P G Wodehouse - Piccadilly Jim

by Piccadilly Jim

  Mrs. Pett gasped.

  "Skinner was my sister's butler in London."

  "In a way of speaking," said Jimmy, "that is correct. It's rather a long story. It was this way, you see...."

  Miss Trimble uttered an ejaculation of supreme contempt.

  "I n'ver saw such a lot of babbl'ng crooks in m' life! 't beats me what y' hope to get pulling this stuff. Say!" She indicated Mr. Crocker. "This guy's wanted f'r something over in England. We've got h's photographs 'n th' office. If y' ask me, he lit out with the spoons 'r something. Say!" She fixed one of the geniuses with her compelling eye. "'Bout time y' made y'rself useful. Go'n call up th' Astorbilt on th' phone. There's a dame there that's been making the enquiries f'r this duck. She told Anderson's--and Anderson's handed it on to us--to call her up any hour of the day 'r night when they found him. You go get her on the wire and t'll her t' come right up here'n a taxi and identify him."

  The genius paused at the door.

  "Whom shall I ask for?"

  "Mrs. Crocker," snapped Miss Trimble. "Siz Bingley Crocker. Tell her we've found th' guy she's been looking for!"

  The genius backed out. There was a howl of anguish from the doorway.

  "I -beg- your pardon!" said the genius.

  "Can't you look where you're going!"

  "I am exceedingly sorry--"

  "Brrh!"

  Mr. Pett entered the room, hopping. He was holding one slippered foot in his hand and appeared to be submitting it to some form of massage. It was plain that the usually mild and gentle little man was in a bad temper. He glowered round him at the company assembled.

  "What the devil's the matter here?" he demanded. "I stood it as long as I could, but a man can't get a wink of sleep with this noise going on!"

  "Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!" barked Aida from the shelter of Mrs. Pett's arms.

  Mr. Pett started violently.

  "Kill that dog! Throw her out! Do -something- to her!"

  Mrs. Pett was staring blankly at her husband. She had never seen him like this before. It was as if a rabbit had turned and growled at her. Coming on top of the crowded sensations of the night, it had the effect of making her feel curiously weak. In all her married life she had never known what fear was. She had coped dauntlessly with the late Mr. Ford, a man of a spirited temperament; and as for the mild Mr. Pett she had trampled on him. But now she felt afraid. This new Peter intimidated her.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  SENSATIONAL TURNING OF A WORM

  To this remarkable metamorphosis in Mr. Peter Pett several causes had contributed. In the first place, the sudden dismissal of Jerry Mitchell had obliged him to go two days without the physical exercises to which his system had become accustomed, and this had produced a heavy, irritable condition of body and mind. He had brooded on the injustice of his lot until he had almost worked himself up to rebellion. And then, as sometimes happened with him when he was out of sorts, a touch of gout came to add to his troubles. Being a patient man by nature, he might have borne up against these trials, had he been granted an adequate night's rest. But, just as he had dropped off after tossing restlessly for two hours, things had begun to happen noisily in the library. He awoke to a vague realisation of tumult below.

  Such was the morose condition of his mind as the result of his misfortune that at first not even the cries for help could interest him sufficiently to induce him to leave his bed. He knew that walking in his present state would be painful, and he declined to submit to any more pain just because some party unknown was apparently being murdered in his library. It was not until the shrill barking of the dog Aida penetrated right in among his nerve-centres and began to tie them into knots that he found himself compelled to descend. Even when he did so, it was in no spirit of kindness. He did not come to rescue anybody or to interfere between any murderer and his victim. He came in a fever of militant wrath to suppress Aida. On the threshold of the library, however, the genius, by treading on his gouty foot, had diverted his anger and caused it to become more general. He had not ceased to concentrate his venom on Aida. He wanted to assail everybody.

  "What's the matter here?" he demanded, red-eyed. "Isn't somebody going to tell me? Have I got to stop here all night? Who on earth is this?" He glared at Miss Trimble. "What's she doing with that pistol?" He stamped incautiously with his bad foot, and emitted a dry howl of anguish.

  "She is a detective, Peter," said Mrs. Pett timidly.

  "A detective? Why? Where did she come from?"

  Miss Trimble took it upon herself to explain.

  "Mister Pett, siz Pett sent f'r me t' watch out so's nobody kidnapped her son."

  "Oggie," explained Mrs. Pett. "Miss Trimble was guarding darling Oggie."

  "Why?"

  "To--to prevent him being kidnapped, Peter."

  Mr. Pett glowered at the stout boy. Then his eye was attracted by the forlorn figure of Jerry Mitchell. He started.

  "Was this fellow kidnapping the boy?" he asked.

  "Sure," said Miss Trimble. "Caught h'm with th' goods. He w's waiting outside there with a car. I held h'm and this other guy up w'th a gun and brought 'em back!"

  "Jerry," said Mr. Pett, "it wasn't your fault that you didn't bring it off, and I'm going to treat you right. You'd have done it if nobody had butted in to stop you. You'll get the money to start that health-farm of yours all right. I'll see to that. Now you run off to bed. There's nothing to keep you here."

  "Say!" cried Miss Trimble, outraged. "D'ya mean t' say y' aren't going t' pros'cute? Why, aren't I tell'ng y' I caught h'm kidnapping th' boy?"

  "I told him to kidnap the boy!" snarled Mr. Pett.

  "Peter!"

  Mr. Pett looked like an under-sized lion as he faced his wife. He bristled. The recollection of all that he had suffered from Ogden came to strengthen his determination.

  "I've tried for two years to get you to send that boy to a good boarding-school, and you wouldn't do it. I couldn't stand having him loafing around the house any longer, so I told Jerry Mitchell to take him away to a friend of his who keeps a dogs' hospital on Long Island and to tell his friend to hold him there till he got some sense into him. Well, you've spoiled that for the moment with your detectives, but it still looks good to me. I'll give you a choice. You can either send that boy to a boarding-school next week, or he goes to Jerry Mitchell's friend. I'm not going to have him in the house any longer, loafing in my chair and smoking my cigarettes. Which is it to be?"

  "But, Peter!"

  "Well?"

  "If I send him to a school, he may be kidnapped."

  "Kidnapping can't hurt him. It's what he needs. And, anyway, if he is I'll pay the bill and be glad to do it. Take him off to bed now. To-morrow you can start looking up schools. Great Godfrey!" He hopped to the writing-desk and glared disgustedly at the -debris- on it. "Who's been making this mess on my desk? It's hard! It's darned hard! The only room in the house that I ask to have for my own, where I can get a little peace, and I find it turned into a beer-garden, and coffee or some damned thing spilled all over my writing-desk!"

  "That isn't coffee, Peter," said Mrs. Pett mildly. This cave-man whom she had married under the impression that he was a gentle domestic pet had taken all the spirit out of her. "It's Willie's explosive."

  "Willie's explosive?"

  "Lord Wisbeach--I mean the man who pretended to be Lord Wisbeach--dropped it there."

  "Dropped it there? Well, why didn't it explode and blow the place to Hoboken, then?"

  Mrs. Pett looked helplessly at Willie, who thrust his fingers into his mop of hair and rolled his eyes.

  "There was fortunately some slight miscalculation in my formula, uncle Peter," he said. "I shall have to look into it to-morrow. Whether the trinitrotoluol--"

  Mr. Pett uttered a sharp howl. He beat the air with his clenched fists. He seemed to be having a brain-storm.

  "Has this--this -fish- been living on me all this time--have I been supporting this--this -buzzard- in luxury all these years while he foole
d about with an explosive that won't explode! He pointed an accusing finger at the inventor. Look into it tomorrow, will you? Yes, you can look into it to-morrow after six o'clock! Until then you'll be working--for the first time in your life--working in my office, where you ought to have been all along." He surveyed the crowded room belligerently. "Now perhaps you will all go back to bed and let people get a little sleep. Go home!" he said to the detective.

  Miss Trimble stood her ground. She watched Mrs. Pett pass away with Ogden, and Willie Partridge head a stampede of geniuses, but she declined to move.

  "Y' gotta cut th' rough stuff, 'ster Pett," she said calmly. "I need my sleep, j'st 's much 's everyb'dy else, but I gotta stay here. There's a lady c'ming right up in a taxi fr'm th' Astorbilt to identify this gook. She's after'm f'r something."

  "What! Skinner?"

  "'s what he calls h'mself."

  "What's he done?"

  "I d'no. Th' lady'll tell us that."

  There was a violent ringing at the front door bell.

  "I guess that's her," said Miss Trimble. "Who's going to let 'r in? I can't go."

  "I will," said Ann.

  Mr. Pett regarded Mr. Crocker with affectionate encouragement.

  "I don't know what you've done, Skinner," he said, "but I'll stand by you. You're the best fan I ever met, and if I can keep you out of the penitentiary, I will."

  "It isn't the penitentiary!" said Mr. Crocker unhappily.

  A tall, handsome, and determined-looking woman came into the room. She stood in the doorway, looking about her. Then her eyes rested on Mr. Crocker. For a moment she gazed incredulously at his discoloured face. She drew a little nearer, peering.

  "D'yo 'dentify 'm, ma'am?" said Miss Trimble.

  "Bingley!"

  "Is 't th' guy y' wanted?"

  "It's my husband!" said Mrs. Crocker.

  "Y' can't arrest 'm f'r -that!-" said Miss Trimble disgustedly.

  She thrust her revolver back into the hinterland of her costume.

  "Guess I'll be beatin' it," she said with a sombre frown. She was plainly in no sunny mood. "'f all th' hunk jobs I was ever on, this is th' hunkest. I'm told off 't watch a gang of crooks, and after I've lost a night's sleep doing it, it turns out 't's a nice, jolly fam'ly party!" She jerked her thumb towards Jimmy. "Say, this guy says he's that guy's son. I s'pose it's all right?"

  "That is my step-son, James Crocker."

  Ann uttered a little cry, but it was lost in Miss Trimble's stupendous snort. The detective turned to the window.

  "I guess I'll beat 't," she observed caustically, "before it turns out that I'm y'r l'il daughter Genevieve."

  CHAPTER XXV

  NEARLY EVERYBODY HAPPY

  Mrs. Crocker turned to her husband.

  "Well, Bingley?" she said, a steely tinkle in her voice.

  "Well, Eugenia?" said Mr. Crocker.

  A strange light was shining in Mr. Crocker's mild eyes. He had seen a miracle happen that night. He had seen an even more formidable woman than his wife dominated by an even meeker man than himself, and he had been amazed and impressed by the spectacle. It had never even started to occur to him before, but apparently it could be done. A little resolution, a little determination... nothing more was needed. He looked at Mr. Pett. And yet Mr. Pett had crumpled up Eugenia's sister with about three firm speeches. It could be done....

  "What have you to say, Bingley?"

  Mr. Crocker drew himself up.

  "Just this!" he said. "I'm an American citizen, and the way I've figured it out is that my place is in America. It's no good talking about it, Eugenia. I'm sorry if it upsets your plans, but I--am--not--going--back--to--London!" He eyed his speechless wife unflatteringly. "I'm going to stick on here and see the pennant race out. And after that I'm going to take in the World's Series."

  Mrs. Crocker opened her mouth to speak, closed it, re-opened it. Then she found that she had nothing to say.

  "I hope you'll be sensible, Eugenia, and stay on this side, and we can all be happy. I'm sorry to have to take this stand, but you tried me too high. You're a woman, and you don't know what it is to go five years without seeing a ball game; but take it from me it's more than any real fan can stand. It nearly killed me, and I'm not going to risk it again. If Mr. Pett will keep me on as his butler, I'll stay here in this house. If he won't, I'll get another job somewhere. But, whatever happens, I stick to this side!"

  Mr. Pett uttered a whoop of approval.

  "There's always been a place for you in my house, old man!" he cried. "When I get a butler who--"

  "But, Bingley! How can you be a butler?"

  "You ought to watch him!" said Mr. Pett enthusiastically. "He's a wonder! He can pull all the starchy stuff as if he'd lived with the Duke of Whoosis for the last forty years, and then go right off and fling a pop-bottle at an umpire! He's all right!"

  The eulogy was wasted on Mrs. Crocker. She burst into tears. It was a new experience for her husband, and he watched her awkwardly, his resolute demeanour crumbling under this unexpected assault.

  "Eugenia!"

  Mrs. Crocker wiped her eyes.

  "I can't stand it!" she sobbed. "I've worked and worked all these years, and now, just as success has nearly come--Bingley, -do- come back! It will only be for a little longer."

  Mr. Crocker stared.

  "A little longer? Why, that Lord Percy Whipple business--I know you must have had excellent reasons for soaking him, Jimmy, but it did put the lid on it--surely, after that Lord Percy affair there's no chance--?"

  "There is! There is! It has made no difference at all! Lord Percy came to call next day with a black eye, poor boy!--and said that James was a sportsman and that he wanted to know him better! He said he had never felt so drawn towards any one in his life and he wanted him to show him how he made some blow which he called a right hook. The whole affair has simply endeared James to him, and Lady Corstorphine says that the Duke of Devizes read the account of the fight to the Premier that very evening and they both laughed till they nearly got apoplexy."

  Jimmy was deeply touched. He had not suspected such a sporting spirit in his antagonist.

  "Percy's all right." he said enthusiastically. "Dad, you ought to go back. It's only fair."

  "But, Jimmy! Surely -you- can understand? There's only a game separating the Giants and the Phillies, with the Braves coming along just behind. And the season only half over!"

  Mrs. Crocker looked imploringly at him.

  "It will only be for a little while, Bingley. Lady Corstorphine, who has means of knowing, says that your name is certain to be in the next Honours List. After that you can come back as often as you like. We could spend the summer here and the winter in England, or whatever you pleased."

  Mr. Crocker capitulated.

  "All right, Eugenia. I'll come."

  "Bingley! We shall have to go back by the next boat, dear. People are beginning to wonder where you are. I've told them that you are taking a rest in the country. But they will suspect something if you don't come back at once."

  Mr. Crocker's face wore a drawn look. He had never felt so attached to his wife as now, when she wept these unexpected tears and begged favours of him with that unfamiliar catch in her voice. On the other hand... A vision rose before him of the Polo Grounds on a warm afternoon.... He crushed it down.

  "Very well," he said.

  Mr. Pett offered a word of consolation.

  "Maybe you'll be able to run over for the World's Series?"

  Mr. Crocker's face cleared.

  "That's true."

  "And I'll cable you the scores every day, dad," said Jimmy.

  Mrs. Crocker looked at him with a touch of disapproval clouding the happiness of her face.

  "Are you staying over here, James? There is no reason why you should not come back, too. If you make up your mind to change your habits--"

  "I have made up my mind to change them. But I'm going to do it in New York. Mr. Pett is going to give me a job in his offic
e. I am going to start at the bottom and work my way still further down."

  Mr. Pett yapped with rapture. He was experiencing something of the emotion of the preacher at the camp-meeting who sees the Sinners' Bench filling up. To have secured Willie Partridge, whom he intended to lead gradually into the realms of high finance by way of envelope-addressing, was much. But that Jimmy, with a choice in the matter, should have chosen the office filled him with such content that he only just stopped himself from dancing on his bad foot.

  "Don't worry about me, dad. I shall do wonders. It's quite easy to make a large fortune. I watched uncle Pete in his office this morning, and all he does is sit at a mahogany table and tell the office-boy to tell callers that he has gone away for the day. I think I ought to rise to great heights in that branch of industry. From the little I have seen of it, it seems to have been made for me!"

  CHAPTER XXVI

  EVERYBODY HAPPY

  Jimmy looked at Ann. They were alone. Mr. Pett had gone back to bed, Mrs. Crocker to her hotel. Mr. Crocker was removing his make-up in his room. A silence had followed their departure.

  "This is the end of a perfect day!" said Jimmy.

  Ann took a step towards the door.

  "Don't go!"

  Ann stopped.

  "Mr. Crocker!" she said.

  "Jimmy," he corrected.

  "Mr. Crocker!" repeated Ann firmly.

  "Or Algernon, if you prefer it."

  "May I ask--" Ann regarded him steadily. "May I ask."

  "Nearly always," said Jimmy, "when people begin with that, they are going to say something unpleasant."

  "May I ask why you went to all this trouble to make a fool of me? Why could you not have told me who you were from the start?"

  "Have you forgotten all the harsh things you said to me from time to time about Jimmy Crocker? I thought that, if you knew who I was, you would have nothing more to do with me."