The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 4: (Jeeves & Wooster): No.4

by P. G. Wodehouse

  She sniffed. And if I were to say that I liked the way she sniffed, I would be wilfully deceiving my public. It was the sort of sniff Sherlock Holmes would have sniffed when about to clap the darbies on the chap who had swiped the Maharajah’s ruby.

  ‘Honest fellow, did you say? Then how do you account for this? I saw Willie just now, and he tells me that a valuable eighteenth-century cow-creamer which he bought from Mr. Travers is missing. And where is it, you ask? At this moment it is tucked away in Swordfish’s bedroom in a drawer under his clean shirts.’

  In stating that the Woosters never give up, I was in error. These words caught me amidships and took all the fighting spirit out of me, leaving me a spent force.

  ‘Oh, is it?’ I said. Not good, but the best I could do.

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s where it is. Directly Willie told me the thing had gone, I knew where it had gone to. I went to this man Swordfish’s room and searched it, and there it was. I’ve sent for the police.’

  Again I had that feeling of having been spiritually knocked base over apex. I gaped at the woman.

  ‘You’ve sent for the police?’

  ‘I have, and they’re sending a sergeant. He ought to be here at any moment. And shall I tell you something? I’m going now to stand outside Swordfish’s door, to see that nobody tampers with the evidence. I’m not going to take any chances. I wouldn’t want to say anything to suggest that I don’t trust you implicitly, Mr. Wooster, but I don’t like the way you’ve been sticking up for this fellow. You’ve been far too sympathetic with him for my taste.’

  ‘It’s just that I think he may have yielded to sudden temptation and all that.’

  ‘Nonsense. He’s probably been acting this way all his life. I’ll bet he was swiping things as a small boy.’

  ‘Only biscuits.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Or crackers you would call them, wouldn’t you? He was telling me he occasionally pinched a cracker or two in his salad days.’

  ‘Well, there you are. You start with crackers and you end up with silver jugs. That’s life,’ she said, and buzzed off to keep her vigil, leaving me kicking myself because I’d forgotten to say anything about the quality of mercy not being strained. It isn’t, as I dare say you know, and a mention of this might just have done the trick.

  I was still brooding on this oversight and wondering what was to be done for the best, when Bobbie and Aunt Dahlia came in, looking like a young female and an elderly female who were sitting on top of the world.

  ‘Roberta tells me she has got Upjohn to withdraw the libel suit,’ said Aunt Dahlia. ‘I couldn’t be more pleased, but I’m blowed if I can imagine how she did it.’

  ‘Oh, I just appealed to his better feelings,’ said Bobbie, giving me one of those significant glances. I got the message. The ancestor, she was warning me, must never learn that she had achieved her ends by jeopardizing the delivery of the Upjohn speech to the young scholars of Market Snodsbury Grammar School on the morrow. ‘I told him that the quality of mercy … What’s the matter, Bertie?’

  ‘Nothing. Just starting.’

  ‘What do you want to start for?’

  ‘I believe Brinkley Court is open for starting in at about this hour, is it not? The quality of mercy, you were saying?’

  ‘Yes. It isn’t strained.’

  ‘I believe not.’

  ‘And in case you didn’t know, it’s twice bless’d and becomes the thronèd monarch better than his crown. I drove over to the “Bull and Bush” and put this to Upjohn, and he saw my point. So now everything’s fine.’

  I uttered a hacking laugh.

  ‘No,’ I said, in answer to a query from Aunt Dahlia. ‘I have not accidentally swallowed my tonsils, I was merely laughing hackingly. Ironical that the young blister should say that everything is fine, for at this very moment disaster stares us in the eyeball. I have a story to relate which I think you will agree falls into the fretful porpentine class,’ I said, and without further pourparlers I unshipped my tale.

  I had anticipated that it would shake them to their foundation garments, and it did. Aunt Dahlia reeled like an aunt struck behind the ear with a blunt instrument, and Bobbie tottered like a red-haired girl who hadn’t known it was loaded.

  ‘You see the set-up,’ I continued, not wanting to rub it in but feeling that they should be fully briefed. ‘Glossop will return from his afternoon off to find the awful majesty of the Law waiting for him, complete with handcuffs. We can hardly expect him to accept an exemplary sentence without a murmur, so his first move will be to establish his innocence by revealing all. “True,” he will say, “I did pinch this bally cow-creamer, but merely because I thought Wilbert had pinched it and it ought to be returned to store,” and he will go on to explain his position in the house – all this, mind you, in front of Ma Cream. So what ensues? The sergeant removes the gloves from his wrists, and Ma Cream asks you if she may use your telephone for a moment, as she wishes to call her husband on long distance. Pop Cream listens attentively to the tale she tells, and when Uncle Tom looks in on him later, he finds him with folded arms and a forbidding scowl. “Travers,” he says, “the deal’s off.” “Off?” quivers Uncle Tom. “Off,” says Cream. “O-ruddy-double-f. I don’t do business with guys whose wives bring in loony-doctors to observe my son.” A short while ago Ma Cream was urging me to try something on for size. I suggest that you do the same for this.’

  Aunt Dahlia had sunk into a chair and was starting to turn purple. Strong emotion always has this effect on her.

  ‘The only thing left, it seems to me,’ I said, ‘is to put our trust in a higher power.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said the relative, fanning her brow. ‘Go and fetch Jeeves, Roberta. And what you do, Bertie, is get out that car of yours and scour the countryside for Glossop. It may be possible to head him off. Come on, come on, let’s have some service. What are you waiting for?’

  I hadn’t exactly been waiting. I’d only been thinking that the enterprise had more than a touch of looking for a needle in a haystack about it. You can’t find loony-doctors on their afternoon off just by driving around Worcestershire in a car; you need bloodhounds and handkerchiefs for them to sniff at and all that professional stuff. Still, there it was.

  ‘Right ho,’ I said. ‘Anything to oblige.’

  21

  * * *

  AND, OF COURSE, as I had anticipated from the start, the thing was a wash-out. I stuck it out for about an hour and then, apprised by a hollow feeling in the midriff that the dinner hour was approaching, laid a course for home.

  Arriving there, I found Bobbie in the drawing-room. She had the air of a girl who was waiting for something, and when she told me that the cocktails would be coming along in a moment, I knew what it was.

  ‘Cocktails, eh? I could do with one or possibly more,’ I said. ‘My fruitless quest has taken it out of me. I couldn’t find Glossop anywhere. He must be somewhere, of course, but Worcestershire hid its secret well.’

  ‘Glossop?’ she said, seeming surprised. ‘Oh, he’s been back for ages.’

  She wasn’t half as surprised as I was. The calm with which she spoke amazed me.

  ‘Good Lord! This is the end.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘This is. Has he been pinched?’

  ‘Of course not. He told them who he was and explained everything.’

  ‘Oh, gosh!’

  ‘What’s the matter? Oh, of course, I was forgetting. You don’t know the latest developments. Jeeves solved everything.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘With a wave of the hand. It was so simple, really. One wondered why one hadn’t thought of it oneself. On his advice, Glossop revealed his identity and said your aunt had got him down here to observe you.’

  I reeled, and might have fallen, had I not clutched at a photograph on a near-by table of Uncle Tom in the uniform of the East Worcestershire Volunteers.

  ‘No?’ I said.

  ‘And of
course it carried immediate conviction with Mrs. Cream. Your aunt explained that she had been uneasy about you for a long time, because you were always doing extraordinary things like sliding down water-pipes and keeping twenty-three cats in your bedroom and all that, and Mrs. Cream recalled the time when she had found you hunting for mice under her son’s dressing-table, so she quite agreed that it was high time you were under the observation of an experienced eye like Glossop’s. She was greatly relieved when Glossop assured her that he was confident of effecting a cure. She said we must all be very, very kind to you. So everything’s nice and smooth. It’s extraordinary how things turn out for the best, isn’t it?’ she said, laughing merrily.

  Whether I would or would not at this juncture have taken her in an iron grasp and shaken her till she frothed is a point on which I can make no definite announcement. The chivalrous spirit of the Woosters would probably have restrained me, much as I resented that merry laughter, but as it happened the matter was not put to the test, for at this moment Jeeves entered, bearing a tray on which were glasses and a substantial shaker filled to the brim with the juice of the juniper berry. Bobbie drained her beaker with all possible speed and left us, saying that if she didn’t get dressed, she’d be late for dinner, and Jeeves and I were alone, like a couple of bimbos in one of those movies where two strong men stand face to face and might is the only law.

  ‘Well, Jeeves,’ I said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Miss Wickham has been telling me all.’

  ‘Ah yes, sir.’

  ‘The words “Ah yes, sir” fall far short of an adequate comment on the situation. A nice … what is it? Begins with an i … im-something.’

  ‘Imbroglio, sir?’

  ‘That’s it. A nice imbroglio you’ve landed me in. Thanks to you …’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Don’t say “Yes, sir.” Thanks to you I have been widely publicized as off my rocker.’

  ‘Not widely, sir. Merely to your immediate circle now resident at Brinkley Court.’

  ‘You have held me up at the bar of world opinion as a man who has not got all his marbles.’

  ‘It was not easy to think of an alternative scheme, sir.’

  ‘And let me tell you,’ I said, and I meant this to sting, ‘it’s amazing that you got away with it.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘There’s a flaw in your story that sticks up like a sore thumb.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘It’s no good standing there saying “Sir?”, Jeeves. It’s obvious. The cow-creamer was in Glossop’s bedroom. How did he account for that?’

  ‘On my suggestion, sir, he explained that he had removed it from your room, where he had ascertained that you had hidden it after purloining it from Mr. Cream.’

  I started.

  ‘You mean,’ I … yes, thundered would be the word, ‘You mean that I am now labelled not only as a loony in a general sort of way but also as a klept-whatever-it-is?’

  ‘Merely to your immediate circle now resident at Brinkley Court, sir.’

  ‘You keep saying that, and you must know it’s the purest apple sauce. You don’t really think the Creams will maintain a tactful reserve? They’ll dine out on it for years. Returning to America, they’ll spread the story from the rockbound coasts of Maine to the Everglades of Florida, with the result that when I go over there again, keen looks will be shot at me at every house I go into and spoons counted before I leave. And do you realize that in a few shakes I’ve got to show up at dinner and have Mrs. Cream being very, very kind to me? It hurts the pride of the Woosters, Jeeves.’

  ‘My advice, sir, would be to fortify yourself for the ordeal.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There are always cocktails, sir. Should I pour you another?’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘And we must always remember what the poet Longfellow said, sir.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Something attempted, something done, has earned a night’s repose. You have the satisfaction of having sacrificed yourself in the interests of Mr. Travers.’

  He had found a talking point. He had reminded me of those postal orders, sometimes for as much as ten bob, which Uncle Tom had sent me in the Malvern House days. I softened. Whether or not a tear rose to my eye, I cannot say, but it may be taken as official that I softened.

  ‘How right you are, Jeeves!’ I said.

  * * *

  STIFF UPPER LIP, JEEVES

  1

  * * *

  I MARMALADED A slice of toast with something of a flourish, and I don’t suppose I have ever come much closer to saying ‘Tra-la-la’ as I did the lathering, for I was feeling in mid-season form this morning. God, as I once heard Jeeves put it, was in His Heaven and all was right with the world. (He added, I remember, some guff about larks and snails, but that is a side issue and need not detain us.)

  It is no secret in the circles in which he moves that Bertram Wooster, though as glamorous as one could wish when night has fallen and the revels get under way, is seldom a ball of fire at the breakfast table. Confronted with the eggs and b., he tends to pick cautiously at them, as if afraid they may leap from the plate and snap at him. Listless, about sums it up. Not much bounce to the ounce.

  But today vastly different conditions had prevailed. All had been verve, if that’s the word I want, and animation. Well, when I tell you that after sailing through a couple of sausages like a tiger of the jungles tucking into its luncheon coolie I was now, as indicated, about to tackle the toast and marmalade, I fancy I need say no more.

  The reason for this improved outlook on the proteins and carbohydrates is not far to seek. Jeeves was back, earning his weekly envelope once more at the old stand. Her butler having come down with an ailment of some sort, my Aunt Dahlia, my good and deserving aunt, had borrowed him for a house party she was throwing at Brinkley Court, her Worcestershire residence, and he had been away for more than a week. Jeeves, of course, is a gentleman’s gentleman, not a butler, but if the call comes, he can buttle with the best of them. It’s in the blood. His Uncle Charlie is a butler, and no doubt he has picked up many a hint on technique from him.

  He came in a little later to remove the debris, and I asked him if he had had a good time at Brinkley.

  ‘Extremely pleasant, thank you, sir.’

  ‘More than I had in your absence. I felt like a child of tender years deprived of its Nannie. If you don’t mind me calling you a Nannie.’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  Though, as a matter of fact, I was giving myself a slight edge, putting it that way. My Aunt Agatha, the one who eats broken bottles and turns into a werewolf at the time of the full moon, generally refers to Jeeves as my keeper.

  ‘Yes, I missed you sorely, and had no heart for whooping it up with the lads at the Drones. From sport to sport they … how does that gag go?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I heard you pull it once with reference to Freddie Widgeon, when one of his girls had given him the bird. Something about hurrying.’

  ‘Ah yes, sir. From sport to sport they hurry me, to stifle my regret –’

  ‘And when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget. That was it. Not your own, by any chance?’

  ‘No, sir. An old English drawing-room ballad.’

  ‘Oh? Well, that’s how it was with me. But tell me all about Brinkley. How was Aunt Dahlia?’

  ‘Mrs. Travers appeared to be in her customary robust health, sir.’

  ‘And how did the party go off?’

  ‘Reasonably satisfactorily, sir.’

  ‘Only reasonably?’

  ‘The demeanour of Mr. Travers cast something of a gloom on the proceedings. He was low-spirited.’

  ‘He always is when Aunt Dahlia fills the house with guests. I’ve known even a single foreign substance in the woodwork to make him drain the bitter cup.’

  ‘Very true, sir, but on this occasion I think his despondency was due principally to the pre
sence of Sir Watkyn Bassett.’

  ‘You don’t mean that old crumb was there?’ I said, Great-Scott-ing, for I knew that if there is one man for whose insides my Uncle Tom has the most vivid distaste, it is this Bassett. ‘You astound me, Jeeves.’

  ‘I, too, must confess to a certain surprise at seeing the gentleman at Brinkley Court, but no doubt Mrs. Travers felt it incumbent upon her to return his hospitality. You will recollect that Sir Watkyn recently entertained Mrs. Travers and yourself at Totleigh Towers.’

  I winced. Intending, I presumed, merely to refresh my memory, he had touched an exposed nerve. There was some cold coffee left in the pot, and I took a sip to restore my equanimity.

  ‘The word “entertained” is not well chosen, Jeeves. If locking a fellow in his bedroom, as near as a toucher with gyves upon his wrists, and stationing the local police force on the lawn below to ensure that he doesn’t nip out of the window at the end of a knotted sheet is your idea of entertaining, it isn’t mine, not by a jugful.’

  I don’t know how well up you are in the Wooster archives, but if you have dipped into them to any extent, you will probably recall the sinister affair of Sir Watkyn Bassett and my visit to his Gloucestershire home. He and my Uncle Tom are rival collectors of what are known as objets d’art, and on one occasion he pinched a silver cow-creamer, as the revolting things are called, from the relation by marriage, and Aunt Dahlia and self went to Totleigh to pinch it back, an enterprise which, though crowned with success, as the expression is, so nearly landed me in the jug that when reminded of that house of horror I still quiver like an aspen, if aspens are the things I’m thinking of.