McTodd had been invited to Blandings and—a still more vital -matter—of ascertaining whether, on his arrival there as Mr. McTodd’s -understudy, he was going to meet people who knew the poet by sight. On -this latter point, it seemed to him, hung the question of whether he -was about to enjoy a delightful visit to a historic country house in -the society of Eve Halliday—or leave the train at the next stop and -omit to return to it.</p> - -<p>“It was extremely kind of Lady Constance,” he hazarded, “to invite a -perfect stranger to Blandings.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she’s always doing that sort of thing,” said<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[p. 115]</span> his lordship. “It didn’t -matter to her that she’d never seen you in her life. She had read your -books, you know, and liked them: and when she heard that you were -coming to England, she wrote to you.”</p> - -<p>“I see,” said Psmith, relieved.</p> - -<p>“Of course, it is all right as it has turned out,” said Lord -Emsworth handsomely. “As I say, you’re different. And how you came to -write that . . . that . . .”</p> - -<p>“Bilge?” suggested Psmith.</p> - -<p>“The very word I was about to employ, my dear fellow . . . No, no, -I don’t mean that . . . I—I . . . Capital stuff, no doubt, capital -stuff . . . but . . .”</p> - -<p>“I understand.”</p> - -<p>“Constance tried to make me read the things, but I couldn’t. I fell -asleep over them.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you rested well.”</p> - -<p>“I—er—the fact is, I suppose they were beyond me. I couldn’t see any -sense in the things.”</p> - -<p>“If you would care to have another pop at them,” said Psmith -agreeably, “I have a complete set in my bag.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, my dear fellow, thank you very much, thank you a thousand -times. I—er—find that reading in the train tries my eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! You would prefer that I read them aloud?”</p> - -<p>“No, no.” A look of hunted alarm came into his lordship’s speaking -countenance at the suggestion. “As a matter of fact, I generally take a -short nap at the beginning of a railway journey. I find it refreshing -and—er—in short, refreshing. You will excuse me?”</p> - -<p>“If you think you can get to sleep all right without the aid of my -poems, certainly.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t think me rude?”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, not at all. By the way, am I likely to meet any old -friends at Blandings?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[p. 116]</span>“Eh? Oh no. There -will be nobody but ourselves. Except my sister and Miss Peavey, of -course. You said you had not met Miss Peavey, I think?”</p> - -<p>“I have not had that pleasure. I am, of course, looking forward to -it with the utmost keenness.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth eyed him for a moment, astonished: then concluded the -conversation by closing his eyes defensively. Psmith was left to his -reflections, which a few minutes later were interrupted by a smart kick -on the shin, as Lord Emsworth, a jumpy sleeper, began to throw his long -legs about. Psmith moved to the other end of the seat, and, taking his -bag down from the rack, extracted a slim volume bound in squashy mauve. -After gazing at this in an unfriendly manner for a moment, he opened it -at random and began to read. His first move on leaving Lord Emsworth -at the florist’s had been to spend a portion of his slender capital on -the works of Ralston McTodd in order not to be taken at a disadvantage -in the event of questions about them at Blandings: but he speedily -realised, as he dipped into the poems, that anything in the nature of -a prolonged study of them was likely to spoil his little holiday. They -were not light summer reading.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“<i>Across the pale parabola of Joy</i> . . .”</p> -</div></div> - -<p>A gurgling snort from the other end of the compartment abruptly -detached his mind from its struggle with this mystic line. He perceived -that his host had slipped even further down on to his spine and was now -lying with open mouth in an attitude suggestive of dislocation. And as -he looked, there was a whistling sound, and another snore proceeded -from the back of his lordship’s throat.</p> - -<p>Psmith rose and took his book of poems out into<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[p. 117]</span> the corridor with the -purpose of roaming along the train until he should find an empty -compartment in which to read in peace.</p> - -<p>With the two adjoining compartments he had no luck. One was occupied -by an elderly man with a retriever, while the presence of a baby in the -other ruled it out of consideration. The third, however, looked more -promising. It was not actually empty, but there was only one occupant, -and he was asleep. He was lying back in the far corner with a large -silk handkerchief draped over his face and his feet propped up on the -seat opposite. His society did not seem likely to act as a bar to the -study of Mr. McTodd’s masterpieces. Psmith sat down and resumed his -reading.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“<i>Across the pale parabola of Joy</i> . . .”</p> -</div></div> - -<p>Psmith knitted his brow. It was just the sort of line which -was likely to have puzzled his patroness, Lady Constance, and he -anticipated that she would come to him directly he arrived and ask for -an explanation. It would obviously be a poor start for his visit to -confess that he had no theory as to its meaning himself. He tried it -again.</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“<i>Across the pale parabola of Joy</i> . . .”</p> -</div></div> - -<p>A sound like two or three pigs feeding rather noisily -in the middle of a thunderstorm interrupted his meditations. -Psmith laid his book down and gazed in a -pained way across the compartment. There came to -him a sense of being unfairly put upon, as towards the -end of his troubles it might have come upon Job. This, -he felt, was too much. He was being harried.</p> - -<p>The man in the corner went on snoring.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[p. 118]</span>There is always -a way. Almost immediately Psmith saw what Napoleon would have done in -this crisis. On the seat beside the sleeper was lying a compact little -suit-case with hard, sharp edges. Rising softly, Psmith edged along the -compartment and secured this. Then, having balanced it carefully on -the rack above the sleeper’s stomach, he returned to his seat to await -developments.</p> - -<p>These were not long in coming. The train, now flying at its best -speed through open country, was shaking itself at intervals in a -vigorous way as it raced along. A few seconds later it apparently -passed over some points, and shivered briskly down its whole length. -The suit-case wobbled insecurely, hesitated, and fell chunkily in -the exact middle of its owner’s waistcoat. There was a smothered -gulp beneath the handkerchief. The sleeper sat up with a jerk. The -handkerchief fell off. And there was revealed to Psmith’s interested -gaze the face of the Hon. Freddie Threepwood.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_7_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>“Goo!” observed Freddie. He removed the bag from his midriff and -began to massage the stricken spot. Then suddenly perceiving that he -was not alone he looked up and saw Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Goo!” said Freddie, and sat staring wildly.</p> - -<p>Nobody is more alive than we are to the fact that the dialogue of -Frederick Threepwood, recorded above, is not bright. Nevertheless, -those were his opening remarks, and the excuse must be that he had -passed through a trying time and had just received two shocks, one -after the other. From the first of these, the physical impact of the -suit-case, he was recovering; but the second had simply paralysed him. -When, the mists of sleep having cleared away, he saw sitting but a -few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[p. 119]</span> feet away from -him on the train that was carrying him home the very man with whom he -had plotted in the lobby of the Piccadilly Palace Hotel, a cold fear -gripped Freddie’s very vitals.</p> - -<p>Freddie’s troubles had begun when he just missed the twelve-fifty -train. This disaster had perturbed him greatly, for he could not -forget his father’s stern injunctions on the subject. But what had -really upset him was the fact that he had come within an ace of -missing the five o’clock train as well. He had spent the afternoon in -a motion-picture palace, and the fascination of the film had caused -him to lose all sense of time, so that only the slow fade-out on the -embrace and the words “The End” reminded him to look at his watch. A -mad rush had got him to Paddington just as the five o’clock express was -leaving the station. Exhausted, he had fallen into a troubled sleep, -from which he had been aroused by a violent blow in the waistcoat and -the nightmare vision of Psmith in the seat across the compartment. One -cannot wonder in these circumstances that Freddie did not immediately -soar to the heights of eloquence.</p> - -<p>The picture which the Hon. Frederick Threepwood had selected for his -patronage that afternoon was the well-known super-super-film, “Fangs -Of The Past,” featuring Bertha Blevitch and Maurice Heddlestone—which, -as everybody knows, is all about blackmail. Green-walled by primeval -hills, bathed in the golden sunshine of peace and happiness, the -village of Honeydean slumbered in the clear morning air. But off -the train from the city stepped A Stranger—(The Stranger—Maxwell -Bannister). He inquired of a passing rustic—(The Passing Rustic—Claude -Hepworth)—the way to the great house where Myrtle Dale, the -Lady Bountiful of the village . . . well,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_120">[p. 120]</span> anyway, it is all about blackmail, and it -had affected Freddie profoundly. It still coloured his imagination, and -the conclusion to which he came the moment he saw Psmith was that the -latter had shadowed him and was following him home with the purpose of -extracting hush-money.</p> - -<p>While he was still gurgling wordlessly, Psmith opened the -conversation.</p> - -<p>“A delightful and unexpected pleasure, comrade. I thought you had -left the Metropolis some hours since.”</p> - -<p>As Freddie sat looking like a cornered dormouse a voice from the -corridor spoke.</p> - -<p>“Ah, there you are, my dear fellow!”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth was beaming in the doorway. His slumbers, like those -of Freddie, had not lasted long. He had been aroused only a few minutes -after Psmith’s departure by the arrival of the retriever from the next -compartment, which, bored by the society of its owner, had strolled off -on a tour of investigation and, finding next door an old acquaintance -in the person of his lordship, had jumped on the seat and licked his -face with such hearty good will that further sleep was out of the -question. Being awake, Lord Emsworth, as always when he was awake, had -begun to potter.</p> - -<p>When he saw Freddie his amiability suffered a shock.</p> - -<p>“Frederick! I thought I told you to be sure to return on the -twelve-fifty train!”</p> - -<p>“Missed it, guv’nor,” mumbled Freddie thickly. “Not my fault.”</p> - -<p>“H’mph!” His father seemed about to pursue the subject, but the -fact that a stranger and one who was his guest was present apparently -decided him to avoid anything in the shape of family wrangles. He -peered from Freddie to Psmith and back again. “Do you two know each -other?” he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[p. 121]</span>“Not yet,” said -Psmith. “We only met a moment ago.”</p> - -<p>“My son Frederick,” said Lord Emsworth, rather in the voice with -which he would have called attention to the presence of a slug among -his flowers. “Frederick, this is Mr. McTodd, the poet, who is coming to -stay at Blandings.”</p> - -<p>Freddie started, and his mouth opened. But, meeting Psmith’s -friendly gaze, he closed the orifice again without speaking. He licked -his lips in an overwrought way.</p> - -<p>“You’ll find me next door, if you want me,” said Lord Emsworth -to Psmith. “Just discovered that George Willard, very old friend of -mine, is in there. Never saw him get on the train. His dog came into -my compartment and licked my face. One of my neighbours. A remarkable -rose-grower. As you are so interested in flowers, I will take you over -to his place some time. Why don’t you join us now?”</p> - -<p>“I would prefer, if you do not mind,” said Psmith, “to remain here -for the moment and foster what I feel sure is about to develop into a -great and lasting friendship. I am convinced that your son and I will -have much to talk about together.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, my dear fellow. We will meet at dinner in the -restaurant-car.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth pottered off, and Psmith rose and closed the door. -He returned to his seat to find Freddie regarding him with a tortured -expression in his rather prominent eyes. Freddie’s brain had had more -exercise in the last few minutes than in years of his normal life, and -he was feeling the strain.</p> - -<p>“I say, what?” he observed feebly.</p> - -<p>“If there is anything,” said Psmith kindly, “that<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[p. 122]</span> I can do to clear up any -little difficulty that is perplexing you, call on me. What is biting -you?”</p> - -<p>Freddie swallowed convulsively.</p> - -<p>“I say, he said your name was McTodd!”</p> - -<p>“Precisely.”</p> - -<p>“But you said it was Psmith.”</p> - -<p>“It is.”</p> - -<p>“Then why did father call you McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“He thinks I am. It is a harmless error, and I see no reason why it -should be discouraged.”</p> - -<p>“But why does he think you’re McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“It is a long story, which you may find tedious. But, if you really -wish to hear it . . .”</p> - -<p>Nothing could have exceeded the raptness of Freddie’s attention as -he listened to the tale of the encounter with Lord Emsworth at the -Senior Conservative Club.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say,” he demanded at its conclusion, “that you’re -coming to Blandings pretending to be this poet blighter?”</p> - -<p>“That is the scheme.”</p> - -<p>“But why?”</p> - -<p>“I have my reasons, Comrade—what is the name? Threepwood? I thank -you. You will pardon me, Comrade Threepwood, if I do not go into them. -And now,” said Psmith, “to resume our very interesting chat which was -unfortunately cut short this morning, why do you want me to steal your -aunt’s necklace?”</p> - -<p>Freddie jumped. For the moment, so tensely had the fact of his -companion’s audacity chained his interest, he had actually forgotten -about the necklace.</p> - -<p>“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “Why, of course!”</p> - -<p>“You still have not made it quite clear.”</p> - -<p>“It fits splendidly.”</p> - -<p>“The necklace?”</p> - -<p>“I mean to say, the great difficulty would have<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[p. 123]</span> been to find a way of -getting you into the house, and here you are, coming there as this poet -bird. Topping!”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Psmith, regarding him patiently through his eyeglass, -“I do not seem to be immediately infected by your joyous enthusiasm, -put it down to the fact that I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re -talking about. Could you give me a pointer or two? What, for instance, -assuming that I agreed to steal your aunt’s necklace, would you expect -me to do with it, when and if stolen?”</p> - -<p>“Why, hand it over to me.”</p> - -<p>“I see. And what would you do with it?”</p> - -<p>“Hand it over to my uncle.”</p> - -<p>“And whom would he hand it over to?”</p> - -<p>“Look here,” said Freddie, “I might as well start at the -beginning.”</p> - -<p>“An excellent idea.”</p> - -<p>The speed at which the train was now proceeding had begun to render -conversation in anything but stentorian tones somewhat difficult. -Freddie accordingly bent forward till his mouth almost touched Psmith’s -ear.</p> - -<p>“You see, it’s like this. My uncle, old Joe Keeble . . .”</p> - -<p>“Keeble?” said Psmith. “Why,” he murmured meditatively, “is that -name familiar?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t interrupt, old lad,” pleaded Freddie.</p> - -<p>“I stand corrected.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Joe has a stepdaughter—Phyllis her name is—and some time ago -she popped off and married a cove called Jackson . . .”</p> - -<p>Psmith did not interrupt the narrative again, but as it proceeded -his look of interest deepened. And at the conclusion he patted his -companion encouragingly on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“The proceeds, then, of this jewel-robbery, if it comes off,” he -said, “will go to establish the Jackson home on a firm footing? Am I -right in thinking that?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[p. 124]</span>“Absolutely.”</p> - -<p>“There is no danger—you will pardon the suggestion—of you clinging -like glue to the swag and using it to maintain yourself in the position -to which you are accustomed?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely not. Uncle Joe is giving me—er—giving me a bit for -myself. Just a small bit, you understand. This is the scheme. You sneak -the necklace and hand it over to me. I push the necklace over to Uncle -Joe, who hides it somewhere for the moment. There is the dickens of a -fuss, and Uncle Joe comes out strong by telling Aunt Constance that -he’ll buy her another necklace, just as good. Then he takes the stones -out of the necklace, has them reset, and gives them to Aunt Constance. -Looks like a new necklace, if you see what I mean. Then he draws a -cheque for twenty thousand quid, which Aunt Constance naturally thinks -is for the new necklace, and he shoves the money somewhere as a little -private account. He gives Phyllis her money, and everybody’s happy. -Aunt Constance has got her necklace, Phyllis has got her money, and all -that’s happened is that Aunt Constance’s and Uncle Joe’s combined bank -balance has had a bit of a hole knocked in it. See?”</p> - -<p>“I see. It is a little difficult to follow all the necklaces. I -seemed to count about seventeen of them while you were talking, but I -suppose I was wrong. Yes, I see, Comrade Threepwood, and I may say at -once that you can rely on my co-operation.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll do it?”</p> - -<p>“I will.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Freddie awkwardly, “I’ll see that you get a bit -all right. I mean . . .”</p> - -<p>Psmith waved his hand deprecatingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[p. 125]</span>“My dear Comrade -Threepwood, let us not become sordid on this glad occasion. As far as I -am concerned, there will be no charge.”</p> - -<p>“What! But look here . . .”</p> - -<p>“Any assistance I can give will be offered in a purely amateur -spirit. I would have mentioned before, only I was reluctant to -interrupt you, that Comrade Jackson is my boyhood chum, and that -Phyllis, his wife, injects into my life the few beams of sunshine that -illumine its dreary round. I have long desired to do something to -ameliorate their lot, and now that the chance has come I am delighted. -It is true that I am not a man of affluence—my bank-manager, I am told, -winces in a rather painful manner whenever my name is mentioned—but I -am not so reduced that I must charge a fee for performing, on behalf of -a pal, a simple act of courtesy like pinching a twenty thousand pound -necklace.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! Fancy that!”</p> - -<p>“Fancy what, Comrade Threepwood?”</p> - -<p>“Fancy your knowing Phyllis and her husband.”</p> - -<p>“It is odd, no doubt. But true. Many a whack at the cold beef have I -had on Sunday evenings under their roof, and I am much obliged to you -for putting in my way this opportunity of repaying their hospitality. -Thank you!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” said Freddie, somewhat bewildered by this -eloquence.</p> - -<p>“Even if the little enterprise meets with disaster, the reflection -that I did my best for the young couple will be a great consolation -to me when I am serving my bit of time in Wormwood Scrubbs. It will -cheer me up. The jailers will cluster outside the door to listen to me -singing in my cell. My pet rat, as he creeps out to share the crumbs of -my breakfast, will wonder why I whistle as I pick the morning’s oakum. -I shall join in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[p. 126]</span> -hymns on Sundays in a way that will electrify the chaplain. That is -to say, if anything goes wrong and I am what I believe is technically -termed ‘copped.’ I say ‘if,’” said Psmith, gazing solemnly at his -companion. “But I do not intend to be copped. I have never gone in -largely for crime hitherto, but something tells me I shall be rather -good at it. I look forward confidently to making a nice, clean job of -the thing. And now, Comrade Threepwood, I must ask you to excuse me -while I get the half-nelson on this rather poisonous poetry of good -old McTodd’s. From the cursory glance I have taken at it, the stuff -doesn’t seem to mean anything. I think the boy’s <i>non compos</i>. <i>You</i> -don’t happen to understand the expression ‘Across the pale parabola of -Joy,’ do you? . . . I feared as much. Well, pip-pip for the present, -Comrade Threepwood. I shall now ask you to retire into your corner -and amuse yourself for awhile as you best can. I must concentrate, -concentrate.”</p> - -<p>And Psmith, having put his feet up on the opposite seat and reopened -the mauve volume, began to read. Freddie, his mind still in a whirl, -looked out of the window at the passing scenery in a mood which was a -nice blend of elation and apprehension.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_7_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>Although the hands of the station clock pointed to several minutes -past nine, it was still apparently early evening when the train drew up -at the platform of Market Blandings and discharged its distinguished -passengers. The sun, taken in as usual by the never-failing practical -joke of the Daylight Saving Act, had only just set, and a golden -afterglow lingered on the fields as the car which had met the -train purred over the two miles of country road that separated the -little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[p. 127]</span> town from -the castle. As they passed in between the great stone gate-posts and -shot up the winding drive, the soft murmur of the engines seemed -to deepen rather than break the soothing stillness. The air was -fragrant with indescribable English scents. Somewhere in the distance -sheep-bells tinkled; rabbits, waggling white tails, bolted across the -path; and once a herd of agitated deer made a brief appearance among -the trees. The only thing that disturbed the magic hush was the fluting -voice of Lord Emsworth, on whom the spectacle of his beloved property -had acted as an immediate stimulant. Unlike his son Freddie, who sat -silent in his corner wrestling with his hopes and fears, Lord Emsworth -had plunged into a perfect Niagara of speech the moment the car entered -the park. In a high tenor voice, and with wide, excited gestures, he -pointed out to Psmith oaks with a history and rhododendrons with a -past: his conversation as they drew near the castle and came in sight -of the flower-beds taking on an almost lyrical note and becoming a -sort of anthem of gladness, through which, like some theme in the -minor, ran a series of opprobrious observations on the subject of Angus -McAllister.</p> - -<p>Beach, the butler, solicitously scooping them out of the car at the -front door, announced that her ladyship and Miss Peavey were taking -their after-dinner coffee in the arbour by the bowling-green; and -presently Psmith, conducted by his lordship, found himself shaking -hands with a strikingly handsome woman in whom, though her manner -was friendliness itself, he could detect a marked suggestion of the -formidable. Æsthetically, he admired Lady Constance’s appearance, but -he could not conceal from himself that in the peculiar circumstances he -would have preferred something rather more fragile and drooping. Lady -Constance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[p. 128]</span> conveyed -the impression that anybody who had the choice between stealing -anything from her and stirring up a nest of hornets with a short -walking-stick would do well to choose the hornets.</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Mr. McTodd?” said Lady Constance with great -amiability. “I am so glad you were able to come after all.”</p> - -<p>Psmith wondered what she meant by “after all,” but there were so -many things about his present situation calculated to tax the mind that -he had no desire to probe slight verbal ambiguities. He shook her hand -and replied that it was very kind of her to say so.</p> - -<p>“We are quite a small party at present,” continued Lady Constance, -“but we are expecting a number of people quite soon. For the moment -Aileen and you are our only guests. Oh, I am sorry, I should have . . . -Miss Peavey, Mr. McTodd.”</p> - -<p>The slim and willowy female who during this brief conversation had -been waiting in an attitude of suspended animation, gazing at Psmith -with large, wistful eyes, stepped forward. She clasped Psmith’s hand in -hers, held it, and in a low, soft voice, like thick cream made audible, -uttered one reverent word.</p> - -<p>“<i>Maître!</i>”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?” said Psmith. A young man capable of bearing -himself with calm and dignity in most circumstances, however trying, he -found his poise wobbling under the impact of Miss Aileen Peavey.</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey often had this effect on the less soulful type of man, -especially in the mornings, when such men are not at their strongest -and best. When she came into the breakfast-room of a country house, -brave men who had been up a bit late the night before quailed and tried -to hide behind newspapers. She was the sort of woman who tells a man -who is propping his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[p. 129]</span> -eyes open with his fingers and endeavouring to correct a headache with -strong tea, that she was up at six watching the dew fade off the grass, -and didn’t he think that those wisps of morning mist were the elves’ -bridal-veils. She had large, fine, melancholy eyes, and was apt to -droop dreamily.</p> - -<p>“Master!” said Miss Peavey, obligingly translating.</p> - -<p>There did not seem to be any immediate come-back to a remark like -this, so Psmith contented himself with beaming genially at her through -his monocle: and Miss Peavey came to bat again.</p> - -<p>“How wonderful that you were able to come—after all!”</p> - -<p>Again this “after all” motive creeping into the theme. . . .</p> - -<p>“You know Miss Peavey’s work, of course?” said Lady Constance, -smiling pleasantly on her two celebrities.</p> - -<p>“Who does not?” said Psmith courteously.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>do</i> you?” said Miss Peavey, gratification causing her slender -body to perform a sort of ladylike shimmy down its whole length. “I -scarcely hoped that you would know my name. My Canadian sales have not -been large.”</p> - -<p>“Quite large enough,” said Psmith. “I mean, of course,” he added -with a paternal smile, “that, while your delicate art may not have a -universal appeal in a young country, it is intensely appreciated by a -small and select body of the intelligentsia.”</p> - -<p>And if that was not the stuff to give them, he reflected with not a -little complacency, he was dashed.</p> - -<p>“Your own wonderful poems,” replied Miss Peavey, “are, of course, -known the whole world over. Oh, Mr. McTodd, you can hardly appreciate -how I feel, meeting you. It is like the realisation of some golden -dream of childhood. It is like . . .”</p> - -<p>Here the Hon. Freddie Threepwood remarked<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_130">[p. 130]</span> suddenly that he was going to pop into -the house for a whisky and soda. As he had not previously spoken, his -observation had something of the effect of a voice from the tomb. The -daylight was ebbing fast now, and in the shadows he had contrived to -pass out of sight as well as out of mind. Miss Peavey started like an -abruptly awakened somnambulist, and Psmith was at last able to release -his hand, which he had begun to look on as gone beyond his control for -ever. Until this fortunate interruption there had seemed no reason why -Miss Peavey should not have continued to hold it till bedtime.</p> - -<p>Freddie’s departure had the effect of breaking a spell. Lord -Emsworth, who had been standing perfectly still with vacant eyes, like -a dog listening to a noise a long way off, came to life with a jerk.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to have a look at my flowers,” he announced.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be silly, Clarence,” said his sister. “It’s much too dark to -see flowers.”</p> - -<p>“I could smell ’em,” retorted his lordship argumentatively.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if the party must break up, for already his lordship -had begun to potter off, when a new-comer arrived to solidify it -again.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Baxter, my dear fellow,” said Lord Emsworth. “Here we are, you -see.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Baxter,” said Lady Constance, “I want you to meet Mr. -McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. McTodd!” said the new arrival, on a note of surprise.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he found himself able to come after all.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said the Efficient Baxter.</p> - -<p>It occurred to Psmith as a passing thought, to which he gave -no more than a momentary attention, that<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_131">[p. 131]</span> this spectacled and capable-looking man -was gazing at him, as they shook hands, with a curious intensity. But -possibly, he reflected, this was merely a species of optical illusion -due to the other’s spectacles. Baxter, staring through his spectacles, -often gave people the impression of possessing an eye that could pierce -six inches of harveyised steel and stick out on the other side. Having -registered in his consciousness the fact that he had been stared at -keenly by this stranger, Psmith thought no more of the matter.</p> - -<p>In thus lightly dismissing the Baxterian stare, Psmith had -acted injudiciously. He should have examined it more closely and -made an effort to analyse it, for it was by no means without its -message. It was a stare of suspicion. Vague suspicion as yet, but -nevertheless suspicion. Rupert Baxter was one of those men whose chief -characteristic is a disposition to suspect their fellows. He did not -suspect them of this or that definite crime: he simply suspected them. -He had not yet definitely accused Psmith in his mind of any specific -tort or malfeasance. He merely had a nebulous feeling that he would -bear watching.</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey now fluttered again into the centre of things. On the -arrival of Baxter she had withdrawn for a moment into the background, -but she was not the woman to stay there long. She came forward holding -out a small oblong book, which, with a languishing firmness, she -pressed into Psmith’s hands.</p> - -<p>“Could I persuade you, Mr. McTodd,” said Miss Peavey pleadingly, “to -write some little thought in my autograph-book and sign it? I have a -fountain-pen.”</p> - -<p>Light flooded the arbour. The Efficient Baxter, who knew where -everything was, had found and pressed the switch. He did this not so -much to oblige<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[p. 132]</span> Miss -Peavey as to enable him to obtain a clearer view of the visitor. With -each minute that passed the Efficient Baxter was finding himself more -and more doubtful in his mind about this visitor.</p> - -<p>“There!” said Miss Peavey, welcoming the illumination.</p> - -<p>Psmith tapped his chin thoughtfully with the fountain-pen. He felt -that he should have foreseen this emergency earlier. If ever there was -a woman who was bound to have an autograph-book, that woman was Miss -Peavey.</p> - -<p>“Just some little thought . . .”</p> - -<p>Psmith hesitated no longer. In a firm hand he wrote the words -“Across the pale parabola of Joy . . .” added an unfaltering “Ralston -McTodd,” and handed the book back.</p> - -<p>“How strange,” sighed Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>“May I look?” said Baxter, moving quickly to her side.</p> - -<p>“How strange!” repeated Miss Peavey. “To think that you should have -chosen that line! There are several of your more mystic passages that I -meant to ask you to explain, but particularly ‘Across the pale parabola -of Joy’ . . .”</p> - -<p>“You find it difficult to understand?”</p> - -<p>“A little, I confess.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” said Psmith indulgently, “perhaps I did put a bit of -top-spin on that one.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> - -<p>“I say, perhaps it is a little obscure. We must have a long chat -about it—later on.”</p> - -<p>“Why not now?” demanded the Efficient Baxter, flashing his -spectacles.</p> - -<p>“I am rather tired,” said Psmith with gentle reproach, “after my -journey. Fatigued. We artists . . .”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Miss Peavey, with an indignant<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[p. 133]</span> glance at the secretary. -“Mr. Baxter does not understand the sensitive poetic temperament.”</p> - -<p>“A bit unspiritual, eh?” said Psmith tolerantly. “A trifle earthy? -So I thought, so I thought. One of these strong, hard men of affairs, I -shouldn’t wonder.”</p> - -<p>“Shall we go and find Lord Emsworth, Mr. McTodd?” said Miss Peavey, -dismissing the fermenting Baxter with a scornful look. “He wandered off -just now. I suppose he is among his flowers. Flowers are very beautiful -by night.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, yes,” said Psmith. “And also by day. When I am surrounded -by flowers, a sort of divine peace floods over me, and the rough, harsh -world seems far away. I feel soothed, tranquil. I sometimes think, Miss -Peavey, that flowers must be the souls of little children who have died -in their innocence.”</p> - -<p>“What a beautiful thought, Mr. McTodd!” exclaimed Miss Peavey -rapturously.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” agreed Psmith. “Don’t pinch it. It’s copyright.”</p> - -<p>The darkness swallowed them up. Lady Constance turned to the -Efficient Baxter, who was brooding with furrowed brow.</p> - -<p>“Charming, is he not?”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> - -<p>“I said I thought Mr. McTodd was charming.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, quite.”</p> - -<p>“Completely unspoiled.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, decidedly.”</p> - -<p>“I am so glad that he was able to come after all. That telegram he -sent this afternoon cancelling his visit seemed so curt and final.”</p> - -<p>“So I thought it.”</p> - -<p>“Almost as if he had taken offence at something and decided to have -nothing to do with us.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[p. 134]</span>“Quite.”</p> - -<p>Lady Constance shivered delicately. A cool breeze had sprung up. -She drew her wrap more closely about her shapely shoulders, and began -to walk to the house. Baxter did not accompany her. The moment she had -gone he switched off the light and sat down, chin in hand. That massive -brain was working hard.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_8"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[p. 135]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII</h2> - <p class="subh2">CONFIDENCES ON THE LAKE</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_8_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">“M</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap2"><span class="upc">“Miss Halliday,”</span> announced -the Efficient Baxter, removing another letter from its envelope and -submitting it to a swift, keen scrutiny, “arrives at about three -to-day. She is catching the twelve-fifty train.”</p> - -<p>He placed the letter on the pile beside his plate; and, having -decapitated an egg, peered sharply into its interior as if hoping -to surprise guilty secrets. For it was the breakfast hour, and the -members of the house party, scattered up and down the long table, were -fortifying their tissues against another day. An agreeable scent of -bacon floated over the scene like a benediction.</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth looked up from the seed catalogue in which he was -immersed. For some time past his enjoyment of the meal had been marred -by a vague sense of something missing, and now he knew what it was.</p> - -<p>“Coffee!” he said, not violently, but in the voice of a good man -oppressed. “I want coffee. Why have I no coffee? Constance, my dear, I -should have coffee. Why have I none?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I gave you some,” said Lady Constance, brightly presiding -over the beverages at the other end of the table.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[p. 136]</span>“Then where is -it?” demanded his lordship clinchingly.</p> - -<p>Baxter—almost regretfully, it seemed—gave the egg a clean bill -of health, and turned in his able way to cope with this domestic -problem.</p> - -<p>“Your coffee is behind the catalogue you are reading, Lord Emsworth. -You propped the catalogue against your cup.”</p> - -<p>“Did I? Did I? Why, so I did! Bless my soul!” His lordship, -relieved, took an invigorating sip. “What were you saying just then, my -dear fellow?”</p> - -<p>“I have had a letter from Miss Halliday,” said Baxter. “She writes -that she is catching the twelve-fifty train at Paddington, which means -that she should arrive at Market Blandings at about three.”</p> - -<p>“Who,” asked Miss Peavey, in a low, thrilling voice, ceasing for a -moment to peck at her plate of kedgeree, “is Miss Halliday?”</p> - -<p>“The exact question I was about to ask myself,” said Lord Emsworth. -“Baxter, my dear fellow, who is Miss Halliday?”</p> - -<p>Baxter, with a stifled sigh, was about to refresh his employer’s -memory, when Psmith anticipated him. Psmith had been consuming toast -and marmalade with his customary languid grace and up till now had -firmly checked all attempts to engage him in conversation.</p> - -<p>“Miss Halliday,” he said, “is a very old and valued friend of mine. -We two have, so to speak, pulled the gowans fine. I had been hoping to -hear that she had been sighted on the horizon.”</p> - -<p>The effect of these words on two of the company was somewhat -remarkable. Baxter, hearing them, gave such a violent start that -he spilled half the contents of his cup: and Freddie, who had been -flitting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[p. 137]</span> like -a butterfly among the dishes on the sideboard and had just decided -to help himself to scrambled eggs, deposited a liberal spoonful on -the carpet, where it was found and salvaged a moment later by Lady -Constance’s spaniel.</p> - -<p>Psmith did not observe these phenomena, for he had returned to his -toast and marmalade. He thus missed encountering perhaps the keenest -glance that had ever come through Rupert Baxter’s spectacles. It was -not a protracted glance, but while it lasted it was like the ray from -an oxy-acetylene blowpipe.</p> - -<p>“A friend of yours?” said Lord Emsworth. “Indeed? Of course, Baxter, -I remember now. Miss Halliday is the young lady who is coming to -catalogue the library.”</p> - -<p>“What a delightful task!” cooed Miss Peavey. “To live among the -stored-up thoughts of dead and gone genius!”</p> - -<p>“You had better go down and meet her, my dear fellow,” said Lord -Emsworth. “At the station, you know,” he continued, clarifying his -meaning. “She will be glad to see you.”</p> - -<p>“I was about to suggest it myself,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Though why the library needs cataloguing,” said his lordship, -returning to a problem which still vexed his soul when he had leisure -to give a thought to it, “I can’t . . . However . . .”</p> - -<p>He finished his coffee and rose from the table. A stray shaft of -sunlight had fallen provocatively on his bald head, and sunshine always -made him restive.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to your flowers, Lord Emsworth?” asked Miss -Peavey.</p> - -<p>“Eh? What? Yes. Oh, yes. Going to have a look at those lobelias.”</p> - -<p>“I will accompany you, if I may,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[p. 138]</span>“Eh? Why, -certainly, certainly.”</p> - -<p>“I have always held,” said Psmith, “that there is no finer tonic -than a good look at a lobelia immediately after breakfast. Doctors, I -believe, recommend it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I say,” said Freddie hastily, as he reached the door, “can I -have a couple of words with you a bit later on?”</p> - -<p>“A thousand if you wish it,” said Psmith. “You will find me -somewhere out there in the great open spaces where men are men.”</p> - -<p>He included the entire company in a benevolent smile, and left the -room.</p> - -<p>“How charming he is!” sighed Miss Peavey. “Don’t you think so, Mr. -Baxter?”</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter seemed for a moment to find some difficulty in -replying.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very,” he said, but not heartily.</p> - -<p>“And such a <i>soul</i>! It shines on that wonderful brow of his, doesn’t -it?”</p> - -<p>“He has a good forehead,” said Lady Constance. “But I wish he -wouldn’t wear his hair so short. Somehow it makes him seem unlike a -poet.”</p> - -<p>Freddie, alarmed, swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s a poet all right,” he said hastily.</p> - -<p>“Well, really, Freddie,” said Lady Constance, piqued, “I think we -hardly need <i>you</i> to tell us that.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, of course. But what I mean is, in spite of his wearing his -hair short, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I ventured to speak to him of that yesterday,” said Miss Peavey, -“and he said he rather expected to be wearing it even shorter very -soon.”</p> - -<p>“Freddie!” cried Lady Constance with asperity. “What <i>are</i> you -doing?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[p. 139]</span>A brown lake of -tea was filling the portion of the tablecloth immediately opposite the -Hon. Frederick Threepwood. Like the Efficient Baxter a few minutes -before, sudden emotion had caused him to upset his cup.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_8_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>The scrutiny of his lordship’s lobelias had palled upon Psmith at -a fairly early stage in the proceedings, and he was sitting on the -terrace wall enjoying a meditative cigarette when Freddie found him.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Comrade Threepwood,” said Psmith, “welcome to Blandings Castle! -You said something about wishing to have speech with me, if I remember -rightly?”</p> - -<p>The Hon. Freddie shot a nervous glance about him, and seated himself -on the wall.</p> - -<p>“I say,” he said, “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”</p> - -<p>“Like what, Comrade Threepwood?”</p> - -<p>“What you said to the Peavey woman.”</p> - -<p>“I recollect having a refreshing chat with Miss Peavey yesterday -afternoon,” said Psmith, “but I cannot recall saying anything -calculated to bring the blush of shame to the cheek of modesty. What -observation of mine was it that meets with your censure?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that stuff about expecting to wear your hair shorter. If -you’re going to go about saying that sort of thing—well, dash it, you -might just as well give the whole bally show away at once and have done -with it.”</p> - -<p>Psmith nodded gravely.</p> - -<p>“Your generous heat, Comrade Threepwood, is not unjustified. It -was undoubtedly an error of judgment. If I have a fault—which I am -not prepared to admit—it is a perhaps ungentlemanly desire to<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[p. 140]</span> pull that curious -female’s leg. A stronger man than myself might well find it hard to -battle against the temptation. However, now that you have called it -to my notice, it shall not occur again. In future I will moderate the -persiflage. Cheer up, therefore, Comrade Threepwood, and let us see -that merry smile of yours, of which I hear such good reports.”</p> - -<p>The appeal failed to alleviate Freddie’s gloom. He smote morosely at -a fly which had settled on his furrowed brow.</p> - -<p>“I’m getting as jumpy as a cat,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Fight against this unmanly weakness,” urged Psmith. “As far as I -can see, everything is going along nicely.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not so sure. I believe that blighter Baxter suspects -something.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think he suspects?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that there’s something fishy about you.”</p> - -<p>Psmith winced.</p> - -<p>“I would be infinitely obliged to you, Comrade Threepwood, if you -would not use that particular adjective. It awakens old memories, all -very painful. But let us go more deeply into this matter, for you -interest me strangely. Why do you think that cheery old Baxter, a -delightful personality if ever I met one, suspects me?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the way he looks at you.”</p> - -<p>“I know what you mean, but I attribute no importance to it. As far -as I have been able to ascertain during my brief visit, he looks at -everybody and everything in precisely the same way. Only last night at -dinner I observed him glaring with keen mistrust at about as blameless -and innocent a plate of clear soup as was ever dished up. He then -proceeded to shovel it down with quite undisguised relish. So possibly -you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[p. 141]</span> are all wrong -about his motive for looking at me like that. It may be admiration.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t like it.”</p> - -<p>“Nor, from an æsthetic point of view, do I. But we must bear -these things manfully. We must remind ourselves that it is Baxter’s -misfortune rather than his fault that he looks like a dyspeptic -lizard.”</p> - -<p>Freddie was not to be consoled. His gloom deepened.</p> - -<p>“And it isn’t only Baxter.”</p> - -<p>“What else is on your mind?”</p> - -<p>“The whole atmosphere of the place is getting rummy, if you know -what I mean.” He bent towards Psmith and whispered pallidly. “I say, I -believe that new housemaid is a detective!”</p> - -<p>Psmith eyed him patiently.</p> - -<p>“Which new housemaid, Comrade Threepwood? Brooding, as I do, -pretty tensely all the time on deep and wonderful subjects, I have -little leisure to keep tab on the domestic staff. <i>Is</i> there a new -housemaid?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Susan, her name is.”</p> - -<p>“Susan? Susan? That sounds all right. Just the name a real housemaid -would have.”</p> - -<p>“Did you ever,” demanded Freddie earnestly, “see a real housemaid -sweep under a bureau?”</p> - -<p>“Does she?”</p> - -<p>“Caught her at it in my room this morning.”</p> - -<p>“But isn’t it a trifle far-fetched to imagine that she is a -detective? Why should she be a detective?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve seen such a dashed lot of films where the housemaid or -the parlourmaid or what not were detectives. Makes a fellow uneasy.”</p> - -<p>“Fortunately,” said Psmith, “there is no necessity to remain in a -state of doubt. I can give you an unfailing method by means of which -you may discover if she is what she would have us believe her.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[p. 142]</span>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Kiss her.”</p> - -<p>“Kiss her!”</p> - -<p>“Precisely. Go to her and say, ‘Susan, you’re a very pretty -girl . . .’”</p> - -<p>“But she isn’t.”</p> - -<p>“We will assume, for purposes of argument, that she is. Go to her -and say, ‘Susan, you are a very pretty girl. What would you do if I -were to kiss you?’ If she is a detective, she will reply, ‘How dare -you, sir!’ or, possibly, more simply, ‘Sir!’ Whereas if she is the -genuine housemaid I believe her to be and only sweeps under bureaux out -of pure zeal, she will giggle and remark, ‘Oh, don’t be silly, sir!’ -You appreciate the distinction?”</p> - -<p>“How do you know?”</p> - -<p>“My grandmother told me, Comrade Threepwood. My advice to you, -if the state of doubt you are in is affecting your enjoyment of -life, is to put the matter to the test at the earliest convenient -opportunity.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll think it over,” said Freddie dubiously.</p> - -<p>Silence fell upon him for a space, and Psmith was well content -to have it so. He had no specific need of Freddie’s prattle to help -him enjoy the pleasant sunshine and the scent of Angus McAllister’s -innumerable flowers. Presently, however, his companion was off again. -But now there was a different note in his voice. Alarm seemed to have -given place to something which appeared to be embarrassment. He coughed -several times, and his neatly-shod feet, writhing in self-conscious -circles, scraped against the wall.</p> - -<p>“I say!”</p> - -<p>“You have our ear once more, Comrade Threepwood,” said Psmith -politely.</p> - -<p>“I say, what I really came out here to talk about<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[p. 143]</span> was something else. I -say, are you really a pal of Miss Halliday’s?”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly. Why?”</p> - -<p>“I say!” A rosy blush mantled the Hon. Freddie’s young cheek. “I -say, I wish you would put in a word for me, then.”</p> - -<p>“Put in a word for you?”</p> - -<p>Freddie gulped.</p> - -<p>“I love her, dash it!”</p> - -<p>“A noble emotion,” said Psmith courteously. “When did you feel it -coming on?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been in love with her for months. But she won’t look at -me.”</p> - -<p>“That, of course,” agreed Psmith, “must be a disadvantage. Yes, I -should imagine that that would stick the gaff into the course of true -love to no small extent.”</p> - -<p>“I mean, won’t take me seriously, and all that. Laughs at me, don’t -you know, when I propose. What would you do?”</p> - -<p>“I should stop proposing,” said Psmith, having given the matter -thought.</p> - -<p>“But I can’t.”</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut!” said Psmith severely. “And, in case the expression is -new to you, what I mean is ‘Pooh, pooh!’ Just say to yourself, ‘From -now on I will not start proposing until after lunch.’ That done, it -will be an easy step to do no proposing during the afternoon. And by -degrees you will find that you can give it up altogether. Once you have -conquered the impulse for the after-breakfast proposal, the rest will -be easy. The first one of the day is always the hardest to drop.”</p> - -<p>“I believe she thinks me a mere butterfly,” said Freddie, who had -not been listening to this most valuable homily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[p. 144]</span>Psmith slid down -from the wall and stretched himself.</p> - -<p>“Why,” he said, “are butterflies so often described as ‘mere’? I -have heard them so called a hundred times, and I cannot understand -the reason. . . . Well, it would, no doubt, be both interesting -and improving to go into the problem, but at this point, Comrade -Threepwood, I leave you. I would brood.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but, I say, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Will I what?”</p> - -<p>“Put in a word for me?”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Psmith, “the subject crops up in the course of the -chit-chat, I shall be delighted to spread myself with no little vim on -the theme of your fine qualities.”</p> - -<p>He melted away into the shrubbery, just in time to avoid Miss -Peavey, who broke in on Freddie’s meditations a moment later and kept -him company till lunch.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_8_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>The twelve-fifty train drew up with a grinding of brakes at the -platform of Market Blandings, and Psmith, who had been whiling away the -time of waiting by squandering money which he could ill afford on the -slot-machine which supplied butter-scotch, turned and submitted it to a -grave scrutiny. Eve Halliday got out of a third-class compartment.</p> - -<p>“Welcome to our village, Miss Halliday,” said Psmith, advancing.</p> - -<p>Eve regarded him with frank astonishment.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing here?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Lord Emsworth was kind enough to suggest that, as we were such old -friends, I should come down in the car and meet you.”</p> - -<p>“Are we old friends?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[p. 145]</span>“Surely. Have you -forgotten all those happy days in London?”</p> - -<p>“There was only one.”</p> - -<p>“True. But think how many meetings we crammed into it.”</p> - -<p>“Are you staying at the castle?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. And what is more, I am the life and soul of the party. Have -you anything in the shape of luggage?”</p> - -<p>“I nearly always take luggage when I am going to stay a month or so -in the country. It’s at the back somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“I will look after it. You will find the car outside. If you care to -go and sit in it, I will join you in a moment. And, lest the time hangs -heavy on your hands, take this. Butter-scotch. Delicious, and, so I -understand, wholesome. I bought it specially for you.”</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, having arranged for the trunk to be taken to -the castle, Psmith emerged from the station and found Eve drinking in -the beauties of the town of Market Blandings.</p> - -<p>“What a delightful old place,” she said as they drove off. “I almost -wish I lived here.”</p> - -<p>“During the brief period of my stay at the castle,” said Psmith, -“the same thought has occurred to me. It is the sort of place where one -feels that one could gladly settle down into a peaceful retirement and -grow a honey-coloured beard.” He looked at her with solemn admiration. -“Women are wonderful,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And why, Mr. Bones, are women wonderful?” asked Eve.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking at the moment of your appearance. You have just -stepped off the train after a four-hour journey, and you are as fresh -and blooming as—if I may coin a simile—a rose. How do you do it?<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[p. 146]</span> When I arrived I was -deep in alluvial deposits, and have only just managed to scrape them -off.”</p> - -<p>“When did you arrive?”</p> - -<p>“On the evening of the day on which I met you.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s so extraordinary. That you should be here, I mean. I was -wondering if I should ever see you again.” Eve coloured a little, and -went on rather hurriedly. “I mean, it seems so strange that we should -always be meeting like this.”</p> - -<p>“Fate, probably,” said Psmith. “I hope it isn’t going to spoil your -visit?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no.”</p> - -<p>“I could have done with a trifle more emphasis on the last word,” -said Psmith gently. “Forgive me for criticising your methods of voice -production, but surely you can see how much better it would have -sounded spoken thus: ‘Oh, <i>no</i>!’”</p> - -<p>Eve laughed.</p> - -<p>“Very well, then,” she said. “Oh, <i>no</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Much better,” said Psmith. “Much better.”</p> - -<p>He began to see that it was going to be difficult to introduce a -eulogy of the Hon. Freddie Threepwood into this conversation.</p> - -<p>“I’m very glad you’re here,” said Eve, resuming the talk after a -slight pause. “Because, as a matter of fact, I’m feeling just the least -bit nervous.”</p> - -<p>“Nervous? Why?”</p> - -<p>“This is my first visit to a place of this size.” The car had turned -in at the big stone gates, and they were bowling smoothly up the -winding drive. Through an avenue of trees to the right the great bulk -of the castle had just appeared, grey and imposing against the sky. -The afternoon sun glittered on the lake beyond it. “Is everything very -stately?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[p. 147]</span>“Not at all. We -are very homely folk, we of Blandings Castle. We go about, simple and -unaffected, dropping gracious words all over the place. Lord Emsworth -didn’t overawe you, did he?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s a dear. And, of course, I know Freddie quite well.”</p> - -<p>Psmith nodded. If she knew Freddie quite well, there was naturally -no need to talk about him. He did not talk about him, therefore.</p> - -<p>“Have you known Lord Emsworth long?” asked Eve.</p> - -<p>“I met him for the first time the day I met you.”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” Eve stared. “And he invited you to the castle?”</p> - -<p>Psmith smoothed his waistcoat.</p> - -<p>“Strange, I agree. One can only account for it, can one not, by -supposing that I radiate some extraordinary attraction. Have you -noticed it?”</p> - -<p>“No!”</p> - -<p>“No?” said Psmith, surprised. “Ah, well,” he went on tolerantly, “no -doubt it will flash upon you quite unexpectedly sooner or later. Like a -thunderbolt or something.”</p> - -<p>“I think you’re terribly conceited.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said Psmith. “Conceited? No, no. Success has not -spoiled me.”</p> - -<p>“Have you had any success?”</p> - -<p>“None whatever.” The car stopped. “We get down here,” said Psmith, -opening the door.</p> - -<p>“Here? Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because, if we go up to the house, you will infallibly be pounced -on and set to work by one Baxter—a delightful fellow, but a whale for -toil. I propose to conduct you on a tour round the grounds, and then we -will go for a row on the lake. You will enjoy that.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to have mapped out my future for me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[p. 148]</span>“I have,” -said Psmith with emphasis, and in the monocled eye that met hers -Eve detected so beaming a glance of esteem and admiration that she -retreated warily into herself and endeavoured to be frigid.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I haven’t time to wander about the grounds,” she said -aloofly. “I must be going and seeing Mr. Baxter.”</p> - -<p>“Baxter,” said Psmith, “is not one of the natural beauties of the -place. Time enough to see him when you are compelled to . . . We are -now in the southern pleasaunce or the west home-park or something. Note -the refined way the deer are cropping the grass. All the ground on -which we are now standing is of historic interest. Oliver Cromwell went -through here in 1550. The record has since been lowered.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t time . . .”</p> - -<p>“Leaving the pleasaunce on our left, we proceed to the northern -messuage. The dandelions were imported from Egypt by the ninth -Earl.”</p> - -<p>“Well, anyhow,” said Eve mutinously, “I won’t come on the lake.”</p> - -<p>“You will enjoy the lake,” said Psmith. “The newts are of the -famous old Blandings strain. They were introduced, together with the -water-beetles, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Lord Emsworth, of -course, holds manorial rights over the mosquito-swatting.”</p> - -<p>Eve was a girl of high and haughty spirit, and as such strongly -resented being appropriated and having her movements directed by one -who, in spite of his specious claims, was almost a stranger. But -somehow she found her companion’s placid assumption of authority -hard to resist. Almost meekly she accompanied him through meadow -and shrubbery, over velvet lawns and past gleaming flower-beds, and -her indignation evaporated as her eyes absorbed the beauty<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[p. 149]</span> of it all. She gave a -little sigh. If Market Blandings had seemed a place in which one might -dwell happily, Blandings Castle was a paradise.</p> - -<p>“Before us now,” said Psmith, “lies the celebrated Yew Alley, so -called from the yews which hem it in. Speaking in my capacity of guide -to the estate, I may say that when we have turned this next corner you -will see a most remarkable sight.”</p> - -<p>And they did. Before them, as they passed in under the boughs of -an aged tree lay a green vista, faintly dappled with stray shafts of -sunshine. In the middle of this vista the Hon. Frederick Threepwood was -embracing a young woman in the dress of a housemaid.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_8_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>Psmith was the first of the little group to recover from the -shock of this unexpected encounter, the Hon. Freddie the last. That -unfortunate youth, meeting Eve’s astonished eye as he raised his head, -froze where he stood and remained with his mouth open until she had -disappeared, which she did a few moments later, led away by Psmith, -who, as he went, directed at his young friend a look in which surprise, -pain, and reproof were so nicely blended that it would have been hard -to say which predominated. All that a spectator could have said with -certainty was that Psmith’s finer feelings had suffered a severe -blow.</p> - -<p>“A painful scene,” he remarked to Eve, as he drew her away in the -direction of the house. “But we must always strive to be charitable. -He may have been taking a fly out of her eye, or teaching her -jiu-jitsu.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her searchingly.</p> - -<p>“You seem less revolted,” he said, “than one might<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[p. 150]</span> have expected. This -argues a sweet, shall we say angelic disposition and confirms my -already high opinion of you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all. Mark you,” said Psmith, “I don’t think that this sort -of thing is a hobby of Comrade Threepwood’s. He probably has many other -ways of passing his spare time. Remember that before you pass judgment -upon him. Also—Young Blood, and all that sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t any intention of passing judgment upon him. It doesn’t -interest me what Mr. Threepwood does, either in his spare time or out -of it.”</p> - -<p>“His interest in you, on the other hand, is vast. I forgot to -tell you before, but he loves you. He asked me to mention it if the -conversation happened to veer round in that direction.”</p> - -<p>“I know he does,” said Eve ruefully.</p> - -<p>“And does the fact stir no chord in you?”</p> - -<p>“I think he’s a nuisance.”</p> - -<p>“That,” said Psmith cordially, “is the right spirit. I like to see -it. Very well, then, we will discard the topic of Freddie, and I will -try to find others that may interest, elevate, and amuse you. We are -now approaching the main buildings. I am no expert in architecture, -so cannot tell you all I could wish about the façade, but you can see -there <i>is</i> a façade, and in my opinion—for what it is worth—a jolly -good one. We approach by a sweeping gravel walk.”</p> - -<p>“I am going in to report to Mr. Baxter,” said Eve with decision. -“It’s too absurd. I mustn’t spend my time strolling about the grounds. -I must see Mr. Baxter at once.”</p> - -<p>Psmith inclined his head courteously.</p> - -<p>“Nothing easier. That big, open window there is<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[p. 151]</span> the library. Doubtless -Comrade Baxter is somewhere inside, toiling away among the -archives.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but I can’t announce myself by shouting to him.”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly not,” said Psmith. “No need for that at all. Leave -it to me.” He stooped and picked up a large flower-pot which stood -under the terrace wall, and before Eve could intervene had tossed it -lightly through the open window. A muffled thud, followed by a sharp -exclamation from within, caused a faint smile of gratification to -illumine his solemn countenance. “He <i>is</i> in. I thought he would be. -Ah, Baxter,” he said graciously, as the upper half of a body surmounted -by a spectacled face framed itself suddenly in the window, “a pleasant, -sunny afternoon. How is everything?”</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter struggled for utterance.</p> - -<p>“You look like the Blessed Damozel gazing down from the gold bar -of Heaven,” said Psmith genially. “Baxter, I want to introduce you to -Miss Halliday. She arrived safely after a somewhat fatiguing journey. -You will like Miss Halliday. If I had a library, I could not wish for a -more courteous, obliging, and capable cataloguist.”</p> - -<p>This striking and unsolicited testimonial made no appeal to the -Efficient Baxter. His mind seemed occupied with other matters.</p> - -<p>“Did you throw that flower-pot?” he demanded coldly.</p> - -<p>“You will no doubt,” said Psmith, “wish on some later occasion -to have a nice long talk with Miss Halliday in order to give her an -outline of her duties. I have been showing her the grounds and am -about to take her for a row on the lake. But after that she will—and I -know I may speak for Miss Halliday in this matter—be entirely at your -disposal.”</p> - -<p>“Did you throw that flower-pot?”</p> - -<p>“I look forward confidently to the pleasantest of<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[p. 152]</span> associations between you -and Miss Halliday. You will find her,” said Psmith warmly, “a willing -assistant, a tireless worker.”</p> - -<p>“Did you . . . ?”</p> - -<p>“But now,” said Psmith, “I must be tearing myself away. In order to -impress Miss Halliday, I put on my best suit when I went to meet her. -For a row upon the lake something simpler in pale flannel is indicated. -I shall only be a few minutes,” he said to Eve. “Would you mind meeting -me at the boat-house?”</p> - -<p>“I am not coming on the lake with you.”</p> - -<p>“At the boat-house in—say—six and a quarter minutes,” said Psmith -with a gentle smile, and pranced into the house like a long-legged -mustang.</p> - -<p>Eve remained where she stood, struggling between laughter and -embarrassment. The Efficient Baxter was still leaning wrathfully out -of the library window, and it began to seem a little difficult to -carry on an ordinary conversation. The problem of what she was to say -in order to continue the scene in an agreeable manner was solved by -the arrival of Lord Emsworth, who pottered out from the bushes with a -rake in his hand. He stood eyeing Eve for a moment, then memory seemed -to wake. Eve’s appearance was easier to remember, possibly, than some -of the things which his lordship was wont to forget. He came forward -beamingly.</p> - -<p>“Ah, there you are, Miss . . . Dear me, I’m really -afraid I have forgotten your name. My memory is excellent as a rule, -but I cannot remember names . . . Miss Halliday! Of -course, of course. Baxter, my dear fellow,” he proceeded, sighting the -watcher at the window, “this is Miss Halliday.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. McTodd,” said the Efficient One sourly, “has already introduced -me to Miss Halliday.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[p. 153]</span>“Has he? Deuced -civil of him, deuced civil of him. But where <i>is</i> he?” inquired his -lordship, scanning the surrounding scenery with a vague eye.</p> - -<p>“He went into the house. After,” said Baxter in a cold voice, -“throwing a flower-pot at me.”</p> - -<p>“Doing what?”</p> - -<p>“He threw a flower-pot at me,” said Baxter, and vanished moodily.</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth stared at the open window, then turned to Eve for -enlightenment.</p> - -<p>“<i>Why</i> did Baxter throw a flower-pot at McTodd?” he said. “And,” he -went on, ventilating an even deeper question, “where the deuce did he -get a flower-pot? There are no flower-pots in the library.”</p> - -<p>Eve, on her side, was also seeking information.</p> - -<p>“Did you say his name was McTodd, Lord Emsworth?”</p> - -<p>“No, no. Baxter. That was Baxter, my secretary.”</p> - -<p>“No, I mean the one who met me at the station.”</p> - -<p>“Baxter did not meet you at the station. The man who met you at -the station,” said Lord Emsworth, speaking slowly, for women are so -apt to get things muddled, “was McTodd. He’s staying here. Constance -asked him, and I’m bound to say when I first heard of it I was not any -too well pleased. I don’t like poets as a rule. But this fellow’s so -different from the other poets I’ve met. Different altogether. And,” -said Lord Emsworth with not a little heat, “I strongly object to Baxter -throwing flower-pots at him. I won’t <i>have</i> Baxter throwing flower-pots -at my guests,” he said firmly; for Lord Emsworth, though occasionally a -little vague, was keenly alive to the ancient traditions of his family -regarding hospitality.</p> - -<p>“Is Mr. McTodd a poet?” said Eve, her heart beating.</p> - -<p>“Eh? Oh yes, yes. There seems to be no doubt<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_154">[p. 154]</span> about that. A Canadian poet. Apparently -they have poets out there. And,” demanded his lordship, ever a -fair-minded man, “why not? A remarkably growing country. I was there in -the year ’98. Or was it,” he added, thoughtfully passing a muddy hand -over his chin and leaving a rich brown stain, “’99? I forget. My memory -isn’t good for dates. . . . If you will excuse me, Miss—Miss Halliday, -of course—if you will excuse me, I must be leaving you. I have to see -McAllister, my head gardener. An obstinate man. A Scotchman. If you go -into the house, my sister Constance will give you a cup of tea. I don’t -know what the time is, but I suppose there will be tea soon. Never take -it myself.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. McTodd asked me to go for a row on the lake.”</p> - -<p>“On the lake, eh? On the <i>lake</i>?” said his lordship, as if this was -the last place in the neighbourhood where he would have expected to -hear of people proposing to row. Then he brightened. “Of course, yes, -on the lake. I think you will like the lake. I take a dip there myself -every morning before breakfast. I find it good for the health and -appetite. I plunge in and swim perhaps fifty yards, and then return.” -Lord Emsworth suspended the gossip from the training-camp in order to -look at his watch. “Dear me,” he said, “I must be going. McAllister -has been waiting fully ten minutes. Good-bye, then, for the present, -Miss—er—good-bye.”</p> - -<p>And Lord Emsworth ambled off, on his face that look of tense -concentration which it always wore when interviews with Angus -McAllister were in prospect—the look which stern warriors wear when -about to meet a foeman worthy of their steel.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_8_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>There was a cold expression in Eve’s eyes as she made<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[p. 155]</span> her way slowly to the -boat-house. The information which she had just received had come as a -shock, and she was trying to adjust her mind to it. When Miss Clarkson -had told her of the unhappy conclusion to her old school friend’s -marriage to Ralston McTodd, she had immediately, without knowing -anything of the facts, arrayed herself loyally on Cynthia’s side and -condemned the unknown McTodd uncompromisingly and without hesitation. -It was many years since she had seen Cynthia, and their friendship -might almost have been said to have lapsed; but Eve’s affection, when -she had once given it, was a durable thing, capable of surviving long -separation. She had loved Cynthia at school, and she could feel nothing -but animosity towards anyone who had treated her badly. She eyed the -glittering water of the lake from under lowered brows, and prepared to -be frigid and hostile when the villain of the piece should arrive. It -was only when she heard footsteps behind her and turned to perceive -Psmith hurrying up, radiant in gleaming flannel, that it occurred to -her for the first time that there might have been faults on both sides. -She had not known Psmith long, it was true, but already his personality -had made a somewhat deep impression on her, and she was loath to -believe that he could be the callous scoundrel of her imagination. She -decided to suspend judgment until they should be out in mid-water and -in a position to discuss the matter without interruption.</p> - -<p>“I am a little late,” said Psmith, as he came up. “I was detained -by our young friend Freddie. He came into my room and started talking -about himself at the very moment when I was tying my tie and needed -every ounce of concentration for that delicate task. The recent -painful episode appeared to be weighing on his mind to some extent.” -He helped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[p. 156]</span> Eve into -the boat and started to row. “I consoled him as best I could by telling -him that it would probably have made you think all the more highly of -him. I ventured the suggestion that girls worship the strong, rough, -dashing type of man. And, after I had done my best to convince him that -he was a strong, rough, dashing man, I came away. By now, of course, -he may have had a relapse into despair; so, if you happen to see a -body bobbing about in the water as we row along, it will probably be -Freddie’s.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind about Freddie.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t if you don’t,” said Psmith agreeably. “Very well, then, if -we see a body, we will ignore it.” He rowed on a few strokes. “Correct -me if I am wrong,” he said, resting on his oars and leaning forward, -“but you appear to be brooding about something. If you will give me a -clue, I will endeavour to assist you to grapple with any little problem -which is troubling you. What is the matter?”</p> - -<p>Eve, questioned thus directly, found it difficult to open the -subject. She hesitated a moment, and let the water ripple through her -fingers.</p> - -<p>“I have only just found out your name, Mr. McTodd,” she said at -length.</p> - -<p>Psmith nodded.</p> - -<p>“It is always thus,” he said. “Passing through this life, we meet a -fellow-mortal, chat awhile, and part; and the last thing we think of -doing is to ask him in a manly and direct way what his label is. There -is something oddly furtive and shamefaced in one’s attitude towards -people’s names. It is as if we shrank from probing some hideous secret. -We say to ourselves ‘This pleasant stranger may be a Snooks or a -Buggins. Better not inquire.’ But in my case . . .”</p> - -<p>“It was a great shock to me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[p. 157]</span>“Now there,” said -Psmith, “I cannot follow you. I wouldn’t call McTodd a bad name, as -names go. Don’t you think there is a sort of Highland strength about -it? It sounds to me like something out of ‘The Lady of the Lake’ or -‘The Lay of the Last Minstrel.’ ‘The stag at eve had drunk its fill -adoon the glen beyint the hill, and welcomed with a friendly nod old -Scotland’s pride, young Laird McTodd.’ You don’t think it has a sort of -wild romantic ring?”</p> - -<p>“I ought to tell you, Mr. McTodd,” said Eve, “that I was at school -with Cynthia.”</p> - -<p>Psmith was not a young man who often found himself at a loss, but -this remark gave him a bewildered feeling such as comes in dreams. -It was plain to him that this delightful girl thought she had said -something serious, even impressive; but for the moment it did not seem -to him to make sense. He sparred warily for time.</p> - -<p>“Indeed? With Cynthia? That must have been jolly.”</p> - -<p>The harmless observation appeared to have the worst effect upon his -companion. The frown came back to her face.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t speak in that flippant, sneering way,” she said. “It’s so -cheap.”</p> - -<p>Psmith, having nothing to say, remained silent, and the boat drifted -on. Eve’s face was delicately pink, for she was feeling extraordinarily -embarrassed. There was something in the solemn gaze of the man -before her which made it difficult for her to go on. But, with the -stout-heartedness which was one of her characteristics, she stuck to -her task.</p> - -<p>“After all,” she said, “however you may feel about her now, you must -have been fond of poor Cynthia at one time, or I don’t see why you -should have married her.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[p. 158]</span>Psmith, for want -of conversation, had begun rowing again. The start he gave at these -remarkable words caused him to skim the surface of the water with the -left oar in such a manner as to send a liberal pint into Eve’s lap. He -started forward with apologies.</p> - -<p>“Oh, never mind about that,” said Eve impatiently. “It doesn’t -matter. . . . Mr. McTodd,” she said, and there was a note of gentleness -in her voice, “I do wish you would tell me what the trouble was.”</p> - -<p>Psmith stared at the floor of the boat in silence. He was wrestling -with a feeling of injury. True, he had not during their brief -conversation at the Senior Conservative Club specifically inquired of -Mr. McTodd whether he was a bachelor, but somehow he felt that the man -should have dropped some hint as to his married state. True, again, -Mr. McTodd had not asked him to impersonate him at Blandings Castle. -And yet, undeniably, he felt that he had a grievance. Psmith’s was -an orderly mind. He had proposed to continue the pleasant relations -which had begun between Eve and himself, seeing to it that every day -they became a little pleasanter, until eventually, in due season, they -should reach the point where it would become possible to lay heart and -hand at her feet. For there was no doubt in his mind that in a world -congested to overflowing with girls Eve Halliday stood entirely alone. -And now this infernal Cynthia had risen from nowhere to stand between -them. Even a young man as liberally endowed with calm assurance as he -was might find it awkward to conduct his wooing with such a handicap as -a wife in the background.</p> - -<p>Eve misinterpreted his silence.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you are thinking that it is no business of mine?”</p> - -<p>Psmith came out of his thoughts with a start.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[p. 159]</span>“No, no. Not at -all.”</p> - -<p>“You see, I’m devoted to Cynthia—and I like you.”</p> - -<p>She smiled for the first time. Her embarrassment was passing.</p> - -<p>“That is the whole point,” she said. “I do like you. And I’m quite -sure that if you were really the sort of man I thought you when I first -heard about all this, I shouldn’t. The friend who told me about you -and Cynthia made it seem as if the whole fault had been yours. I got -the impression that you had been very unkind to Cynthia. I thought you -must be a brute. And when Lord Emsworth told me who you were, my first -impulse was to hate you. I think if you had come along just then I -should have been rather horrid to you. But you were late, and that gave -me time to think it over. And then I remembered how nice you had been -to me and I felt somehow that—that you must really be quite nice, and -it occurred to me that there might be some explanation. And I thought -that—perhaps—if you would let me interfere in your private affairs—and -if things hadn’t gone too far—I might do something to help—try to bring -you together, you know.”</p> - -<p>She broke off, a little confused, for now that the words were out -she was conscious of a return of her former shyness. Even though she -was an old friend of Cynthia’s, there did seem something insufferably -officious in this meddling. And when she saw the look of pain on her -companion’s face, she regretted that she had spoken. Naturally, she -thought, he was offended.</p> - -<p>In supposing that Psmith was offended she was mistaken. Internally -he was glowing with a renewed admiration for all those beautiful -qualities in her which he had detected, before they had ever met, -at several yards’ range across the street from the window<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[p. 160]</span> of the Drones Club -smoking-room. His look of pain was due to the fact that, having now -had time to grapple with the problem, he had decided to dispose of -this Cynthia once and for all. He proposed to eliminate her for ever -from his life. And the elimination of even such a comparative stranger -seemed to him to call for a pained look. So he assumed one.</p> - -<p>“That,” he said gravely, “would, I fear, be impossible. It is like -you to suggest it, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the -kindness which has made you interest yourself in my troubles, but it is -too late for any reconciliation. Cynthia and I are divorced.”</p> - -<p>For a moment the temptation had come to him to kill the woman off -with some wasting sickness, but this he resisted as tending towards -possible future complications. He was resolved, however, that there -should be no question of bringing them together again.</p> - -<p>He was disturbed to find Eve staring at him in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Divorced? But how can you be divorced? It’s only a few days since -you and she were in London together.”</p> - -<p>Psmith ceased to wonder that Mr. McTodd had had trouble with his -wife. The woman was a perfect pest.</p> - -<p>“I used the term in a spiritual rather than a legal sense,” he -replied. “True, there has been no actual decree, but we are separated -beyond hope of reunion.” He saw the distress in Eve’s eyes and hurried -on. “There are things,” he said, “which it is impossible for a man -to overlook, however broad-minded he may be. Love, Miss Halliday, is -a delicate plant. It needs tending, nursing, assiduous fostering. -This cannot be done by throwing the breakfast bacon at a husband’s -head.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[p. 161]</span>“What!” Eve’s -astonishment was such that the word came out in a startled squeak.</p> - -<p>“<i>In</i> the dish,” said Psmith sadly.</p> - -<p>Eve’s blue eyes opened wide.</p> - -<p>“<i>Cynthia</i> did that!”</p> - -<p>“On more than one occasion. Her temper in the mornings was terrible. -I have known her lift the cat over two chairs and a settee with a -single kick. And all because there were no mushrooms.”</p> - -<p>“But—but I can’t believe it!”</p> - -<p>“Come over to Canada,” said Psmith, “and I will show you the -cat.”</p> - -<p>“Cynthia did that!—Cynthia—why, she was always the gentlest little -creature.”</p> - -<p>“At school, you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That,” said Psmith, “would, I suppose, be before she had taken to -drink.”</p> - -<p>“Taken to drink!”</p> - -<p>Psmith was feeling happier. A passing thought did come to him that -all this was perhaps a trifle rough on the absent Cynthia, but he -mastered the unmanly weakness. It was necessary that Cynthia should -suffer in the good cause. Already he had begun to detect in Eve’s eyes -the faint dawnings of an angelic pity, and pity is recognised by all -the best authorities as one of the most valuable emotions which your -wooer can awaken.</p> - -<p>“Drink!” Eve repeated, with a little shudder.</p> - -<p>“We lived in one of the dry provinces of Canada, and, as so often -happens, that started the trouble. From the moment when she installed -a private still her downfall was swift. I have seen her, under the -influence of home-brew, rage through the house like a devastating -cyclone . . . I hate speaking like this of one who was<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[p. 162]</span> your friend,” said -Psmith, in a low, vibrating voice. “I would not tell these things to -anyone but you. The world, of course, supposes that the entire blame -for the collapse of our home was mine. I took care that it should be -so. The opinion of the world matters little to me. But with you it is -different. I should not like you to think badly of me, Miss Halliday. I -do not make friends easily—I am a lonely man—but somehow it has seemed -to me since we met that you and I might be friends.”</p> - -<p>Eve stretched her hand out impulsively.</p> - -<p>“Why, of course!”</p> - -<p>Psmith took her hand and held it far longer than was strictly -speaking necessary.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”</p> - -<p>He turned the nose of the boat to the shore, and rowed slowly -back.</p> - -<p>“I have suffered,” said Psmith gravely, as he helped her ashore. -“But, if you will be my friend, I think that I may forget.”</p> - -<p>They walked in silence up the winding path to the castle.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_8_6">§ 6</h3> -</div> - -<p>To Psmith five minutes later, as he sat in his room smoking a -cigarette and looking dreamily out at the distant hills, there entered -the Hon. Frederick Threepwood, who, having closed the door behind him, -tottered to the bed and uttered a deep and discordant groan. Psmith, -his mind thus rudely wrenched from pleasant meditations, turned and -regarded the gloomy youth with disfavour.</p> - -<p>“At any other time, Comrade Threepwood,” he said politely but with -firmness, “certainly. But not now. I am not in the vein.”</p> - -<p>“What?” said the Hon. Freddie vacantly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[p. 163]</span>“I say that -at any other time I shall be delighted to listen to your farmyard -imitations, but not now. At the moment I am deep in thoughts of my -own, and I may say frankly that I regard you as more or less of an -excrescence. I want solitude, solitude. I am in a beautiful reverie, -and your presence jars upon me somewhat profoundly.”</p> - -<p>The Hon. Freddie ruined the symmetry of his hair by passing his -fingers feverishly through it.</p> - -<p>“Don’t <i>talk</i> so much! I never met a fellow like you for talking.” -Having rumpled his hair to the left, he went through it again and -rumpled it to the right. “I say, do you know what? You’ve jolly well -got to clear out of here quick!” He got up from the bed, and approached -the window. Having done which, he bent towards Psmith and whispered in -his ear. “The game’s up!”</p> - -<p>Psmith withdrew his ear with a touch of hauteur, but he looked at -his companion with a little more interest. He had feared, when he -saw Freddie stagger in with such melodramatic despair and emit so -hollow a groan, that the topic on which he wished to converse was the -already exhausted one of his broken heart. It now began to appear that -weightier matters were on his mind.</p> - -<p>“I fail to understand you, Comrade Threepwood,” he said. “The last -time I had the privilege of conversing with you, you informed me that -Susan, or whatever her name is, merely giggled and told you not to be -silly when you embraced her. In other words, she is <i>not</i> a detective. -What has happened since then to get you all worked up?”</p> - -<p>“Baxter!”</p> - -<p>“What has Baxter been doing?”</p> - -<p>“Only giving the whole bally show away to me,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_164">[p. 164]</span> that’s all,” said Freddie feverishly. -He clutched Psmith’s arm violently, causing that exquisite to utter a -slight moan and smooth out the wrinkles thus created in his sleeve. -“Listen! I’ve just been talking to the blighter. I was passing the -library just now, when he popped out of the door and hauled me in. And, -dash it, he hadn’t been talking two seconds before I realised that he -has seen through the whole dam’ thing practically from the moment you -got here. Though he doesn’t seem to know that I’ve anything to do with -it, thank goodness.”</p> - -<p>“I should imagine not, if he makes you his confidant. Why did he -do that, by the way? What made him select you as the recipient of his -secrets?”</p> - -<p>“As far as I can make out, his idea was to form a gang, if you know -what I mean. He said a lot of stuff about him and me being the only -two able-bodied young men in the place, and we ought to be prepared to -tackle you if you started anything.”</p> - -<p>“I see. And now tell me how our delightful friend ever happened -to begin suspecting that I was not all I seemed to be. I had been -flattering myself that I had put the little deception over with -complete success.”</p> - -<p>“Well, in the first place, dash it, that dam’ fellow McTodd—the -real one, you know—sent a telegram saying that he wasn’t coming. So it -seemed rummy to Baxter bang from the start when you blew in all merry -and bright.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! That was what they all meant by saying they were glad I had -come ‘after all.’ A phrase which at the moment, I confess, rather -mystified me.”</p> - -<p>“And then you went and wrote in the Peavey female’s -autograph-book.”</p> - -<p>“In what way was that a false move?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[p. 165]</span>“Why, that was -the biggest bloomer on record, as it has turned out,” said Freddie -vehemently. “Baxter apparently keeps every letter that comes to the -place on a file, and he’d skewered McTodd’s original letter with the -rest. I mean, the one he wrote accepting the invitation to come here. -And Baxter compared his handwriting with what you wrote in the Peavey’s -album, and, of course, they weren’t a dam’ bit alike. And that put the -lid on it.”</p> - -<p>Psmith lit another cigarette and drew at it thoughtfully. He -realised that he had made a tactical error in underestimating the -antagonism of the Efficient One.</p> - -<p>“Does he seem to have any idea why I have come to the castle?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>“Any idea? Why, dash it, the very first thing he said to me was that -you must have come to sneak Aunt Connie’s necklace.”</p> - -<p>“In that case, why has he made no move till to-day? I should have -supposed that he would long since have denounced me before as large an -audience as he could assemble. Why this reticence on the part of genial -old Baxter?”</p> - -<p>A crimson flush of chivalrous indignation spread itself over -Freddie’s face.</p> - -<p>“He told me that, too.”</p> - -<p>“There seems to have been no reserves between Comrade Baxter and -yourself. And very healthy, too, this spirit of confidence. What was -his reason for abstaining from loosing the bomb?”</p> - -<p>“He said he was pretty sure you wouldn’t try to do anything on your -own. He thought you would wait till your accomplice arrived. And, damn -him,” cried Freddie heatedly, “do you know who he’s got the infernal -gall to think is your accomplice? Miss Halliday! Dash him!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[p. 166]</span>Psmith smoked in -thoughtful silence.</p> - -<p>“Well, of course, now that this has happened,” said Freddie, “I -suppose it’s no good thinking of going on with the thing. You’d better -pop off, what? If I were you, I’d leg it to-day and have your luggage -sent on after you.”</p> - -<p>Psmith threw away his cigarette and stretched himself. During the -last few moments he had been thinking with some tenseness.</p> - -<p>“Comrade Threepwood,” he said reprovingly, “you suggest a -cowardly and weak-minded action. I admit that the outlook would be -distinctly rosier if no such person as Baxter were on the premises, -but nevertheless the thing must be seen through to a finish. At least -we have this advantage over our spectacled friend, that we know he -suspects me and he doesn’t know we know. I think that with a little -resource and ingenuity we may yet win through.” He turned to the window -and looked out. “Sad,” he sighed, “that these idyllic surroundings -should have become oppressed with a cloud of sinister menace. One -thinks one sees a faun popping about in the undergrowth, and on -looking more closely perceives that it is in reality a detective with -a notebook. What one fancied was the piping of Pan turns out to be a -police-whistle, summoning assistance. Still, we must bear these things -without wincing. They are our cross. What you have told me will render -me, if possible, warier and more snake-like than ever, but my purpose -remains firm. The cry goes round the castle battlements ‘Psmith intends -to keep the old flag flying!’ So charge off and soothe your quivering -ganglions with a couple of aspirins, Comrade Threepwood, and leave me -to my thoughts. All will doubtless come right in the future.”</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_9"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[p. 167]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX</h2> - <p class="subh2">PSMITH ENGAGES A VALET</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_9_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">F</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">From</span> out of the scented shade -of the big cedar on the lawn in front of the castle Psmith looked at -the flower-beds, jaunty and gleaming in the afternoon sun; then he -looked back at Eve, incredulity in every feature.</p> - -<p>“I must have misunderstood you. Surely,” he said in a voice vibrant -with reproach, “you do not seriously intend to <i>work</i> in weather like -this?”</p> - -<p>“I must. I’ve got a conscience. They aren’t paying me a handsome -salary—a fairly handsome salary—to sit about in deck-chairs.”</p> - -<p>“But you only came yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I ought to have worked yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“It seems to me,” said Psmith, “the nearest thing to slavery that -I have ever struck. I had hoped, seeing that everybody had gone off -and left us alone, that we were going to spend a happy and instructive -afternoon together under the shade of this noble tree, talking of this -and that. Is it not to be?”</p> - -<p>“No, it is not. It’s lucky you’re not the one who’s supposed to be -cataloguing this library. It would never get finished.”</p> - -<p>“And why, as your employer would say, should it? He has expressed -the opinion several times in my hearing that the library has jogged -along quite comfortably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[p. -168]</span> for a great number of years without being catalogued. Why -shouldn’t it go on like that indefinitely?”</p> - -<p>“It’s no good trying to tempt me. There’s nothing I should like -better than to loaf here for hours and hours, but what would Mr. Baxter -say when he got back and found out?”</p> - -<p>“It is becoming increasingly clear to me each day that I stay in -this place,” said Psmith moodily, “that Comrade Baxter is little short -of a blister on the community. Tell me, how do you get on with him?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like him much.”</p> - -<p>“Nor do I. It is on these communities of taste that life-long -attachments are built. Sit down and let us exchange confidences on the -subject of Baxter.”</p> - -<p>Eve laughed.</p> - -<p>“I won’t. You’re simply trying to lure me into staying out here and -neglecting my duty. I really must be off now. You have no idea what a -lot of work there is to be done.”</p> - -<p>“You are entirely spoiling my afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not. You’ve got a book. What is it?”</p> - -<p>Psmith picked up the brightly-jacketed volume and glanced at it.</p> - -<p>“<i>The Man With The Missing Toe.</i> Comrade Threepwood lent it to me. -He has a vast store of this type of narrative. I expect he will be -wanting you to catalogue his library next.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it looks interesting.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but what does it <i>teach</i>? How long do you propose to shut -yourself up in that evil-smelling library?”</p> - -<p>“An hour or so.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall rely on your society at the end of that period. We -might go for another saunter on the lake.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[p. 169]</span>“All right. I’ll -come and find you when I’ve finished.”</p> - -<p>Psmith watched her disappear into the house, then seated himself -once more in the long chair under the cedar. A sense of loneliness -oppressed him. He gave one look at <i>The Man With The Missing Toe</i>, -and, having rejected the entertainment it offered, gave himself up to -meditation.</p> - -<p>Blandings Castle dozed in the midsummer heat like a Palace of Sleep. -There had been an exodus of its inmates shortly after lunch, when Lord -Emsworth, Lady Constance, Mr. Keeble, Miss Peavey, and the Efficient -Baxter had left for the neighbouring town of Bridgeford in the big -car, with the Hon. Freddie puffing in its wake in a natty two-seater. -Psmith, who had been invited to accompany them, had declined on the -plea that he wished to write a poem. He felt but a tepid interest in -the afternoon’s programme, which was to consist of the unveiling by -his lordship of the recently completed memorial to the late Hartley -Reddish, Esq., J.P., for so many years Member of Parliament for the -Bridgeford and Shifley Division of Shropshire. Not even the prospect -of hearing Lord Emsworth—clad, not without vain protest and weak -grumbling, in a silk hat, morning coat, and sponge-bag trousers—deliver -a speech, had been sufficient to lure him from the castle grounds.</p> - -<p>But at the moment when he had uttered his refusal, thereby incurring -the ill-concealed envy both of Lord Emsworth and his son Freddie, the -latter also an unwilling celebrant, he had supposed that his solitude -would be shared by Eve. This deplorable conscientiousness of hers, this -morbid craving for work, had left him at a loose end. The time and the -place were both above criticism, but, as so often happens in this life -of ours, he had been let down by the girl.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[p. 170]</span>But, though he -chafed for awhile, it was not long before the dreamy peace of the -afternoon began to exercise a soothing effect upon him. With the -exception of the bees that worked with their usual misguided energy -among the flowers and an occasional butterfly which flitted past in -the sunshine, all nature seemed to be taking a siesta. Somewhere out -of sight a lawn-mower had begun to emphasise the stillness with its -musical whir. A telegraph-boy on a red bicycle passed up the drive to -the front door, and seemed to have some difficulty in establishing -communication with the domestic staff—from which Psmith deduced that -Beach, the butler, like a good opportunist, was taking advantage of -the absence of authority to enjoy a nap in some distant lair of his -own. Eventually a parlourmaid appeared, accepted the telegram and -(apparently) a rebuke from the boy, and the bicycle passed out of -sight, leaving silence and peace once more.</p> - -<p>The noblest minds are not proof against atmospheric conditions of -this kind. Psmith’s eyes closed, opened, closed again. And presently -his regular breathing, varied by an occasional snore, was added to the -rest of the small sounds of the summer afternoon.</p> - -<p>The shadow of the cedar was appreciably longer when he awoke with -that sudden start which generally terminates sleep in a garden-chair. A -glance at his watch told him that it was close on five o’clock, a fact -which was confirmed a moment later by the arrival of the parlourmaid -who had answered the summons of the telegraph-boy. She appeared to -be the sole survivor of the little world that had its centre in the -servants’ hall. A sort of female Casabianca.</p> - -<p>“I have put your tea in the hall, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You could have performed no nobler or more charitable task,” Psmith -assured her; and, having<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[p. -171]</span> corrected a certain stiffness of limb by means of massage, -went in. It occurred to him that Eve, assiduous worker though she was, -might have knocked off in order to keep him company.</p> - -<p>The hope proved vain. A single cup stood bleakly on the tray. Either -Eve was superior to the feminine passion for tea or she was having hers -up in the library. Filled with something of the sadness which he had -felt at the sight of the toiling bees, Psmith embarked on his solitary -meal, wondering sorrowfully at the perverseness which made girls work -when there was no one to watch them.</p> - -<p>It was very agreeable here in the coolness of the hall. The great -door of the castle was open, and through it he had a view of lawns -bathed in a thirst-provoking sunlight. Through the green-baize door -to his left, which led to the servants’ quarters, an occasional sharp -giggle gave evidence of the presence of humanity, but apart from -that he might have been alone in the world. Once again he fell into -a dreamy meditation, and there is little reason to doubt that he -would shortly have disgraced himself by falling asleep for the second -time in a single afternoon, when he was restored to alertness by the -sudden appearance of a foreign body in the open doorway. Against the -background of golden light a black figure had abruptly manifested -itself.</p> - -<p>The sharp pang of apprehension which ran through Psmith’s -consciousness like an electric shock, causing him to stiffen like -some wild creature surprised in the woods, was due to the momentary -belief that the new-comer was the local vicar, of whose conversational -powers he had had experience on the second day of his visit. Another -glance showed him that he had been too pessimistic. This was not the -vicar. It was someone whom he had never seen before—a slim and<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[p. 172]</span> graceful young man with a -dark, intelligent face, who stood blinking in the subdued light of the -hall with eyes not yet accustomed to the absence of strong sunshine. -Greatly relieved, Psmith rose and approached him.</p> - -<p>“Hallo!” said the new-comer. “I didn’t see you. It’s quite dark in -here after outside.”</p> - -<p>“The light is pleasantly dim,” agreed Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Is Lord Emsworth anywhere about?”</p> - -<p>“I fear not. He has legged it, accompanied by the entire household, -to superintend the unveiling of a memorial at Bridgeford to—if my -memory serves me rightly—the late Hartley Reddish, Esq., J.P., M.P. Is -there anything I can do?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve come to stay, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed?”</p> - -<p>“Lady Constance invited me to pay a visit as soon as I reached -England.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Then you have come from foreign parts?”</p> - -<p>“Canada.”</p> - -<p>Psmith started slightly. This, he perceived, was going to complicate -matters. The last thing he desired was the addition to the Blandings -circle of one familiar with Canada. Nothing would militate against his -peace of mind more than the society of a man who would want to exchange -with him views on that growing country.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Canada?” he said.</p> - -<p>“I wired,” proceeded the other, “but I suppose it came after -everybody had left. Ah, that must be my telegram on that table over -there. I walked up from the station.” He was rambling idly about the -hall after the fashion of one breaking new ground. He paused at an -occasional table, the one where, when taking after-dinner coffee, Miss -Peavey was wont to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[p. 173]</span> -sit. He picked up a book, and uttered a gratified laugh. “One of my -little things,” he said.</p> - -<p>“One of what?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“This book. <i>Songs of Squalor.</i> I wrote it.”</p> - -<p>“You wrote it!”</p> - -<p>“Yes. My name’s McTodd. Ralston McTodd. I expect you have heard them -speak of me?”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_9_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>The mind of a man who has undertaken a mission as delicate as -Psmith’s at Blandings Castle is necessarily alert. Ever since he had -stepped into the five o’clock train at Paddington, when his adventure -might have been said formally to have started, Psmith had walked -warily, like one in a jungle on whom sudden and unexpected things might -pounce out at any moment. This calm announcement from the slim young -man, therefore, though it undoubtedly startled him, did not deprive him -of his faculties. On the contrary, it quickened them. His first action -was to step nimbly to the table on which the telegram lay awaiting the -return of Lord Emsworth, his second was to slip the envelope into his -pocket. It was imperative that telegrams signed McTodd should not lie -about loose while he was enjoying the hospitality of the castle.</p> - -<p>This done, he confronted the young man.</p> - -<p>“Come, come!” he said with quiet severity.</p> - -<p>He was extremely grateful to a kindly Providence which had arranged -that this interview should take place at a time when nobody but himself -was in the house.</p> - -<p>“You say that you are Ralston McTodd, the author of these poems?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[p. 174]</span>“Then what,” said -Psmith incisively, “is a pale parabola of Joy?”</p> - -<p>“Er—what?” said the new-comer in an enfeebled voice. There was -manifest in his demeanour now a marked nervousness.</p> - -<p>“And here is another,” said Psmith. “‘The——’ Wait a minute, I’ll get -it soon. Yes. ‘The sibilant, scented silence that shimmered where we -sat.’ Could you oblige me with a diagram of that one?”</p> - -<p>“I—I—— What are you talking about?”</p> - -<p>Psmith stretched out a long arm and patted him almost affectionately -on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“It’s lucky you met me before you had to face the others,” he said. -“I fear that you undertook this little venture without thoroughly -equipping yourself. They would have detected your imposture in the -first minute.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean—imposture? I don’t know what you’re talking -about.”</p> - -<p>Psmith waggled his forefinger at him reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“My dear Comrade, I may as well tell you at once that the genuine -McTodd is an old and dear friend of mine. I had a long and entertaining -conversation with him only a few days ago. So that, I think we may -confidently assert, is that. Or am I wrong?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, hell!” said the young man. And, flopping bonelessly into a -chair, he mopped his forehead in undisguised and abject collapse.</p> - -<p>Silence reigned for awhile.</p> - -<p>“What,” inquired the visitor, raising a damp face that shone -pallidly in the dim light, “are you going to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, Comrade—by the way, what is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Cootes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[p. 175]</span>“Nothing, Comrade -Cootes. Nothing whatever. You are free to leg it hence whenever you -feel disposed. In fact, the sooner you do so, the better I shall be -pleased.”</p> - -<p>“Say! That’s darned good of you.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, not at all.”</p> - -<p>“You’re an ace——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, hush!” interrupted Psmith modestly. “But before you go tell me -one or two things. I take it that your object in coming here was to -have a pop at Lady Constance’s necklace?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I thought as much. And what made you suppose that the real McTodd -would not be here when you arrived?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that was all right. I travelled over with that guy McTodd on -the boat, and saw a good deal of him when we got to London. He was full -of how he’d been invited here, and I got it out of him that no one here -knew him by sight. And then one afternoon I met him in the Strand, all -worked up. Madder than a hornet. Said he’d been insulted and wouldn’t -come down to this place if they came and begged him on their bended -knees. I couldn’t make out what it was all about, but apparently he -had met Lord Emsworth and hadn’t been treated right. He told me he was -going straight off to Paris.”</p> - -<p>“And did he?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. I saw him off myself at Charing Cross. That’s why it seemed -such a cinch coming here instead of him. It’s just my darned luck that -the first man I run into is a friend of his. How was I to know that -he had any friends this side? He told me he’d never been in England -before.”</p> - -<p>“In this life, Comrade Cootes,” said Psmith, “we<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[p. 176]</span> must always distinguish -between the Unlikely and the Impossible. It was unlikely, as you say, -that you would meet any friend of McTodd’s in this out-of-the-way spot; -and you rashly ordered your movements on the assumption that it was -impossible. With what result? The cry goes round the Underworld, ‘Poor -old Cootes has made a bloomer!’”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t rub it in.”</p> - -<p>“I am only doing so for your good. It is my earnest hope that you -will lay this lesson to heart and profit by it. Who knows that it may -not be the turning-point in your career? Years hence, when you are -a white-haired and opulent man of leisure, having retired from the -crook business with a comfortable fortune, you may look back on your -experience of to-day and realise that it was the means of starting -you on the road to Success. You will lay stress on it when you are -interviewed for the <i>Weekly Burglar</i> on ‘How I Began’ . . . But, -talking of starting on roads, I think that perhaps it would be as well -if you now had a dash at the one leading to the railway-station. The -household may be returning at any moment now.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” agreed the visitor.</p> - -<p>“I think so,” said Psmith. “I think so. You will be happier when you -are away from here. Once outside the castle precincts, a great weight -will roll off your mind. A little fresh air will put the roses in your -cheeks. You know your way out?”</p> - -<p>He shepherded the young man to the door and with a cordial push -started him on his way. Then with long strides he ran upstairs to the -library to find Eve.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>At about the same moment, on the platform of Market Blandings -station, Miss Aileen Peavey was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[p. -177]</span> alighting from the train which had left Bridgeford some -half an hour earlier. A headache, the fruit of standing about in the -hot sun, had caused her to forgo the pleasure of hearing Lord Emsworth -deliver his speech: and she had slipped back on a convenient train with -the intention of lying down and resting. Finding, on reaching Market -Blandings, that her head was much better, and the heat of the afternoon -being now over, she started to walk to the castle, greatly refreshed by -a cool breeze which had sprung up from the west. She left the town at -almost the exact time when the disconsolate Mr. Cootes was passing out -of the big gates at the end of the castle drive.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_9_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>The grey melancholy which accompanied Mr. Cootes like a diligent -spectre as he began his walk back to the town of Market Blandings, and -which not even the delightful evening could dispel, was due primarily, -of course, to that sickening sense of defeat which afflicts a man whose -high hopes have been wrecked at the very instant when success has -seemed in sight. Once or twice in the life of every man there falls to -his lot something which can only be described as a soft snap, and it -had seemed to Mr. Cootes that this venture of his to Blandings Castle -came into that category. He had, like most members of his profession, -had his ups and downs in the past, but at last, he told himself, the -goddess Fortune had handed him something on a plate with watercress -round it. Once established in the castle, there would have been a -hundred opportunities of achieving the capture of Lady Constance’s -necklace: and it had looked as though all he had to do was to walk in, -announce himself, and be treated as the honoured guest. As he slouched -moodily between<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[p. 178]</span> the -dusty hedges that fringed the road to Market Blandings, Edward Cootes -tasted the bitterness that only those know whose plans have been upset -by the hundredth chance.</p> - -<p>But this was not all. In addition to the sadness of frustrated hope, -he was also experiencing the anguish of troubled memories. Not only was -the Present torturing him, but the Past had come to life and jumped -out and bitten him. A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier -things, and this was what Edward Cootes was doing now. It is at moments -like this that a man needs a woman’s tender care, and Mr. Cootes had -lost the only woman in whom he could have confided his grief, the only -woman who would have understood and sympathised.</p> - -<p>We have been introduced to Mr. Cootes at a point in his career -when he was practising upon dry land; but that was not his chosen -environment. Until a few months back his business had lain upon deep -waters. The salt scent of the sea was in his blood. To put it more -exactly, he had been by profession a card-sharper on the Atlantic -liners; and it was during this period that he had loved and lost. For -three years and more he had worked in perfect harmony with the lady -who, though she adopted a variety of names for purposes of travel, -was known to her immediate circle as Smooth Lizzie. He had been the -practitioner, she the decoy, and theirs had been one of those ideal -business partnerships which one so seldom meets with in a world -of cynicism and mistrust. Comradeship had ripened into something -deeper and more sacred, and it was all settled between them that -when they next touched New York, Mr. Cootes, if still at liberty, -should proceed to the City Hall for a marriage-licence; when they had -quarrelled—quarrelled irrevocably over one of<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_179">[p. 179]</span> those trifling points over which lovers -do quarrel. Some absurd dispute as to the proper division of the quite -meagre sum obtained from a cattle millionaire on their last voyage had -marred their golden dreams. One word had led to another. The lady, -after woman’s habit, had the last of the series, and even Mr. Cootes -was forced to admit that it was a pippin. She had spoken it on the -pier at New York, and then passed out of his life. And with her had -gone all his luck. It was as if her going had brought a curse upon -him. On the very next trip he had had an unfortunate misunderstanding -with an irritable gentleman from the Middle West, who, piqued at what -he considered—not unreasonably—the undue proportion of kings and aces -in the hands which Mr. Cootes had been dealing himself, expressed his -displeasure by biting off the first joint of the other’s right index -finger—thus putting an abrupt end to a brilliant career. For it was on -this finger that Mr. Cootes principally relied for the almost magical -effects which he was wont to produce with a pack of cards after a -little quiet shuffling.</p> - -<p>With an aching sense of what might have been he thought now of his -lost Lizzie. Regretfully he admitted to himself that she had always -been the brains of the firm. A certain manual dexterity he had no doubt -possessed, but it was ever Lizzie who had been responsible for the -finer work. If they had still been partners, he really believed that -she could have discovered some way of getting round the obstacles which -had reared themselves now between himself and the necklace of Lady -Constance Keeble. It was in a humble and contrite spirit that Edward -Cootes proceeded on his way to Market Blandings.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[p. 180]</span>Miss Peavey, -meanwhile, who, it will be remembered, was moving slowly along the -road from the Market Blandings end, was finding her walk both restful -and enjoyable. There were moments, it has to be recorded, when the -society of her hostess and her hostess’s relations was something of a -strain to Miss Peavey; and she was glad to be alone. Her headache had -disappeared, and she revelled in the quiet evening hush. About now, if -she had not had the sense to detach herself from the castle platoon, -she would, she reflected, be listening to Lord Emsworth’s speech on the -subject of the late Hartley Reddish, J.P., M.P.: a topic which even the -noblest of orators might have failed to render really gripping. And -what she knew of her host gave her little confidence in his powers of -oratory.</p> - -<p>Yes, she was well out of it. The gentle breeze played soothingly -upon her face. Her delicately modelled nostrils drank in gratefully the -scent from the hedgerows. Somewhere out of sight a thrush was singing. -And so moved was Miss Peavey by the peace and sweetness of it all that -she, too, began to sing.</p> - -<p>Had those who enjoyed the privilege of her acquaintance at Blandings -Castle been informed that Miss Peavey was about to sing, they would -doubtless have considered themselves on firm ground if called upon -to make a conjecture as to the type of song which she would select. -Something quaint, dreamy, a little wistful . . . that would have been -the universal guess . . . some old-world ballad, possibly . . .</p> - -<p>What Miss Peavey actually sang—in a soft, meditative voice like that -of a linnet waking to greet a new dawn—was that curious composition -known as “The Beale Street Blues.”</p> - -<p>As she reached the last line, she broke off abruptly. She was, -she perceived, no longer alone. Down the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_181">[p. 181]</span> road toward her, walking pensively like -one with a secret sorrow, a man was approaching; and for an instant, as -she turned the corner, something in his appearance seemed to catch her -by the throat and her breath came sharply.</p> - -<p>“Gee!” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>She was herself again the next moment. A chance resemblance had -misled her. She could not see the man’s face, for his head was bent, -but how was it possible . . .</p> - -<p>And then, when he was quite close, he raised his head, and the -county of Shropshire, as far as it was visible to her amazed eyes, -executed a sudden and eccentric dance. Trees bobbed up and down, -hedgerows shimmied like a Broadway chorus; and from out of the midst of -the whirling country-side a voice spoke.</p> - -<p>“Liz!”</p> - -<p>“Eddie!” ejaculated Miss Peavey faintly, and sat down in a heap on a -grassy bank.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_9_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>“Well, for goodness’ sake!” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>Shropshire had become static once more. She stared at him, -wide-eyed.</p> - -<p>“Can you tie it!” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>She ran her gaze over him once again from head to foot.</p> - -<p>“Well, if this ain’t the cat’s whiskers!” said Miss Peavey. And with -this final pronouncement she rose from her bank, somewhat restored, and -addressed herself to the task of picking up old threads.</p> - -<p>“Wherever,” she inquired, “did you spring from, Ed?”</p> - -<p>There was nothing but affection in her voice. Her gaze was that -of a mother contemplating her long-lost<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_182">[p. 182]</span> child. The past was past and a new era -had begun. In the past she had been compelled to describe this man as -a hunk of cheese and to express the opinion that his crookedness was -such as to enable him to hide at will behind a spiral staircase; but -now, in the joy of this unexpected reunion, all these harsh views were -forgotten. This was Eddie Cootes, her old side-kick, come back to her -after many days, and only now was it borne in upon her what a gap in -her life his going had made. She flung herself into his arms with a -glad cry.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes, who had not been expecting this demonstration of esteem, -staggered a trifle at the impact, but recovered himself sufficiently -to return the embrace with something of his ancient warmth. He was -delighted at this cordiality, but also surprised. The memory of the -lady’s parting words on the occasion of their last meeting was still -green, and he had not realised how quickly women forget and forgive, -and how a sensitive girl, stirred by some fancied injury, may address a -man as a pie-faced plugugly and yet retain in her inmost heart all the -old love and affection. He kissed Miss Peavey fondly.</p> - -<p>“Liz,” he said with fervour, “you’re prettier than ever.”</p> - -<p>“Now you behave,” responded Miss Peavey coyly.</p> - -<p>The arrival of a baaing flock of sheep, escorted by a priggish dog -and followed by a couple of the local peasantry, caused an intermission -in these tender exchanges; and by the time the procession had moved off -down the road they were in a more suitable frame of mind to converse -quietly and in a practical spirit, to compare notes, and to fill up the -blanks.</p> - -<p>“Wherever,” inquired Miss Peavey again, “did you spring from, Ed? -You could of knocked me down with a feather when I saw you coming -along the road.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[p. 183]</span> I -couldn’t have believed it was you, this far from the ocean. What are -you doing inland like this? Taking a vacation, or aren’t you working -the boats any more?”</p> - -<p>“No, Liz,” said Mr. Cootes sadly. “I’ve had to give that up.”</p> - -<p>And he exhibited the hiatus where an important section of his finger -had been and told his painful tale. His companion’s sympathy was balm -to his wounded soul.</p> - -<p>“The risks of the profession, of course,” said Mr. Cootes moodily, -removing the exhibit in order to place his arm about her slender waist. -“Still, it’s done me in. I tried once or twice, but I couldn’t seem to -make the cards behave no more, so I quit. Ah, Liz,” said Mr. Cootes -with feeling, “you can take it from me that I’ve had no luck since -you left me. Regular hoodoo there’s been on me. If I’d walked under a -ladder on a Friday to smash a mirror over the dome of a black cat I -couldn’t have had it tougher.”</p> - -<p>“You poor boy!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes nodded sombrely.</p> - -<p>“Tough,” he agreed, “but there it is. Only this afternoon my -jinx gummed the game for me and threw a spanner into the prettiest -little scenario you ever thought of . . . But let’s not talk about my -troubles. What are you doing now, Liz?”</p> - -<p>“Me? Oh, I’m living near here.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes started.</p> - -<p>“Not married?” he exclaimed in alarm.</p> - -<p>“No!” cried Miss Peavey with vehemence, and shot a tender glance up -at his face. “And I guess you know why, Ed.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean . . . you hadn’t forgotten me?”</p> - -<p>“As if I could ever forget you, Eddie! There’s only one tintype on -<i>my</i> mantelpiece.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[p. 184]</span>“But it struck -me . . . it sort of occurred to me as a passing thought that, when we -saw each other last, you were a mite peeved with your Eddie . . .”</p> - -<p>It was the first allusion either of them had made to the past -unpleasantness, and it caused a faint blush to dye Miss Peavey’s soft -cheek.</p> - -<p>“Oh, shucks!” she said. “I’d forgotten all about that next day. I -was good and mad at the time, I’ll allow, but if only you’d called me -up next morning, Ed . . .”</p> - -<p>There was a silence, as they mused on what might have been.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing, living here?” asked Mr. Cootes after a pregnant -pause. “Have you retired?”</p> - -<p>“No, <i>sir</i>. I’m sitting in at a game with real worthwhile stakes. -But, darn it,” said Miss Peavey regretfully, “I’m wondering if it isn’t -too big for me to put through alone. Oh, Eddie, if only there was some -way you and me could work it together like in the old days.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Diamonds, Eddie. A necklace. I’ve only had one look at it so far, -but that was enough. Some of the best ice I’ve saw in years, Ed. Worth -every cent of a hundred thousand berries.”</p> - -<p>The coincidence drew from Mr. Cootes a sharp exclamation.</p> - -<p>“A necklace!”</p> - -<p>“Listen, Ed, while I slip you the low-down. And, say, if you knew -the relief it was to me talking good United States again! Like taking -off a pair of tight shoes. I’m doing the high-toned stuff for the -moment. Soulful. <i>You</i> remember, like I used to pull once or twice in -the old days. Just after you and me had that little spat of ours I -thought I’d take another trip in the old <i>Atlantic</i>—force of habit or -something, I guess.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[p. 185]</span> -Anyway, I sailed, and we weren’t two days out from New York when I -made the biggest kind of a hit with the dame this necklace belongs to. -Seemed to take a shine to me right away . . .”</p> - -<p>“I don’t blame her!” murmured Mr. Cootes devotedly.</p> - -<p>“Now don’t you interrupt,” said Miss Peavey, administering a -gratified slap. “Where was I? Oh yes. This here now Lady Constance -Keeble I’m telling you about . . .”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter now?”</p> - -<p>“Lady Constance Keeble?”</p> - -<p>“That’s the name. She’s Lord Emsworth’s sister, who lives at a big -place up the road. Blandings Castle it’s called. She didn’t seem like -she was able to let me out of her sight, and I’ve been with her off and -on ever since we landed. I’m visiting at the castle now.”</p> - -<p>A deep sigh, like the groan of some great spirit in travail, forced -itself from between Mr. Cootes’s lips.</p> - -<p>“Well, wouldn’t that jar you!” he demanded of circumambient space. -“Of all the lucky ones! getting into the place like that, with the band -playing and a red carpet laid down for you to walk on! Gee, if you -fell down a well, Liz, you’d come up with the bucket. You’re a human -horseshoe, that’s what you are. Say, listen. Lemme-tell-ya-sumf’n. Do -you know what <i>I’ve</i> been doing this afternoon? Only trying to edge -into the dam’ place myself and getting the air two minutes after I was -past the front door.”</p> - -<p>“What! <i>You</i>, Ed?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. You’re not the only one that’s heard of that collection of -ice.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ed!” Bitter disappointment rang in Miss Peavey’s voice. “If -only you could have worked it!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[p. -186]</span> Me and you partners again! It hurts to think of it. What -was the stuff you pulled to get you in?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes so far forgot himself in his agony of spirit as to -expectorate disgustedly at a passing frog. And even in this trivial -enterprise failure dogged him. He missed the frog, which withdrew into -the grass with a cold look of disapproval.</p> - -<p>“Me?” said Mr. Cootes. “I thought I’d got it smooth. I’d chummed up -with a fellow who had been invited down to the place and had thought it -over and decided not to go, so I said to myself what’s the matter with -going there instead of him. A gink called McTodd this was, a poet, and -none of the folks had ever set eyes on him, except the old man, who’s -too short-sighted to see anyone, so . . .”</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey interrupted.</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean to tell me, Ed Cootes, that you thought you could -get into the castle by pretending to be Ralston McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“Sure I did. Why not? It didn’t seem like there was anything to it. -A cinch, that’s what it looked like. And the first guy I meet in the -joint is a mutt who knows this McTodd well. We had a couple of words, -and I beat it. I know when I’m not wanted.”</p> - -<p>“But, Ed! Ed! What do you mean? Ralston McTodd is at the castle now, -this very moment.”</p> - -<p>“How’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. Been there coupla days and more. Long, thin bird with an -eyeglass.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes’s mind was in a whirl. He could make nothing of this -matter.</p> - -<p>“Nothing like it! McTodd’s not so darned tall or so thin, if it -comes to that. And he didn’t wear no eyeglass all the time I was -with him. This . . .” He broke off sharply. “My gosh! I wonder!” he -cried.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[p. 187]</span> “Liz! How -many men are there in the joint right now?”</p> - -<p>“Only four besides Lord Emsworth. There’s a big party coming down -for the County Ball, but that’s all there is at present. There’s Lord -Emsworth’s son, Freddie . . .”</p> - -<p>“What does he look like?”</p> - -<p>“Sort of a dude with blond hair slicked back. Then there’s Mr. -Keeble. He’s short with a red face.”</p> - -<p>“And?”</p> - -<p>“And Baxter. He’s Lord Emsworth’s secretary. Wears spectacles.”</p> - -<p>“And that’s the lot?”</p> - -<p>“That’s all there is, not counting this here McTodd and the -help.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes brought his hand down with a resounding report on -his leg. The mildly pleasant look which had been a feature of his -appearance during his interview with Psmith had vanished now, its place -taken by one of an extremely sinister malevolence.</p> - -<p>“And I let him shoo me out as if I was a stray pup!” he muttered -through clenched teeth. “Of all the bunk games!”</p> - -<p>“What <i>are</i> you talking about, Ed?”</p> - -<p>“And I thanked him! <i>Thanked</i> him!” moaned Edward Cootes, writhing -at the memory. “I thanked him for letting me go!”</p> - -<p>“Eddie Cootes, whatever are you . . . ?”</p> - -<p>“Listen, Liz.” Mr. Cootes mastered his emotion with a strong effort. -“I blew into that joint and met this fellow with the eyeglass, and -he told me he knew McTodd well and that I wasn’t him. And, from what -you tell me, this must be the very guy that’s passing himself off as -McTodd! Don’t you see? This baby must have started working on the same -lines I did.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[p. 188]</span> Got -to know McTodd, found he wasn’t coming to the castle, and came down -instead of him, same as me. Only he got there first, damn him! Wouldn’t -that give you a pain in the neck!”</p> - -<p>Amazement held Miss Peavey dumb for an instant. Then she spoke.</p> - -<p>“The big stiff!” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes, regardless of a lady’s presence, went even further in -his censure.</p> - -<p>“I had a feeling from the first that there was something not on the -level about that guy!” said Miss Peavey. “Gee! He must be after that -necklace too.”</p> - -<p>“Sure he’s after the necklace,” said Mr. Cootes impatiently. “What -did you think he’d come down for? A change of air?”</p> - -<p>“But, Ed! Say! Are you going to let him get away with it?”</p> - -<p>“Am <i>I</i> going to let him get away with it!” said Mr. Cootes, annoyed -by the foolish question. “Wake me up in the night and ask me!”</p> - -<p>“But what are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“Do!” said Mr. Cootes. “Do! I’ll tell you what I’m going to . . .” -He paused, and the stern resolve that shone in his face seemed to -flicker. “Say, what the hell <i>am</i> I going to do?” he went on somewhat -weakly.</p> - -<p>“You won’t get anything by putting the folks wise that he’s a -fake. That would be the finish of him, but it wouldn’t get <i>you</i> -anywhere.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mr. Cootes.</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute while I think,” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>There was a pause. Miss Peavey sat with knit brows.</p> - -<p>“How would it be . . . ?” ventured Mr. Cootes.</p> - -<p>“Cheese it!” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[p. 189]</span>Mr. Cootes -cheesed it. The minutes ticked on.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got it,” said Miss Peavey. “This guy’s ace-high with Lady -Constance. You’ve got to get him alone right away and tell him he’s got -to get you invited to the place as a friend of his.”</p> - -<p>“I knew you’d think of something, Liz,” said Mr. Cootes, almost -humbly. “You always were a wonder like that. How am I to get him -alone?”</p> - -<p>“I can fix that. I’ll ask him to come for a stroll with me. He’s not -what you’d call crazy about me, but he can’t very well duck if I keep -after him. We’ll go down the drive. You’ll be in the bushes—I’ll show -you the place. Then I’ll send him to fetch me a wrap or something, and -while I walk on he’ll come back past where you’re hiding, and you jump -out at him.”</p> - -<p>“Liz,” said Mr. Cootes, lost in admiration, “when it comes to doping -out a scheme, you’re the snake’s eyebrows!”</p> - -<p>“But what are you going to do if he just turns you down?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes uttered a bleak laugh, and from the recesses of his -costume produced a neat little revolver.</p> - -<p>“<i>He</i> won’t turn me down!” he said.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_9_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>“Fancy!” said Miss Peavey. “If I had not had a headache and come -back early, we should never have had this little chat!”</p> - -<p>She gazed up at Psmith in her gentle, wistful way as they started -together down the broad gravel drive. A timid, soulful little thing she -looked.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>It was not a gushing reply, but he was not feeling at his sunniest. -The idea that Miss Peavey might return from Bridgeford in advance -of the main body had not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[p. -190]</span> occurred to him. As he would have said himself, he had -confused the Unlikely with the Impossible. And the result had been that -she had caught him beyond hope of retreat as he sat in his garden-chair -and thought of Eve Halliday, who on their return from the lake had -been seized with a fresh spasm of conscience and had gone back to the -library to put in another hour’s work before dinner. To decline Miss -Peavey’s invitation to accompany her down the drive in order to see if -there were any signs of those who had been doing honour to the late -Hartley Reddish, M.P., had been out of the question. But Psmith, though -he went, went without pleasure. Every moment he spent in her society -tended to confirm him more and more in the opinion that Miss Peavey was -the curse of the species.</p> - -<p>“And I have been so longing,” continued his companion, “to have a -nice, long talk. All these days I have felt that I haven’t been able to -get as <i>near</i> you as I should wish.”</p> - -<p>“Well, of course, with the others always about . . .”</p> - -<p>“I meant in a spiritual sense, of course.”</p> - -<p>“I see.”</p> - -<p>“I wanted so much to discuss your wonderful poetry with you. You -haven’t so much as <i>mentioned</i> your work since you came here. <i>Have</i> -you!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but, you see, I am trying to keep my mind off it.”</p> - -<p>“Really? Why?”</p> - -<p>“My medical adviser warned me that I had been concentrating a trifle -too much. He offered me the choice, in fact, between a complete rest -and the loony-bin.”</p> - -<p>“The <i>what</i>, Mr. McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“The lunatic asylum, he meant. These medical men express themselves -oddly.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[p. 191]</span>“But surely, -then, you ought not to <i>dream</i> of trying to compose if it is as bad as -that? And you told Lord Emsworth that you wished to stay at home this -afternoon to write a poem.”</p> - -<p>Her glance showed nothing but tender solicitude, but inwardly Miss -Peavey was telling herself that <i>that</i> would hold him for awhile.</p> - -<p>“True,” said Psmith, “true. But you know what Art is. An inexorable -mistress. The inspiration came, and I felt that I must take the risk. -But it has left me weak, weak.”</p> - -<p>“You BIG STIFF!” said Miss Peavey. But not aloud.</p> - -<p>They walked on a few steps.</p> - -<p>“In fact,” said Psmith, with another inspiration, “I’m not sure I -ought not to be going back and resting now.”</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey eyed a clump of bushes some dozen yards farther down -the drive. They were quivering slightly, as though they sheltered some -alien body; and Miss Peavey, whose temper was apt to be impatient, -registered a resolve to tell Edward Cootes that, if he couldn’t hide -behind a bush without dancing about like a cat on hot bricks, he had -better give up his profession and take to selling jellied eels. In -which, it may be mentioned, she wronged her old friend. He had been as -still as a statue until a moment before, when a large and excitable -beetle had fallen down the space between his collar and his neck, an -experience which might well have tried the subtlest woodsman.</p> - -<p>“Oh, please don’t go in yet,” said Miss Peavey. “It is such a lovely -evening. Hark to the music of the breeze in the tree-tops. So soothing. -Like a far-away harp. I wonder if it is whispering secrets to the -birds.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[p. 192]</span>Psmith forbore to -follow her into this region of speculation, and they walked past the -bushes in silence.</p> - -<p>Some little distance farther on, however, Miss Peavey seemed to -relent.</p> - -<p>“You <i>are</i> looking tired, Mr. McTodd,” she said anxiously. “I am -afraid you really have been overtaxing your strength. Perhaps after all -you had better go back and lie down.”</p> - -<p>“You think so?”</p> - -<p>“I am sure of it. I will just stroll on to the gates and see if the -car is in sight.”</p> - -<p>“I feel that I am deserting you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, please!” said Miss Peavey deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>With something of the feelings of a long-sentence convict -unexpectedly released immediately on his arrival in jail, Psmith -retraced his steps. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Miss Peavey -had disappeared round a bend in the drive; and he paused to light -a cigarette. He had just thrown away the match and was walking on, -well content with life, when a voice behind him said “Hey!” and the -well-remembered form of Mr. Edward Cootes stepped out of the bushes.</p> - -<p>“See this?” said Mr. Cootes, exhibiting his revolver.</p> - -<p>“I do indeed, Comrade Cootes,” replied Psmith. “And, if it is not an -untimely question, what is the idea?”</p> - -<p>“That,” said Mr. Cootes, “is just in case you try any funny -business.” And, replacing the weapon in a handy pocket, he proceeded -to slap vigorously at the region between his shoulder blades. He also -wriggled with not a little animation.</p> - -<p>Psmith watched these manœuvres gravely.</p> - -<p>“You did not stop me at the pistol’s point merely to watch you go -through your Swedish exercises?” he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[p. 193]</span>Mr. Cootes paused -for an instant.</p> - -<p>“Got a beetle or something down my back,” he explained curtly.</p> - -<p>“Ah? Then, as you will naturally wish to be alone in such a sad -moment, I will be bidding you a cordial good evening and strolling -on.”</p> - -<p>“No, you don’t!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t I?” said Psmith resignedly. “Perhaps you are right, perhaps -you are right.” Mr. Cootes replaced the revolver once more. “I take it, -then, Comrade Cootes, that you would have speech with me. Carry on, -old friend, and get it off your diaphragm. What seems to be on your -mind?”</p> - -<p>A lucky blow appeared to have stunned Mr. Cootes’s beetle, and he -was able to give his full attention to the matter in hand. He stared at -Psmith with considerable distaste.</p> - -<p>“I’m on to you, Bill!” he said.</p> - -<p>“My name is not Bill,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“No,” snapped Mr. Cootes, his annoyance by this time very manifest. -“And it’s not McTodd.”</p> - -<p>Psmith looked at his companion thoughtfully. This was an unforeseen -complication, and for the moment he would readily have admitted that he -saw no way of overcoming it. That the other was in no genial frame of -mind towards him the expression on his face would have showed, even if -his actions had not been sufficient indication of the fact. Mr. Cootes, -having disposed of his beetle and being now at leisure to concentrate -his whole attention on Psmith, was eyeing that immaculate young man -with a dislike which he did not attempt to conceal.</p> - -<p>“Shall we be strolling on?” suggested Psmith. “Walking may assist -thought. At the moment I am free to confess that you have opened up -a subject<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[p. 194]</span> which -causes me some perplexity. I think, Comrade Cootes, having given the -position of affairs a careful examination, that we may say that the -next move is with you. What do you propose to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“I’d like,” said Mr. Cootes with asperity, “to beat your block -off.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt. But . . .”</p> - -<p>“I’d like to knock you for a goal!”</p> - -<p>Psmith discouraged these Utopian dreams with a deprecating wave of -the hand.</p> - -<p>“I can readily understand it,” he said courteously. “But, to keep -within the sphere of practical politics, what is the actual move which -you contemplate? You could expose me, no doubt, to my host, but I -cannot see how that would profit you.”</p> - -<p>“I know that. But you can remember I’ve got that up my sleeve in -case you try any funny business.”</p> - -<p>“You persist in harping on that possibility, Comrade Cootes. The -idea seems to be an obsession with you. I can assure you that I -contemplate no such thing. What, to return to the point, do you intend -to do?”</p> - -<p>They had reached the broad expanse opposite the front door, where -the drive, from being a river, spread out into a lake of gravel. Psmith -stopped.</p> - -<p>“You’ve got to get me into this joint,” said Mr. Cootes.</p> - -<p>“I feared that that was what you were about to suggest. In my -peculiar position I have naturally no choice but to endeavour to carry -out your wishes. Any attempt not to do so would, I imagine, infallibly -strike so keen a critic as yourself as ‘funny business.’ But how can I -get you into what you breezily describe as ‘this joint’?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[p. 195]</span>“You can say I’m -a friend of yours and ask them to invite me.”</p> - -<p>Psmith shook his head gently.</p> - -<p>“Not one of your brightest suggestions, Comrade Cootes. Tactfully -refraining from stressing the point that an instant lowering of my -prestige would inevitably ensue should it be supposed that you were a -friend of mine, I will merely mention that, being myself merely a guest -in this stately home of England, I can hardly go about inviting my -chums here for indefinite visits. No, we must find another way. . . . -You’re sure you want to stay? Quite so, quite so, I merely asked. . . . -Now, let us think.”</p> - -<p>Through the belt of rhododendrons which jutted out from one side of -the castle a portly form at this point made itself visible, moving high -and disposedly in the direction of the back premises. It was Beach, the -butler, returning from the pleasant ramble in which he had indulged -himself on the departure of his employer and the rest of the party. -Revived by some gracious hours in the open air, Beach was returning to -duty. And with the sight of him there came to Psmith a neat solution of -the problem confronting him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Beach,” he called.</p> - -<p>“Sir?” responded a fruity voice. There was a brief pause while the -butler navigated into the open. He removed the straw hat which he had -donned for his excursion, and enfolded Psmith in a pop-eyed but not -unkindly gaze. A thoughtful critic of country-house humanity, he had -long since decided that he approved of Psmith. Since Lady Constance -had first begun to offer the hospitality of the castle to the literary -and artistic world, he had been profoundly shocked by some of the -rare and curious specimens who had nodded their disordered locks and -flaunted their ill-cut evening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[p. -196]</span> clothes at the dinner-table over which he presided; and -Psmith had come as a pleasant surprise.</p> - -<p>“Sorry to trouble you, Beach.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, sir.”</p> - -<p>“This,” said Psmith, indicating Mr. Cootes, who was viewing the -scene with a wary and suspicious eye, an eye obviously alert for any -signs of funny business, “is my man. My valet, you know. He has just -arrived from town. I had to leave him behind to attend the bedside -of a sick aunt. Your aunt was better when you came away, Cootes?” he -inquired graciously.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes correctly interpreted this question as a feeler with -regard to his views on this new development, and decided to accept the -situation. True, he had hoped to enter the castle in a slightly higher -capacity than that of a gentleman’s personal gentleman, but he was an -old campaigner. Once in, as he put it to himself with admirable common -sense, he would be in.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Capital,” said Psmith. “Capital. Then will you look after Cootes, -Beach.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir,” said the butler in a voice of cordial approval. -The only point he had found to cavil at in Psmith had been removed; -for it had hitherto pained him a little that a gentleman with so nice -a taste in clothes as that dignified guest should have embarked on a -visit to such a place as Blandings Castle without a personal attendant. -Now all was explained and, as far as Beach was concerned, forgiven. He -proceeded to escort Mr. Cootes to the rear. They disappeared behind the -rhododendrons.</p> - -<p>They had hardly gone when a sudden thought came to Psmith as he sat -once more in the coolness of the hall. He pressed the bell. Strange, he -reflected, how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[p. 197]</span> one -overlooked these obvious things. That was how generals lost battles.</p> - -<p>“Sir?” said Beach, appearing through the green baize door.</p> - -<p>“Sorry to trouble you again, Beach.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you will make Cootes comfortable. I think you will like him. -His, when you get to know him, is a very winning personality.”</p> - -<p>“He seems a nice young fellow, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, by the way, Beach. You might ask him if he brought my revolver -from town with him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Beach, who would have scorned to betray emotion if -it had been a Lewis gun.</p> - -<p>“I think I saw it sticking out of his pocket. You might bring it to -me, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> - -<p>Beach retired, to return a moment later. On the silver salver which -he carried the lethal weapon was duly reposing.</p> - -<p>“Your revolver, sir,” said Beach.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Psmith.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_9_6">§ 6</h3> -</div> - -<p>For some moments after the butler had withdrawn in his stately -pigeon-toed way through the green baize door, Psmith lay back in his -chair with the feeling that something attempted, something done, had -earned a night’s repose. He was not so sanguine as to suppose that he -had actually checkmated an adversary of Mr. Cootes’s strenuousness -by the simple act of removing a revolver from his possession; but -there was no denying the fact that the feel of the thing in his -pocket engendered a certain cosy satisfaction. The little he had -seen of Mr. Cootes had been enough to convince<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_198">[p. 198]</span> him that the other was a man who was far -better off without an automatic pistol. There was an impulsiveness -about his character which did not go well with the possession of -fire-arms.</p> - -<p>Psmith’s meditations had taken him thus far when they were -interrupted by an imperative voice.</p> - -<p>“Hey!”</p> - -<p>Only one person of Psmith’s acquaintance was in the habit of opening -his remarks in this manner. It was consequently no surprise to him to -find Mr. Edward Cootes standing at his elbow.</p> - -<p>“Hey!”</p> - -<p>“All right, Comrade Cootes,” said Psmith with a touch of austerity, -“I heard you the first time. And may I remind you that this habit of -yours of popping out from unexpected places and saying ‘Hey!’ is one -which should be overcome. Valets are supposed to wait till rung for. At -least, I think so. I must confess that until this moment I have never -had a valet.”</p> - -<p>“And you wouldn’t have one now if I could help it,” responded Mr. -Cootes.</p> - -<p>Psmith raised his eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“Why,” he inquired, surprised, “this peevishness? Don’t you like -being a valet?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t.”</p> - -<p>“You astonish me. I should have thought you would have gone singing -about the house. Have you considered that the tenancy of such a -position throws you into the constant society of Comrade Beach, than -whom it would be difficult to imagine a more delightful companion?”</p> - -<p>“Old stiff!” said Mr. Cootes sourly. “If there’s one thing that -makes me tired, it’s a guy that talks about his darned stomach all the -time.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[p. 199]</span>“The Beach gook,” -explained Mr. Cootes, “has got something wrong with the lining of his -stomach, and if I hadn’t made my getaway he’d be talking about it -yet.”</p> - -<p>“If you fail to find entertainment and uplift in first-hand -information about Comrade Beach’s stomach, you must indeed be hard -to please. I am to take it, then, that you came snorting out here, -interrupting my daydreams, merely in order to seek my sympathy?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes gazed upon him with a smouldering eye.</p> - -<p>“I came to tell you I suppose you think you’re darned smart.”</p> - -<p>“And very nice of you, too,” said Psmith, touched. “A pretty -compliment, for which I am not ungrateful.”</p> - -<p>“You got that gun away from me mighty smoothly, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Since you mention it, yes.”</p> - -<p>“And now I suppose you think you’re going to slip in ahead of me and -get away with that necklace? Well, say, listen, lemme tell you it’ll -take someone better than a half-baked string-bean like you to put one -over on me.”</p> - -<p>“I seem,” said Psmith, pained, “to detect a certain animus creeping -into your tone. Surely we can be trade rivals without this spirit of -hostility. My attitude towards you is one of kindly tolerance.”</p> - -<p>“Even if you get it, where do you think you’re going to hide it? -And, believe me, it’ll take some hiding. Say, lemme tell you something. -I’m your valet, ain’t I? Well, then, I can come into your room and -be tidying up whenever I darn please, can’t I? Sure I can. I’ll tell -the world I can do just that little thing. And you take it from me, -Bill . . .”</p> - -<p>“You persist in the delusion that my name is William . . .”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[p. 200]</span>“You take it from -me, Bill, that if ever that necklace disappears and it isn’t me that’s -done the disappearing, you’ll find me tidying up in a way that’ll make -you dizzy. I’ll go through that room of yours with a fine-tooth comb. -So chew on that, will you?”</p> - -<p>And Edward Cootes, moving sombrely across the hall, made a sinister -exit. The mood of cool reflection was still to come, when he would -realise that, in his desire to administer what he would have described -as a hot one, he had acted a little rashly in putting his enemy on -his guard. All he was thinking now was that his brief sketch of the -position of affairs would have the effect of diminishing Psmith’s -complacency a trifle. He had, he flattered himself, slipped over -something that could be classed as a jolt.</p> - -<p>Nor was he unjustified in this view. The aspect of the matter on -which he had touched was one that had not previously presented itself -to Psmith: and, musing on it as he resettled himself in his chair, he -could see that it afforded food for thought. As regarded the disposal -of the necklace, should it ever come into his possession, he had formed -no definite plan. He had assumed that he would conceal it somewhere -until the first excitement of the chase slackened, and it was only now -that he realised the difficulty of finding a suitable hiding-place -outside his bedroom. Yes, it was certainly a matter on which, as Mr. -Cootes had suggested, he would do well to chew. For ten minutes, -accordingly, he did so. And—it being practically impossible to keep a -good man down—at the end of that period he was rewarded with an idea. -He rose from his chair and pressed the bell.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Beach,” he said affably, as the green baize door swung open, -“I must apologise once more for troubling you. I keep ringing, don’t -I?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[p. 201]</span>“No trouble at -all, sir,” responded the butler paternally. “But if you were ringing to -summon your personal attendant, I fear he is not immediately available. -He left me somewhat abruptly a few moments ago. I was not aware that -you would be requiring his services until the dressing-gong sounded, or -I would have detained him.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind. It was you I wished to see. Beach,” said Psmith, “I -am concerned about you. I learn from my man that the lining of your -stomach is not all it should be.”</p> - -<p>“That is true, sir,” replied Beach, an excited gleam coming into his -dull eyes. He shivered slightly, as might a war-horse at the sound of -the bugle. “I do have trouble with the lining of my stomach.”</p> - -<p>“Every stomach has a silver lining.”</p> - -<p>“Sir?”</p> - -<p>“I said, tell me all about it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, really, sir . . .” said Beach wistfully.</p> - -<p>“To please me,” urged Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, it is extremely kind of you to take an interest. It -generally starts with a dull shooting pain on the right side of the -abdomen from twenty minutes to half an hour after the conclusion of a -meal. The symptoms . . .”</p> - -<p>There was nothing but courteous sympathy in Psmith’s gaze as he -listened to what sounded like an eyewitness’s account of the San -Francisco earthquake, but inwardly he was wishing that his companion -could see his way to making it a bit briefer and snappier. However, -all things come to an end. Even the weariest river winds somewhere -to the sea. With a moving period, the butler finally concluded his -narrative.</p> - -<p>“Parks’ Pepsinine,” said Psmith promptly.</p> - -<p>“Sir?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[p. 202]</span>“That’s what you -want. Parks’ Pepsinine. It would set you right in no time.”</p> - -<p>“I will make a note of the name, sir. The specific has not come -to my notice until now. And, if I may say so,” added Beach, with a -glassy but adoring look at his benefactor, “I should like to express my -gratitude for your kindness.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, Beach, not at all. Oh, Beach,” he said, as the other -started to manœuvre towards the door, “I’ve just remembered. There was -something else I wanted to talk to you about.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir?”</p> - -<p>“I thought it might be as well to speak to you about it before -approaching Lady Constance. The fact is, Beach, I am feeling -cramped.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir? I forgot to mention that one of the symptoms from -which I suffer is a sharp cramp.”</p> - -<p>“Too bad. But let us, if you do not mind, shelve for the moment -the subject of your interior organism and its ailments. When I say I -am feeling cramped, I mean spiritually. Have you ever written poetry, -Beach?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Then it may be a little difficult for you to understand my -feelings. My trouble is this. Out in Canada, Beach, I grew accustomed -to doing my work in the most solitary surroundings. You remember that -passage in my <i>Songs of Squalor</i> which begins ‘Across the pale parabola -of Joy . . .’?”</p> - -<p>“I fear, sir . . .”</p> - -<p>“You missed it? Tough luck. Try to get hold of it some time. It’s a -bird. Well, that passage was written in a lonely hut on the banks of -the Saskatchewan, miles away from human habitation. I am like that, -Beach. I need the stimulus of the great open<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_203">[p. 203]</span> spaces. When I am surrounded by my -fellows, inspiration slackens and dies. You know how it is when there -are people about. Just as you are starting in to write a nifty, someone -comes and sits down on the desk and begins talking about himself. Every -time you get going nicely, in barges some alien influence and the Muse -goes blooey. You see what I mean?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Beach, gaping slightly.</p> - -<p>“Well, that is why for a man like me existence in Blandings Castle -has its drawbacks. I have got to get a place where I can be alone, -Beach—alone with my dreams and visions. Some little eyrie perched on -the cliffs of Time. . . . In other words, do you know of an empty -cottage somewhere on the estate where I could betake myself when in the -mood and swing a nib without any possibility of being interrupted?”</p> - -<p>“A little cottage, sir?”</p> - -<p>“A little cottage. With honeysuckle over the door, and Old Mister -Moon climbing up above the trees. A cottage, Beach, where I can -meditate, where I can turn the key in the door and bid the world go -by. Now that the castle is going to be full of all these people who -are coming for the County Ball, it is imperative that I wangle such a -haven. Otherwise, a considerable slab of priceless poetry will be lost -to humanity for ever.”</p> - -<p>“You desire,” said Beach, feeling his way cautiously, “a small -cottage where you can write poetry, sir?”</p> - -<p>“You follow me like a leopard. Do you know of such a one?”</p> - -<p>“There is an unoccupied gamekeeper’s cottage in the west wood, sir, -but it is an extremely humble place.”</p> - -<p>“Be it never so humble, it will do for me. Do you think Lady -Constance would be offended if I were to ask for the loan of it for a -few days?”</p> - -<p>“I fancy that her ladyship would receive the request<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[p. 204]</span> with equanimity, sir. -She is used to . . . She is not unaccustomed . . . Well, I can only -say, sir, that there was a literary gentleman visiting the castle last -summer who expressed a desire to take sun-baths in the garden each -morning before breakfast. In the nood, sir. And, beyond instructing me -to warn the maids, her ladyship placed no obstacle in the way of the -fulfilment of his wishes. So . . .”</p> - -<p>“So a modest request like mine isn’t likely to cause a heart-attack? -Admirable! You don’t know what it means to me to feel that I shall -soon have a little refuge of my own, to which I can retreat and be in -solitude.”</p> - -<p>“I can imagine that it must be extremely gratifying, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will put the motion before the Board directly Lady Constance -returns.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I should like to splash it on the record once more, Beach, that I -am much obliged to you for your sympathy and advice in this matter. I -knew you would not fail me.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, sir. I am only too glad to have been able to be of -assistance.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, and, Beach . . .”</p> - -<p>“Sir?”</p> - -<p>“Just one other thing. Will you be seeing Cootes, my valet, again -shortly?”</p> - -<p>“Quite shortly, sir, I should imagine.”</p> - -<p>“Then would you mind just prodding him smartly in the lower -ribs . . .”</p> - -<p>“Sir?” cried Beach, startled out of his butlerian calm. He swallowed -a little convulsively. For eighteen months and more, ever since Lady -Constance Keeble had first begun to cast her fly and hook over<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[p. 205]</span> the murky water of -the artistic world and jerk its denizens on to the pile carpets of -Blandings Castle, Beach had had his fill of eccentricity. But until -this moment he had hoped that Psmith was going to prove an agreeable -change from the stream of literary lunatics which had been coming and -going all that weary time. And lo! Psmith’s name led all the rest. Even -the man who had come for a week in April and had wanted to eat jam with -his fish paled in comparison.</p> - -<p>“Prod him in the ribs, sir?” he quavered.</p> - -<p>“Prod him in the ribs,” said Psmith firmly. “And at the same time -whisper in his ear the word ‘Aha!’” Beach licked his dry lips.</p> - -<p>“Aha, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Aha! And say it came from me.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir. The matter shall be attended to,” said Beach. And -with a muffled sound that was half a sigh, half a death-rattle, he -tottered through the green-baize door.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_10"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[p. 206]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X</h2> - <p class="subh2">SENSATIONAL OCCURRENCE AT A POETRY READING</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_10_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">B</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">Breakfast</span> was over, and the -guests of Blandings had scattered to their morning occupations. Some -were writing letters, some were in the billiard-room: some had gone to -the stables, some to the links: Lady Constance was interviewing the -housekeeper, Lord Emsworth harrying head-gardener McAllister among the -flower-beds: and in the Yew Alley, the dappled sunlight falling upon -her graceful head, Miss Peavey walked pensively up and down.</p> - -<p>She was alone. It is a sad but indisputable fact that in this -imperfect world Genius is too often condemned to walk alone—if the -earthier members of the community see it coming and have time to duck. -Not one of the horde of visitors who had arrived overnight for the -County Ball had shown any disposition whatever to court Miss Peavey’s -society.</p> - -<p>One regrets this. Except for that slight bias towards dishonesty -which led her to steal everything she could lay her hands on that was -not nailed down, Aileen Peavey’s was an admirable character; and, -oddly enough, it was the noble side of her nature to which these -coarse-fibred critics objected. Of Miss Peavey, the purloiner of -other people’s goods, they knew nothing; the woman they were dodging -was Miss Peavey, the poetess. And it may be mentioned that,<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[p. 207]</span> however much she might -unbend in the presence of a congenial friend like Mr. Edward Cootes, -she was a perfectly genuine poetess. Those six volumes under her name -in the British Museum catalogue were her own genuine and unaided -work: and, though she had been compelled to pay for the production of -the first of the series, the other five had been brought out at her -publisher’s own risk, and had even made a little money.</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey, however, was not sorry to be alone: for she had that -on her mind which called for solitary thinking. The matter engaging -her attention was the problem of what on earth had happened to Mr. -Edward Cootes. Two days had passed since he had left her to go and -force Psmith at the pistol’s point to introduce him into the castle: -and since that moment he had vanished completely. Miss Peavey could not -understand it.</p> - -<p>His non-appearance was all the more galling in that her superb brain -had just completed in every detail a scheme for the seizure of Lady -Constance Keeble’s diamond necklace; and to the success of this plot -his aid was an indispensable adjunct. She was in the position of a -general who comes from his tent with a plan of battle all mapped out, -and finds that his army has strolled off somewhere and left him. Little -wonder that, as she paced the Yew Alley, there was a frown on Miss -Peavey’s fair forehead.</p> - -<p>The Yew Alley, as Lord Emsworth had indicated in his extremely -interesting lecture to Mr. Ralston McTodd at the Senior Conservative -Club, contained among other noteworthy features certain yews which rose -in solid blocks with rounded roof and stemless mushroom finials, the -majority possessing arched recesses, forming arbors. As Miss Peavey was -passing one of these, a voice suddenly addressed her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[p. 208]</span>“Hey!”</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey started violently.</p> - -<p>“Anyone about?”</p> - -<p>A damp face with twigs sticking to it was protruding from a near-by -yew. It rolled its eyes in an ineffectual effort to see round the -corner.</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey drew nearer, breathing heavily. The question as to the -whereabouts of her wandering boy was solved; but the abruptness of his -return had caused her to bite her tongue; and joy, as she confronted -him, was blended with other emotions.</p> - -<p>“You dish-faced gazooni!” she exclaimed heatedly, her voice -trembling with a sense of ill-usage, “where do you get that stuff, -hiding in trees, and barking a girl’s head off?”</p> - -<p>“Sorry, Liz. I . . .”</p> - -<p>“And where,” proceeded Miss Peavey, ventilating another grievance, -“have you been all this darned time? Gosh-dingit, you leave me a coupla -days back saying you’re going to stick up this bozo that calls himself -McTodd with a gat and make him get you into the house, and that’s the -last I see of you. What’s the big idea?”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Liz. He did get me into the house. I’m his valet. -That’s why I couldn’t get at you before. The way the help has to keep -itself to itself in this joint, we might as well have been in different -counties. If I hadn’t happened to see you snooping off by yourself this -morning . . .”</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey’s keen mind grasped the position of affairs.</p> - -<p>“All right, all right,” she interrupted, ever impatient of long -speeches from others. “I understand. Well, this is good, Ed. It -couldn’t have worked out better. I’ve got a scheme all doped out, and -now you’re here we can get busy.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[p. 209]</span>“A scheme?”</p> - -<p>“A pippin,” assented Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>“It’ll need to be,” said Mr. Cootes, on whom the events of the last -few days had caused pessimism to set its seal. “I tell you that McTodd -gook is smooth. He somehow,” said Mr. Cootes prudently, for he feared -harsh criticisms from his lady-love should he reveal the whole truth, -“he somehow got wise to the notion that, as I was his valet, I could go -and snoop round in his room, where he’d be wanting to hide the stuff if -he ever got it, and now he’s gone and got them to let him have a kind -of shack in the woods.”</p> - -<p>“H’m!” said Miss Peavey. “Well,” she resumed after a thoughtful -pause, “I’m not worrying about him. Let him go and roost in the woods -all he wants to. I’ve got a scheme all ready, and it’s gilt-edged. And, -unless you ball up your end of it, Ed, it can’t fail to drag home the -gravy.”</p> - -<p>“Am I in it?”</p> - -<p>“You bet you’re in it. I can’t work it without you. That’s what’s -been making me so darned mad when you didn’t show up all this time.”</p> - -<p>“Spill it, Liz,” said Mr. Cootes humbly. As always in the presence -of this dynamic woman, he was suffering from an inferiority complex. -From the very start of their combined activities she had been the -brains of the firm, he merely the instrument to carry into effect the -plans she dictated.</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey glanced swiftly up and down the Yew Alley. It was still -the same peaceful, lonely spot. She turned to Mr. Cootes again, and -spoke with brisk decision.</p> - -<p>“Now, listen, Ed, and get this straight, because maybe I shan’t have -another chance of talking to you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[p. 210]</span>“I’m listening,” -said Mr. Cootes obsequiously.</p> - -<p>“Well, to begin with, now that the house is full, Her Nibs is -wearing that necklace every night. And you can take it from me, Ed, -that you want to put on your smoked glasses before you look at it. It’s -a lalapaloosa.”</p> - -<p>“As good as that?”</p> - -<p>“Ask me! You don’t know the half of it.”</p> - -<p>“Where does she keep it, Liz? Have you found that out?” asked -Mr. Cootes, a gleam of optimism playing across his sad face for an -instant.</p> - -<p>“No, I haven’t. And I don’t want to. I’ve not got time to waste -monkeying about with safes and maybe having the whole bunch pile on the -back of my neck. I believe in getting things easy. Well, to-night this -bimbo that calls himself McTodd is going to give a reading of his poems -in the big drawing-room. You know where that is?”</p> - -<p>“I can find out.”</p> - -<p>“And you better had find out,” said Miss Peavey vehemently. “And -before to-night at that. Well, there you are. Do you begin to get -wise?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes, his head protruding unhappily from the yew tree, would -have given much to have been able to make the demanded claim to wisdom, -for he knew of old the store his alert partner set upon quickness -of intellect. He was compelled, however, to disturb the branches by -shaking his head.</p> - -<p>“You always were pretty dumb,” said Miss Peavey with scorn. “I’ll -say that you’ve got good solid qualities, Ed—from the neck up. Why, I’m -going to sit behind Lady Constance while that goof is shooting his fool -head off, and I’m going to reach out and grab that necklace off of her. -See?”</p> - -<p>“But, Liz”—Mr. Cootes diffidently summoned up<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_211">[p. 211]</span> courage to point out what appeared to him -to be a flaw in the scheme—“if you start any strong-arm work in front -of everybody like the way you say, won’t they . . . ?”</p> - -<p>“No, they won’t. And I’ll tell you why they won’t. They aren’t going -to see me do it, because when I do it it’s going to be good and dark in -that room. And it’s going to be dark because you’ll be somewheres out -at the back of the house, wherever they keep the main electric-light -works, turning the switch as hard as you can go. See? That’s your end -of it, and pretty soft for you at that. All you have to do is to find -out where the thing is and what you have to do to it to put out all the -lights in the joint. I guess I can trust you not to bungle that?”</p> - -<p>“Liz,” said Mr. Cootes, and there was reverence in his voice, “you -can do just that little thing. But what . . . ?”</p> - -<p>“All right, I know what you’re going to say. What happens after -that, and how do I get away with the stuff? Well, the window’ll be -open, and I’ll just get to it and fling the necklace out. See? There’ll -be a big fuss going on in the room on account of the darkness and all -that, and while everybody’s cutting up and what-the-helling, you’ll -pick up your dogs and run round as quick as you can make it and pouch -the thing. I guess it won’t be hard for you to locate it. The window’s -just over the terrace, all smooth turf, and it isn’t real dark nights -now, and you ought to have plenty of time to hunt around before they -can get the lights going again. . . . Well, what do you -think of it?” There was a brief silence.</p> - -<p>“Liz,” said Mr. Cootes at length.</p> - -<p>“Is it or is it not,” demanded Miss Peavey, “a ball of fire?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[p. 212]</span>“Liz,” said Mr. -Cootes, and his voice was husky with such awe as some young officer -of Napoleon’s staff might have felt on hearing the details of the -latest plan of campaign, “Liz, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it -again. When it comes to the smooth stuff, old girl, you’re the oyster’s -eye-tooth!”</p> - -<p>And, reaching out an arm from the recesses of the yew, he took Miss -Peavey’s hand in his and gave it a tender squeeze. A dreamy look came -into the poetess’s fine eyes, and she giggled a little. Dumb-bell -though he was, she loved this man.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_10_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>“Mr. Baxter!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Miss Halliday?”</p> - -<p>The Brains of Blandings looked abstractedly up from his desk. It was -only some half-hour since luncheon had finished, but already he was in -the library surrounded by large books like a sea-beast among rocks. -Most of his time was spent in the library when the castle was full of -guests, for his lofty mind was ill-attuned to the frivolous babblings -of Society butterflies.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if you could spare me this afternoon?” said Eve.</p> - -<p>Baxter directed the glare of his spectacles upon her -inquisitorially.</p> - -<p>“The whole afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t mind. You see, I had a letter by the second post from -a great friend of mine, saying that she will be in Market Blandings -this afternoon and asking me to meet her there. I must see her, Mr. -Baxter, <i>please</i>. You’ve no notion how important it is.”</p> - -<p>Eve’s manner was excited, and her eyes as they met Baxter’s sparkled -in a fashion that might have disturbed a man made of less stern stuff. -If it had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[p. 213]</span> been the -Hon. Freddie Threepwood, for instance, who had been gazing into their -blue depths, that impulsive youth would have tied himself into knots -and yapped like a dog. Baxter, the superman, felt no urge towards -any such display. He reviewed her request calmly and judicially, and -decided that it was a reasonable one.</p> - -<p>“Very well, Miss Halliday.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you ever so much. I’ll make up for it by working twice as -hard to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>Eve flitted to the door, pausing there to bestow a grateful smile -upon him before going out; and Baxter returned to his reading. For -a moment he was conscious of a feeling of regret that this quite -attractive and uniformly respectful girl should be the partner in crime -of a man of whom he disapproved even more than he disapproved of most -malefactors. Then he crushed down the weak emotion and was himself -again.</p> - -<p>Eve trotted downstairs, humming happily to herself. She had expected -a longer and more strenuous struggle before she obtained her order of -release, and told herself that, despite a manner which seldom deviated -from the forbidding, Baxter was really quite nice. In short, it seemed -to her that nothing could possibly occur to mar the joyfulness of this -admirable afternoon; and it was only when a voice hailed her as she was -going through the hall a few minutes later that she realised that she -was mistaken. The voice, which trembled throatily, was that of the Hon. -Freddie; and her first look at him told Eve, an expert diagnostician, -that he was going to propose to her again.</p> - -<p>“Well, Freddie?” said Eve resignedly.</p> - -<p>The Hon. Frederick Threepwood was a young man who was used to -hearing people say “Well, Freddie?” resignedly when he appeared. His -father said it;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[p. 214]</span> his -Aunt Constance said it; all his other aunts and uncles said it. Widely -differing personalities in every other respect, they all said “Well, -Freddie?” resignedly directly they caught sight of him. Eve’s words, -therefore, and the tone in which they were spoken, did not damp him -as they might have damped another. His only feeling was one of solemn -gladness at the thought that at last he had managed to get her alone -for half a minute.</p> - -<p>The fact that this was the first time he had been able to get her -alone since her arrival at the castle had caused Freddie a good deal -of sorrow. Bad luck was what he attributed it to, thereby giving the -object of his affections less credit than was her due for a masterly -policy of evasion. He sidled up, looking like a well-dressed sheep.</p> - -<p>“Going anywhere?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’m going to Market Blandings. Isn’t it a lovely afternoon? -I suppose you are busy all the time now that the house is full? -Good-bye,” said Eve.</p> - -<p>“Eh?” said Freddie, blinking.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye. I must be hurrying.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you say you were going?”</p> - -<p>“Market Blandings.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll come with you.”</p> - -<p>“No, I want to be alone. I’ve got to meet someone there.”</p> - -<p>“Come with you as far as the gates,” said Freddie, the human -limpet.</p> - -<p>The afternoon sun seemed to Eve to be shining a little less brightly -as they started down the drive. She was a kind-hearted girl, and -it irked her to have to be continually acting as a black frost in -Freddie’s garden of dreams. There appeared, however, to be but two -ways out of the thing: either she must accept<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_215">[p. 215]</span> him or he must stop proposing. The -first of these alternatives she resolutely declined to consider, and, -as far as was ascertainable from his actions, Freddie declined just -as resolutely to consider the second. The result was that solitary -interviews between them were seldom wholly free from embarrassing -developments.</p> - -<p>They walked for a while in silence. Then:</p> - -<p>“You’re dashed hard on a fellow,” said Freddie.</p> - -<p>“How’s your putting coming on?” asked Eve.</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“Your putting. You told me you had so much trouble with it.”</p> - -<p>She was not looking at him, for she had developed a habit of not -looking at him on these occasions; but she assumed that the odd sound -which greeted her remark was a hollow, mirthless laugh.</p> - -<p>“My putting!”</p> - -<p>“Well, you told me yourself it’s the most important part of -golf.”</p> - -<p>“Golf! Do you think I have time to worry about golf these days?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how splendid, Freddie! Are you really doing some work of some -kind? It’s quite time, you know. Think how pleased your father will -be.”</p> - -<p>“I say,” said Freddie, “I do think you might marry a chap.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose I shall some day,” said Eve, “if I meet the right -one.”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” said Freddie despairingly. She was not usually so dense -as this. He had always looked on her as a dashed clever girl. “I mean -<i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>Eve sighed. She had hoped to avert the inevitable.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Freddie!” she exclaimed, exasperated. She was still sorry -for him, but she could not help being<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_216">[p. 216]</span> irritated. It was such a splendid -afternoon and she had been feeling so happy. And now he had spoiled -everything. It always took her at least half an hour to get over the -nervous strain of refusing his proposals.</p> - -<p>“I love you, dash it!” said Freddie.</p> - -<p>“Well, do stop loving me,” said Eve. “I’m an awful girl, really. I’d -make you miserable.”</p> - -<p>“Happiest man in the world,” corrected Freddie devoutly.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got a frightful temper.”</p> - -<p>“You’re an angel.”</p> - -<p>Eve’s exasperation increased. She always had a curious fear that one -of these days, if he went on proposing, she might say “Yes” by mistake. -She wished that there was some way known to science of stopping him -once and for all. And in her desperation she thought of a line of -argument which she had not yet employed.</p> - -<p>“It’s so absurd, Freddie,” she said. “Really, it is. Apart from the -fact that I don’t want to marry you, how can you marry anyone—anyone, I -mean, who hasn’t plenty of money?”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t dream of marrying for money.”</p> - -<p>“No, of course not, but . . .”</p> - -<p>“Cupid,” said Freddie woodenly, “pines and sickens in a gilded -cage.”</p> - -<p>Eve had not expected to be surprised by anything her companion might -say, it being her experience that he possessed a vocabulary of about -forty-three words and a sum-total of ideas that hardly ran into two -figures; but this poetic remark took her back.</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>Freddie repeated the observation. When it had been flashed on the -screen as a spoken sub-title in the six-reel wonder film, “Love or -Mammon” (Beatrice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[p. 217]</span> -Comely and Brian Fraser), he had approved and made a note of it.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Eve, and was silent. As Miss Peavey would have put it, it -held her for a while. “What I meant,” she went on after a moment, “was -that you can’t possibly marry a girl without money unless you’ve some -money of your own.”</p> - -<p>“I say, dash it!” A strange note of jubilation had come into the -wooer’s voice. “I say, is that really all that stands between us? -Because . . .”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t!”</p> - -<p>“Because, look here, I’m going to have quite a good deal of money at -any moment. It’s more or less of a secret, you know—in fact a pretty -deadish secret—so keep it dark, but Uncle Joe is going to give me a -couple of thousand quid. He promised me. Two thousand of the crispest. -Absolutely!”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Joe?”</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> know. Old Keeble. He’s going to give me a couple of thousand -quid, and then I’m going to buy a partnership in a bookie’s business -and simply coin money. Stands to reason, I mean. You can’t help making -your bally fortune. Look at all the mugs who are losing money all the -time at the races. It’s the bookies that get the stuff. A pal of mine -who was up at Oxford with me is in a bookie’s office, and they’re going -to let me in if I . . .”</p> - -<p>The momentous nature of his information had caused Eve to deviate -now from her policy of keeping her eyes off Freddie when in emotional -vein. And, if she had desired to check his lecture on finance, she -could have chosen no better method than to look at him; for, meeting -her gaze, Freddie immediately lost the thread of his discourse and -stood yammering. A direct hit from Eve’s eyes always affected him in -this way.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[p. 218]</span>“Mr. Keeble is -going to give you two thousand pounds!”</p> - -<p>A wave of mortification swept over Eve. If there was one thing -on which she prided herself, it was the belief that she was a loyal -friend, a staunch pal; and now for the first time she found herself -facing the unpleasant truth that she had been neglecting Phyllis -Jackson’s interests in the most abominable way ever since she had come -to Blandings. She had definitely promised Phyllis that she would tackle -this stepfather of hers and shame him with burning words into yielding -up the three thousand pounds which Phyllis needed so desperately for -her Lincolnshire farm. And what had she done? Nothing.</p> - -<p>Eve was honest to the core, even in her dealings with herself. -A less conscientious girl might have argued that she had had no -opportunity of a private interview with Mr. Keeble. She scorned to -soothe herself with this specious plea. If she had given her mind to -it she could have brought about a dozen private interviews, and she -knew it. No. She had allowed the pleasant persistence of Psmith to take -up her time, and Phyllis and her troubles had been thrust into the -background. She confessed, despising herself, that she had hardly given -Phyllis a thought.</p> - -<p>And all the while this Mr. Keeble had been in a position to scatter -largess, thousands of pounds of it, to undeserving people like Freddie. -Why, a word from her about Phyllis would have . . .</p> - -<p>“Two thousand pounds?” she repeated dizzily. “Mr. Keeble!”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely!” cried Freddie radiantly. The first shock of -looking into her eyes had passed, and he was now revelling in that -occupation.</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[p. 219]</span>Freddie’s rapt -gaze flickered. Love, he perceived, had nearly caused him to be -indiscreet.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” he mumbled. “He’s just giving it me, you know, -don’t you know.”</p> - -<p>“Did you simply go to him and ask him for it?”</p> - -<p>“Well—er—well, yes. That was about the strength of it.”</p> - -<p>“And he didn’t object?”</p> - -<p>“No. He seemed rather pleased.”</p> - -<p>“Pleased!” Eve found breathing difficult. She was feeling rather -like a man who suddenly discovers that the hole in his back yard -which he has been passing nonchalantly for months is a goldmine. If -the operation of extracting money from Mr. Keeble was not only easy -but also agreeable to the victim . . . She became aware of a sudden -imperative need for Freddie’s absence. She wanted to think this thing -over.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” said Freddie, “coming back to it, will you?”</p> - -<p>“What?” said Eve, distrait.</p> - -<p>“Marry me, you know. What I mean to say is, I worship the very -ground you walk on, and all that sort of rot . . . I mean, and all -that. And now that you realise that I’m going to get this couple of -thousand . . . and the bookie’s business . . . and what not, I mean to -say . . .”</p> - -<p>“Freddie,” said Eve tensely, expressing her harassed nerves in a -voice that came hotly through clenched teeth, “go away!”</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to marry you, and I’m sick of having to keep on -telling you so. Will you please go away and leave me alone?” She -stopped. Her sense of fairness told her that she was working off -on her hapless suitor venom which should have been expended<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[p. 220]</span> on herself. “I’m sorry, -Freddie,” she said, softening; “I didn’t mean to be such a beast as -that. I know you’re awfully fond of me, but really, really I can’t -marry you. You don’t want to marry a girl who doesn’t love you, do -you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do,” said Freddie stoutly. “If it’s you, I mean. Love is a -tiny seed that coldness can wither, but if tended and nurtured in the -fostering warmth of an honest heart . . .”</p> - -<p>“But, Freddie.”</p> - -<p>“Blossoms into a flower,” concluded Freddie rapidly. “What I mean to -say is, love would come after marriage.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s the way it happened in ‘A Society Mating.’”</p> - -<p>“Freddie,” said Eve, “I really don’t want to talk any more. Will you -be a dear and just go away? I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thinking?” said Freddie, impressed. “Right ho!”</p> - -<p>“Thank you so much.”</p> - -<p>“Oh—er—not at all. Well, pip-pip.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>“See you later, what?”</p> - -<p>“Of course, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Fine! Well, toodle-oo!”</p> - -<p>And the Hon. Freddie, not ill-pleased—for it seemed to him that -at long last he detected signs of melting in the party of the second -part—swivelled round on his long legs and started for home.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_10_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>The little town of Market Blandings was a peaceful sight as it -slept in the sun. For the first time since Freddie had left her, Eve -became conscious of a certain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[p. -221]</span> tranquillity as she entered the old grey High Street, -which was the centre of the place’s life and thought. Market Blandings -had a comforting air of having been exactly the same for centuries. -Troubles might vex the generations it housed, but they did not worry -that lichened church with its sturdy four-square tower, nor those -red-roofed shops, nor the age-old inns whose second stories bulged so -comfortably out over the pavements. As Eve walked in slow meditation -towards the “Emsworth Arms,” the intensely respectable hostelry which -was her objective, archways met her gaze, opening with a picturesque -unexpectedness to show heartening glimpses of ancient nooks all cool -and green. There was about the High Street of Market Blandings a -suggestion of a slumbering cathedral close. Nothing was modern in it -except the moving-picture house—and even that called itself an Electric -Theatre, and was ivy-covered and surmounted by stone gables.</p> - -<p>On second thoughts, that statement is too sweeping. There was one -other modern building in the High Street—Jno. Banks, Hairdresser, to -wit, and Eve was just coming abreast of Mr. Banks’s emporium now.</p> - -<p>In any ordinary surroundings these premises would have been a -tolerably attractive sight, but in Market Blandings they were almost -an eyesore; and Eve, finding herself at the door, was jarred out of -her reverie as if she had heard a false note in a solemn anthem. She -was on the point of hurrying past, when the door opened and a short, -solid figure came out. And at the sight of this short, solid figure Eve -stopped abruptly.</p> - -<p>It was with the object of getting his grizzled locks clipped in -preparation for the County Ball that Joseph Keeble had come to Mr. -Banks’s shop as soon as he had finished lunch. As he emerged now -into the High Street he was wondering why he had permitted Mr. Banks -to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[p. 222]</span> finish off -the job with a heliotrope-scented hair-wash. It seemed to Mr. Keeble -that the air was heavy with heliotrope, and it came to him suddenly -that heliotrope was a scent which he always found particularly -objectionable.</p> - -<p>Ordinarily Joseph Keeble was accustomed to show an iron front to -hairdressers who tried to inflict lotions upon him; and the reason his -vigilance had relaxed under the ministrations of Jno. Banks was that -the second post, which arrived at the castle at the luncheon hour, had -brought him a plaintive letter from his stepdaughter Phyllis—the second -he had had from her since the one which had caused him to tackle his -masterful wife in the smoking-room. Immediately after the conclusion -of his business deal with the Hon. Freddie, he had written to Phyllis -in a vein of optimism rendered glowing by Freddie’s promises, assuring -her that at any moment he would be in a position to send her the three -thousand pounds which she required to clinch the purchase of that -dream-farm in Lincolnshire. To this she had replied with thanks. And -after that there had been a lapse of days and still he had not made -good. Phyllis was becoming worried, and said so in six closely-written -pages.</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble, as he sat in the barber’s chair going over this letter -in his mind, had groaned in spirit, while Jno. Banks with gleaming -eyes did practically what he liked with the heliotrope bottle. Not for -the first time since the formation of their partnership, Joseph Keeble -was tormented with doubts as to his wisdom in entrusting a commission -so delicate as the purloining of his wife’s diamond necklace to one -of his nephew Freddie’s known feebleness of intellect. Here, he told -himself unhappily, was a job of work which would have tested the -combined abilities of a syndicate consisting of Charles Peace and the -James Brothers,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[p. 223]</span> -and he had put it in the hands of a young man who in all his life had -only once shown genuine inspiration and initiative—on the occasion -when he had parted his hair in the middle at a time when all the other -members of the Bachelors’ Club were brushing it straight back. The more -Mr. Keeble thought of Freddie’s chances, the slimmer they appeared. -By the time Jno. Banks had released him from the spotted apron he -was thoroughly pessimistic, and as he passed out of the door, “so -perfumed that the winds were love-sick with him,” his estimate of his -colleague’s abilities was reduced to a point where he began to doubt -whether the stealing of a mere milk-can was not beyond his scope. So -deeply immersed was he in these gloomy thoughts that Eve had to call -his name twice before he came out of them.</p> - -<p>“Miss Halliday?” he said apologetically. “I beg your pardon. I was -thinking.”</p> - -<p>Eve, though they had hardly exchanged a word since her arrival -at the castle, had taken a liking to Mr. Keeble; and she felt in -consequence none of the embarrassment which might have handicapped her -in the discussion of an extremely delicate matter with another man. By -nature direct and straightforward, she came to the point at once.</p> - -<p>“Can you spare me a moment or two, Mr. Keeble?” she said. She -glanced at the clock on the church tower and saw that she had ample -time before her own appointment. “I want to talk to you about Phyllis.” -Mr. Keeble jerked his head back in astonishment, and the world became -noisome with heliotrope. It was as if the Voice of Conscience had -suddenly addressed him.</p> - -<p>“Phyllis!” he gasped, and the letter crackled in his -breast-pocket.</p> - -<p>“Your stepdaughter Phyllis.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[p. 224]</span>“Do you know -her?”</p> - -<p>“She was my best friend at school. I had tea with her just before I -came to the castle.”</p> - -<p>“Extraordinary!” said Mr. Keeble.</p> - -<p>A customer in quest of a shave thrust himself between them and went -into the shop. They moved away a few paces.</p> - -<p>“Of course if you say it is none of my business . . .”</p> - -<p>“My dear young lady . . .”</p> - -<p>“Well, it <i>is</i> my business, because she’s my friend,” said Eve -firmly. “Mr. Keeble, Phyllis told me she had written to you about -buying that farm. Why don’t you help her?”</p> - -<p>The afternoon was warm, but not warm enough to account for the -moistness of Mr. Keeble’s brow. He drew out a large handkerchief and -mopped his forehead. A hunted look was in his eyes. The hand which was -not occupied with the handkerchief had sought his pocket and was busy -rattling keys.</p> - -<p>“I want to help her. I would do anything in the world to help -her.”</p> - -<p>“Then why don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I—I am curiously situated.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Phyllis told me something about that. I can see that it is -a difficult position for you. But, Mr. Keeble, surely, surely if you -can manage to give Freddie Threepwood two thousand pounds to start a -bookmaker’s business . . .”</p> - -<p>Her words were cut short by a strangled cry from her companion. -Sheer panic was in his eyes now, and in his heart an overwhelming -regret that he had ever been fool enough to dabble in crime in -the company of a mere animated talking-machine like his nephew -Freddie. This girl knew! And if she knew, how many others knew? -The young imbecile had probably babbled his<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_225">[p. 225]</span> hideous secret into the ears of every -human being in the place who would listen to him.</p> - -<p>“He told you!” he stammered. “He t-told you!”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Just now.”</p> - -<p>“Goosh!” muttered Mr. Keeble brokenly.</p> - -<p>Eve stared at him in surprise. She could not understand this -emotion. The handkerchief, after a busy session, was lowered now, and -he was looking at her imploringly.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t told anyone?” he croaked hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“Of course not. I said I had only heard of it just now.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t tell anyone?”</p> - -<p>“Why should I?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble’s breath, which had seemed to him for a moment gone for -ever, began to return timidly. Relief for a space held him dumb. What -nonsense, he reflected, these newspapers and people talked about the -modern girl. It was this very broad-mindedness of hers, to which they -objected so absurdly, that made her a creature of such charm. She -might behave in certain ways in a fashion that would have shocked her -grandmother, but how comforting it was to find her calm and unmoved in -the contemplation of another’s crime. His heart warmed to Eve.</p> - -<p>“You’re wonderful!” he said.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” argued Mr. Keeble, “it isn’t really stealing.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“I shall buy my wife another necklace.”</p> - -<p>“You will—what?”</p> - -<p>“So everything will be all right. Constance will be perfectly happy, -and Phyllis will have her money, and . . .”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[p. 226]</span>Something in -Eve’s astonished gaze seemed to smite Mr. Keeble.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you <i>know</i>?” he broke off.</p> - -<p>“Know? Know what?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble perceived that he had wronged Freddie. The young ass -had been a fool even to mention the money to this girl, but he had -at least, it seemed, stopped short of disclosing the entire plot. An -oyster-like reserve came upon him.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, nothing,” he said hastily. “Forget what I was going to -say. Well, I must be going, I must be going.”</p> - -<p>Eve clutched wildly at his retreating sleeve. Unintelligible though -his words had been, one sentence had come home to her, the one about -Phyllis having her money. It was no time for half-measures. She grabbed -him.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Keeble,” she cried urgently. “I don’t know what you mean, but -you were just going to say something which sounded . . . Mr. Keeble, do -trust me. I’m Phyllis’s best friend, and if you’ve thought out any way -of helping her I wish you would tell me . . . You must tell me. I might -be able to help . . .”</p> - -<p>Mr. Keeble, as she began her broken speech, had been endeavouring -with deprecatory tugs to disengage his coat from her grasp. But now he -ceased to struggle. Those doubts of Freddie’s efficiency, which had -troubled him in Jno. Banks’s chair, still lingered. His opinion that -Freddie was but a broken reed had not changed. Indeed, it had grown. He -looked at Eve. He looked at her searchingly. Into her pleading eyes he -directed a stare that sought to probe her soul, and saw there honesty, -sympathy, and—better still—intelligence. He might have stood and gazed -into Freddie’s fishy eyes for weeks without discovering a tithe of -such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[p. 227]</span> intelligence. -His mind was made up. This girl was an ally. A girl of dash and vigour. -A girl worth a thousand Freddies—not, however, reflected Mr. Keeble, -that that was saying much. He hesitated no longer.</p> - -<p>“It’s like this,” said Mr. Keeble.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_10_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>The information, authoritatively conveyed to him during breakfast -by Lady Constance, that he was scheduled that night to read select -passages from Ralston McTodd’s <i>Songs of Squalor</i> to the entire -house-party assembled in the big drawing-room, had come as a complete -surprise to Psmith, and to his fellow-guests—such of them as were young -and of the soulless sex—as a shock from which they found it hard to -rally. True, they had before now gathered in a vague sort of way that -he was one of those literary fellows, but so normal and engaging had -they found his whole manner and appearance that it had never occurred -to them that he concealed anything up his sleeve as lethal as <i>Songs -of Squalor</i>. Among these members of the younger set the consensus of -opinion was that it was a bit thick, and that at such a price even the -lavish hospitality of Blandings was scarcely worth having. Only those -who had visited the castle before during the era of her ladyship’s -flirtation with Art could have been described as resigned. These stout -hearts argued that while this latest blister was probably going to be -pretty bad, he could hardly be worse than the chappie who had lectured -on Theosophy last November, and must almost of necessity be better than -the bird who during the Shifley race-week had attempted in a two-hour -discourse to convert them to vegetarianism.</p> - -<p>Psmith himself regarded the coming ordeal with equanimity. He was -not one of those whom the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[p. -228]</span> prospect of speaking in public afflicts with nervous -horror. He liked the sound of his own voice, and night, when it came, -found him calmly cheerful. He listened contentedly to the murmur of the -drawing-room filling up as he strolled on the star-lit terrace, smoking -a last cigarette before duty called him elsewhere. And when, some few -yards away, seated on the terrace wall gazing out into the velvet -darkness, he perceived Eve Halliday, his sense of well-being became -acute.</p> - -<p>All day he had been conscious of a growing desire for another -of those cosy chats with Eve which had done so much to make life -agreeable for him during his stay at Blandings. Her prejudice—which -he deplored—in favour of doing a certain amount of work to justify -her salary, had kept him during the morning away from the little room -off the library where she was wont to sit cataloguing books; and when -he had gone there after lunch he had found it empty. As he approached -her now, he was thinking pleasantly of all those delightful walks, -those excellent driftings on the lake, and those cheery conversations -which had gone to cement his conviction that of all possible girls she -was the only possible one. It seemed to him that in addition to being -beautiful she brought out all that was best in him of intellect and -soul. That is to say, she let him talk oftener and longer than any girl -he had ever known.</p> - -<p>It struck him as a little curious that she made no move to greet -him. She remained apparently unaware of his approach. And yet the -summer night was not of such density as to hide him from view—and, even -if she could not see him, she must undoubtedly have heard him; for -only a moment before he had tripped with some violence over a large -flower-pot, one of a row of sixteen which Angus McAllister, doubtless -for some good purpose, had placed in the fairway that afternoon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[p. 229]</span>“A pleasant -night,” he said, seating himself gracefully beside her on the wall.</p> - -<p>She turned her head for a brief instant, and, having turned it, -looked away again.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said.</p> - -<p>Her manner was not effusive, but Psmith persevered.</p> - -<p>“The stars,” he proceeded, indicating them with a kindly yet not -patronising wave of the hand. “Bright, twinkling, and—if I may say -so—rather neatly arranged. When I was a mere lad, someone whose name -I cannot recollect taught me which was Orion. Also Mars, Venus, and -Jupiter. This thoroughly useless chunk of knowledge has, I am happy to -say, long since passed from my mind. However, I am in a position to -state that that wiggly thing up there a little to the right is King -Charles’s Wain.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, I assure you.” It struck Psmith that Astronomy was not -gripping his audience, so he tried Travel. “I hear,” he said, “you went -to Market Blandings this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“An attractive settlement.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause. Psmith removed his monocle and polished it -thoughtfully. The summer night seemed to him to have taken on a touch -of chill.</p> - -<p>“What I like about the English rural districts,” he went on, “is -that when the authorities have finished building a place they stop. -Somewhere about the reign of Henry the Eighth, I imagine that the -master-mason gave the final house a pat with his trowel and said, -‘Well, boys, that’s Market Blandings.’ To which his assistants no -doubt assented with many a hearty ‘Grammercy!’ and ‘I’fackins!’ these -being expletives to which they were much addicted. And they went<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[p. 230]</span> away and left it, and -nobody has touched it since. And I, for one, thoroughly approve. I -think it makes the place soothing. Don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>As far as the darkness would permit, Psmith subjected Eve to -an inquiring glance through his monocle. This was a strange new -mood in which he had found her. Hitherto, though she had always -endeared herself to him by permitting him the major portion of -the dialogue, they had usually split conversations on at least a -seventy-five—twenty-five basis. And though it gratified Psmith to be -allowed to deliver a monologue when talking with most people, he found -Eve more companionable when in a slightly chattier vein.</p> - -<p>“Are you coming in to hear me read?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>It was a change from “Yes,” but that was the best that could be -said of it. A good deal of discouragement was always required to damp -Psmith, but he could not help feeling a slight diminution of buoyancy. -However, he kept on trying.</p> - -<p>“You show your usual sterling good sense,” he said approvingly. “A -scalier method of passing the scented summer night could hardly be -hit upon.” He abandoned the topic of the reading. It did not grip. -That was manifest. It lacked appeal. “I went to Market Blandings this -afternoon, too,” he said. “Comrade Baxter informed me that you had gone -thither, so I went after you. Not being able to find you, I turned in -for half an hour at the local moving-picture palace. They were showing -Episode Eleven of a serial. It concluded with the heroine, kidnapped by -Indians, stretched on the sacrificial altar with the high-priest making -passes at her with a knife. The hero meanwhile had started to climb a -rather nasty precipice on his way to the rescue.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_231">[p. 231]</span> The final picture was a close-up of his -fingers slipping slowly off a rock. Episode Twelve next week.”</p> - -<p>Eve looked out into the night without speaking.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid it won’t end happily,” said Psmith with a sigh. “I think -he’ll save her.”</p> - -<p>Eve turned on him with a menacing abruptness.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell you why I went to Market Blandings this afternoon?” -she said.</p> - -<p>“Do,” said Psmith cordially. “It is not for me to criticise, but as -a matter of fact I was rather wondering when you were going to begin -telling me all about your adventures. I have been monopolising the -conversation.”</p> - -<p>“I went to meet Cynthia.”</p> - -<p>Psmith’s monocle fell out of his eye and swung jerkily on its -cord. He was not easily disconcerted, but this unexpected piece of -information, coming on top of her peculiar manner, undoubtedly jarred -him. He foresaw difficulties, and once again found himself thinking -hard thoughts of this confounded female who kept bobbing up when least -expected. How simple life would have been, he mused wistfully, had -Ralston McTodd only had the good sense to remain a bachelor.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Cynthia?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Cynthia,” said Eve. The inconvenient Mrs. McTodd possessed -a Christian name admirably adapted for being hissed between clenched -teeth, and Eve hissed it in this fashion now. It became evident to -Psmith that the dear girl was in a condition of hardly suppressed fury -and that trouble was coming his way. He braced himself to meet it.</p> - -<p>“Directly after we had that talk on the lake, the day I arrived,” -continued Eve tersely, “I wrote to Cynthia, telling her to come here at -once and meet me at the ‘Emsworth Arms’ . . .”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[p. 232]</span>“In the High -Street,” said Psmith. “I know it. Good beer.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“I said they sell good beer . . .”</p> - -<p>“Never mind about the beer,” cried Eve.</p> - -<p>“No, no. I merely mentioned it in passing.”</p> - -<p>“At lunch to-day I got a letter from her saying that she would -be there this afternoon. So I hurried off. I wanted——” Eve laughed -a hollow, mirthless laugh of a calibre which even the Hon. Freddie -Threepwood would have found beyond his powers, and he was a -specialist—“I wanted to try to bring you two together. I thought that -if I could see her and have a talk with her that you might become -reconciled.”</p> - -<p>Psmith, though obsessed with a disquieting feeling that he was -fighting in the last ditch, pulled himself together sufficiently to pat -her hand as it lay beside him on the wall like some white and fragile -flower.</p> - -<p>“That was like you,” he murmured. “That was an act worthy of your -great heart. But I fear that the rift between Cynthia and myself has -reached such dimensions . . .”</p> - -<p>Eve drew her hand away. She swung round, and the battery of her -indignant gaze raked him furiously.</p> - -<p>“I saw Cynthia,” she said, “and she told me that her husband was in -Paris.”</p> - -<p>“Now, how in the world,” said Psmith, struggling bravely but with a -growing sense that they were coming over the plate a bit too fast for -him, “how in the world did she get an idea like that?”</p> - -<p>“Do you really want to know?”</p> - -<p>“I do, indeed.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll tell you. She got the idea because she had had a letter -from him, begging her to join him there. She had just finished telling -me this, when I caught sight of you from the inn window, walking<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[p. 233]</span> along the High Street. I -pointed you out to Cynthia, and she said she had never seen you before -in her life.”</p> - -<p>“Women soon forget,” sighed Psmith.</p> - -<p>“The only excuse I can find for you,” stormed Eve in a vibrant -undertone necessitated by the fact that somebody had just emerged from -the castle door and they no longer had the terrace to themselves, “is -that you’re mad. When I think of all you said to me about poor Cynthia -on the lake that afternoon, when I think of all the sympathy I wasted -on you . . .”</p> - -<p>“Not wasted,” corrected Psmith firmly. “It was by no means wasted. -It made me love you—if possible—even more.”</p> - -<p>Eve had supposed that she had embarked on a tirade which would last -until she had worked off her indignation and felt composed again, -but this extraordinary remark scattered the thread of her harangue -so hopelessly that all she could do was to stare at him in amazed -silence.</p> - -<p>“Womanly intuition,” proceeded Psmith gravely, “will have told -you long ere this that I love you with a fervour which with my poor -vocabulary I cannot hope to express. True, as you are about to say, we -have known each other but a short time, as time is measured. But what -of that?”</p> - -<p>Eve raised her eyebrows. Her voice was cold and hostile.</p> - -<p>“After what has happened,” she said, “I suppose I ought not to -be surprised at finding you capable of anything, but—are you really -choosing this moment to—to propose to me?”</p> - -<p>“To employ a favourite word of your own—yes.”</p> - -<p>“And you expect me to take you seriously?”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly not. I look upon the present disclosure purely as a -sighting shot. You may regard it, if you will, as a kind of formal -proclamation. I wish simply to go on record as an aspirant to your -hand. I want you, if you will be so good, to make a note of my -words<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[p. 234]</span> and give them -a thought from time to time. As Comrade Cootes—a young friend of mine -whom you have not yet met—would say, ‘Chew on them.’”</p> - -<p>“I . . .”</p> - -<p>“It is possible,” continued Psmith, “that black moments will come to -you—for they come to all of us, even the sunniest—when you will find -yourself saying, ‘Nobody loves me!’ On such occasions I should like -you to add, ‘No, I am wrong. There <i>is</i> somebody who loves me.’ At -first, it may be, that reflection will bring but scant balm. Gradually, -however, as the days go by and we are constantly together and my nature -unfolds itself before you like the petals of some timid flower beneath -the rays of the sun . . .”</p> - -<p>Eve’s eyes opened wider. She had supposed herself incapable of -further astonishment, but she saw that she had been mistaken.</p> - -<p>“You surely aren’t dreaming of staying on here <i>now</i>?” she -gasped.</p> - -<p>“Most decidedly. Why not?”</p> - -<p>“But—but what is to prevent me telling everybody that you are not -Mr. McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“Your sweet, generous nature,” said Psmith. “Your big heart. Your -angelic forbearance.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>“Considering that I only came here as McTodd—and if you had seen -him you would realise that he is not a person for whom the man of -sensibility and refinement would lightly allow himself to be mistaken—I -say considering that I only took on the job of understudy so as to -get to the castle and be near you, I hardly think that you will be -able to bring yourself to get me slung out. You must try to understand -what happened. When Lord Emsworth started chatting with me under -the impression that I was Comrade McTodd, I<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_235">[p. 235]</span> encouraged the mistake purely with the -kindly intention of putting him at his ease. Even when he informed me -that he was expecting me to come down to Blandings with him on the five -o’clock train, it never occurred to me to do so. It was only when I -saw you talking to him in the street and he revealed the fact that you -were about to enjoy his hospitality that I decided that there was no -other course open to the man of spirit. Consider! Twice that day you -had passed out of my life—may I say taking the sunshine with you?—and -I began to fear you might pass out of it for ever. So, loath though I -was to commit the solecism of planting myself in this happy home under -false pretences, I could see no other way. And here I am!”</p> - -<p>“You <i>must</i> be mad!”</p> - -<p>“Well, as I was saying, the days will go by, you will have ample -opportunity of studying my personality, and it is quite possible that -in due season the love of an honest heart may impress you as worth -having. I may add that I have loved you since the moment when I saw -you sheltering from the rain under that awning in Dover Street, and I -recall saying as much to Comrade Walderwick when he was chatting with -me some short time later on the subject of his umbrella. I do not press -you for an answer now . . .”</p> - -<p>“I should hope not!”</p> - -<p>“I merely say ‘Think it over.’ It is nothing to cause you mental -distress. Other men love you. Freddie Threepwood loves you. Just add me -to the list. That is all I ask. Muse on me from time to time. Reflect -that I may be an acquired taste. You probably did not like olives the -first time you tasted them. Now you probably do. Give me the same -chance you would an olive. Consider, also, how little you actually have -against me. What, indeed, does it amount to, when<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_236">[p. 236]</span> you come to examine it narrowly? All you -have against me is the fact that I am not Ralston McTodd. Think how -comparatively few people <i>are</i> Ralston McTodd. Let your meditations -proceed along these lines and . . .”</p> - -<p>He broke off, for at this moment the individual who had come out of -the front door a short while back loomed beside them, and the glint of -starlight on glass revealed him as the Efficient Baxter.</p> - -<p>“Everybody is waiting, Mr. McTodd,” said the Efficient Baxter. He -spoke the name, as always, with a certain sardonic emphasis.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Psmith affably, “of course. I was forgetting. I -will get to work at once. You are quite sure you do not wish to hear a -scuttleful of modern poetry, Miss Halliday?”</p> - -<p>“Quite sure.”</p> - -<p>“And yet even now, so our genial friend here informs us, a bevy of -youth and beauty is crowding the drawing-room, agog for the treat. -Well, well! It is these strange clashings of personal taste which -constitute what we call Life. I think I will write a poem about it -some day. Come, Comrade Baxter, let us be up and doing. I must not -disappoint my public.”</p> - -<p>For some moments after the two had left her—Baxter silent and -chilly, Psmith, all debonair chumminess, kneading the other’s arm -and pointing out as they went objects of interest by the wayside—Eve -remained on the terrace wall, thinking. She was laughing now, but -behind her amusement there was another feeling, and one that perplexed -her. A good many men had proposed to her in the course of her -career, but none of them had ever left her with this odd feeling of -exhilaration. Psmith was different from any other man who had come her -way, and difference was a quality which Eve esteemed. . . .</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[p. 237]</span>She had just -reached the conclusion that life for whatever girl might eventually -decide to risk it in Psmith’s company would never be dull, when -strange doings in her immediate neighbourhood roused her from her -meditations.</p> - -<p>The thing happened as she rose from her seat on the wall and started -to cross the terrace on her way to the front door. She had stopped for -an instant beneath the huge open window of the drawing-room to listen -to what was going on inside. Faintly, with something of the quality of -a far-off phonograph, the sound of Psmith reading came to her; and even -at this distance there was a composed blandness about his voice which -brought a smile to her lips.</p> - -<p>And then, with a startling abruptness, the lighted window was -dark. And she was aware that all the lighted windows on that side of -the castle had suddenly become dark. The lamp that shone over the -great door ceased to shine. And above the hubbub of voices in the -drawing-room she heard Psmith’s patient drawl.</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen, I think the lights have gone out.”</p> - -<p>The night air was rent by a single piercing scream. Something -flashed like a shooting star and fell at her feet; and, stooping, Eve -found in her hands Lady Constance Keeble’s diamond necklace.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_10_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>To be prepared is everything in this life. Ever since her talk with -Mr. Joseph Keeble in the High Street of Market Blandings that afternoon -Eve’s mind had been flitting nimbly from one scheme to another, all -designed to end in this very act of seizing the necklace in her hands -and each rendered impracticable by some annoying flaw. And now that -Fate in its impulsive way had achieved for her what she had begun to -feel she could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[p. 238]</span> -never accomplish for herself, she wasted no time in bewildered -inaction. The miracle found her ready for it.</p> - -<p>For an instant she debated with herself the chances of a dash -through the darkened hall up the stairs to her room. But the lights -might go on again, and she might meet someone. Memories of sensational -novels read in the past told her that on occasions such as this people -were detained and searched. . . .</p> - -<p>Suddenly, as she stood there, she found the way. Close beside her, -lying on its side, was the flower-pot which Psmith had overturned as he -came to join her on the terrace wall. It might have defects as a cache, -but at the moment she could perceive none. Most flower-pots are alike, -but this was a particularly easily-remembered flower-pot: for in its -journeying from the potting shed to the terrace it had acquired on its -side a splash of white paint. She would be able to distinguish it from -its fellows when, late that night, she crept out to retrieve the spoil. -And surely nobody would ever think of suspecting . . .</p> - -<p>She plunged her fingers into the soft mould, and straightened -herself, breathing quickly. It was not an ideal piece of work, but it -would serve.</p> - -<p>She rubbed her fingers on the turf, put the flower-pot back in the -row with the others, and then, like a flying white phantom, darted -across the terrace and into the house. And so with beating heart, -groping her way, to the bathroom to wash her hands.</p> - -<p>The twenty-thousand-pound flower-pot looked placidly up at the -winking stars.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_10_6">§ 6</h3> -</div> - -<p>It was perhaps two minutes later that Mr. Cootes, sprinting lustily, -rounded the corner of the house and burst on to the terrace. Late as -usual.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_11"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[p. 239]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI</h2> - <p class="subh2">ALMOST ENTIRELY ABOUT FLOWER-POTS</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_11_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">T</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">The</span> Efficient Baxter prowled -feverishly up and down the yielding carpet of the big drawing-room. -His eyes gleamed behind their spectacles, his dome-like brow was -corrugated. Except for himself, the room was empty. As far as the scene -of the disaster was concerned, the tumult and the shouting had died. It -was going on vigorously in practically every other part of the house, -but in the drawing-room there was stillness, if not peace.</p> - -<p>Baxter paused, came to a decision, went to the wall and pressed the -bell.</p> - -<p>“Thomas,” he said when that footman presented himself a few moments -later.</p> - -<p>“Sir?”</p> - -<p>“Send Susan to me.”</p> - -<p>“Susan, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Susan,” snapped the Efficient One, who had always a short -way with the domestic staff. “Susan, Susan, Susan. . . . The new -parlourmaid.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, sir. Very good, sir.”</p> - -<p>Thomas withdrew, outwardly all grave respectfulness, inwardly -piqued, as was his wont, at the airy manner in which the secretary -flung his orders about at the castle. The domestic staff at Blandings -lived in a perpetual state of smouldering discontent under Baxter’s -rule.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[p. 240]</span>“Susan,” said -Thomas when he arrived in the lower regions, “you’re to go up to the -drawing-room. Nosey Parker wants you.”</p> - -<p>The pleasant-faced young woman whom he addressed laid down her -knitting.</p> - -<p>“Who?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Mister Blooming Baxter. When you’ve been here a little longer -you’ll know that he’s the feller that owns the place. How he got it -I don’t know. Found it,” said Thomas satirically, “in his Christmas -stocking, I expect. Anyhow, you’re to go up.”</p> - -<p>Thomas’s fellow-footman, Stokes, a serious-looking man with a bald -forehead, shook that forehead solemnly.</p> - -<p>“Something’s the matter,” he asserted. “You can’t tell me that -wasn’t a scream we heard when them lights was out. Or,” he added -weightily, for he was a man who looked at every side of a question, -“a shriek. It was a shriek or scream. I said so at the time. ‘There,’ -I said, ‘listen!’ I said. ‘That’s somebody screaming,’ I said. ‘Or -shrieking.’ Something’s up.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Baxter hasn’t been murdered, worse luck,” said Thomas. -“He’s up there screaming or shrieking for Susan. ‘Send Susan to me!’” -proceeded Thomas, giving an always popular imitation. “‘Susan, Susan, -Susan.’ So you’d best go, my girl, and see what he wants.”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>“And, Susan,” said Thomas, a tender note creeping into his voice, -for already, brief as had been her sojourn at Blandings, he had found -the new parlourmaid making a deep impression on him, “if it’s a row of -any kind . . .”</p> - -<p>“Or description,” interjected Stokes.</p> - -<p>“Or description,” continued Thomas, accepting the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[p. 241]</span> word, “if ’e’s ’arsh with -you for some reason or other, you come right back to me and sob out -your troubles on my chest, see? Lay your little ’ead on my shoulder and -tell me all about it.”</p> - -<p>The new parlourmaid, primly declining to reply to this alluring -invitation, started on her journey upstairs; and Thomas, with a not -unmanly sigh, resumed his interrupted game of halfpenny nap with -colleague Stokes.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter had gone to the open window and was gazing out -into the night when Susan entered the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“You wished to see me, Mr. Baxter?”</p> - -<p>The secretary spun round. So softly had she opened the door, and -so noiselessly had she moved when inside the room, that it was not -until she spoke that he had become aware of her arrival. It was a -characteristic of this girl Susan that she was always apt to be among -those present some time before the latter became cognisant of the -fact.</p> - -<p>“Oh, good evening, Miss Simmons. You came in very quietly.”</p> - -<p>“Habit,” said the parlourmaid.</p> - -<p>“You gave me quite a start.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry. What was it,” she asked, dismissing in a positively -unfeeling manner the subject of her companion’s jarred nerves, “that -you wished to see me about?”</p> - -<p>“Shut that door.”</p> - -<p>“I have. I always shut doors.”</p> - -<p>“Please sit down.”</p> - -<p>“No, thank you, Mr. Baxter. It might look odd if anyone should come -in.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[p. 242]</span>“Of course. You -think of everything.”</p> - -<p>“I always do.”</p> - -<p>Baxter stood for a moment, frowning.</p> - -<p>“Miss Simmons,” he said, “when I thought it expedient to install a -private detective in this house, I insisted on Wragge’s sending you. We -had worked together before . . .”</p> - -<p>“Sixteenth of December, 1918, to January twelve, 1919, when you were -secretary to Mr. Horace Jevons, the American millionaire,” said Miss -Simmons as promptly as if he had touched a spring. It was her hobby to -remember dates with precision.</p> - -<p>“Exactly. I insisted upon your being sent because I knew from -experience that you were reliable. At that time I looked on your -presence here merely as a precautionary measure. Now, I am sorry to -say . . .”</p> - -<p>“Did someone steal Lady Constance’s necklace to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!”</p> - -<p>“When the lights went out just now?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly.”</p> - -<p>“Well, why couldn’t you say so at once? Good gracious, man, you -don’t have to break the thing gently to me.”</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter, though he strongly objected to being addressed -as “man,” decided to overlook the solecism.</p> - -<p>“The lights suddenly went out,” he said. “There was a certain amount -of laughter and confusion. Then a piercing shriek . . .”</p> - -<p>“I heard it.”</p> - -<p>“And immediately after Lady Constance’s voice crying that her jewels -had been snatched from her neck.”</p> - -<p>“Then what happened?”</p> - -<p>“Still greater confusion, which lasted until one of<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[p. 243]</span> the maids arrived with a -candle. Eventually the lights went on again, but of the necklace there -was no sign whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Well? Were you expecting the thief to wear it as a watch-chain or -hang it from his teeth?”</p> - -<p>Baxter was finding his companion’s manner more trying every minute, -but he preserved his calm.</p> - -<p>“Naturally the doors were barred and a complete search instituted. -And extremely embarrassing it was. With the single exception of the -scoundrel who has been palming himself off as McTodd, all those present -were well-known members of Society.”</p> - -<p>“Well-known members of Society might not object to getting hold of -a twenty-thousand pound necklace. But still, with the McTodd fellow -there, you oughtn’t to have had far to look. What had he to say about -it?”</p> - -<p>“He was among the first to empty his pockets.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, he must have hidden the thing somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“Not in this room. I have searched assiduously.”</p> - -<p>“H’m.”</p> - -<p>There was a silence.</p> - -<p>“It is baffling,” said Baxter, “baffling.”</p> - -<p>“It is nothing of the kind,” replied Miss Simmons tartly. “This -wasn’t a one-man job. How could it have been? I should be inclined to -call it a three-man job. One to switch off the lights, one to snatch -the necklace, and one to—was that window open all the time? I thought -so—and one to pick up the necklace when the second fellow threw it out -on to the terrace.”</p> - -<p>“Terrace!”</p> - -<p>The word shot from Baxter’s lips with explosive force. Miss Simmons -looked at him curiously.</p> - -<p>“Thought of something?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[p. 244]</span>“Miss Simmons,” -said the Efficient One impressively, “everybody was assembled in here -waiting for the reading to begin, but the pseudo-McTodd was nowhere to -be found. I discovered him eventually on the terrace in close talk with -the Halliday girl.”</p> - -<p>“His partner,” said Miss Simmons, nodding. “We thought so all along. -And let me add my little bit. There’s a fellow down in the servants’ -hall that calls himself a valet, and I’ll bet he didn’t know what a -valet was till he came here. I thought he was a crook the moment I set -eyes on him. I can tell ’em in the dark. Now, do you know whose valet -he is? This McTodd fellow’s!”</p> - -<p>Baxter bounded to and fro like a caged tiger.</p> - -<p>“And with my own ears,” he cried excitedly, “I heard the Halliday -girl refuse to come to the drawing-room to listen to the reading. She -was out on the terrace throughout the whole affair. Miss Simmons, we -must act! We must act!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but not like idiots,” replied the detective frostily.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Well, you can’t charge out, as you looked as if you wanted to -just then, and denounce these crooks where they sit. We’ve got to go -carefully.”</p> - -<p>“But meanwhile they will smuggle the necklace away!”</p> - -<p>“They won’t smuggle any necklace away, not while I’m around. -Suspicion’s no good. We’ve made out a nice little case against the -three of them, but it’s no use unless we catch them with the goods. -The first thing we have to do is to find out where they’ve hidden the -stuff. And that’ll take patience. I’ll start by searching that girl’s -room. Then I’ll search the valet fellow’s room. And if the stuff isn’t -there, it’ll mean they’ve hidden it out in the open somewhere.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[p. 245]</span>“But this McTodd -fellow. This fellow who poses as McTodd. He may have it all the -while.”</p> - -<p>“No. I’ll search his room, too, but the stuff won’t be there. He’s -the fellow who’s going to get it in the end, because he’s got that -place out in the woods to hide it in. But they wouldn’t have had time -to slip it to him yet. That necklace is somewhere right here. And if,” -said Miss Simmons with grim facetiousness, “they can hide it from me, -they may keep it as a birthday present.”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_11_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>How wonderful, if we pause to examine it, is Nature’s inexorable -law of compensation. Instead of wasting time in envy of our mental -superiors, we would do well to reflect that these gifts of theirs -which excite our wistful jealousy are ever attended by corresponding -penalties. To take an example that lies to hand, it was the very fact -that he possessed a brain like a buzz-saw that rendered the Efficient -Baxter a bad sleeper. Just as he would be dropping off, bing! would -go that brain of his, melting the mists of sleep like snow in a -furnace.</p> - -<p>This was so even when life was running calmly for him and without -excitement. To-night, his mind, bearing the load it did, firmly -declined even to consider the question of slumber. The hour of two, -chiming from the clock over the stables, found him as wide awake as -ever he was at high noon.</p> - -<p>Lying in bed in the darkness, he reviewed the situation as far as -he had the data. Shortly before he retired, Miss Simmons had made her -report about the bedrooms. Though subjected to the severest scrutiny, -neither Psmith’s boudoir nor Cootes’s attic nor Eve’s little nook on -the third floor had yielded up treasure of any<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_246">[p. 246]</span> description. And this, Miss Simmons held, -confirmed her original view that the necklace must be lying concealed -in what might almost be called a public spot—on some window-ledge, -maybe, or somewhere in the hall. . . .</p> - -<p>Baxter lay considering this theory. It did appear to be the only -tenable one; but it offended him by giving the search a frivolous -suggestion of being some sort of round game like Hunt the Slipper or -Find the Thimble. As a child he had held austerely aloof from these -silly pastimes, and he resented being compelled to play them now. -Still . . .</p> - -<p>He sat up, thinking. He had heard a noise.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The attitude of the majority of people towards noises in the -night is one of cautious non-interference. But Rupert Baxter was -made of sterner stuff. The sound had seemed to come from downstairs -somewhere—perhaps from that very hall where, according to Miss Simmons, -the stolen necklace might even now be lying hid. Whatever it was, it -must certainly not be ignored. He reached for the spectacles which lay -ever ready to his hand on the table beside him: then climbed out of -bed, and, having put on a pair of slippers and opened the door, crept -forth into the darkness. As far as he could ascertain by holding his -breath and straining his ears, all was still from cellar to roof; but -nevertheless he was not satisfied. He continued to listen. His room -was on the second floor, one of a series that ran along a balcony -overlooking the hall; and he stood, leaning over the balcony rail, a -silent statue of Vigilance.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The noise which had acted so electrically upon the<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[p. 247]</span> Efficient Baxter had been -a particularly noisy noise; and only the intervening distance and the -fact that his door was closed had prevented it sounding to him like -an explosion. It had been caused by the crashing downfall of a small -table containing a vase, a jar of potpourri, an Indian sandalwood box -of curious workmanship, and a cabinet-size photograph of the Earl of -Emsworth’s eldest son, Lord Bosham; and the table had fallen because -Eve, <i>en route</i> across the hall in quest of her precious flower-pot, -had collided with it while making for the front door. Of all indoor -sports—and Eve, as she stood pallidly among the ruins, would have been -the first to endorse this dictum—the one which offers the minimum -of pleasure to the participant is that of roaming in pitch darkness -through the hall of a country-house. Easily navigable in the daytime, -these places become at night mere traps for the unwary.</p> - -<p>Eve paused breathlessly. So terrific had the noise sounded to her -guilty ears that every moment she was expecting doors to open all over -the castle, belching forth shouting men with pistols. But as nothing -happened, courage returned to her, and she resumed her journey. She -found the great door, ran her fingers along its surface, and drew the -chain. The shooting back of the bolts occupied but another instant, and -then she was out on the terrace running her hardest towards the row of -flower-pots.</p> - -<p>Up on his balcony, meanwhile, the Efficient Baxter was stopping, -looking, and listening. The looking brought no results, for all -below was black as pitch; but the listening proved more fruitful. -Faintly from down in the well of the hall there floated up to him -a peculiar sound like something rustling in the darkness. Had he -reached the balcony a moment earlier, he would<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_248">[p. 248]</span> have heard the rattle of the chain and -the click of the bolts; but these noises had occurred just before he -came out of his room. Now all that was audible was this rustling.</p> - -<p>He could not analyse the sound, but the fact that there was any -sound at all in such a place at such an hour increased his suspicions -that dark doings were toward which would pay for investigation. With -stealthy steps he crept to the head of the stairs and descended.</p> - -<p>One uses the verb “descend” advisedly, for what is required is some -word suggesting instantaneous activity. About Baxter’s progress from -the second floor to the first there was nothing halting or hesitating. -He, so to speak, did it now. Planting his foot firmly on a golf-ball -which the Hon. Freddie Threepwood, who had been practising putting in -the corridor before retiring to bed, had left in his casual fashion -just where the steps began, he took the entire staircase in one -majestic, volplaning sweep. There were eleven stairs in all separating -his landing from the landing below, and the only ones he hit were the -third and tenth. He came to rest with a squattering thud on the lower -landing, and for a moment or two the fever of the chase left him.</p> - -<p>The fact that many writers in their time have commented at some -length on the mysterious manner in which Fate is apt to perform -its work must not deter us now from a brief survey of this latest -manifestation of its ingenious methods. Had not his interview with -Eve that afternoon so stimulated the Hon. Freddie as to revive in -him a faint yet definite desire to putt, there would have been no -golf-ball waiting for Baxter on the stairs. And had he been permitted -to negotiate the stairs in a less impetuous manner, Baxter would not at -this juncture have switched on the light.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[p. 249]</span>It had not -been his original intention to illuminate the theatre of action, but -after that Lucifer-like descent from the second floor to the first -he was taking no more chances. “Safety First” was Baxter’s slogan. -As soon, therefore, as he had shaken off a dazed sensation of mental -and moral collapse, akin to that which comes to the man who steps on -the teeth of a rake and is smitten on the forehead by the handle, he -rose with infinite caution to his feet and, feeling his way down by -the banisters, groped for the switch and pressed it. And so it came -about that Eve, heading for home with her precious flower-pot in her -arms, was stopped when at the very door by a sudden warning flood of -light. Another instant, and she would have been across the threshold of -disaster.</p> - -<p>For a moment paralysis gripped her. The light had affected her like -someone shouting loudly and unexpectedly in her ear. Her heart gave -one convulsive bound, and she stood frozen. Then, filled with a blind -desire for flight, she dashed like a hunted rabbit into the friendly -shelter of a clump of bushes.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Baxter stood blinking. Gradually his eyes adjusted themselves to the -light, and immediately they had done so he was seized by a fresh frenzy -of zeal. Now that all things were made visible to him he could see that -that faint rustling sound had been caused by a curtain flapping in the -breeze, and that the breeze which made the curtain flap was coming in -through the open front door.</p> - -<p>Baxter wasted no time in abstract thought. He acted swiftly and with -decision. Straightening his spectacles on his nose, he girded up his -pyjamas and galloped out into the night.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[p. 250]</span>The smooth -terrace slept under the stars. To a more poetic man than Baxter it -would have seemed to wear that faintly reproachful air which a garden -always assumes when invaded at unseemly hours by people who ought to -be in bed. Baxter, never fanciful, was blind to this. He was thinking, -thinking. That shaking-up on the stairs had churned into activity the -very depths of his brain and he was at the fever-point of his reasoning -powers. A thought had come like a full-blown rose, flushing his brow. -Miss Simmons, arguing plausibly, had suggested that the stolen necklace -might be concealed in the hall. Baxter, inspired, fancied not. Whoever -it was that had been at work in the hall just now had been making -for the garden. It was not the desire to escape which had led him—or -her—to open the front door, for the opening had been done before he, -Baxter, had come out on to the balcony—otherwise he must have heard the -shooting of the bolts. No. The enemy’s objective had been the garden. -In other words, the terrace. And why? Because somewhere on the terrace -was the stolen necklace.</p> - -<p>Standing there in the starlight, the Efficient Baxter endeavoured to -reconstruct the scene, and did so with remarkable accuracy. He saw the -jewels flashing down. He saw them picked up. But there he stopped. Try -as he might, he could not see them hidden. And yet that they had been -hidden—and that within a few feet of where he was now standing—he felt -convinced.</p> - -<p>He moved from his position near the door and began to roam -restlessly. His slippered feet padded over the soft turf.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Eve peered out from her clump of bushes. It was not<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[p. 251]</span> easy to see any great -distance, but Fate, her friend, was still with her. There had been a -moment that night when Baxter, disrobing for bed, had wavered absently -between his brown and his lemon-coloured pyjamas, little recking -of what hung upon the choice. Fate had directed his hand to the -lemon-coloured, and he had put them on; with the result that he shone -now in the dim light like the white plume of Navarre. Eve could follow -his movements perfectly, and, when he was far enough away from his base -to make the enterprise prudent, she slipped out and raced for home and -safety. Baxter at the moment was leaning on the terrace wall, thinking, -thinking, thinking.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>It was possibly the cool air, playing about his bare ankles, that at -last chilled the secretary’s dashing mood and brought the disquieting -thought that he was doing something distinctly dangerous in remaining -out here in the open like this. A gang of thieves are ugly customers, -likely to stick at little when a valuable necklace is at stake, and -it came to the Efficient Baxter that in his light pyjamas he must -be offering a tempting mark for any marauder lurking—say in those -bushes. And at the thought, the summer night, though pleasantly mild, -grew suddenly chilly. With an almost convulsive rapidity he turned -to re-enter the house. Zeal was well enough, but it was silly to be -rash. He covered the last few yards of his journey at a rare burst of -speed.</p> - -<p>It was at this point that he discovered that the lights in the hall -had been switched off and that the front door was closed and bolted.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_11_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p>It is the opinion of most thoughtful students of life<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[p. 252]</span> that happiness in this -world depends chiefly on the ability to take things as they come. An -instance of one who may be said to have perfected this attitude is to -be found in the writings of a certain eminent Arabian author who tells -of a traveller who, sinking to sleep one afternoon upon a patch of turf -containing an acorn, discovered when he woke that the warmth of his -body had caused the acorn to germinate and that he was now some sixty -feet above the ground in the upper branches of a massive oak. Unable -to descend, he faced the situation equably. “I cannot,” he observed, -“adapt circumstances to my will: therefore I shall adapt my will to -circumstances. I decide to remain here.” Which he did.</p> - -<p>Rupert Baxter, as he stood before the barred door of Blandings -Castle, was very far from imitating this admirable philosopher. To -find oneself locked out of a country-house at half-past two in the -morning in lemon-coloured pyjamas can never be an unmixedly agreeable -experience, and Baxter was a man less fitted by nature to endure it -with equanimity than most men. His was a fiery and an arrogant soul, -and he seethed in furious rebellion against the intolerable position -into which Fate had manœuvred him. He even went so far as to give -the front door a petulant kick. Finding, however, that this hurt his -toes and accomplished no useful end, he addressed himself to the task -of ascertaining whether there was any way of getting in—short of -banging the knocker and rousing the house, a line of action which did -not commend itself to him. He made a practice of avoiding as far as -possible the ribald type of young man of which the castle was now full, -and he had no desire to meet them at this hour in his present costume. -He left the front door and proceeded to make a circuit of the castle -walls; and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[p. 253]</span> -spirits sank even lower. In the Middle Ages, during that stormy period -of England’s history when walls were built six feet thick and a window -was not so much a window as a handy place for pouring molten lead on -the heads of visitors, Blandings had been an impregnable fortress. -But in all its career it can seldom have looked more of a fortress to -anyone than it did now to the Efficient Baxter.</p> - -<p>One of the disadvantages of being a man of action, impervious to the -softer emotions, is that in moments of trial the beauties of Nature are -powerless to soothe the anguished heart. Had Baxter been of a dreamy -and poetic temperament he might now have been drawing all sorts of -balm from the loveliness of his surroundings. The air was full of the -scent of growing things; strange, shy creatures came and went about him -as he walked; down in the woods a nightingale had begun to sing; and -there was something grandly majestic in the huge bulk of the castle -as it towered against the sky. But Baxter had temporarily lost his -sense of smell; he feared and disliked the strange, shy creatures; the -nightingale left him cold; and the only thought the towering castle -inspired in him was that it looked as if a fellow would need half a ton -of dynamite to get into it.</p> - -<p>Baxter paused. He was back now near the spot from which he had -started, having completed two laps without finding any solution of his -difficulties. The idea in his mind had been to stand under somebody’s -window and attract the sleeper’s attention with soft, significant -whistles. But the first whistle he emitted had sounded to him in the -stillness of early morn so like a steam syren that thereafter he had -merely uttered timid, mouse-like sounds which the breezes had carried -away the moment they crept out. He proposed now to halt for awhile and -rest his lips before making<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[p. -254]</span> another attempt. He proceeded to the terrace wall and sat -down. The clock over the stables struck three.</p> - -<p>To the restless type of thinker like Rupert Baxter, the act of -sitting down is nearly always the signal for the brain to begin -working with even more than its customary energy. The relaxed body -seems to invite thought. And Baxter, having suspended for the moment -his physical activities—and glad to do so, for his slippers hurt -him—gave himself up to tense speculation as to the hiding-place of -Lady Constance Keeble’s necklace. From the spot where he now sat -he was probably, he reflected, actually in a position to see that -hiding-place—if only, when he saw it, he were able to recognise it for -what it was. Somewhere out here—in yonder bushes or in some unsuspected -hole in yonder tree—the jewels must have been placed. Or . . .</p> - -<p>Something seemed to go off inside Baxter like a touched spring. One -moment, he was sitting limply, keenly conscious of a blister on the -sole of his left foot; the next, regardless of the blister, he was -off the wall and racing madly along the terrace in a flurry of flying -slippers. Inspiration had come to him.</p> - -<p>Day dawns early in the summer months, and already a sort of -unhealthy pallor had begun to manifest itself in the sky. It was still -far from light, but objects hitherto hidden in the gloom had begun to -take on uncertain shape. And among these there had come into the line -of Baxter’s vision a row of fifteen flower-pots.</p> - -<p>There they stood, side by side, round and inviting, each with a -geranium in its bed of mould. Fifteen flower-pots. There had originally -been sixteen, but Baxter knew nothing of that. All he knew was that he -was on the trail.</p> - -<p>The quest for buried treasure is one which right<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[p. 255]</span> through the ages has -exercised an irresistible spell over humanity. Confronted with a spot -where buried treasure may lurk, men do not stand upon the order of -their digging; they go at it with both hands. No solicitude for his -employer’s geraniums came to hamper Rupert Baxter’s researches. To -grasp the first flower-pot and tilt out its contents was with him the -work of a moment. He scrabbled his fingers through the little pile of -mould . . .</p> - -<p>Nothing.</p> - -<p>A second geranium lay broken on the ground . . .</p> - -<p>Nothing.</p> - -<p>A third . . .</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter straightened himself painfully. He was unused -to stooping, and his back ached. But physical discomfort was forgotten -in the agony of hope frustrated. As he stood there, wiping his forehead -with an earth-stained hand, fifteen geranium corpses gazed up at him in -the growing light, it seemed with reproach. But Baxter felt no remorse. -He included all geraniums, all thieves, and most of the human race in -one comprehensive black hatred.</p> - -<p>All that Rupert Baxter wanted in this world now was bed. The -clock over the stables had just struck four, and he was aware of an -overpowering fatigue. Somehow or other, if he had to dig through the -walls with his bare hands, he must get into the house. He dragged -himself painfully from the scene of carnage and blinked up at the row -of silent windows above him. He was past whistling now. He stooped for -a pebble, and tossed it up at the nearest window.</p> - -<p>Nothing happened. Whoever was sleeping up there continued to sleep. -The sky had turned pink, birds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[p. -256]</span> were twittering in the ivy, other birds had begun to sing -in the bushes. All Nature, in short, was waking—except the unseen -sluggard up in that room.</p> - -<p>He threw another pebble . . .</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>It seemed to Rupert Baxter that he had been standing there throwing -pebbles through a nightmare eternity. The whole universe had now become -concentrated in his efforts to rouse that log-like sleeper; and for a -brief instant fatigue left him, driven away by a sort of Berserk fury. -And there floated into his mind, as if from some previous existence, -a memory of somebody once standing near where he was standing now and -throwing a flower-pot in at a window at someone. Who it was that had -thrown the thing at whom, he could not at the moment recall; but the -outstanding point on which his mind focused itself was the fact that -the man had had the right idea. This was no time for pebbles. Pebbles -were feeble and inadequate. With one voice the birds, the breezes, the -grasshoppers, the whole chorus of Nature waking to another day seemed -to shout to him, “Say it with flower-pots!”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_11_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>The ability to sleep soundly and deeply is the prerogative, as has -been pointed out earlier in this straightforward narrative of the -simple home-life of the English upper classes, of those who do not -think quickly. The Earl of Emsworth, who had not thought quickly since -the occasion in the summer of 1874 when he had heard his father’s -footsteps approaching the stable-loft in which he, a lad of fifteen, -sat smoking his first cigar, was an excellent sleeper. He started -early and finished late. It was his gentle boast that for more<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[p. 257]</span> than twenty years he -had never missed his full eight hours. Generally he managed to get -something nearer ten.</p> - -<p>But then, as a rule, people did not fling flower-pots through his -window at four in the morning.</p> - -<p>Even under this unusual handicap, however, he struggled bravely -to preserve his record. The first of Baxter’s missiles, falling on a -settee, produced no change in his regular breathing. The second, which -struck the carpet, caused him to stir. It was the third, colliding -sharply with his humped back, that definitely woke him. He sat up in -bed and stared at the thing.</p> - -<p>In the first moment of his waking, relief was, oddly enough, his -chief emotion. The blow had roused him from a disquieting dream in -which he had been arguing with Angus McAllister about early spring -bulbs, and McAllister, worsted verbally, had hit him in the ribs with -a spud. Even in his dream Lord Emsworth had been perplexed as to what -his next move ought to be; and when he found himself awake and in his -bedroom he was at first merely thankful that the necessity for making a -decision had at any rate been postponed. Angus McAllister might on some -future occasion smite him with a spud, but he had not done it yet.</p> - -<p>There followed a period of vague bewilderment. He looked at the -flower-pot. It held no message for him. He had not put it there. He -never took flower-pots to bed. Once, as a child, he had taken a dead -pet rabbit, but never a flower-pot. The whole affair was completely -inscrutable; and his lordship, unable to solve the mystery, was on the -point of taking the statesmanlike course of going to sleep again, when -something large and solid whizzed through the open window and crashed -against the wall, where it broke, but not into such small fragments -that he could not perceive that in its prime it, too, had been a -flower<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[p. 258]</span>-pot. And at -this moment his eyes fell on the carpet and then on the settee; and the -affair passed still farther into the realm of the inexplicable. The -Hon. Freddie Threepwood, who had a poor singing-voice but was a game -trier, had been annoying his father of late by crooning a ballad ending -in the words:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<p class="i0">“<i>It is not raining rain at all:</i></p> -<p class="i2"><i>It’s raining vi-o-lets.</i>”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="ti0">It seemed to Lord Emsworth now that matters had gone a -step farther. It was raining flower-pots.</p> - -<p>The customary attitude of the Earl of Emsworth towards all mundane -affairs was one of vague detachment; but this phenomenon was so -remarkable that he found himself stirred to quite a little flutter -of excitement and interest. His brain still refused to cope with the -problem of why anybody should be throwing flower-pots into his room at -this hour—or, indeed, at any hour; but it seemed a good idea to go and -ascertain who this peculiar person was.</p> - -<p>He put on his glasses and hopped out of bed and trotted to the -window. And it was while he was on his way there that memory stirred -in him, as some minutes ago it had stirred in the Efficient Baxter. -He recalled that odd episode of a few days back, when that delightful -girl, Miss What’s-her-name, had informed him that his secretary had -been throwing flower-pots at that poet fellow, McTodd. He had been -annoyed, he remembered, that Baxter should so far have forgotten -himself. Now, he found himself more frightened than annoyed. Just as -every dog is permitted one bite without having its sanity questioned, -so, if you consider it in a broad-minded way, may every man be allowed -to throw one flower-pot. But let the thing become a habit, and we -look askance. This strange<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[p. -259]</span> hobby of his appeared to be growing on Baxter like a drug, -and Lord Emsworth did not like it at all. He had never before suspected -his secretary of an unbalanced mind, but now he mused, as he tiptoed -cautiously to the window, that the Baxter sort of man, the energetic -restless type, was just the kind that does go off his head. Just some -such calamity as this, his lordship felt, he might have foreseen. Day -in, day out, Rupert Baxter had been exercising his brain ever since -he had come to the castle—and now he had gone and sprained it. Lord -Emsworth peeped timidly out from behind a curtain.</p> - -<p>His worst fears were realised. It was Baxter, sure enough; and a -tousled, wild-eyed Baxter incredibly clad in lemon-coloured pyjamas.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth stepped back from the window. He had seen sufficient. -The pyjamas had in some curious way set the coping-stone on his dismay, -and he was now in a condition approximating to panic. That Baxter -should be so irresistibly impelled by his strange mania as actually -to omit to attire himself decently before going out on one of these -flower-pot-hurling expeditions of his seemed to make it all so sad and -hopeless. The dreamy peer was no poltroon, but he was past his first -youth, and it came to him very forcibly that the interviewing and -pacifying of secretaries who ran amok was young man’s work. He stole -across the room and opened the door. It was his purpose to put this -matter into the hands of an agent. And so it came about that Psmith was -aroused some few minutes later from slumber by a touch on the arm and -sat up to find his host’s pale face peering at him in the weird light -of early morning.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[p. 260]</span>“My dear fellow,” -quavered Lord Emsworth.</p> - -<p>Psmith, like Baxter, was a light sleeper; and it was only a moment -before he was wide awake and exerting himself to do the courtesies.</p> - -<p>“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Will you take a seat.”</p> - -<p>“I am extremely sorry to be obliged to wake you, my dear fellow,” -said his lordship, “but the fact of the matter is, my secretary, -Baxter, has gone off his head.”</p> - -<p>“Much?” inquired Psmith, interested.</p> - -<p>“He is out in the garden in his pyjamas, throwing flower-pots -through my window.”</p> - -<p>“Flower-pots?”</p> - -<p>“Flower-pots!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, flower-pots!” said Psmith, frowning thoughtfully, as if he had -expected it would be something else. “And what steps are you proposing -to take? That is to say,” he went on, “unless you wish him to continue -throwing flower-pots.”</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow . . . !”</p> - -<p>“Some people like it,” explained Psmith. “But you do not? Quite so, -quite so. I understand perfectly. We all have our likes and dislikes. -Well, what would you suggest?”</p> - -<p>“I was hoping that you might consent to go down—er—having possibly -armed yourself with a good stout stick—and induce him to desist and -return to bed.”</p> - -<p>“A sound suggestion in which I can see no flaw,” said Psmith -approvingly. “If you will make yourself at home in here—pardon me for -issuing invitations to you in your own house—I will see what can be -done. I have always found Comrade Baxter a reasonable man, ready to -welcome suggestions from outside sources, and I have no doubt that we -shall easily be able to reach some arrangement.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[p. 261]</span>He got out of -bed, and, having put on his slippers, and his monocle, paused before -the mirror to brush his hair.</p> - -<p>“For,” he explained, “one must be natty when entering the presence -of a Baxter.”</p> - -<p>He went to the closet and took from among a number of hats a -neat Homburg. Then, having selected from a bowl of flowers on the -mantelpiece a simple white rose, he pinned it in the coat of his -pyjama-suit and announced himself ready.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_11_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>The sudden freshet of vicious energy which had -spurred the Efficient Baxter on to his recent exhibition -of marksmanship had not lasted. Lethargy was -creeping back on him even as he stooped to pick up the -flower-pot which had found its billet on Lord Emsworth’s -spine. And, as he stood there after hurling that final -missile, he had realised that that was his last shot. If -that produced no results, he was finished.</p> - -<p>And, as far as he could gather, it had produced no -results whatever. No head had popped inquiringly -out of the window. No sound of anybody stirring had -reached his ears. The place was as still as if he had -been throwing marsh-mallows. A weary sigh escaped -from Baxter’s lips. And a moment later he was reclining -on the ground with his head propped against the -terrace wall, a beaten man.</p> - -<p>His eyes closed. Sleep, which he had been denying -to himself for so long, would be denied no more. When -Psmith arrived, daintily swinging the Hon. Freddie -Threepwood’s niblick like a clouded cane, he had just -begun to snore.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[p. 262]</span>Psmith was a -kindly soul. He did not like Rupert Baxter, but that was no reason why -he should allow him to continue lying on turf wet with the morning -dew, thus courting lumbago and sciatica. He prodded Baxter in the -stomach with the niblick, and the secretary sat up, blinking. And with -returning consciousness came a burning sense of grievance.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’ve been long enough,” he growled. Then, as he rubbed his -red-rimmed eyes and was able to see more clearly, he perceived who it -was that had come to his rescue. The spectacle of Psmith of all people -beaming benignly down at him was an added offence. “Oh, it’s you?” he -said morosely.</p> - -<p>“I in person,” said Psmith genially. “Awake, beloved! Awake, for -morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts the stars to -flight; and lo! the hunter of the East has caught the Sultan’s turret -in a noose of light. The Sultan himself,” he added, “you will find -behind yonder window, speculating idly on your motives for bunging -flower-pots at him. Why, if I may venture the question, <i>did</i> you?”</p> - -<p>Baxter was in no confiding mood. Without replying, he rose to his -feet and started to trudge wearily along the terrace to the front door. -Psmith fell into step beside him.</p> - -<p>“If I were you,” said Psmith, “and I offer the suggestion in the -most cordial spirit of goodwill, I would use every effort to prevent -this passion for flinging flower-pots from growing upon me. I know you -will say that you can take it or leave it alone; that just one more -pot won’t hurt you; but can you stop at one? Isn’t it just that first -insidious flower-pot that does all the mischief? Be a man, Comrade -Baxter!” He laid his hand appealingly on the secretary’s shoulder. -“The next time the craving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[p. -263]</span> comes on you, fight it. Fight it! Are you, the heir of the -ages, going to become a slave to a habit? Tush! You know and I know -that there is better stuff in you than that. Use your will-power, man, -use your will-power.”</p> - -<p>Whatever reply Baxter might have intended to make to this powerful -harangue—and his attitude as he turned on his companion suggested that -he had much to say—was checked by a voice from above.</p> - -<p>“Baxter! My dear fellow!”</p> - -<p>The Earl of Emsworth, having observed the secretary’s awakening from -the safe observation-post of Psmith’s bedroom, and having noted that he -seemed to be exhibiting no signs of violence, had decided to make his -presence known. His panic had passed, and he wanted to go into first -causes.</p> - -<p>Baxter gazed wanly up at the window.</p> - -<p>“I can explain everything, Lord Emsworth.”</p> - -<p>“What?” said his lordship, leaning farther out.</p> - -<p>“I can explain everything,” bellowed Baxter.</p> - -<p>“It turns out after all,” said Psmith pleasantly, “to be very -simple. He was practising for the Jerking The Geranium event at the -next Olympic Games.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth adjusted his glasses.</p> - -<p>“Your face is dirty,” he said, peering down at his dishevelled -secretary. “Baxter, my dear fellow, your face is dirty.”</p> - -<p>“I was digging,” replied Baxter sullenly.</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Digging!”</p> - -<p>“The terrier complex,” explained Psmith. “What,” he asked kindly, -turning to his companion, “were you digging for? Forgive me if the -question seems an impertinent one, but we are naturally curious.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[p. 264]</span>Baxter -hesitated.</p> - -<p>“What were you digging for?” asked Lord Emsworth.</p> - -<p>“You see,” said Psmith. “<i>He</i> wants to know.”</p> - -<p>Not for the first time since they had become associated, a mad -feeling of irritation at his employer’s woolly persistence flared up in -Rupert Baxter’s bosom. The old ass was always pottering about asking -questions. Fury and want of sleep combined to dull the secretary’s -normal prudence. Dimly he realised that he was imparting Psmith, the -scoundrel who he was convinced was the ringleader of last night’s -outrage, valuable information; but anything was better than to have to -stand here shouting up at Lord Emsworth. He wanted to get it over and -go to bed.</p> - -<p>“I thought Lady Constance’s necklace was in one of the flower-pots,” -he shrilled.</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>The secretary’s powers of endurance gave out. This maddening -inquisition, coming on top of the restless night he had had, was too -much for him. With a low moan he made one agonised leap for the front -door and passed through it to where beyond these voices there was -peace.</p> - -<p>Psmith, deprived thus abruptly of his stimulating society, remained -for some moments standing near the front door, drinking in with grave -approval the fresh scents of the summer morning. It was many years -since he had been up and about as early as this, and he had forgotten -how delightful the first beginnings of a July day can be. Unlike -Baxter, on whose self-centred soul these things had been lost, he -revelled in the soft breezes, the singing birds, the growing pinkness -of the eastern sky. He awoke at length from his reverie to find that -Lord Emsworth had toddled down and was tapping him on the arm.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[p. 265]</span>“<i>What</i> did he -say?” inquired his lordship. He was feeling like a man who has been cut -off in the midst of an absorbing telephone conversation.</p> - -<p>“Say?” said Psmith. “Oh, Comrade Baxter? Now, let me think. What -<i>did</i> he say?”</p> - -<p>“Something about something being in a flower-pot,” prompted his -lordship.</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes. He said he thought that Lady Constance’s necklace was in -one of the flower-pots.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth, it should be mentioned, was not completely in touch -with recent happenings in his home. His habit of going early to bed had -caused him to miss the sensational events in the drawing-room: and, -as he was a sound sleeper, the subsequent screams—or, as Stokes the -footman would have said, shrieks—had not disturbed him. He stared at -Psmith, aghast. For a while the apparent placidity of Baxter had lulled -his first suspicions, but now they returned with renewed force.</p> - -<p>“Baxter thought my sister’s necklace was in a flower-pot?” he -gasped.</p> - -<p>“So I understood him to say.”</p> - -<p>“But why should my sister keep her necklace in a flower-pot?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, there you take me into deep waters.”</p> - -<p>“The man’s mad,” cried Lord Emsworth, his last doubts removed. -“Stark, staring mad! I thought so before, and now I’m convinced of -it.”</p> - -<p>His lordship was no novice in the symptoms of insanity. Several of -his best friends were residing in those palatial establishments set -in pleasant parks and surrounded by high walls with broken bottles on -them, to which the wealthy and aristocratic are wont to retire when -the strain of modern life becomes too great. And one of his uncles by -marriage, who believed that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[p. -266]</span> he was a loaf of bread, had made his first public statement -on the matter in the smoking-room of this very castle. What Lord -Emsworth did not know about lunatics was not worth knowing.</p> - -<p>“I must get rid of him,” he said. And at the thought the fair -morning seemed to Lord Emsworth to take on a sudden new beauty. Many a -time had he toyed wistfully with the idea of dismissing his efficient -but tyrannical secretary, but never before had that sickeningly -competent young man given him any reasonable cause to act. Hitherto, -moreover, he had feared his sister’s wrath should he take the plunge. -But now . . . Surely even Connie, pig-headed as she was, could not -blame him for dispensing with the services of a secretary who thought -she kept her necklaces in flower-pots, and went out into the garden in -the early dawn to hurl them at his bedroom window.</p> - -<p>His demeanour took on a sudden buoyancy. He hummed a gay air.</p> - -<p>“Get rid of him,” he murmured, rolling the blessed words round his -tongue. He patted Psmith genially on the shoulder. “Well, my dear -fellow,” he said, “I suppose we had better be getting back to bed and -seeing if we can’t get a little sleep.”</p> - -<p>Psmith gave a little start. He had been somewhat deeply immersed in -thought.</p> - -<p>“Do not,” he said courteously, “let me keep you from the hay if you -wish to retire. To me—you know what we poets are—this lovely morning -has brought inspiration. I think I will push off to my little nook in -the woods, and write a poem about something.”</p> - -<p>He accompanied his host up the silent stairs, and they parted with -mutual good will at their respective doors. Psmith, having cleared his -brain with a hurried cold bath, began to dress.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[p. 267]</span>As a rule, the -donning of his clothes was a solemn ceremony over which he dwelt -lovingly; but this morning he abandoned his customary leisurely habit. -He climbed into his trousers with animation, and lingered but a moment -over the tying of his tie. He was convinced that there was that before -him which would pay for haste.</p> - -<p>Nothing in this world is sadder than the frequency with which we -suspect our fellows without just cause. In the happenings of the night -before, Psmith had seen the hand of Edward Cootes. Edward Cootes, he -considered, had been indulging in what—in another—he would certainly -have described as funny business. Like Miss Simmons, Psmith had quickly -arrived at the conclusion that the necklace had been thrown out of -the drawing-room window by one of those who made up the audience at -his reading: and it was his firm belief that it had been picked up -and hidden by Mr. Cootes. He had been trying to think ever since -where that persevering man could have concealed it, and Baxter had -provided the clue. But Psmith saw clearer than Baxter. The secretary, -having disembowelled fifteen flower-pots and found nothing, had -abandoned his theory. Psmith went further, and suspected the existence -of a sixteenth. And he proposed as soon as he was dressed to sally -downstairs in search of it.</p> - -<p>He put on his shoes, and left the room, buttoning his waistcoat as -he went.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_11_6">§ 6</h3> -</div> - -<p>The hands of the clock over the stables were pointing to half-past -five when Eve Halliday, tiptoeing furtively, made another descent -of the stairs. Her feelings as she went were very different from -those which had caused her to jump at every<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_268">[p. 268]</span> sound when she had started on this -same journey three hours earlier. Then, she had been a prowler in -the darkness and, as such, a fitting object of suspicion: now, if -she happened to run into anybody, she was merely a girl who, unable -to sleep, had risen early to take a stroll in the garden. It was a -distinction that made all the difference.</p> - -<p>Moreover, it covered the facts. She had not been able to -sleep—except for an hour when she had dozed off in a chair by her -window; and she certainly proposed to take a stroll in the garden. It -was her intention to recover the necklace from the place where she had -deposited it, and bury it somewhere where no one could possibly find -it. There it could lie until she had a chance of meeting and talking to -Mr. Keeble, and ascertaining what was the next step he wished taken.</p> - -<p>Two reasons had led Eve, after making her panic dash back into the -house after lurking in the bushes while Baxter patrolled the terrace, -to leave her precious flower-pot on the sill of the window beside the -front door. She had read in stories of sensation that for purposes -of concealment the most open place is the best place: and, secondly, -the nearer the front door she put the flower-pot, the less distance -would she have to carry it when the time came for its removal. In -the present excited condition of the household, with every guest an -amateur detective, the spectacle of a girl tripping downstairs with a -flower-pot in her arms would excite remark.</p> - -<p>Eve felt exhilarated. She was not used to getting only one hour’s -sleep in the course of a night, but excitement and the reflection that -she had played a difficult game and won it against odds bore her up -so strongly that she was not conscious of fatigue: and so uplifted -did she feel that as she reached the landing<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_269">[p. 269]</span> above the hall she abandoned her cautious -mode of progress and ran down the remaining stairs. She had the -sensation of being in the last few yards of a winning race.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The hall was quite light now. Every object in it was plainly -visible. There was the huge dinner-gong: there was the long leather -settee: there was the table which she had upset in the darkness. And -there was the sill of the window by the front door. But the flower-pot -which had been on it was gone.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_12"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[p. 270]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII</h2> - <p class="subh2">MORE ON THE FLOWER-POT THEME</p> -</div> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">I</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">In</span> any community in which -a sensational crime has recently been committed, the feelings of -the individuals who go to make up that community must of necessity -vary somewhat sharply according to the degree in which the personal -fortunes of each are affected by the outrage. Vivid in their own way -as may be the emotions of one who sees a fellow-citizen sandbagged -in a quiet street, they differ in kind from those experienced by the -victim himself. And so, though the theft of Lady Constance Keeble’s -diamond necklace had stirred Blandings Castle to its depths, it had -not affected all those present in quite the same way. It left the -house-party divided into two distinct schools of thought—the one -finding in the occurrence material for gloom and despondency, the other -deriving from it nothing but joyful excitement.</p> - -<p>To this latter section belonged those free young spirits who had -chafed at the prospect of being herded into the drawing-room on the -eventful night to listen to Psmith’s reading of <i>Songs of Squalor</i>. -It made them tremble now to think of what they would have missed, had -Lady Constance’s vigilance relaxed sufficiently to enable them to -execute the quiet sneak for the billiard-room of which even at the -eleventh hour they had thought so wistfully. As far as the Reggies, -Berties, Claudes, and Archies at that moment<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_271">[p. 271]</span> enjoying Lord Emsworth’s hospitality were -concerned the thing was top-hole, priceless, and indisputably what the -doctor ordered. They spent a great deal of their time going from one -country-house to another, and as a rule found the routine a little -monotonous. A happening like that of the previous night gave a splendid -zip to rural life. And when they reflected that, right on top of this -binge, there was coming the County Ball, it seemed to them that God was -in His heaven and all right with the world. They stuck cigarettes in -long holders, and collected in groups, chattering like starlings.</p> - -<p>The gloomy brigade, those with hearts bowed down, listened to their -effervescent babbling with wan distaste. These last were a small body -numerically, but very select. Lady Constance might have been described -as their head and patroness. Morning found her still in a state -bordering on collapse. After breakfast, however, which she took in her -room, and which was sweetened by an interview with Mr. Joseph Keeble, -her husband, she brightened considerably. Mr. Keeble, thought Lady -Constance, behaved magnificently. She had always loved him dearly, but -never so much as when, abstaining from the slightest reproach of her -obstinacy in refusing to allow the jewels to be placed in the bank, he -spaciously informed her that he would buy her another necklace, just -as good and costing every penny as much as the old one. It was at this -point that Lady Constance almost seceded from the ranks of gloom. She -kissed Mr. Keeble gratefully, and attacked with something approaching -animation the boiled egg at which she had been pecking when he came -in.</p> - -<p>But a few minutes later the average of despair was restored by -the enrolment of Mr. Keeble in the ranks<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_272">[p. 272]</span> of the despondent. He had gladsomely -assumed overnight that one of his agents, either Eve or Freddie, had -been responsible for the disappearance of the necklace. The fact that -Freddie, interviewed by stealth in his room, gapingly disclaimed any -share in the matter had not damped him. He had never expected results -from Freddie. But when, after leaving Lady Constance, he encountered -Eve and was given a short outline of history, beginning with her -acquisition of the necklace, and ending—like a modern novel—on the -sombre note of her finding the flower-pot gone, he too sat him down and -mourned as deeply as anyone.</p> - -<p>Passing with a brief mention over Freddie, whose morose bearing -was the subject of considerable comment among the younger set; over -Lord Emsworth, who woke at twelve o’clock disgusted to find that he -had missed several hours among his beloved flower-beds; and over the -Efficient Baxter, who was roused from sleep at twelve-fifteen by Thomas -the footman knocking on his door in order to hand him a note from his -employer enclosing a cheque, and dispensing with his services; we come -to Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>At twenty minutes past eleven on this morning when so much was -happening to so many people, Miss Peavey stood in the Yew Alley gazing -belligerently at the stemless mushroom finial of a tree about half-way -between the entrance and the point where the alley merged into the -west wood. She appeared to be soliloquising. For, though words were -proceeding from her with considerable rapidity, there seemed to be no -one in sight to whom they were being addressed. Only an exceptionally -keen observer would have noted a slight significant quivering among the -tree’s tightly-woven branches.</p> - -<p>“You poor bone-headed fish,” the poetess was<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_273">[p. 273]</span> saying with that strained tenseness which -results from the churning up of a generous and emotional nature, “isn’t -there anything in this world you can do without tumbling over your feet -and making a mess of it? All I ask of you is to stroll under a window -and pick up a few jewels, and now you come and tell me . . .”</p> - -<p>“But, Liz!” said the tree plaintively.</p> - -<p>“I do all the difficult part of the job. All that there was left for -you to handle was something a child of three could have done on its -ear. And now . . .”</p> - -<p>“But, Liz! I’m telling you I couldn’t find the stuff. I was down -there all right, but I couldn’t find it.”</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t find it!” Miss Peavey pawed restlessly at the soft -turf with a shapely shoe. “You’re the sort of dumb Isaac that couldn’t -find a bass-drum in a telephone-booth. You didn’t <i>look</i>.”</p> - -<p>“I did look. Honest, I did.”</p> - -<p>“Well, the stuff was there. I threw it down the moment the lights -went out.”</p> - -<p>“Somebody must have got there first, and swiped it.”</p> - -<p>“Who could have got there first? Everybody was up in the room where -I was.</p> - -<p>“Am I sure? Am I . . .” The poetess’s voice trailed -off. She was staring down the Yew Alley at a couple who had just -entered. She hissed a warning in a sharp undertone. “Hsst! Cheese it, -Ed. There’s someone coming.”</p> - -<p>The two intruders who had caused Miss Peavey to suspend her remarks -to her erring lieutenant were of opposite sexes—a tall girl with fair -hair, and a taller young man irreproachably clad in white flannels who -beamed down at his companion through a single eyeglass. Miss Peavey -gazed at them searchingly as they approached. A sudden thought had -come to her at the sight of them. Mistrusting Psmith as she had<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[p. 274]</span> done ever since Mr. -Cootes had unmasked him for the impostor that he was, the fact that -they were so often together had led her to extend her suspicion to Eve. -It might, of course, be nothing but a casual friendship, begun here -at the castle; but Miss Peavey had always felt that Eve would bear -watching. And now, seeing them together again this morning, it had -suddenly come to her that she did not recall having observed Eve among -the gathering in the drawing-room last night. True, there had been many -people present, but Eve’s appearance was striking, and she was sure -that she would have noticed her, if she had been there. And, if she had -not been there, why should she not have been on the terrace? Somebody -had been on the terrace last night, that was certain. For all her -censorious attitude in their recent conversation, Miss Peavey had not -really in her heart believed that even a dumb-bell like Eddie Cootes -would not have found the necklace if it had been lying under the window -on his arrival.</p> - -<p>“Oh, good morning, Mr. McTodd,” she cooed. “I’m feeling <i>so</i> upset -about this terrible affair. Aren’t <i>you</i>, Miss Halliday?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Eve, and she had never said a more truthful word.</p> - -<p>Psmith, for his part, was in more debonair and cheerful mood -even than was his wont. He had examined the position of affairs and -found life good. He was particularly pleased with the fact that he -had persuaded Eve to stroll with him this morning and inspect his -cottage in the woods. Buoyant as was his temperament, he had been -half afraid that last night’s interview on the terrace might have -had disastrous effects on their intimacy. He was now feeling full of -kindliness and goodwill towards all mankind—even<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_275">[p. 275]</span> Miss Peavey; and he bestowed on the -poetess a dazzling smile.</p> - -<p>“We must always,” he said, “endeavour to look on the bright side. It -was a pity, no doubt, that my reading last night had to be stopped at -a cost of about twenty thousand pounds to the Keeble coffers, but let -us not forget that but for that timely interruption I should have gone -on for about another hour. I am like that. My friends have frequently -told me that when once I start talking it requires something in the -nature of a cataclysm to stop me. But, of course, there are drawbacks -to everything, and last night’s rannygazoo perhaps shook your nervous -system to some extent?”</p> - -<p>“I was dreadfully frightened,” said Miss Peavey. She turned to Eve -with a delicate shiver. “Weren’t <i>you</i>, Miss Halliday?”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t there,” said Eve absently.</p> - -<p>“Miss Halliday,” explained Psmith, “has had in the last few days -some little experience of myself as orator, and with her usual good -sense decided not to go out of her way to get more of me than was -absolutely necessary. I was perhaps a trifle wounded at the moment, -but on thinking it over came to the conclusion that she was perfectly -justified in her attitude. I endeavour always in my conversation to -instruct, elevate, and entertain, but there is no gainsaying the fact -that a purist might consider enough of my chit-chat to be sufficient. -Such, at any rate, was Miss Halliday’s view, and I honour her for it. -But here I am, rambling on again just when I can see that you wish to -be alone. We will leave you, therefore, to muse. No doubt we have been -interrupting a train of thought which would have resulted but for my -arrival in a rondel or a ballade or some other poetic morceau. Come, -Miss Halliday. A weird and repellent female,” he said to Eve as<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[p. 276]</span> they drew out of hearing, -“created for some purpose which I cannot fathom. Everything in this -world, I like to think, is placed there for some useful end: but why -the authorities unleashed Miss Peavey on us is beyond me. It is not too -much to say that she gives me a pain in the gizzard.”</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey, unaware of these harsh views, had watched them out of -sight, and now she turned excitedly to the tree which sheltered her -ally.</p> - -<p>“Ed!”</p> - -<p>“Hello?” replied the muffled voice of Mr. Cootes.</p> - -<p>“Did you hear?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my heavens!” cried his overwrought partner. “He’s gone deaf -now! That girl—you didn’t hear what she was saying? She said that she -wasn’t in the drawing-room when those lights went out. Ed, she was down -below on the terrace, that’s where she was, picking up the stuff. And -if it isn’t hidden somewheres in that McTodd’s shack down there in the -woods I’ll eat my Sunday rubbers.”</p> - -<p>Eve, with Psmith prattling amiably at her side, pursued her way -through the wood. She was wondering why she had come. She ought, she -felt, to have been very cold and distant to this young man after what -had occurred between them last night. But somehow it was difficult -to be cold and distant with Psmith. He cheered her stricken soul. By -the time they reached the little clearing and came in sight of the -squat, shed-like building with its funny windows and stained door, her -spirits, always mercurial, had risen to a point where she found herself -almost able to forget her troubles.</p> - -<p>“What a horrible-looking place!” she exclaimed. “Whatever did you -want it for?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[p. 277]</span>“Purely as a -nook,” said Psmith, taking out his key. “You know how the man of -sensibility and refinement needs a nook. In this rushing age it is -imperative that the thinker shall have a place, however humble, where -he can be alone.”</p> - -<p>“But you aren’t a thinker.”</p> - -<p>“You wrong me. For the last few days I have been doing some -extremely brisk thinking. And the strain has taken its toll. The fierce -whirl of life at Blandings is wearing me away. There are dark circles -under my eyes and I see floating spots.” He opened the door. “Well, -here we are. Will you pop in for a moment?”</p> - -<p>Eve went in. The single sitting-room of the cottage certainly bore -out the promise of the exterior. It contained a table with a red cloth, -a chair, three stuffed birds in a glass case on the wall, and a small -horsehair sofa. A depressing musty scent pervaded the place, as if a -cheese had recently died there in painful circumstances. Eve gave a -little shiver of distaste.</p> - -<p>“I understand your silent criticism,” said Psmith. “You are saying -to yourself that plain living and high thinking is evidently the ideal -of the gamekeepers on the Blandings estate. They are strong, rugged -men who care little for the refinements of interior decoration. But -shall we blame them? If I had to spend most of the day and night -chivvying poachers and keeping an eye on the local rabbits, I imagine -that in my off-hours practically anything with a roof would satisfy -me. It was in the hope that you might be able to offer some hints and -suggestions for small improvements here and there that I invited you -to inspect my little place. There is no doubt that it wants doing up -a bit, by a woman’s gentle hand. Will you take a look round and give -out a few ideas? The wall-paper is, I fear,<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_278">[p. 278]</span> a fixture, but in every other direction -consider yourself untrammelled.”</p> - -<p>Eve looked about her.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she began dubiously, “I don’t think . . .”</p> - -<p>She stopped abruptly, tingling all over. A second glance had shown -her something which her first careless inspection had overlooked. -Half hidden by a ragged curtain, there stood on the window-sill a -large flower-pot containing a geranium. And across the surface of the -flower-pot was a broad splash of white paint.</p> - -<p>“You were saying . . . ?” said Psmith -courteously.</p> - -<p>Eve did not reply. She hardly heard him. Her mind was in a confused -whirl. A monstrous suspicion was forming itself in her brain.</p> - -<p>“You are admiring the shrub?” said Psmith. “I found it lying about -up at the castle this morning and pinched it. I thought it would add a -touch of colour to the place.”</p> - -<p>Eve, looking at him keenly as his gaze shifted to the flower-pot, -told herself that her suspicion had been absurd. Surely this blandness -could not be a cloak for guilt.</p> - -<p>“Where did you find it?”</p> - -<p>“By one of the windows in the hall, more or less wasting its -sweetness. I am bound to say I am a little disappointed in the thing. I -had a sort of idea it would turn the old homestead into a floral bower, -but it doesn’t seem to.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a beautiful geranium.”</p> - -<p>“There,” said Psmith, “I cannot agree with you. It seems to me to -have the glanders or something.”</p> - -<p>“It only wants watering.”</p> - -<p>“And unfortunately this cosy little place appears to possess no -water supply. I take it that the late proprietor when in residence -used to trudge to the back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[p. -279]</span> door of the castle and fetch what he needed in a bucket. -If this moribund plant fancies that I am going to spend my time racing -to and fro with refreshments, it is vastly mistaken. To-morrow it goes -into the dustbin.”</p> - -<p>Eve shut her eyes. She was awed by a sense of having arrived at a -supreme moment. She had the sensations of a gambler who risks all on a -single throw.</p> - -<p>“What a shame!” she said, and her voice, though she tried to control -it, shook. “You had better give it to me. I’ll take care of it. It’s -just what I want for my room.”</p> - -<p>“Pray take it,” said Psmith. “It isn’t mine, but pray take it. And -very encouraging it is, let me add, that you should be accepting gifts -from me in this hearty fashion; for it is well known that there is no -surer sign of the dawning of the divine emotion—love,” he explained, -“than this willingness to receive presents from the hands of the -adorer. I make progress, I make progress.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t do anything of the kind,” said Eve. Her eyes were -sparkling and her heart sang within her. In the revulsion of feeling -which had come to her on finding her suspicions unfounded she was aware -of a warm friendliness towards this absurd young man.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” said Psmith firmly. “I am quoting an established -authority—Auntie Belle of <i>Home Gossip</i>.”</p> - -<p>“I must be going,” said Eve. She took the flower-pot and hugged it -to her. “I’ve got work to do.”</p> - -<p>“Work, work, always work!” sighed Psmith. “The curse of the age. -Well, I will escort you back to your cell.”</p> - -<p>“No, you won’t,” said Eve. “I mean, thank you for your polite offer, -but I want to be alone.”</p> - -<p>“Alone?” Psmith looked at her, astonished.<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_280">[p. 280]</span> “When you have the chance of being with -<i>me</i>? This is a strange attitude.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” said Eve. “Thank you for being so hospitable and lavish. -I’ll try to find some cushions and muslin and stuff to brighten up this -place.”</p> - -<p>“Your presence does that adequately,” said Psmith, accompanying her -to the door. “By the way, returning to the subject we were discussing -last night, I forgot to mention, when asking you to marry me, that I -can do card-tricks.”</p> - -<p>“Really?”</p> - -<p>“And also a passable imitation of a cat calling to her young. Has -this no weight with you? Think! These things come in very handy in the -long winter evenings.”</p> - -<p>“But I shan’t be there when you are imitating cats in the long -winter evenings.”</p> - -<p>“I think you are wrong. As I visualise my little home, I can see you -there very clearly, sitting before the fire. Your maid has put you into -something loose. The light of the flickering flames reflects itself -in your lovely eyes. You are pleasantly tired after an afternoon’s -shopping, but not so tired as to be unable to select a card—<i>any</i> -card—from the pack which I offer . . .”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” said Eve.</p> - -<p>“If it must be so—good-bye. For the present. I shall see you -anon?”</p> - -<p>“I expect so.”</p> - -<p>“Good! I will count the minutes.”</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Eve walked rapidly away. As she snuggled the flower-pot under her -arm she was feeling like a child about to open its Christmas stocking. -Before she had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[p. 281]</span> gone -far, a shout stopped her and she perceived Psmith galloping gracefully -in her wake.</p> - -<p>“Can you spare me a moment?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Certainly.”</p> - -<p>“I should have added that I can also recite ‘Gunga-Din.’ Will you -think that over?”</p> - -<p>“I will.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Psmith. “Thank you. I have a feeling that it may -just turn the scale.”</p> - -<p>He raised his hat ambassadorially and galloped away again.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Eve found herself unable to wait any longer. Psmith was out of sight -now, and the wood was very still and empty. Birds twittered in the -branches, and the sun made little pools of gold upon the ground. She -cast a swift glance about her and crouched down in the shelter of a -tree.</p> - -<p>The birds stopped singing. The sun no longer shone. The wood had -become cold and sinister. For Eve, with a heart of lead, was staring -blankly at a little pile of mould at her feet; mould which she had -sifted again and again in a frenzied, fruitless effort to find a -necklace which was not there.</p> - -<p>The empty flower-pot seemed to leer up at her in mockery.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_13"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[p. 282]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII</h2> - <p class="subh2">PSMITH RECEIVES GUESTS</p> -</div> - -<h3 id="Ch_13_1">§ 1</h3> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">B</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">Blandings Castle</span> was astir -from roof to hall. Lights blazed, voices shouted, bells rang. All -over the huge building there prevailed a vast activity like that of a -barracks on the eve of the regiment’s departure for abroad. Dinner was -over, and the Expeditionary Force was making its final preparations -before starting off in many motor-cars for the County Ball at Shifley. -In the bedrooms on every floor, Reggies, doubtful at the last moment -about their white ties, were feverishly arranging new ones; Berties -brushed their already glistening hair; and Claudes shouted to Archies -along the passages insulting inquiries as to whether they had been -sneaking their handkerchiefs. Valets skimmed like swallows up and -down corridors, maids fluttered in and out of rooms in aid of Beauty -in distress. The noise penetrated into every nook and corner of the -house. It vexed the Efficient Baxter, going through his papers in the -library preparatory to leaving Blandings on the morrow for ever. It -disturbed Lord Emsworth, who stoutly declining to go within ten miles -of the County Ball, had retired to his room with a book on Herbaceous -Borders. It troubled the peace of Beach the butler, refreshing himself -after his activities around the dinner table with a glass of sound port -in the housekeeper’s room. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[p. -283]</span> only person in the place who paid no attention to it was -Eve Halliday.</p> - -<p>Eve was too furious to pay attention to anything but her deleterious -thoughts. As she walked on the terrace, to which she had fled in quest -of solitude, her teeth were set and her blue eyes glowed belligerently. -As Miss Peavey would have put it in one of her colloquial moods, she -was mad clear through. For Eve was a girl of spirit, and there is -nothing your girl of spirit so keenly resents as being made a fool of, -whether it be by Fate or by a fellow human creature. Eve was in the -uncomfortable position of having had this indignity put upon her by -both. But, while as far as Fate was concerned she merely smouldered -rebelliously, her animosity towards Psmith was vivid in the extreme.</p> - -<p>A hot wave of humiliation made her writhe as she remembered the -infantile guilelessness with which she had accepted the preposterous -story he had told her in explanation of his presence at Blandings in -another man’s name. He had been playing with her all the time—fooling -her—and, most unforgivable crime of all, he had dared to pretend that -he was fond of her and—Eve’s face burned again—to make her—almost—fond -of him. How he must have laughed . . .</p> - -<p>Well, she was not beaten yet. Her chin went up and she began to walk -quicker. He was clever, but she would be cleverer. The game was not -over . . .</p> - -<p>“Hallo!”</p> - -<p>A white waistcoat was gleaming at her side. Polished shoes shuffled -on the turf. Light hair, brushed and brilliantined to the last possible -pitch of perfection, shone in the light of the stars. The Hon. Freddie -Threepwood was in her midst.</p> - -<p>“Well, Freddie?” said Eve resignedly.</p> - -<p>“I say,” said Freddie in a voice in which self-pity<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[p. 284]</span> fought with commiseration -for her. “Beastly shame you aren’t coming to the hop.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind.”</p> - -<p>“But I do, dash it! The thing won’t be anything without you. A -bally wash-out. And I’ve been trying out some new steps with the -Victrola.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there will be plenty of other girls there for you to step -on.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t <i>want</i> other girls, dash them. I want you.”</p> - -<p>“That’s very nice of you,” said Eve. The first truculence of her -manner had softened. She reminded herself, as she had so often been -obliged to remind herself before, that Freddie meant well. “But it -can’t be helped. I’m only an employée here, not a guest. I’m not -invited.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Freddie. “And that’s what makes it so dashed -sickening. It’s like that picture I saw once, ‘A Modern Cinderella.’ -Only there the girl nipped off to the dance—disguised, you know—and had -a most topping time. I wish life was a bit more like the movies.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it was enough like the movies last night when . . . Oh!”</p> - -<p>Eve stopped. Her heart gave a sudden jump. Somehow the presence of -Freddie was so inextricably associated in her mind with limp proposals -of marriage that she had completely forgotten that there was another -and a more dashing side to his nature, that side which Mr. Keeble had -revealed to her at their meeting in Market Blandings on the previous -afternoon. She looked at him with new eyes.</p> - -<p>“Anything up?” said Freddie.</p> - -<p>Eve took him excitedly by the sleeve and drew him farther away from -the house. Not that there was any need to do so, for the bustle within -continued unabated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[p. 285]</span>“Freddie,” she -whispered, “listen! I met Mr. Keeble yesterday after I had left you, -and he told me all about how you and he had planned to steal Lady -Constance’s necklace.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” cried Freddie, and leaped like a stranded fish.</p> - -<p>“And I’ve got an idea,” said Eve.</p> - -<p>She had, and it was one which had only in this instant come to her. -Until now, though she had tilted her chin bravely and assured herself -that the game was not over and that she was not yet beaten, a small -discouraging voice had whispered to her all the while that this was -mere bravado. What, the voice had asked, are you going to do? And she -had not been able to answer it. But now, with Freddie as an ally, she -could act.</p> - -<p>“Told you all about it?” Freddie was muttering pallidly. He had -never had a very high opinion of his Uncle Joseph’s mentality, but he -had supposed him capable of keeping a thing like that to himself. He -was, indeed, thinking of Mr. Keeble almost the identical thoughts which -Mr. Keeble in the first moments of his interview with Eve in Market -Blandings had thought of him. And these reflections brought much the -same qualms which they had brought to the elder conspirator. Once these -things got talked about, mused Freddie agitatedly, you never knew where -they would stop. Before his mental eye there swam a painful picture of -his Aunt Constance, informed of the plot, tackling him and demanding -the return of her necklace. “Told you all about it?” he bleated, and, -like Mr. Keeble, mopped his brow.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right,” said Eve impatiently. “It’s quite all right. He -asked me to steal the necklace, too.”</p> - -<p>“You?” said Freddie, gaping.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[p. 286]</span>“My Gosh!” -cried Freddie, electrified. “Then was it you who got the thing last -night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes it was. But . . .”</p> - -<p>For a moment Freddie had to wrestle with something that was almost -a sordid envy. Then better feelings prevailed. He quivered with manly -generosity. He gave Eve’s hand a tender pat. It was too dark for her to -see it, but he was registering renunciation.</p> - -<p>“Little girl,” he murmured, “there’s no one I’d rather got that -thousand quid than you. If I couldn’t have it myself, I mean to say. -Little girl . . .”</p> - -<p>“Oh, be quiet!” cried Eve. “I wasn’t doing it for any thousand -pounds. I didn’t want Mr. Keeble to give me money . . .”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t want him to give you money!” repeated Freddie -wonderingly.</p> - -<p>“I just wanted to help Phyllis. She’s my friend.”</p> - -<p>“Pals, pardner, pals! Pals till hell freezes!” cried Freddie, deeply -moved.</p> - -<p>“What <i>are</i> you talking about?”</p> - -<p>“Sorry. That was a sub-title from a thing called ‘Prairie Nell,’ you -know. Just happened to cross my mind. It was in the second reel where -the two fellows are . . .”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; never mind.”</p> - -<p>“Thought I’d mention it.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me . . .”</p> - -<p>“It seemed to fit in.”</p> - -<p>“Do <i>stop</i>, Freddie!”</p> - -<p>“Right-ho!”</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” resumed Eve, “is Mr. McTodd going to the ball?”</p> - -<p>“Eh? Why, yes, I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>“Then, listen. You know that little cottage your father has let him -have?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[p. 287]</span>“Little -cottage?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. In the wood past the Yew Alley.”</p> - -<p>“Little cottage? I never heard of any little cottage.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s got one,” said Eve. “And as soon as everybody has gone -to the ball you and I are going to burgle it.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“Burgle it!”</p> - -<p>“Burgle it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, <i>burgle</i> it!”</p> - -<p>Freddie gulped.</p> - -<p>“Look here, old thing,” he said plaintively. “This is a bit beyond -me. It doesn’t seem to me to make sense.”</p> - -<p>Eve forced herself to be patient. After all, she reflected, -perhaps she had been approaching the matter a little rapidly. The -desire to beat Freddie violently over the head passed, and she began -to speak slowly, and, as far as she could manage it, in words of one -syllable.</p> - -<p>“I can make it quite clear if you will listen and not say a word -till I’ve done. This man who calls himself McTodd is not Mr. McTodd at -all. He is a thief who got into the place by saying that he was McTodd. -He stole the jewels from me last night and hid them in his cottage.”</p> - -<p>“But, I say!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t interrupt. I know he has them there, so when he has gone to -the ball and the coast is clear you and I will go and search till we -find them.”</p> - -<p>“But, I say!”</p> - -<p>Eve crushed down her impatience once more.</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Do you really think this cove has got the necklace?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[p. 288]</span>“I know he -has.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, it’s jolly well the best thing that could possibly have -happened, because I got him here to pinch it for Uncle Joseph.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely. You see, I began to have a doubt or two as to whether -I was quite equal to the contract, so I roped in this bird by way of a -gang.”</p> - -<p>“You got him here? You mean you sent for him and arranged that he -should pass himself off as Mr. McTodd?”</p> - -<p>“Well, no, not exactly that. He was coming here as McTodd anyway, as -far as I can gather. But I’d talked it over with him, you know, before -that and asked him to pinch the necklace.”</p> - -<p>“Then you know him quite well? He is a friend of yours?”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t say that exactly. But he said he was a great pal of -Phyllis and her husband.”</p> - -<p>“Did he tell you that?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely!”</p> - -<p>“When?”</p> - -<p>“In the train.”</p> - -<p>“I mean, was it before or after you had told him why you wanted the -necklace stolen?”</p> - -<p>“Eh? Let me think. After.”</p> - -<p>“You’re sure?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me exactly what happened,” said Eve. “I can’t understand it at -all at present.”</p> - -<p>Freddie marshalled his thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s see. Well, to start with, I told Uncle Joe I would -pinch the necklace and slip it to him, and he said if I did he’d give -me a thousand quid. As a matter of fact, he made it two thousand,<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[p. 289]</span> and very decent of him, I -thought it. Is that straight?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then I sort of got cold feet. Began to wonder, don’t you know, if I -hadn’t bitten off rather more than I could chew.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And then I saw this advertisement in the paper.”</p> - -<p>“Advertisement? What advertisement?”</p> - -<p>“There was an advertisement in the paper saying if anybody wanted -anything done simply apply to this chap. So I wrote him a letter -and went up and had a talk with him in the lobby of the Piccadilly -Palace. Only, unfortunately, I’d promised the guv’nor I’d catch the -twelve-fifty home, so I had to dash off in the middle. Must have -thought me rather an ass, it’s sometimes occurred to me since. I mean, -practically all I said was, ‘Will you pinch my aunt’s necklace?’ -and then buzzed off to catch the train. Never thought I’d see the -man again, but when I got into the five o’clock train—I missed the -twelve-fifty—there he was, as large as life, and the guv’nor suddenly -trickled in from another compartment and introduced him to me as McTodd -the poet. Then the guv’nor legged it, and this chap told me he wasn’t -really McTodd, only pretending to be McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t that strike you as strange?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, rather rummy.”</p> - -<p>“Did you ask him why he was doing such an extraordinary thing?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. But he wouldn’t tell me. And then he asked me why I -wanted him to pinch Aunt Connie’s necklace, and it suddenly occurred -to me that everything was working rather smoothly—I mean, him being on -his way to the castle like that. Right on the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_290">[p. 290]</span> spot, don’t you know. So I told him all -about Phyllis, and it was then that he said that he had been a pal of -hers and her husband’s for years. So we fixed it up that he was to get -the necklace and hand it over. I must say I was rather drawn to the -chappie. He said he didn’t want any money for swiping the thing.”</p> - -<p>Eve laughed bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Why should he, when he was going to get twenty thousand pounds’ -worth of diamonds and keep them? Oh, Freddie, I should have thought -that even you would have seen through him. You go to this perfect -stranger and tell him that there is a valuable necklace waiting here -to be stolen, you find him on his way to steal it, and you trust him -implicitly just because he tells you he knows Phyllis—whom he had never -heard of in his life till you mentioned her. Freddie, really!”</p> - -<p>The Hon. Freddie scratched his beautifully shaven chin.</p> - -<p>“Well, when you put it like that,” he said, “I must own it does -sound a bit off. But he seemed such a dashed matey sort of bird. Cheery -and all that. I liked the feller.”</p> - -<p>“What nonsense!”</p> - -<p>“Well, but you liked him, too. I mean to say, you were about with -him a goodish lot.”</p> - -<p>“I hate him!” said Eve angrily. “I wish I had never seen him. And if -I let him get away with that necklace and cheat poor little Phyllis out -of her money, I’ll—I’ll . . .”</p> - -<p>She raised a grimly determined chin to the stars. Freddie watched -her admiringly.</p> - -<p>“I say, you know, you are a wonderful girl,” he said.</p> - -<p>“He <i>shan’t</i> get away with it, if I have to pull the place -down.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[p. 291]</span>“When you chuck -your head up like that you remind me a bit of What’s-her-name, the -Famous Players star—you know, girl who was in ‘Wed To A Satyr.’ Only,” -added Freddie hurriedly, “she isn’t half so pretty. I say, I was rather -looking forward to that County Ball, but now this has happened I don’t -mind missing it a bit. I mean, it seems to draw us closer together -somehow, if you follow me. I say, honestly, all kidding aside, you -think that love might some day awaken in . . .”</p> - -<p>“We shall want a lamp, of course,” said Eve.</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“A lamp—to see with when we are in the cottage. Can you get one?”</p> - -<p>Freddie reluctantly perceived that the moment for sentiment had not -arrived.</p> - -<p>“A lamp? Oh, yes, of course. Rather.”</p> - -<p>“Better get two,” said Eve. “And meet me here about half an hour -after everybody has gone to the ball.”</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_13_2">§ 2</h3> -</div> - -<p>The tiny sitting-room of Psmith’s haven of rest in the woods had -never reached a high standard of decorativeness even in its best days; -but as Eve paused from her labours and looked at it in the light of her -lamp about an hour after her conversation with Freddie on the terrace, -it presented a picture of desolation which would have startled the -plain-living game-keeper to whom it had once been a home. Even Freddie, -though normally an unobservant youth, seemed awed by the ruin he had -helped to create.</p> - -<p>“Golly!” he observed. “I say, we’ve rather mucked the place up a -bit!”</p> - -<p>It was no over-statement. Eve had come to the<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_292">[p. 292]</span> cottage to search, and she had searched -thoroughly. The torn carpet lay in a untidy heap against the wall. The -table was overturned. Boards had been wrenched from the floor, bricks -from the chimney-place. The horsehair sofa was in ribbons, and the -one small cushion in the room lay limply in a corner, its stuffing -distributed north, south, east and west. There was soot everywhere—on -the walls, on the floor, on the fire-place, and on Freddie. A brace -of dead bats, the further result of the latter’s groping in a chimney -which had not been swept for seven months, reposed in the fender. The -sitting-room had never been luxurious; it was now not even cosy.</p> - -<p>Eve did not reply. She was struggling with what she was fair-minded -enough to see was an entirely unjust fever of irritation, with her -courteous and obliging assistant as its object. It was wrong, she -knew, to feel like this. That she should be furious at her failure to -find the jewels was excusable, but she had no possible right to be -furious with Freddie. It was not his fault that soot had poured from -the chimney in lieu of diamonds. If he had asked for a necklace and -been given a dead bat, he was surely more to be pitied than censured. -Yet Eve, eyeing his grimy face, would have given very much to have -been able to scream loudly and throw something at him. The fact was, -the Hon. Freddie belonged to that unfortunate type of humanity which -automatically gets blamed for everything in moments of stress.</p> - -<p>“Well, the bally thing isn’t here,” said Freddie. He spoke thickly, -as a man will whose mouth is covered with soot.</p> - -<p>“I know it isn’t,” said Eve. “But this isn’t the only room in the -house.”</p> - -<p>“Think he might have hidden the stuff upstairs?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[p. 293]</span>“Or -downstairs.”</p> - -<p>Freddie shook his head, dislodging a portion of a third bat.</p> - -<p>“Must be upstairs, if it’s anywhere. Mean to say, there isn’t any -downstairs.”</p> - -<p>“There’s the cellar,” said Eve. “Take your lamp and go and have a -look.”</p> - -<p>For the first time in the proceedings a spirit of disaffection -seemed to manifest itself in the bosom of her assistant. Up till this -moment Freddie had taken his orders placidly and executed them with -promptness and civility. Even when the first shower of soot had driven -him choking from the fire-place, his manly spirit had not been crushed; -he had merely uttered a startled “Oh, I say!” and returned gallantly to -the attack. But now he obviously hesitated.</p> - -<p>“Go on,” said Eve impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but, I say, you know . . .”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think the chap would be likely to hide a necklace in the -cellar. I vote we give it a miss and try upstairs.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be silly, Freddie. He may have hidden it anywhere.”</p> - -<p>“Well, to be absolutely honest, I’d much rather not go into any -bally cellar, if it’s all the same to you.”</p> - -<p>“Why ever not?”</p> - -<p>“Beetles. Always had a horror of beetles. Ever since I was a -kid.”</p> - -<p>Eve bit her lip. She was feeling, as Miss Peavey had so often felt -when associated in some delicate undertaking with Edward Cootes, that -exasperating sense of man’s inadequacy which comes to high-spirited -girls at moments such as these. To achieve the end for which she -had started out that night she would have<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_294">[p. 294]</span> waded waist-high through a sea of -beetles. But, divining with that sixth sense which tells women when -the male has been pushed just so far and can be pushed no farther, -that Freddie, wax though he might be in her hands in any other -circumstances, was on this one point adamant, she made no further -effort to bend him to her will.</p> - -<p>“All right,” she said. “I’ll go down into the cellar. You go and -look upstairs.”</p> - -<p>“No. I say, sure you don’t mind?”</p> - -<p>Eve took up her lamp and left the craven.</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>For a girl of iron resolution and unswerving purpose, Eve’s -inspection of the cellar was decidedly cursory. A distinct feeling of -relief came over her as she stood at the top of the steps and saw by -the light of the lamp how small and bare it was. For, impervious as she -might be to the intimidation of beetles, her armour still contained a -chink. She was terribly afraid of rats. And even when the rays of the -lamp disclosed no scuttling horrors, she still lingered for a moment -before descending. You never knew with rats. They pretended not to be -there just to lure you on, and then came out and whizzed about your -ankles. However, the memory of her scorn for Freddie’s pusillanimity -forced her on, and she went down.</p> - -<p>The word “cellar” is an elastic one. It can be applied equally to -the acres of bottle-fringed vaults which lie beneath a great pile like -Blandings Castle and to a hole in the ground like the one in which she -now found herself. This cellar was easily searched. She stamped on its -stone flags with an ear strained to detect any note of hollowness, -but none came. She moved the lamp so that it shone into every corner, -but there was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[p. 295]</span> -even a crack in which a diamond necklace could have been concealed. -Satisfied that the place contained nothing but a little coal-dust and a -smell of damp decay, Eve passed thankfully out.</p> - -<p>The law of elimination was doing its remorseless work. It had ruled -out the cellar, the kitchen, and the living-room—that is to say, the -whole of the lower of the two floors which made up the cottage. There -now remained only the rooms upstairs. There were probably not more than -two, and Freddie must already have searched one of these. The quest -seemed to be nearing its end. As Eve made for the narrow staircase that -led to the second floor, the lamp shook in her hand and cast weird -shadows. Now that success was in sight, the strain was beginning to -affect her nerves.</p> - -<p>It was to nerves that in the first instant of hearing it she -attributed what sounded like a soft cough in the sitting-room, a few -feet from where she stood. Then a chill feeling of dismay gripped her. -It could only, she thought, be Freddie, returned from his search; -and if Freddie had returned from his search already, what could it -mean except that those upstairs rooms, on which she had counted so -confidently, had proved as empty as the others? Freddie was not one of -your restrained, unemotional men. If he had found the necklace he would -have been downstairs in two bounds, shouting. His silence was ominous. -She opened the door and went quickly in.</p> - -<p>“Freddie,” she began, and broke off with a gasp.</p> - -<p>It was not Freddie who had coughed. It was Psmith. He was seated on -the remains of the horsehair sofa, toying with an automatic pistol and -gravely surveying through his monocle the ruins of a home.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_13_3">§ 3</h3> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[p. 296]</span>“Good evening,” -said Psmith.</p> - -<p>It was not for a philosopher like himself to display astonishment. -He was, however, undeniably feeling it. When, a few minutes before, he -had encountered Freddie in this same room, he had received a distinct -shock; but a rough theory which would account for Freddie’s presence in -his home-from-home he had been able to work out. He groped in vain for -one which would explain Eve.</p> - -<p>Mere surprise, however, was never enough to prevent Psmith talking. -He began at once.</p> - -<p>“It was nice of you,” he said, rising courteously, “to look in. -Won’t you sit down? On the sofa, perhaps? Or would you prefer a -brick?”</p> - -<p>Eve was not yet equal to speech. She had been so firmly convinced -that he was ten miles away at Shifley that his presence here in the -sitting-room of the cottage had something of the breath-taking quality -of a miracle. The explanation, if she could have known it, was simple. -Two excellent reasons had kept Psmith from gracing the County Ball -with his dignified support. In the first place, as Shifley was only -four miles from the village where he had spent most of his life, -he had regarded it as probable, if not certain, that he would have -encountered there old friends to whom it would have been both tedious -and embarrassing to explain why he had changed his name to McTodd. -And secondly, though he had not actually anticipated a nocturnal raid -on his little nook, he had thought it well to be on the premises that -evening in case Mr. Edward Cootes should have been getting ideas -into his head. As soon, therefore, as the castle had emptied itself -and the wheels of the last car had passed away<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_297">[p. 297]</span> down the drive, he had pocketed Mr. -Cootes’s revolver and proceeded to the cottage.</p> - -<p>Eve recovered her self-possession. She was not a girl given to -collapse in moments of crisis. The first shock of amazement had passed; -a humiliating feeling of extreme foolishness, which came directly -after, had also passed; she was now grimly ready for battle.</p> - -<p>“Where is Mr. Threepwood?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Upstairs. I have put him in storage for a while. Do not worry -about Comrade Threepwood. He has lots to think about. He is under the -impression that if he stirs out he will be instantly shot.”</p> - -<p>“Oh? Well, I want to put this lamp down. Will you please pick up -that table?”</p> - -<p>“By all means. But—I am a novice in these matters—ought I not first -to say ‘Hands up!’ or something?”</p> - -<p>“Will you please pick up that table?”</p> - -<p>“A friend of mine—one Cootes—you must meet him some time—generally -remarks ‘Hey!’ in a sharp, arresting voice on these occasions. -Personally I consider the expression too abrupt. Still, he has had -great experience . . .”</p> - -<p>“Will you please pick up that table?”</p> - -<p>“Most certainly. I take it, then, that you would prefer to dispense -with the usual formalities. In that case, I will park this revolver on -the mantelpiece while we chat. I have taken a curious dislike to the -thing. It makes me feel like Dangerous Dan McGrew.”</p> - -<p>Eve put down the lamp, and there was silence for a moment. Psmith -looked about him thoughtfully. He picked up one of the dead bats and -covered it with his handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“Somebody’s mother,” he murmured reverently.</p> - -<p>Eve sat down on the sofa.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[p. 298]</span>“Mr. . . .” She -stopped. “I can’t call you Mr. McTodd. Will you please tell me your -name?”</p> - -<p>“Ronald,” said Psmith. “Ronald Eustace.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you have a surname?” snapped Eve. “Or an alias?”</p> - -<p>Psmith eyed her with a pained expression.</p> - -<p>“I may be hyper-sensitive,” he said, “but that last remark sounded -to me like a dirty dig. You seem to imply that I am some sort of a -criminal.”</p> - -<p>Eve laughed shortly.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. There’s not much sense in -pretending now, is there? What is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Psmith. The p is silent.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Mr. Smith, I imagine you understand why I am here?”</p> - -<p>“I took it for granted that you had come to fulfil your kindly -promise of doing the place up a bit. Will you be wounded if I say -frankly that I preferred it the way it was before? All this may be -the last word in ultra-modern interior decoration, but I suppose I -am old-fashioned. The whisper flies round Shropshire and adjoining -counties, ‘Psmith is hide-bound. He is not attuned to up-to-date -methods.’ Honestly, don’t you think you have rather unduly stressed the -bizarre note? This soot . . . these dead bats . . .”</p> - -<p>“I have come to get that necklace.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! The necklace!”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to get it, too.”</p> - -<p>Psmith shook his head gently.</p> - -<p>“There,” he said, “if you will pardon me, I take issue with you. -There is nobody to whom I would rather give that necklace than you, but -there are special circumstances connected with it which render such an -action impossible. I fancy, Miss Halliday, that<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_299">[p. 299]</span> you have been misled by your young friend -upstairs. No; let me speak,” he said, raising a hand. “You know what -a treat it is to me. The way I envisage the matter is thus. I still -cannot understand as completely as I could wish how you come to be -mixed up in the affair, but it is plain that in some way or other -Comrade Threepwood has enlisted your services, and I regret to be -obliged to inform you that the motives animating him in this quest are -not pure. To put it crisply, he is engaged in what Comrade Cootes, to -whom I alluded just now, would call ‘funny business’.”</p> - -<p>“I . . .”</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” said Psmith. “If you will be patient for a few minutes -more, I shall have finished and shall then be delighted to lend an -attentive ear to any remarks you may wish to make. As it occurs to -me—indeed, you hinted as much yourself just now—that my own position -in this little matter has an appearance which to the uninitiated might -seem tolerably rummy, I had better explain how I come to be guarding a -diamond necklace which does not belong to me. I rely on your womanly -discretion to let the thing go no further.”</p> - -<p>“Will you please . . .”</p> - -<p>“In one moment. The facts are as follows. Our mutual friend Mr. -Keeble, Miss Halliday, has a stepdaughter who is married to one Comrade -Jackson who, if he had no other claim to fame, would go ringing down -through history for this reason, that he and I were at school together -and that he is my best friend. We two have sported on the green—ooh, a -lot of times. Well, owing to one thing and another, the Jackson family -is rather badly up against it at the present . . .”</p> - -<p>Eve jumped up angrily.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe a word of it,” she cried. “What is the use -of trying to fool me like this? You had<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_300">[p. 300]</span> never heard of Phyllis before Freddie -spoke about her in the train . . .”</p> - -<p>“Believe me . . .”</p> - -<p>“I won’t. Freddie got you down here to help him steal that necklace -and give it to Mr. Keeble so that he could help Phyllis, and now you’ve -got it and are trying to keep it for yourself.”</p> - -<p>Psmith started slightly. His monocle fell from its place.</p> - -<p>“Is <i>everybody</i> in this little plot! Are you also one of Comrade -Keeble’s corps of assistants?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Keeble asked me to try to get the necklace for him.”</p> - -<p>Psmith replaced his monocle thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“This,” he said, “opens up a new line of thought. Can it be that I -have been wronging Comrade Threepwood all this time? I must confess -that, when I found him here just now standing like Marius among the -ruins of Carthage (the allusion is a classical one, and the fruit of an -expensive education), I jumped—I may say, sprang—to the conclusion that -he was endeavouring to double-cross both myself and the boss by getting -hold of the necklace with a view to retaining it for his own benefit. -It never occurred to me that he might be crediting me with the same -sinful guile.”</p> - -<p>Eve ran to him and clutched his arm.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Smith, is this really true? Are you really a friend of -Phyllis?”</p> - -<p>“She looks on me as a grandfather. Are <i>you</i> a friend of hers?”</p> - -<p>“We were at school together.”</p> - -<p>“This,” said Psmith cordially, “is one of the most gratifying -moments of my life. It makes us all seem like one great big family.”</p> - -<p>“But I never heard Phyllis speak about you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[p. 301]</span>“Strange!” said -Psmith. “Strange. Surely she was not ashamed of her humble friend?”</p> - -<p>“Her what?”</p> - -<p>“I must explain,” said Psmith, “that until recently I was earning a -difficult livelihood by slinging fish about in Billingsgate Market. It -is possible that some snobbish strain in Comrade Jackson’s bride, which -I confess I had not suspected, kept her from admitting that she was -accustomed to hob-nob with one in the fish business.”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” cried Eve.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> - -<p>“Smith . . . Fish business . . . Why, it was you who called at -Phyllis’s house while I was there. Just before I came down here. I -remember Phyllis saying how sorry she was that we had not met. She said -you were just my sort of . . . I mean, she said she wanted me to meet -you.”</p> - -<p>“This,” said Psmith, “is becoming more and more gratifying every -moment. It seems to me that you and I were made for each other. I am -your best friend’s best friend and we both have a taste for stealing -other people’s jewellery. I cannot see how you can very well resist the -conclusion that we are twin-souls.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be silly.”</p> - -<p>“We shall get into that series of ‘Husbands and Wives Who Work -Together.’”</p> - -<p>“Where is the necklace?”</p> - -<p>Psmith sighed.</p> - -<p>“The business note. Always the business note. Can’t we keep all that -till later?”</p> - -<p>“No. We can’t.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well!”</p> - -<p>Psmith crossed the room, and took down from the wall the case of -stuffed birds.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[p. 302]</span>“The one place,” -said Eve, with mortification, “where we didn’t think of looking!”</p> - -<p>Psmith opened the case and removed the centre bird, a -depressed-looking fowl with glass eyes which stared with a haunting -pathos. He felt in its interior and pulled out something that glittered -and sparkled in the lamp-light.</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>Eve ran her fingers almost lovingly through the jewels as they lay -before her on the little table.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t they beautiful!”</p> - -<p>“Distinctly. I think I may say that of all the jewels I have ever -stolen . . .”</p> - -<p>“HEY!”</p> - -<p>Eve let the necklace fall with a cry. Psmith spun round. In the -doorway stood Mr. Edward Cootes, pointing a pistol.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_13_4">§ 4</h3> -</div> - -<p>“Hands up!” said Mr. Cootes with the uncouth curtness of one who -has not had the advantages of a refined home and a nice upbringing. He -advanced warily, preceded by the revolver. It was a dainty, miniature -weapon, such as might have been the property of some gentle lady. Mr. -Cootes had, in fact, borrowed it from Miss Peavey, who at this juncture -entered the room in a black and silver dinner-dress surmounted by a -Rose du Barri wrap, her spiritual face glowing softly in the subdued -light.</p> - -<p>“Attaboy, Ed,” observed Miss Peavey crisply.</p> - -<p>She swooped on the table and gathered up the necklace. Mr. Cootes, -though probably gratified by the tribute, made no acknowledgment of it, -but continued to direct an austere gaze at Eve and Psmith.</p> - -<p>“No funny business,” he advised.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[p. 303]</span>“I would be the -last person,” said Psmith agreeably, “to advocate anything of the sort. -This,” he said to Eve, “is Comrade Cootes, of whom you have heard so -much.”</p> - -<p>Eve was staring, bewildered, at the poetess, who, satisfied with the -manner in which the preliminaries had been conducted, had begun looking -about her with idle curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Miss Peavey!” cried Eve. Of all the events of this eventful night -the appearance of Lady Constance’s emotional friend in the rôle of -criminal was the most disconcerting. “Miss <i>Peavey</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Hallo?” responded that lady agreeably.</p> - -<p>“I . . . I . . .”</p> - -<p>“What, I think, Miss Halliday is trying to say,” cut in Psmith, “is -that she is finding it a little difficult to adjust her mind to the -present development. I, too, must confess myself somewhat at a loss. -I knew, of course, that Comrade Cootes had—shall I say an acquisitive -streak in him, but you I had always supposed to be one hundred per -cent. soul—and snowy white at that.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah?” said Miss Peavey, but faintly interested.</p> - -<p>“I imagined that you were a poetess.”</p> - -<p>“So I am a poetess,” retorted Miss Peavey hotly. “Just you start in -joshing my poems and see how quick I’ll bean you with a brick. Well, -Ed, no sense in sticking around here. Let’s go.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll have to tie these birds up,” said Mr. Cootes. “Otherwise -we’ll have them squealing before I can make a getaway.”</p> - -<p>“Ed,” said Miss Peavey with the scorn which her colleague so often -excited in her, “try to remember sometimes that that thing balanced on -your collar is a head, not a hubbard squash. And be careful what<span -class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[p. 304]</span> you’re doing with that -gat! Waving it about like it was a bouquet or something. How are they -going to squeal? They can’t say a thing without telling everyone they -snitched the stuff first.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” admitted Mr. Cootes.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, don’t come butting in.”</p> - -<p>The silence into which this rebuke plunged Mr. Cootes gave Psmith -the opportunity to resume speech. An opportunity of which he was glad, -for, while he had nothing of definitely vital import to say, he was -optimist enough to feel that his only hope of recovering the necklace -was to keep the conversation going on the chance of something turning -up. Affable though his manner was, he had never lost sight of the fact -that one leap would take him across the space of floor separating -him from Mr. Cootes. At present, that small but effective revolver -precluded anything in the nature of leaps, however short, but if in the -near future anything occurred to divert his adversary’s vigilance even -momentarily. . . . He pursued a policy of watchful waiting, and in the -meantime started to talk again.</p> - -<p>“If, before you go,” he said, “you can spare us a moment of your -valuable time, I should be glad of a few words. And, first, may I say -that I cordially agree with your condemnation of Comrade Cootes’s -recent suggestion. The man is an ass.”</p> - -<p>“Say!” cried Mr. Cootes, coming to life again, “that’ll be about all -from you. If there wasn’t ladies present, I’d bust you one.”</p> - -<p>“Ed,” said Miss Peavey with quiet authority, “shut your trap!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes subsided once more. Psmith gazed at him through his -monocle, interested.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” he said, “but—if it is not a rude question—are you two -married?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[p. 305]</span>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“You seemed to me to talk to him like a wife. Am I addressing Mrs. -Cootes?”</p> - -<p>“You will be if you stick around a while.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand congratulations to Comrade Cootes. Not quite so many to -you, possibly, but fully that number of good wishes.” He moved towards -the poetess with extended hand. “I am thinking of getting married -myself shortly.”</p> - -<p>“Keep those hands up,” said Mr. Cootes.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” said Psmith reproachfully, “these conventions need not be -observed among friends? You will find the only revolver I have ever -possessed over there on the mantelpiece. Go and look at it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and have you jumping on my back the moment I took my eyes off -you!”</p> - -<p>“There is a suspicious vein in your nature, Comrade Cootes,” sighed -Psmith, “which I do not like to see. Fight against it.” He turned to -Miss Peavey once more. “To resume a pleasanter topic, you will let me -know where to send the plated fish-slice, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Huh?” said the lady.</p> - -<p>“I was hoping,” proceeded Psmith, “if you do not think it a liberty -on the part of one who has known you but a short time, to be allowed -to send you a small wedding-present in due season. And one of these -days, perhaps, when I too am married, you and Comrade Cootes will come -and visit us in our little home. You will receive a hearty, unaffected -welcome. You must not be offended if, just before you say good-bye, we -count the spoons.”</p> - -<p>One would scarcely have supposed Miss Peavey a sensitive woman, -yet at this remark an ominous frown clouded her white forehead. Her -careless amiability<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[p. 306]</span> -seemed to wane. She raked Psmith with a glittering eye.</p> - -<p>“You’re talking a dam’ lot,” she observed coldly.</p> - -<p>“An old failing of mine,” said Psmith apologetically, “and one -concerning which there have been numerous complaints. I see now -that I have been boring you, and I hope that you will allow me to -express. . . .”</p> - -<p>He broke off abruptly, not because he had reached the end of his -remarks, but because at this moment there came from above their heads -a sudden sharp cracking sound, and almost simultaneously a shower of -plaster fell from the ceiling, followed by the startling appearance -of a long, shapely leg, which remained waggling in space. And from -somewhere out of sight there filtered down a sharp and agonised -oath.</p> - -<p>Time and neglect had done their work with the flooring of the -room in which Psmith had bestowed the Hon. Freddie Threepwood, and, -creeping cautiously about in the dark, he had had the misfortune to go -through.</p> - -<p>But, as so often happens in this life, the misfortune of one is the -good fortune of another. Badly as the accident had shaken Freddie, from -the point of view of Psmith it was almost ideal. The sudden appearance -of a human leg through the ceiling at a moment of nervous tension is -enough to unman the stoutest-hearted, and Edward Cootes made no attempt -to conceal his perturbation. Leaping a clear six inches from the floor, -he jerked up his head and quite unintentionally pulled the trigger of -his revolver. A bullet ripped through the plaster.</p> - -<p>The leg disappeared. Not for an instant since he had been shut -in that upper room had Freddie Threepwood ceased to be mindful of -Psmith’s parting statement that he would be shot if he tried to escape, -and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[p. 307]</span> Mr. Cootes’ -bullet seemed to him a dramatic fulfilment of that promise. Wrenching -his leg with painful energy out of the abyss, he proceeded to execute -a backward spring which took him to the far wall—at which point, as -it was impossible to get any farther away from the centre of events, -he was compelled to halt his retreat. Having rolled himself up into -as small a ball as he could manage, he sat where he was, trying not -to breathe. His momentary intention of explaining through the hole -that the entire thing had been a regrettable accident, he prudently -abandoned. Unintelligent though he had often proved himself in other -crises of his life, he had the sagacity now to realise that the -neighbourhood of the hole was unhealthy and should be avoided. So, -preserving a complete and unbroken silence, he crouched there in the -darkness, only asking to be left alone.</p> - -<p>And it seemed, as the moments slipped by, that this modest wish was -to be gratified. Noises and the sound of voices came up to him from -the room below, but no more bullets. It would be paltering with the -truth to say that this put him completely at his ease, but still it was -something. Freddie’s pulse began to return to the normal.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes’, on the other hand, was beating with a dangerous -quickness. Swift and objectionable things had been happening to -Edward Cootes in that lower room. His first impression was that the -rift in the plaster above him had been instantly followed by the -collapse of the entire ceiling, but this was a mistaken idea. All -that had occurred was that Psmith, finding Mr. Cootes’ eye and pistol -functioning in another direction, had sprung forward, snatched up a -chair, hit the unfortunate man over the head with it, relieved him of -his pistol, leaped to the mantelpiece, removed<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_308">[p. 308]</span> the revolver which lay there, and now, -holding both weapons in an attitude of menace, was regarding him -censoriously through a gleaming eyeglass.</p> - -<p>“No funny business, Comrade Cootes,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>Mr. Cootes picked himself up painfully. His head was singing. He -looked at the revolvers, blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again. -He was oppressed with a sense of defeat. Nature had not built him for -a man of violence. Peaceful manipulation of a pack of cards in the -smoke-room of an Atlantic liner was a thing he understood and enjoyed: -rough-and-tumble encounters were alien to him and distasteful. As far -as Mr. Cootes was concerned, the war was over.</p> - -<p>But Miss Peavey was a woman of spirit. Her hat was still in the -ring. She clutched the necklace in a grasp of steel, and her fine eyes -glared defiance.</p> - -<p>“You think yourself smart, don’t you?” she said.</p> - -<p>Psmith eyed her commiseratingly. Her valorous attitude appealed to -him. Nevertheless, business was business.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” he said regretfully, “that I must trouble you to hand -over that necklace.”</p> - -<p>“Try and get it,” said Miss Peavey.</p> - -<p>Psmith looked hurt.</p> - -<p>“I am a child in these matters,” he said, “but I had always gathered -that on these occasions the wishes of the man behind the gun were -automatically respected.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll call your bluff,” said Miss Peavey firmly. “I’m going to walk -straight out of here with this collection of ice right now, and I’ll -bet you won’t have the nerve to start any shooting. Shoot a woman? Not -you!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[p. 309]</span>Psmith nodded -gravely.</p> - -<p>“Your knowledge of psychology is absolutely correct. Your trust -in my sense of chivalry rests on solid ground. But,” he proceeded, -cheering up, “I fancy that I see a way out of the difficulty. An idea -has been vouchsafed to me. I shall shoot—not you, but Comrade Cootes. -This will dispose of all unpleasantness. If you attempt to edge out -through that door I shall immediately proceed to plug Comrade Cootes -in the leg. At least, I shall try. I am a poor shot and may hit him -in some more vital spot, but at least he will have the consolation of -knowing that I did my best and meant well.”</p> - -<p>“Hey!” cried Mr. Cootes. And never, in a life liberally embellished -with this favourite ejaculation of his, had he uttered it more -feelingly. He shot a feverish glance at Miss Peavey; and, reading in -her face indecision rather than that instant acquiescence which he had -hoped to see, cast off his customary attitude of respectful humility -and asserted himself. He was no cave-man, but this was one occasion -when he meant to have his own way. With an agonised bound he reached -Miss Peavey’s side, wrenched the necklace from her grasp and flung it -into the enemy’s camp. Eve stooped and picked it up.</p> - -<p>“I thank you,” said Psmith with a brief bow in her direction.</p> - -<p>Miss Peavey breathed heavily. Her strong hands clenched and -unclenched. Between her parted lips her teeth showed in a thin white -line. Suddenly she swallowed quickly, as if draining a glass of -unpalatable medicine.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said in a low, even voice, “that seems to be about all. -Guess we’ll be going. Come along, Ed, pick up the Henries.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[p. 310]</span>“Coming, Liz,” -replied Mr. Cootes humbly.</p> - -<p>They passed together into the night.</p> - - -<div class="section"> - <h3 id="Ch_13_5">§ 5</h3> -</div> - -<p>Silence followed their departure. Eve, weak with the reaction from -the complex emotions which she had undergone since her arrival at the -cottage, sat on the battered sofa, her chin resting in her hands. She -looked at Psmith, who, humming a light air, was delicately piling -with the toe of his shoe a funeral mound over the second of the dead -bats.</p> - -<p>“So that’s that!” she said.</p> - -<p>Psmith looked up with a bright and friendly smile.</p> - -<p>“You have a very happy gift of phrase,” he said. “That, as you -sensibly say, is that.”</p> - -<p>Eve was silent for awhile. Psmith completed the obsequies and -stepped back with the air of a man who has done what he can for a -fallen friend.</p> - -<p>“Fancy Miss Peavey being a thief!” said Eve. She was somehow feeling -a disinclination to allow the conversation to die down, and yet she -had an idea that, unless it was permitted to die down, it might -become embarrassingly intimate. Subconsciously, she was endeavouring -to analyse her views on this long, calm person who had so recently -added himself to the list of those who claimed to look upon her with -affection.</p> - -<p>“I confess it came as something of a shock to me also,” said Psmith. -“In fact, the revelation that there was this other, deeper side to her -nature materially altered the opinion I had formed of her. I found -myself warming to Miss Peavey. Something that was akin to respect began -to stir within me. Indeed, I almost wish that we had not been compelled -to deprive her of the jewels.”</p> - -<p>“‘We’?” said Eve. “I’m afraid I didn’t do much.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[p. 311]</span>“Your attitude -was exactly right,” Psmith assured her. “You afforded just the moral -support which a man needs in such a crisis.”</p> - -<p>Silence fell once more. Eve returned to her thoughts. And then, with -a suddenness which surprised her, she found that she had made up her -mind.</p> - -<p>“So you’re going to be married?” she said.</p> - -<p>Psmith polished his monocle thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“I think so,” he said. “I think so. What do <i>you</i> think?”</p> - -<p>Eve regarded him steadfastly. Then she gave a little laugh.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, “I think so, too.” She paused. “Shall I tell you -something?”</p> - -<p>“You could tell me nothing more wonderful than that.”</p> - -<p>“When I met Cynthia in Market Blandings, she told me what the -trouble was which made her husband leave her. What do you suppose it -was?”</p> - -<p>“From my brief acquaintance with Comrade McTodd, I would hazard the -guess that he tried to stab her with the bread-knife. He struck me as a -murderous-looking specimen.”</p> - -<p>“They had some people to dinner, and there was chicken, and Cynthia -gave all the giblets to the guests, and her husband bounded out of his -seat with a wild cry, and, shouting ‘You <i>know</i> I love those things -better than anything in the world!’ rushed from the house, never to -return!”</p> - -<p>“Precisely how I would have wished him to rush, had I been Mrs. -McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“Cynthia told me that he had rushed from the house, never to return, -six times since they were married.”</p> - -<p>“May I mention—in passing—” said Psmith, “that I do not like chicken -giblets?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[p. 312]</span>“Cynthia advised -me,” proceeded Eve, “if ever I married, to marry someone eccentric. She -said it was such fun. Well, I don’t suppose I am ever likely to meet -anyone more eccentric than you, am I?”</p> - -<p>“I think you would be unwise to wait on the chance.”</p> - -<p>“The only thing is . . .,” said Eve reflectively. “‘Mrs. -Smith’ . . . It doesn’t <i>sound</i> much, does it?”</p> - -<p>Psmith beamed encouragingly.</p> - -<p>“We must look into the future,” he said. “We must remember that I -am only at the beginning of what I am convinced is to be a singularly -illustrious career. ‘Lady Psmith’ is better . . . ‘Baroness Psmith’ -better still . . . And—who knows?—‘The Duchess of Psmith’ . . .”</p> - -<p>“Well, anyhow,” said Eve, “you were wonderful just now, simply -wonderful. The way you made one spring . . .”</p> - -<p>“Your words,” said Psmith, “are music to my ears, but we must not -forget that the foundations of the success of the manœuvre were laid -by Comrade Threepwood. Had it not been for the timely incursion of his -leg . . .”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” cried Eve. “Freddie! I had forgotten all about -him!”</p> - -<p>“The right spirit,” said Psmith. “Quite the right spirit.”</p> - -<p>“We must go and let him out.”</p> - -<p>“Just as you say. And then he can come with us on the stroll I -was about to propose that we should take through the woods. It is a -lovely night, and what could be jollier than to have Comrade Threepwood -prattling at our side? I will go and let him out at once.”</p> - -<p>“No, don’t bother,” said Eve.</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter" id="Ch_14"> - <p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[p. 313]</span></p> - <h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV</h2> - <p class="subh2">PSMITH ACCEPTS EMPLOYMENT</p> -</div> - -<div class="drop"> - <p class="fs500 lh80 ti0">T</p> -</div> - -<p class="icap"><span class="upc">The</span> golden stillness of a -perfect summer morning brooded over Blandings Castle and its adjacent -pleasure-grounds. From a sky of unbroken blue the sun poured down -its heartening rays on all those roses, pinks, pansies, carnations, -hollyhocks, columbines, larkspurs, London pride and Canterbury bells -which made the gardens so rarely beautiful. Flannelled youths and -maidens in white serge sported in the shade; gay cries arose from the -tennis-courts behind the shrubbery; and birds, bees, and butterflies -went about their business with a new energy and zip. In short, the -casual observer, assuming that he was addicted to trite phrases, would -have said that happiness reigned supreme.</p> - -<p>But happiness, even on the finest mornings, is seldom universal. -The strolling youths and maidens were happy; the tennis-players were -happy; the birds, bees, and butterflies were happy. Eve, walking in -pleasant meditation on the terrace, was happy. Freddie Threepwood -was happy as he lounged in the smoking-room and gloated over the -information, received from Psmith in the small hours, that his thousand -pounds was safe. Mr. Keeble, writing to Phyllis to inform her that she -might clinch the purchase of the Lincolnshire farm, was happy. Even -Head-gardener Angus McAllister was as happy as a Scotsman can ever be. -But Lord Emsworth,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[p. 314]</span> -drooping out of the library window, felt only a nervous irritation more -in keeping with the blizzards of winter than with the only fine July -that England had known in the last ten years.</p> - -<p>We have seen his lordship in a similar attitude and a like frame -of mind on a previous occasion; but then his melancholy had been due -to the loss of his glasses. This morning these were perched firmly on -his nose and he saw all things clearly. What was causing his gloom now -was the fact that some ten minutes earlier his sister Constance had -trapped him in the library, full of jarring rebuke on the subject of -the dismissal of Rupert Baxter, the world’s most efficient secretary. -It was to avoid her compelling eye that Lord Emsworth had turned to the -window. And what he saw from that window thrust him even deeper into -the abyss of gloom. The sun, the birds, the bees, the butterflies, and -the flowers called to him to come out and have the time of his life, -but he just lacked the nerve to make a dash for it.</p> - -<p>“I think you must be mad,” said Lady Constance bitterly, resuming -her remarks and starting at the point where she had begun before.</p> - -<p>“Baxter’s mad,” retorted his lordship, also re-treading old -ground.</p> - -<p>“You are too absurd!”</p> - -<p>“He threw flower-pots at me.”</p> - -<p>“Do please stop talking about those flower-pots. Mr. Baxter has -explained the whole thing to me, and surely even you can see that his -behaviour was perfectly excusable.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like the fellow,” cried Lord Emsworth, once more retreating -to his last line of trenches—the one line from which all Lady -Constance’s eloquence had been unable to dislodge him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[p. 315]</span>There was a -silence, as there had been a short while before when the discussion had -reached this same point.</p> - -<p>“You will be helpless without him,” said Lady Constance.</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the kind,” said his lordship.</p> - -<p>“You know you will. Where will you ever get another secretary -capable of looking after everything like Mr. Baxter? You know you are a -perfect child, and unless you have someone whom you can trust to manage -your affairs I cannot see what will happen.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth made no reply. He merely gazed wanly from the -window.</p> - -<p>“Chaos,” moaned Lady Constance.</p> - -<p>His lordship remained mute, but now there was a gleam of something -approaching pleasure in his pale eyes; for at this moment a car rounded -the corner of the house from the direction of the stables and stood -purring at the door. There was a trunk on the car and a suit-case. And -almost simultaneously the Efficient Baxter entered the library, clothed -and spatted for travel.</p> - -<p>“I have come to say good-bye, Lady Constance,” said Baxter coldly -and precisely, flashing at his late employer through his spectacles a -look of stern reproach. “The car which is taking me to the station is -at the door.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Baxter.” Lady Constance, strong woman though she was, -fluttered with distress. “Oh, Mr. Baxter.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye.” He gripped her hand in brief farewell and directed his -spectacles for another tense instant upon the sagging figure at the -window. “Good-bye, Lord Emsworth.”</p> - -<p>“Eh? What? Oh! Ah, yes. Good-bye, my dear fel——, I mean, good-bye. -I—er—hope you will have a pleasant journey.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Baxter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[p. 316]</span>“But, Mr. -Baxter,” said Lady Constance.</p> - -<p>“Lord Emsworth,” said the ex-secretary icily, “I am no longer in -your employment . . .”</p> - -<p>“But, Mr. Baxter,” moaned Lady Constance, “surely . . . even -now . . . misunderstanding . . . talk it all over quietly . . .”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth started violently.</p> - -<p>“Here!” he protested, in much the same manner as that in which the -recent Mr. Cootes had been wont to say “Hey!”</p> - -<p>“I fear it is too late,” said Baxter, to his infinite relief, “to -talk things over. My arrangements are already made and cannot be -altered. Ever since I came here to work for Lord Emsworth, my former -employer—an American millionaire named Jevons—has been making me -flattering offers to return to him. Until now a mistaken sense of -loyalty has kept me from accepting these offers, but this morning I -telegraphed to Mr. Jevons to say that I was at liberty and could join -him at once. It is too late now to cancel this promise.”</p> - -<p>“Quite, quite, oh certainly, quite, mustn’t dream of it, my dear -fellow. No, no, no, indeed no,” said Lord Emsworth with an effervescent -cordiality which struck both his hearers as in the most dubious -taste.</p> - -<p>Baxter merely stiffened haughtily, but Lady Constance was so -poignantly affected by the words and the joyous tone in which they were -uttered that she could endure her brother’s loathly society no longer. -Shaking Baxter’s hand once more and gazing stonily for a moment at the -worm by the window, she left the room.</p> - -<p>For some seconds after she had gone, there was silence—a silence -which Lord Emsworth found embarrassing. He turned to the window again -and took in with one wistful glance the roses, the pinks, the pansies, -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[p. 317]</span> carnations, the -hollyhocks, the columbines, the larkspurs, the London pride and the -Canterbury bells. And then suddenly there came to him the realisation -that with Lady Constance gone there no longer existed any reason why -he should stay cooped up in this stuffy library on the finest morning -that had ever been sent to gladden the heart of man. He shivered -ecstatically from the top of his bald head to the soles of his roomy -shoes, and, bounding gleefully from the window, started to amble across -the room.</p> - -<p>“Lord Emsworth!”</p> - -<p>His lordship halted. His was a one-track mind, capable of -accommodating only one thought at a time—if that, and he had almost -forgotten that Baxter was still there. He eyed his late secretary -peevishly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes? Is there anything . . . ?”</p> - -<p>“I should like to speak to you for a moment.”</p> - -<p>“I have a most important conference with McAllister . . .”</p> - -<p>“I will not detain you long. Lord Emsworth, I am no longer in your -employment, but I think it my duty to say before I go . . .”</p> - -<p>“No, no, my dear fellow, I quite understand. Quite, quite, quite. -Constance has been going over all that. I know what you are trying to -say. That matter of the flower-pots. Please do not apologise. It is -quite all right. I was startled at the time, I own, but no doubt you -had excellent motives. Let us forget the whole affair.”</p> - -<p>Baxter ground an impatient heel into the carpet.</p> - -<p>“I had no intention of referring to the matter to which you allude,” -he said. “I merely wished . . .”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, of course.” A vagrant breeze floated in at the window, -languid with summer scents, and Lord Emsworth, sniffing, shuffled -restlessly. “Of course,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[p. -318]</span> of course, of course. Some other time, eh? Yes, yes, that -will be capital. Capital, capital, cap——”</p> - -<p>The Efficient Baxter uttered a sound that was partly a cry, partly -a snort. Its quality was so arresting that Lord Emsworth paused, his -fingers on the door-handle, and peered back at him, startled.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said Baxter shortly. “Pray do not let me keep you. If -you are not interested in the fact that Blandings Castle is sheltering -a criminal . . .”</p> - -<p>It was not easy to divert Lord Emsworth when in quest of Angus -McAllister, but this remark succeeded in doing so. He let go of the -door-handle and came back a step or two into the room.</p> - -<p>“Sheltering a criminal?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” Baxter glanced at his watch. “I must go now or I shall miss -my train,” he said curtly. “I was merely going to tell you that this -fellow who calls himself Ralston McTodd is not Ralston McTodd at -all.”</p> - -<p>“Not Ralston McTodd?” repeated his lordship blankly. “But——” He -suddenly perceived a flaw in the argument. “But he <i>said</i> he was,” -he pointed out cleverly. “Yes, I remember distinctly. He said he was -McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“He is an impostor. And I imagine that if you investigate you will -find that it is he and his accomplices who stole Lady Constance’s -necklace.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear fellow . . .”</p> - -<p>Baxter walked briskly to the door.</p> - -<p>“You need not take my word for it,” he said. “What I say can easily -be proved. Get this so-called McTodd to write his name on a piece -of paper and then compare it with the signature to the letter which -the real McTodd wrote when accepting Lady Constance’s invitation to -the castle. You will find it filed away in the drawer of that desk -there.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[p. 319]</span>Lord Emsworth -adjusted his glasses and stared at the desk as if he expected it to do -a conjuring-trick.</p> - -<p>“I will leave you to take what steps you please,” said Baxter. “Now -that I am no longer in your employment, the thing does not concern -me one way or another. But I thought you might be glad to hear the -facts.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I <i>am</i>!” responded his lordship, still peering vaguely. “Oh, I -<i>am</i>! Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes, yes . . .”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>“But, Baxter . . .”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth trotted out on to the landing, but Baxter had got -off to a good start and was almost out of sight round the bend of the -stairs.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear fellow . . .” bleated his lordship plaintively over -the banisters.</p> - -<p>From below, out on the drive, came the sound of an automobile -getting into gear and moving off, than which no sound is more final. -The great door of the castle closed with a soft but significant bang—as -doors close when handled by an untipped butler. Lord Emsworth returned -to the library to wrestle with his problem unaided.</p> - -<p>He was greatly disturbed. Apart from the fact that he disliked -criminals and impostors as a class, it was a shock to him to learn that -the particular criminal and impostor then in residence at Blandings was -the man for whom, brief as had been the duration of their acquaintance, -he had conceived a warm affection. He was fond of Psmith. Psmith -soothed him. If he had had to choose any member of his immediate circle -for the rôle of criminal and impostor, he would have chosen Psmith -last.</p> - -<p>He went to the window again and looked out. There was the -sunshine, there were the birds, there were<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_320">[p. 320]</span> the hollyhocks, carnations, and -Canterbury bells, all present and correct; but now they failed to -cheer him. He was wondering dismally what on earth he was going to do. -What <i>did</i> one do with criminals and impostors? Had ’em arrested, he -supposed. But he shrank from the thought of arresting Psmith. It seemed -so deuced unfriendly.</p> - -<p>He was still meditating gloomily when a voice spoke behind him.</p> - -<p>“Good morning. I am looking for Miss Halliday. You have not seen her -by any chance? Ah, there she is down there on the terrace.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth was aware of Psmith beside him at the window, waving -cordially to Eve, who waved back.</p> - -<p>“I thought possibly,” continued Psmith, “that Miss Halliday would be -in her little room yonder”—he indicated the dummy book-shelves through -which he had entered. “But I am glad to see that the morning is so fine -that she has given toil the miss-in-baulk. It is the right spirit,” -said Psmith. “I like to see it.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth peered at him nervously through his glasses. His -embarrassment and his distaste for the task that lay before him -increased as he scanned his companion in vain for those signs of -villainy which all well-regulated criminals and impostors ought to -exhibit to the eye of discernment.</p> - -<p>“I am surprised to find you indoors,” said Psmith, “on so glorious -a morning. I should have supposed that you would have been down there -among the shrubs, taking a good sniff at a hollyhock or something.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth braced himself for the ordeal.</p> - -<p>“Er, my dear fellow . . . that is to say . . .” He paused. Psmith -was regarding him almost lovingly through his monocle, and it was -becoming increasingly difficult to warm up to the work of denouncing -him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[p. 321]</span>“You were -observing . . . ?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth uttered curious buzzing noises.</p> - -<p>“I have just parted from Baxter,” he said at length, deciding to -approach the subject in more roundabout fashion.</p> - -<p>“Indeed?” said Psmith courteously.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Baxter has gone.”</p> - -<p>“For ever?”</p> - -<p>“Er—yes.”</p> - -<p>“Splendid!” said Psmith. “Splendid, splendid.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth removed his glasses, twiddled them on their cord, and -replaced them on his nose.</p> - -<p>“He made . . . He—er—the fact is, he made . . . Before he went -Baxter made a most remarkable statement . . . a charge . . . Well, in -short, he made a very strange statement about you.”</p> - -<p>Psmith nodded gravely.</p> - -<p>“I had been expecting something of the kind,” he said. “He said, no -doubt, that I was not really Ralston McTodd?”</p> - -<p>His lordship’s mouth opened feebly.</p> - -<p>“Er—yes,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been meaning to tell you about that,” said Psmith amiably. “It -is quite true. I am not Ralston McTodd.”</p> - -<p>“You—you admit it!”</p> - -<p>“I am proud of it.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth drew himself up. He endeavoured to assume the attitude -of stern censure which came so naturally to him in interviews with his -son Frederick. But he met Psmith’s eye and sagged again. Beneath the -solemn friendliness of Psmith’s gaze hauteur was impossible.</p> - -<p>“Then what the deuce are you doing here under his name?” he -asked, placing his finger in statesmanlike<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_322">[p. 322]</span> fashion on the very nub of the problem. -“I mean to say,” he went on, making his meaning clearer, “if you aren’t -McTodd, why did you come here saying you were McTodd?”</p> - -<p>Psmith nodded slowly.</p> - -<p>“The point is well taken,” he said. “I was expecting you to ask that -question. Primarily—I want no thanks, but primarily I did it to save -you embarrassment.”</p> - -<p>“Save me embarrassment?”</p> - -<p>“Precisely. When I came into the smoking-room of our mutual club -that afternoon when you had been entertaining Comrade McTodd at lunch, -I found him on the point of passing out of your life for ever. It seems -that he had taken umbrage to some slight extent because you had buzzed -off to chat with the florist across the way instead of remaining with -him. And, after we had exchanged a pleasant word or two, he legged it, -leaving you short one modern poet. On your return I stepped into the -breach to save you from the inconvenience of having to return here -without a McTodd of any description. No one, of course, could have been -more alive than myself to the fact that I was merely a poor substitute, -a sort of synthetic McTodd, but still I considered that I was better -than nothing, so I came along.”</p> - -<p>His lordship digested this explanation in silence. Then he seized on -a magnificent point.</p> - -<p>“Are you a member of the Senior Conservative Club?”</p> - -<p>“Most certainly.”</p> - -<p>“Why, then, dash it,” cried his lordship, paying to that august -stronghold of respectability as striking a tribute as it had ever -received, “if you’re a member of the Senior Conservative, you can’t be -a criminal. Baxter’s an ass!”</p> - -<p>“Exactly.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[p. 323]</span>“Baxter would -have it that you had stolen my sister’s necklace.”</p> - -<p>“I can assure you that I have not got Lady Constance’s necklace.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not, of course not, my dear fellow. I’m only telling -you what that idiot Baxter said. Thank goodness I’ve got rid of the -fellow.” A cloud passed over his now sunny face. “Though, confound it, -Connie was right about one thing.” He relapsed into a somewhat moody -silence.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Eh?” said his lordship.</p> - -<p>“You were saying that Lady Constance had been right about one -thing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. She was saying that I should have a hard time finding -another secretary as capable as Baxter.”</p> - -<p>Psmith permitted himself to bestow an encouraging pat on his host’s -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“You have touched on a matter,” he said, “which I had intended to -broach to you at some convenient moment when you were at leisure. If -you would care to accept my services, they are at your disposal.”</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“The fact is,” said Psmith, “I am shortly about to be married, -and it is more or less imperative that I connect with some job which -will ensure a moderate competence. Why should I not become your -secretary?”</p> - -<p>“You want to be my secretary?”</p> - -<p>“You have unravelled my meaning exactly.”</p> - -<p>“But I’ve never had a married secretary.”</p> - -<p>“I think that you would find a steady married man an improvement -on these wild, flower-pot-throwing bachelors. If it would help to -influence your decision, I may say that my bride-to-be is Miss -Halliday, probably the finest library-cataloguist in the United -Kingdom.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[p. 324]</span>“Eh? Miss -Halliday? That girl down there?”</p> - -<p>“No other,” said Psmith, waving fondly at Eve as she passed -underneath the window. “In fact, the same.”</p> - -<p>“But I like her,” said Lord Emsworth, as if stating an insuperable -objection.</p> - -<p>“Excellent.”</p> - -<p>“She’s a nice girl.”</p> - -<p>“I quite agree with you.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think you could really look after things here like -Baxter?”</p> - -<p>“I am convinced of it.”</p> - -<p>“Then, my dear fellow—well, really I must say . . . I must say . . . -well, I mean, why shouldn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Precisely,” said Psmith. “You have put in a nutshell the very thing -I have been trying to express.”</p> - -<p>“But have you had any experience as a secretary?”</p> - -<p>“I must admit that I have not. You see, until recently I was more -or less one of the idle rich. I toiled not, neither did I—except once, -after a bump-supper at Cambridge—spin. My name, perhaps I ought to -reveal to you, is Psmith—the p is silent—and until very recently I -lived in affluence not far from the village of Much Middlefold in this -county. My name is probably unfamiliar to you, but you may have heard -of the house which was for many years the Psmith head-quarters—Corfby -Hall.”</p> - -<p>Lord Emsworth jerked his glasses off his nose.</p> - -<p>“Corfby Hall! Are you the son of the Smith who used to own Corfby -Hall? Why, bless my soul, I knew your father well.”</p> - -<p>“Really?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. That is to say, I never met him.”</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>“But I won the first prize for roses at the Shrewsbury Flower Show -the year he won the prize for tulips.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[p. 325]</span>“It seems to draw -us very close together,” said Psmith.</p> - -<p>“Why, my dear boy,” cried Lord Emsworth jubilantly, “if you are -really looking for a position of some kind and would care to be my -secretary, nothing could suit me better. Nothing, nothing, nothing. -Why, bless my soul . . .”</p> - -<p>“I am extremely obliged,” said Psmith. “And I shall endeavour to -give satisfaction. And surely, if a mere Baxter could hold down the -job, it should be well within the scope of a Shropshire Psmith. I think -so, I think so. . . . And now, if you will excuse me, I think I will go -down and tell the glad news to the little woman, if I may so describe -her.”</p> - -<p class="aster">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Psmith made his way down the broad staircase at an even better pace -than that recently achieved by the departing Baxter, for he rightly -considered each moment of this excellent day wasted that was not spent -in the company of Eve. He crooned blithely to himself as he passed -through the hall, only pausing when, as he passed the door of the -smoking-room, the Hon. Freddie Threepwood suddenly emerged.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I say!” said Freddie. “Just the fellow I wanted to see. I was -going off to look for you.”</p> - -<p>Freddie’s tone was cordiality itself. As far as Freddie was -concerned, all that had passed between them in the cottage in the west -wood last night was forgiven and forgotten.</p> - -<p>“Say on, Comrade Threepwood,” replied Psmith; “and, if I may offer -the suggestion, make it snappy, for I would be elsewhere. I have man’s -work before me.”</p> - -<p>“Come over here.” Freddie drew him into a far corner of the hall and -lowered his voice to a whisper. “I say, it’s all right, you know.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[p. 326]</span>“Excellent!” said -Psmith. “Splendid! This is great news. What is all right?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve just seen Uncle Joe. He’s going to cough up the money he -promised me.”</p> - -<p>“I congratulate you.”</p> - -<p>“So now I shall be able to get into that bookie’s business and -make a pile. And, I say, you remember my telling you about Miss -Halliday?”</p> - -<p>“What was that?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that I loved her, I mean, and all that.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, look here, between ourselves,” said Freddie earnestly, “the -whole trouble all along has been that she thought I hadn’t any money to -get married on. She didn’t actually say so in so many words, but you -know how it is with women—you can read between the lines, if you know -what I mean. So now everything’s going to be all right. I shall simply -go to her and say, ‘Well, what about it?’ and—well, and so on, don’t -you know?”</p> - -<p>Psmith considered the point gravely.</p> - -<p>“I see your reasoning, Comrade Threepwood,” he said. “I can detect -but one flaw in it.”</p> - -<p>“Flaw? What flaw?”</p> - -<p>“The fact that Miss Halliday is going to marry <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>The Hon. Freddie’s jaw dropped. His prominent eyes became more -prawn-like.</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>Psmith patted his shoulder commiseratingly.</p> - -<p>“Be a man, Comrade Threepwood, and bite the bullet. These things -will happen to the best of us. Some day you will be thankful that -this has occurred. Purged in the holocaust of a mighty love, you -will wander out into the sunset, a finer, broader man. . . . And now -I must reluctantly tear myself away. I have<span class="pagenum" -id="Page_327">[p. 327]</span> an important appointment.” He patted his -shoulder once more. “If you would care to be a page at the wedding, -Comrade Threepwood, I can honestly say that there is no one whom I -would rather have in that capacity.”</p> - -<p>And with a stately gesture of farewell, Psmith passed out on to the -terrace to join Eve.</p> - - -<p class="centra fs90 mt2">THE END</p> - -<hr class="chap0" /> - - -<div class="chapter pt3" id="tnote"> -<div class="transnote"> - <p class="tnotetit">Transcriber’s note</p> - <ul> - <li>Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.</li> - <li>Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made - consistent when a predominant usage was found.</li> - <li>Ellipses are shown spaced (“. . .” instead of “...”), - as in the printed original.</li> - </ul> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEAVE IT TO PSMITH ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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