The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 3: The Mating Season / Ring for Jeeves / Very Good, Jeeves

by P. G. Wodehouse

It was to Esmond Haddock that the constable directed his opening remark.

  ‘I’ve come on an unpleasant errand, sir,’ he said, and the chill in the Wooster feet became accentuated. ‘But before I go into that there,’ he proceeded, now addressing himself to the Rev. Sidney Pirbright, ‘there’s this here. I wonder if I might have a word with you, sir, on a spiritual subject?’

  I saw the sainted Sidney stiffen, and knew that he was saying to himself ‘Here it comes’.

  ‘It’s with ref to my having seen the light, sir.’

  Somebody gave a choking gasp, like a Pekingese that has taken on a chump chop too large for its frail strength, and looking around I saw that it was Queenie. She was staring at Constable Dobbs wide-eyed and parted-lipped.

  This choking gasp might have attracted more attention had it not dead-heated with another, equally choking, which proceeded from the thorax of the Rev. Sidney. He, too, was staring wide-eyed. He looked like a vicar who has just seen the outsider on whom he has placed his surplice nose its way through the throng of runners and flash in the lead past the judge’s box.

  ‘Dobbs! What did you say? You have seen the light?’

  I could have told the officer he was a chump to nod so soon after taking that juicy one on the napper from the serviceable rubber instrument, but he did so, and the next thing he said was ‘Ouch!’ But the English policeman is made of splendid stuff, and after behaving for a moment like a man who has just swallowed one of Jeeves’s morning specials he resumed his normal air, which was that of a stuffed gorilla.

  ‘R,’ he said. ‘And I’ll tell you how it come about, sir. On the evening of the twenty-third inst … well, tonight, as a matter of fact … I was proceeding about my duties, chasing a marauder up a tree, when I was unexpectedly struck by a thunderbolt.’

  That, as might have been expected, went big. The vicar said ‘A thunderbolt’, two of the aunts said ‘A thunderbolt?’ and Esmond Haddock said ‘Yoicks’.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ proceeded the officer, ‘a thunderbolt. Caught me on the back of the head, it did, and hasn’t half raised a lump.’

  The vicar said ‘Most extraordinary’, the other two aunts said ‘Tch, tch’ and Esmond said ‘Tally ho’.

  ‘Well, sir, I’m no fool,’ continued Ernest Dobbs. ‘I can take a hint. “Dobbs,” I said to myself, “no use kidding yourself about what this is, Dobbs. It’s a warning from above, Dobbs,” I said to myself, “it’s time you made a drawstic revision of your spiritual outlook, Dobbs,” I said to myself. So, if you follow my meaning, sir, I’ve seen the light, and what I wanted to ask you, sir, was Do I have to join the Infants’ Bible Class or can I start singing in the choir right away?’

  I mentioned earlier in this narrative that I had never actually seen a shepherd welcoming a strayed lamb back into the fold, but watching Dame Daphne Winkworth on the occasion to which I allude I had picked up a pointer or two about the technique, so was able to recognize that this was what was going to happen now. You could see from his glowing eyes and benevolent smile, not to mention the hand raised as if about to bestow a blessing, that this totally unexpected reversal of form on the part of the local backslider had taken the Rev. Sidney’s mind right off the church organ. I think that in about another couple of ticks he would have come across with something pretty impressive in the way of simple, manly words, but, as it so happened, he hadn’t time to get set. Even as his lips parted, there was a noise like a rising pheasant from the outskirts and some solid object left the ranks and hurled itself on Constable Dobbs’s chest.

  Closer inspection showed this to be Queenie. She was clinging to the representative of the Law like a poultice, and from the fact that she was saying ‘Oh, Ernie!’ and bedewing his uniform with happy tears I deduced, being pretty shrewd, that what she was trying to convey was that all was forgiven and forgotten and that she was expecting the prompt return of the ring, the letters and the china ornament with ‘A Present From Blackpool’ on it. And as it did not escape my notice that he, on his side, was covering her upturned face with burning kisses and saying ‘Oh, Queenie!’ I gathered that Tortured Souls Preferred had taken another upward trend and that one could chalk up on the slate two more sundered hearts reunited in the springtime.

  These tender scenes affect different people in different ways. I myself, realizing Catsmeat’s honourable obligations to this girl might now be considered cancelled, was definitely bucked by the spectacle. But the emotion aroused in Silversmith was plainly a shuddering horror that such goings-on should be going on in the drawing room of Deverill Hall. Pulling a quick Stern Father, he waddled up to the happy pair and with a powerful jerk of the wrist detached his child and led her from the room.

  Constable Dobbs, though still dazed, recovered himself sufficiently to apologize for his display of naked emotion, and the Rev. Sidney said he quite, quite understood.

  ‘Come and see me tomorrow, Dobbs,’ he said benevolently, ‘and we will have a long talk.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘And now,’ said the Rev. Sidney, ‘I think I will be wending my way homeward. Will you accompany me, Cora?’

  Corky said she thought she would stick on for a bit, and Thos, keenly alive to the fact that there were still stacks of sandwiches on tap, also declined to shift, so he beamed his way out of the room by himself, and it was only after the door had closed that I realized that Constable Dobbs was still standing there and remembered that his opening words had been that he had come upon an unpleasant errand. Once more the temperature of the feet fell, and I eyed him askance.

  He was not long in getting down to the agenda. These flatties are trained to snap into it.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, addressing Esmond.

  Esmond interrupted to ask him if he would like a sardine sandwich, and he said ‘No, sir, I thank you’, and when Esmond said that he did not insist on sardine but would be equally gratified if the other would wade into the ham, tongue, cucumber or potted meat, explained that he would prefer to take no nourishment of any kind, because of this unpleasant errand he had come on. Apparently, when policemen come on unpleasant errands, they lay off the vitamins.

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Wooster, sir,’ he said.

  In the ecstasy of this recent reunion with the woman he loved I imagine that Esmond had temporarily forgotten how much he disliked Gussie, but at these words it was plain that all the old distaste for one who had made passes at the adored object had come flooding back, for his eyes gleamed, his face darkened and he did a spot of brow-knitting. The sweet singer of King’s Deverill had vanished, leaving in his place the stern, remorseless Justice of the Peace.

  ‘Wooster, eh?’ he said, and I saw him lick his lips. ‘You wish to see him officially?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What has he been doing?’

  ‘Effecting burglarious entries, sir.’

  ‘Has he, by Jove!’

  ‘Yes, sir. On the twenty … This evening, sir a burglarious entry was effected by the accused into my police station and certain property of the Crown abstracted – to wit, one dog, what was in custody for having effected two bites. I copped him in the very act, sir,’ said Constable Dobbs, simplifying his narrative style. ‘He was the marauder I was chasing up trees at the moment when I was inadvertently struck by that thunderbolt.’

  Esmond continued to knit his brow. It was evident that he took a serious view of the matter. And when Justices of the Peace take serious views of matters, you want to get out from under.

  ‘You actually found him abstracting this to wit one dog?’ he said keenly, looking like Judge Jeffreys about to do his stuff.

  ‘Yes, sir. I come into my police station and he was in the act of unloosing it and encouraging it to buzz off. It proceeded to buzz off, and I proceeded to say “Ho!” whereupon, becoming cognizant of my presence, he also proceeded to buzz off, with me after him lickerty-split. I proceeded to pursue him up a tree and was about to effect an arrest, when along come this here thunderbolt, stunning me a
nd depriving me of my senses. When I come to, the accused had departed.’

  ‘And what makes you think it was Wooster?’

  ‘He was wearing a green beard, sir, and a check suit. This rendered him conspicuous.’

  ‘I see. He had not changed after his performance.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Esmond licked his lips again.

  ‘Then the first thing to do,’ he said, ‘is to find Wooster. Has anybody seen him?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Mr Wooster has gone to London in his car.’

  It was Jeeves who spoke, and Esmond gave him a rather surprised look.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘My name is Jeeves, sir. I am Mr Wooster’s personal attendant.’

  Esmond eyed him with interest.

  ‘Oh, you’re Jeeves? I’d like a word with you, Jeeves, some time.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘Not now. Later on. So Wooster has gone to London, has he?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Fleeing from justice, eh?’

  ‘No, sir. Might I make a remark, sir?’

  ‘Carry on, Jeeves.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I merely wished to say that the officer is mistaken in supposing that the miscreant responsible for the outrage was Mr Wooster. I was continuously in Mr Wooster’s society from the time he left the concert hall. I accompanied him to his room, and we remained together until he took his departure for London. I was assisting him to remove his beard, sir.’

  ‘You mean you give him an alibi?’

  ‘A complete alibi, sir.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Esmond, looking baffled, like the villain in a melodrama. One could sense that the realization that he was not to be able to dish out a sharp sentence on Gussie had cut him to the quick.

  ‘Ho!’ said Constable Dobbs, not, probably, with an idea of contributing anything vital to the debate but just because policemen never lose a chance of saying ‘Ho!’ Then suddenly a strange light came into his face and he said ‘Ho!’ again, this time packing a lot of meaning into the word.

  ‘Ho!’ he said. ‘Then if it wasn’t the accused Wooster, it must have been the other chap. That fellow Meadowes, who was doing Mike. He was wearing a green beard, too.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Esmond.

  ‘Ha!’ said the aunts.

  ‘Oh!’ said Gertrude Winkworth, starting visibly.

  ‘Hoy!’ said Corky, also starting visibly.

  I must say I felt like saying ‘Hoy!’ too. It astonished me that Jeeves had not spotted what must inevitably ensue if he gave Gussie that alibi. Just throwing Catsmeat to the wolves, I mean to say. It was not like him to overlook a snag like that.

  I caught Corky’s eye. It was the eye of a girl seeing a loved brother going down for the third time in the soup. And then my gaze, swivelling round, picked up Gertrude Winkworth.

  Gertrude Winkworth was plainly wrestling with some strong emotion. Her face was drawn, her bosom heaved. Her fragile handkerchief, torn by a sudden movement of the fingers, came apart in her hands.

  Esmond was being very Justice-of-the-Peace-y.

  ‘Bring Meadowes here,’ he said curtly.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said Jeeves, and pushed off.

  When he had gone, the aunts started to question Constable Dobbs, demanding more details, and when it had been brought home to them that the dog in question was none other than the one which had barged into the drawing room on the night of my arrival and chased Aunt Charlotte to and fro, they were solidly in favour of Esmond sentencing this Meadowes to the worst the tariff would allow, Aunt Charlotte being particularly vehement.

  They were still urging Esmond to display no weakness, when Jeeves returned, ushering in Catsmeat. Esmond gave him the bleak eye.

  ‘Meadowes?’

  ‘Yes, sir. You wished to speak to me?’

  ‘I not only wished to speak to you,’ said Esmond nastily, ‘I wished to give you thirty days without the option.’

  I heard Constable Dobbs snort briefly, and recognized his snort as a snort of ecstasy. The impression I received was that a weaker man, not trained in the iron discipline of the Force, would have said ‘Whoopee!’ For, just as Esmond Haddock had got it in for Gussie for endeavouring to move in on Corky, so had Constable Dobbs got it in for Catsmeat for endeavouring to move in on the parlourmaid, Queenie. Both were strong men, who believed in treating rivals rough.

  Catsmeat seemed puzzled.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  ‘You heard,’ said Esmond. He intensified the bleakness of his eye. ‘Let me ask you a few simple questions. You sustained the role of Pat in the Pat-and-Mike entertainment this evening?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You wore a green beard?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And a check suit?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then you’re for it,’ said Esmond crisply, and the four aunts said So they should think, indeed, Aunt Charlotte going on to ask Esmond rather pathetically if thirty days was really all that the book of rules permitted. She had been reading a story about life in the United States, she said, and there, it seemed, even comparatively trivial offences rated ninety.

  She was going on to say that the whole trend of modern life in England was towards a planned Americanization and that she, for one, approved of this, feeling that we had much to learn from our cousins across the sea, when there was a brusque repetition of that rising pheasant effect which had preceded the Hobbs-Queenie one-act sketch and the eye noted that Gertrude Winkworth had risen from her seat and precipitated herself into Catsmeat’s arms. No doubt she had picked up a hint or two from watching Queenie’s work for in its broad lines her performance was modelled on that of the recent parlourmaid. The main distinction was that whereas Silversmith’s ewe lamb had said ‘Oh, Ernie!’ she was saying ‘Oh, Claude!’

  Esmond Haddock stared.

  ‘Hallo!’ he said, adding another three hallos from force of habit.

  You might have thought that a fellow in Catsmeat’s position, faced with the prospect of going up the river for a calendar month, would have been too perturbed to have time for hugging girls, and it would scarcely have surprised me if he had extricated himself from Gertrude Winkworth’s embrace with a ‘Yes, yes, quite, but some other time, what?’ Not so, however. To clasp her to his bosom was with him the work of a moment, and you could see that he was regarding this as the important part of the evening’s proceedings, giving him little scope for attending to Justices of the Peace.

  ‘Oh, Gertrude!’ he said. ‘Be with you in a minute,’ he added to Esmond. ‘Oh, Gertrude!’ he proceeded, once more addressing his remarks to the lovely burden. And, precisely as Constable Dobbs had done in a similar situation, he covered her upturned face with burning kisses.

  ‘Eeek!’ said the aunts, speaking as one aunt.

  I didn’t blame them for being fogged and unable to follow the run of the scenario. It is unusual for a niece to behave towards a visiting valet as their niece Gertrude was behaving as of even date, and if they squeaked like mice, I maintain they had every right to do so. Theirs had been a sheltered life, and this was all new stuff to them.

  Esmond, too, seemed a bit not abreast.

  ‘What’s all this?’ he said, a remark which would have proceeded more fittingly from the lips of Constable Dobbs. In fact, I saw the officer shoot a sharp look at him, as if stung by this infringement of copyright.

  Corky came forward and slipped her arm through his. It was plain that she felt the time had come for a frank, manly explanation.

  ‘It’s my brother Catsmeat, Esmond.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘This is.’

  ‘What, that?’

  ‘Yes. He came here as a valet for love of Gertrude, and a darned good third-reel situation, if you ask me.’

  Esmond wrinkled his brow. He looked rather as he had done when discussing that story of mine with me on the night of my arrival.

  ‘Let’s go in
to this,’ he said. ‘Let’s thresh it out. This character is not Meadowes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s not a valet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But he is your brother Catsmeat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Esmond’s face cleared.

  ‘Now I’ve got it,’ he said. ‘Now it’s all straight. How are you, Catsmeat?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Catsmeat.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Esmond heartily. ‘That’s splendid.’

  He paused, and started. I suppose the baying that arose at this point from the pack of aunts, together with the fact that he had just tripped over his spurs, had given him the momentary illusion that he was in the hunting field, for a ‘Yoicks’ trembled on his lips and he raised an arm as if about to give his horse one on the spot where it would do most good.

  The aunts were a bit on the incoherent side, but gradually what you might call a message emerged from their utterances. They were trying to impress on Esmond that the fact that the accused was Corky’s brother Catsmeat merely deepened the blackness of his crime and that he was to carry on and administer the sentence as planned.

  Their observations would have gone stronger with Esmond if he had been listening to them. But he wasn’t. His attention was riveted on Catsmeat and Gertrude, who had seized the opportunity afforded by the lull in the proceedings to exchange a series of burning kisses.

  ‘Are you and Gertrude going to get married?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Catsmeat.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gertrude.

  ‘No,’ said the aunts.

  ‘Please,’ said Esmond, raising a hand. ‘What’s the procedure?’ he asked, once more addressing himself to Catsmeat.

  Catsmeat said he thought the best scheme would be for them to nip up to London right away and put the thing through on the morrow. He had the licence all ready and waiting, he explained, and he saw no difficulties ahead that a good registry office couldn’t solve. Esmond said he agreed with him, and suggested that they should borrow his car, and Catsmeat said that was awfully good of him, and Esmond said Not at all. ‘Please,’ he added to the aunts, who were now shrieking like Banshees.