Mike

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER LVII

  MR. DOWNING MOVES

  The rain continued without a break all the morning. The two teams,after hanging about dismally, and whiling the time away withstump-cricket in the changing-rooms, lunched in the pavilion atone o'clock. After which the M.C.C. captain, approaching Adair,moved that this merry meeting be considered off and himself andhis men permitted to catch the next train back to town. To whichAdair, seeing that it was out of the question that there should beany cricket that afternoon, regretfully agreed, and the firstSedleigh _v_. M.C.C. match was accordingly scratched.

  Mike and Psmith, wandering back to the house, were met by a dampjunior from Downing's, with a message that Mr. Downing wished to seeMike as soon as he was changed.

  "What's he want me for?" inquired Mike.

  The messenger did not know. Mr. Downing, it seemed, had not confidedin him. All he knew was that the housemaster was in the house, andwould be glad if Mike would step across.

  "A nuisance," said Psmith, "this incessant demand for you. That's theworst of being popular. If he wants you to stop to tea, edge away. Ameal on rather a sumptuous scale will be prepared in the study againstyour return."

  Mike changed quickly, and went off, leaving Psmith, who was fond ofsimple pleasures in his spare time, earnestly occupied with a puzzlewhich had been scattered through the land by a weekly paper. The prizefor a solution was one thousand pounds, and Psmith had alreadyinformed Mike with some minuteness of his plans for the disposition ofthis sum. Meanwhile, he worked at it both in and out of school,generally with abusive comments on its inventor.

  He was still fiddling away at it when Mike returned.

  Mike, though Psmith was at first too absorbed to notice it, wasagitated.

  "I don't wish to be in any way harsh," said Psmith, without lookingup, "but the man who invented this thing was a blighter of the worsttype. You come and have a shot. For the moment I am baffled. Thewhisper flies round the clubs, 'Psmith is baffled.'"

  "The man's an absolute drivelling ass," said Mike warmly.

  "Me, do you mean?"

  "What on earth would be the point of my doing it?"

  "You'd gather in a thousand of the best. Give you a nice start inlife."

  "I'm not talking about your rotten puzzle."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "That ass Downing. I believe he's off his nut."

  "Then your chat with Comrade Downing was not of the old-College-chums-meeting-unexpectedly-after-years'-separation type? What has he beendoing to you?"

  "He's off his nut."

  "I know. But what did he do? How did the brainstorm burst? Did he jumpat you from behind a door and bite a piece out of your leg, or did hesay he was a tea-pot?"

  Mike sat down.

  "You remember that painting Sammy business?"

  "As if it were yesterday," said Psmith. "Which it was, pretty nearly."

  "He thinks I did it."

  "Why? Have you ever shown any talent in the painting line?"

  "The silly ass wanted me to confess that I'd done it. He as good asasked me to. Jawed a lot of rot about my finding it to my advantagelater on if I behaved sensibly."

  "Then what are you worrying about? Don't you know that when a masterwants you to do the confessing-act, it simply means that he hasn'tenough evidence to start in on you with? You're all right. The thing'sa stand-off."

  "Evidence!" said Mike, "My dear man, he's got enough evidence to sinka ship. He's absolutely sweating evidence at every pore. As far as Ican see, he's been crawling about, doing the Sherlock Holmes businessfor all he's worth ever since the thing happened, and now he's deadcertain that I painted Sammy."

  "_Did_ you, by the way?" asked Psmith.

  "No," said Mike shortly, "I didn't. But after listening to Downing Ialmost began to wonder if I hadn't. The man's got stacks of evidenceto prove that I did."

  "Such as what?"

  "It's mostly about my boots. But, dash it, you know all about that.Why, you were with him when he came and looked for them."

  "It is true," said Psmith, "that Comrade Downing and I spent a verypleasant half-hour together inspecting boots, but how does he drag youinto it?"

  "He swears one of the boots was splashed with paint."

  "Yes. He babbled to some extent on that point when I was entertaininghim. But what makes him think that the boot, if any, was yours?"

  "He's certain that somebody in this house got one of his bootssplashed, and is hiding it somewhere. And I'm the only chap in thehouse who hasn't got a pair of boots to show, so he thinks it's me. Idon't know where the dickens my other boot has gone. Edmund swears hehasn't seen it, and it's nowhere about. Of course I've got two pairs,but one's being soled. So I had to go over to school yesterday inpumps. That's how he spotted me."

  Psmith sighed.

  "Comrade Jackson," he said mournfully, "all this very sad affair showsthe folly of acting from the best motives. In my simple zeal, meaningto save you unpleasantness, I have landed you, with a dull, sickeningthud, right in the cart. Are you particular about dirtying your hands?If you aren't, just reach up that chimney a bit?"

  Mike stared, "What the dickens are you talking about?"

  "Go on. Get it over. Be a man, and reach up the chimney."

  "I don't know what the game is," said Mike, kneeling beside the fenderand groping, "but--_Hullo_!"

  "Ah ha!" said Psmith moodily.

  Mike dropped the soot-covered object in the fender, and glared at it.

  MIKE DROPPED THE SOOT-COVERED OBJECT IN THE FENDER.]

  "It's my boot!" he said at last.

  "It _is_," said Psmith, "your boot. And what is that red stainacross the toe? Is it blood? No, 'tis not blood. It is red paint."

  Mike seemed unable to remove his eyes from the boot.

  "How on earth did--By Jove! I remember now. I kicked up againstsomething in the dark when I was putting my bicycle back that night.It must have been the paint-pot."

  "Then you were out that night?"

  "Rather. That's what makes it so jolly awkward. It's too long to tellyou now----"

  "Your stories are never too long for me," said Psmith. "Say on!"

  "Well, it was like this." And Mike related the events which had led upto his midnight excursion. Psmith listened attentively.

  "This," he said, when Mike had finished, "confirms my frequently statedopinion that Comrade Jellicoe is one of Nature's blitherers. So that'swhy he touched us for our hard-earned, was it?"

  "Yes. Of course there was no need for him to have the money at all."

  "And the result is that you are in something of a tight place. You're_absolutely_ certain you didn't paint that dog? Didn't do it, byany chance, in a moment of absent-mindedness, and forgot all about it?No? No, I suppose not. I wonder who did!"

  "It's beastly awkward. You see, Downing chased me that night. That waswhy I rang the alarm bell. So, you see, he's certain to think that thechap he chased, which was me, and the chap who painted Sammy, are thesame. I shall get landed both ways."

  Psmith pondered.

  "It _is_ a tightish place," he admitted.

  "I wonder if we could get this boot clean," said Mike, inspecting itwith disfavour.

  "Not for a pretty considerable time."

  "I suppose not. I say, I _am_ in the cart. If I can't producethis boot, they're bound to guess why."

  "What exactly," asked Psmith, "was the position of affairs between youand Comrade Downing when you left him? Had you definitely partedbrass-rags? Or did you simply sort of drift apart with mutualcourtesies?"

  "Oh, he said I was ill-advised to continue that attitude, or some rot,and I said I didn't care, I hadn't painted his bally dog, and he saidvery well, then, he must take steps, and--well, that was about all."

  "Sufficient, too," said Psmith, "quite sufficient. I take it, then,that he is now on the war-path, collecting a gang, so to speak."

  "I suppose he's gone to the Old Man about it."

  "Probably. A very worryi
ng time our headmaster is having, taking itall round, in connection with this painful affair. What do you thinkhis move will be?"

  "I suppose he'll send for me, and try to get something out of me."

  "_He'll_ want you to confess, too. Masters are all whales onconfession. The worst of it is, you can't prove an alibi, becauseat about the time the foul act was perpetrated, you were playingRound-and-round-the-mulberry-bush with Comrade Downing. This needsthought. You had better put the case in my hands, and go out andwatch the dandelions growing. I will think over the matter."

  "Well, I hope you'll be able to think of something. I can't."

  "Possibly. You never know."

  There was a tap at the door.

  "See how we have trained them," said Psmith. "They now knock beforeentering. There was a time when they would have tried to smash in apanel. Come in."

  A small boy, carrying a straw hat adorned with the school-houseribbon, answered the invitation.

  "Oh, I say, Jackson," he said, "the headmaster sent me over to tellyou he wants to see you."

  "I told you so," said Mike to Psmith.

  "Don't go," suggested Psmith. "Tell him to write."

  Mike got up.

  "All this is very trying," said Psmith. "I'm seeing nothing of youto-day." He turned to the small boy. "Tell Willie," he added, "thatMr. Jackson will be with him in a moment."

  The emissary departed.

  "_You're_ all right," said Psmith encouragingly. "Just you keepon saying you're all right. Stout denial is the thing. Don't go in forany airy explanations. Simply stick to stout denial. You can't beatit."

  With which expert advice, he allowed Mike to go on his way.

  He had not been gone two minutes, when Psmith, who had leaned back inhis chair, wrapped in thought, heaved himself up again. He stood for amoment straightening his tie at the looking-glass; then he picked uphis hat and moved slowly out of the door and down the passage. Thence,at the same dignified rate of progress, out of the house and in atDowning's front gate.

  The postman was at the door when he got there, apparently absorbed inconversation with the parlour-maid. Psmith stood by politely till thepostman, who had just been told it was like his impudence, caughtsight of him, and, having handed over the letters in an ultra-formaland professional manner, passed away.

  "Is Mr. Downing at home?" inquired Psmith.

  He was, it seemed. Psmith was shown into the dining-room on the leftof the hall, and requested to wait. He was examining a portrait of Mr.Downing which hung on the wall, when the housemaster came in.

  "An excellent likeness, sir," said Psmith, with a gesture of the handtowards the painting.

  "Well, Smith," said Mr. Downing shortly, "what do you wish to see meabout?"

  "It was in connection with the regrettable painting of your dog, sir."

  "Ha!" said Mr. Downing.

  "I did it, sir," said Psmith, stopping and flicking a piece of fluffoff his knee.