Money for Nothing

by Wodehouse, P G

  It was the moment for which Chimp Twist had been waiting. There is, as Ronnie Fish would have observed in the village Hall an hour or so earlier if the audience had had the self-restraint to let him get as far as that, a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Chimp did not neglect the opportunity which Fate had granted him. With an agile bound he was at the window, and, rendered supple, no doubt, by his recent exercises, leaped smartly through it.

  He descended heavily on the dog Emily. Emily, wandering out for a last stroll before turning in, had just paused beneath the window to investigate a smell which had been called to her attention on the gravel. She was trying to make up her mind whether it was rats or the ghost of a long-lost bone when the skies suddenly started raining heavy bodies on her.

  V

  Emily was a dog who, as a rule, took things as they came, her guiding motto in life being the old Horatian Nil Admirari, but she could lose her poise. She lost it now. A startled oath escaped her, and for a brief instant she was completely unequal to the situation. In this instant, Chimp, equally startled but far too busy to stop, had disengaged himself and was vanishing into the darkness.

  A moment later Hugo came through the window. His coughing fit had spent itself, and he was now in good voice again. He was shouting.

  At once Emily became herself again. All her sporting blood stirred in answer to these shouts. She forgot her agony. Her sense of grievance left her. Recognizing Hugo, she saw all things clearly, and realized in a flash that here at last was the burglar for whom she had been waiting ever since her conversation with that wire-haired terrier over at Webleigh Manor.

  John had taken her to lunch there one day, and fraternizing with the Webleigh dog under the table, she had immediately noticed in his manner something aloof and distinctly patronizing. It had then come out in conversation that they had had a burglary at the Manor a couple of nights ago, and the wirehaired terrier, according to his own story, had been the hero of the occasion. He spoke with an ill-assumed off-handedness of barking and bitings and chasings in the night, and, though he did not say it in so many words, gave Emily plainly to understand that it took an unusual dog to grapple with such a situation, and that in a similar crisis she herself would inevitably be found wanting. Ever since that day she had been longing for a chance to show her mettle, and now it had come. Calling instructions in a high voice, she raced for the bushes into which Chimp had disappeared. Hugo, a bad third, brought up the rear of the procession.

  Chimp, meanwhile, had been combining with swift movement some very rapid thinking. Fortune had been with him in the first moments of this dash for safety, but now, he considered, it had abandoned him, and he must trust to his native intelligence to see him through. He had not anticipated dogs. Dogs altered the whole complexion of the affair. To a go-as-you-please race across country with Hugo he would have trusted himself, but Hugo in collaboration with a dog was another matter. It became now a question not of speed but of craft; and he looked about him, as he ran, for a hiding-place, for some shelter from this canine and human storm which he had unwittingly aroused.

  And Fortune, changing sides again, smiled upon him once more. Emily, who had been going nicely, attempted very injudiciously at this moment to take a short cut and became involved in a bush. And Chimp, accelerating an always active brain, perceived a way out. There was a low stone wall immediately in front of him, and beyond it, as he came up, he saw the dull gleam of water.

  It was not an ideal haven, but he was in no position to pick and choose. The interior of the tank from which the gardeners drew ammunition for their watering-cans had, for one who from childhood had always disliked bathing, a singularly repellent air. Those dark, oily-looking depths suggested the presence of frogs, newts and other slimy things that work their way down a man's back and behave clammily around his spine. But it was most certainly a place of refuge.

  He looked over his shoulder. An agitated crackling of branches announced that Emily had not yet worked clear, and Hugo had apparently stopped to render first aid. With a silent shudder Chimp stepped into the tank and, lowering himself into the depths, nestled behind a water-lily.

  Hugo was finding the task of extricating Emily more difficult than he had anticipated. The bush was one of those thorny, adhesive bushes, and it twined itself lovingly in Emily's hair. Bad feeling began to rise, and the conversation took on an acrimonious tone.

  'Stand still!' growled Hugo. 'Stand still, you blighted dog.'

  'Push,' retorted Emily. 'Push, I tell you! Push, not pull. Don't you realize that all the while we're wasting time here that fellow's getting away?'

  'Don't wriggle, confound you. How can I get you out if you keep wriggling?'

  'Try a lift in an upwards direction. No, that's no good. Stop pushing and pull, I tell you. Pull not push. Now, when I say "To you...."'

  Something gave. Hugo staggered back. Emily sprang from his grasp. The chase was on again.

  But now all the zest had gone out of it. The operations in the bush had occupied only a bare couple of minutes, but they had been enough to allow the quarry to vanish. He had completely disappeared. Hugo, sitting on the wall of the tank and trying to recover his breath, watched Emily as she darted to and fro, inspecting paths and drawing shrubberies, and knew that he had failed. It was a bitter moment, and he sat and smoked moodily. Presently even Emily gave the thing up. She came back to where Hugo sat, her tongue lolling, and disgust written all over her expressive features. There was a silence. Emily thought it was all Hugo's fault, Hugo thought it was Emily's. A stiffness had crept into their relations once again, and when at length Hugo, feeling a little more benevolent after three cigarettes, reached down and scratched Emily's head, the latter drew away coldly.

  'Damn fool!' she said.

  Hugo started. Was it some sound, some distant stealthy footstep, that had caused his companion to speak? He stared into the night.

  'Fathead!' said Emily. 'Can't even pull somebody out of a bush.'

  She laughed mirthlessly, and Hugo, now keenly on the alert, rose from his seat and gazed this way and that. And then, moving softly away from him at the end of the path, he saw a dark figure.

  Instantly, Hugo Carmody became once more the man of action. With a stern shout he dashed along the path. And he had not gone half a dozen feet when the ground seemed suddenly to give way under him.

  This path, as he should have remembered, knowing the terrain as he did, was a terrace path, set high above the shrubberies below. It was a simple enough matter to negotiate it in daylight and at a gentle stroll, but to race successfully along it in the dark required a Blondin. Hugo's third stride took him well into the abyss. He clutched out desperately, grasped only cool Worcestershire night air, and then, rolling down the slope, struck his head with great violence against a tree which seemed to have been put there for the purpose.

  When the sparks had cleared away and the firework exhibition was over, he rose painfully to his feet.

  A voice was speaking from above – the voice of Ronald Overbury Fish.

  'Hullo!' said the voice. 'What's up?'

  VI

  Weighed down by the burden of his many sorrows, Ronnie Fish had come to this terrace path to be alone. Solitude was what he desired, and solitude was what he supposed he had got until, abruptly, without any warning but a wild shout, the companion of his School and University days had suddenly dashed out from empty space and apparently attempted to commit suicide. Ronnie was surprised. Naturally no fellow likes getting the bird at a village concert, but Hugo, he considered, in trying to kill himself was adopting extreme measures. He peered down, going so far in his natural emotion as to remove the cigarette-holder from his mouth.

  'What's up?' he asked again.

  Hugo was struggling dazedly up the bank.

  'Was that you, Ronnie?'

  'Was what me?'

  'That.'

  'Which?'

  Hugo approached the matter from another angle.
>
  'Did you see anyone?'

  'When?'

  'Just now. I thought I saw someone on the path. It must have been you.'

  'It was. Why?'

  'I thought it was somebody else.'

  'Well it wasn't.'

  'I know, but I thought it was.'

  'Who did you think it was?'

  'A fellow called Twist.'

  'Twist?'

  'Yes, Twist.'

  'Why?'

  'I've been chasing him.'

  'Chasing Twist?'

  'Yes. I caught him burgling the house.'

  They had been walking along, and now reached a spot where the light, freed from overhanging branches, was stronger. Mr Fish became aware that his friend had sustained injuries.

  'I say,' he said, 'you've hurt your head.'

  'I know I've hurt my head, you silly ass.'

  'It's bleeding, I mean.'

  'Bleeding?'

  'Bleeding.'

  Blood is always interesting. Hugo put a hand to his wound, took it away again, inspected it.

  'By Jove! I'm bleeding.'

  'Yes, bleeding. You'd better go in and have it seen to.'

  'Yes.' Hugo reflected. 'I'll go and get old John to fix it. He once put six stitches in a cow.'

  'What cow?'

  'One of the cows. I forget its name.'

  'Where do we find this John?'

  'He's in his room over the stables.'

  'Can you walk it all right?'

  'Oh, yes, rather.'

  Ronnie, relieved, lighted a cigarette, and approached an aspect of the affair which had been giving him food for thought.

  'I say, Hugo, have you been having a few drinks or anything?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, buzzing about the place after non-existent burglars.'

  'They weren't non-existent. I tell you I caught this man Twist . . .'

  'How do you know it was Twist?'

  'I've met him.'

  'Who? Twist?'

  'Yes.'

  'Where?'

  'He runs a place called Healthward Ho near here.'

  'What's Healthward Ho?'

  'It's a place where fellows go to get fit. My uncle was there.'

  'And Twist runs it?'

  'Yes.'

  'And you think this – dash it, this pillar of society was burgling the house?'

  'I caught him, I tell you.'

  'Who? Twist?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, where is he, then?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Listen, old man,' said Ronnie gently. 'I think you'd better be pushing along and getting that bulb of yours repaired.'

  He remained gazing after his friend, as he disappeared in the direction of the stable-yard, with much concern. He hated to think of good old Hugo getting into a mental state like this, though of course, it was only what you could expect if a man lived in the country all the time. He was still brooding when he heard footsteps behind him and looked round and saw Mr Lester Carmody approaching.

  Mr Carmody was in a condition which in a slimmer man might have been called fluttering. He, like John, had absented himself from the festivities in the village, wishing to be on the spot when Mr Twist made his entry into the house. He had seen Chimp get through the dining-room window and had instantly made his way to the front hall, proposing to wait there and see the precious suitcase duly deposited in the cupboard under the stairs. He had waited, but no Chimp had appeared. And then there had come to his ears barkings and shoutings and uproar in the night. Mr Carmody, like Othello, was perplexed in the extreme.

  'Ah, Carmody,' said Mr Fish.

  He waved a kindly cigarette-holder at his host. The latter regarded him with tense apprehension. Was his guest about to announce that Mr Twist, caught in the act, was now under lock and key? For some reason or other, it was plain, Hugo and this unspeakable friend of his had returned at an unexpectedly early hour from the village, and Mr Carmody feared the worst.

  'I've got a bit of bad news for you, Carmody,' said Mr Fish. 'Brace up, my dear fellow.'

  Mr Carmody gulped.

  'What – what – what...'

  'Poor old Hugo. Gone clean off his mental axis.'

  'What! What do you mean?'

  'I found him just now running round in circles and dashing his head against trees. He said he was chasing a burglar. Of course there wasn't anything of the sort on the premises. For, mark this, my dear Carmody: according to his statement, which I carefully checked, the burglar was a most respectable fellow named Twist, who runs a sort of health place near here. You know him, I believe?'

  'Slightly,' said Mr Carmody. 'Slightly.'

  'Well, would a man in that position go about burgling houses? Pure delusion of course.'

  Mr Carmody breathed a deep sigh. Relief had made him feel a little faint.

  'Undoubtedly,' he said. 'Hugo was always weak-minded from a boy.'

  'By the way,' said Mr Fish, 'did you by any chance get up at five in the morning the other day and climb a ladder to look for swallows' nests?'

  'Certainly not.'

  'I thought as much. Hugo said he saw you. Delusion again. The whole truth of the matter is, my dear Carmody, living in the country has begun to soften poor old Hugo's brain. You must act swiftly. You don't want a gibbering nephew about the place. Take my tip and send him away to London at the earliest possible moment.'

  It was rare for Lester Carmody to feel gratitude for the advice which this young man gave him so freely, but he was grateful now. He perceived clearly that a venture like the one on which he and his colleagues had embarked should never have been undertaken while the house was full of infernal, interfering young men. Such was his emotion that for an instant he almost liked Mr Fish.

  'Hugo was saying that you wished him to become your partner in some commercial enterprise,' he said.

  'A night-club. The Hot Spot. Situated just off Bond Street, in the heart of London's pleasure-seeking area.'

  'You were going to give him a half-share for five hundred pounds, I believe?'

  'Five hundred was the figure.'

  'He shall have a cheque immediately,' said Mr Carmody. 'I will go and write it now. And tomorrow you shall take him to London. The best trains are in the morning. I quite agree with you about his mental condition. I am very much obliged to you for drawing it to my notice.'

  'Don't mention it, Carmody,' said Mr Fish graciously. 'Only too glad, my dear fellow. Always a pleasure, always a pleasure.'

  VII

  John had returned to his work and was deep in it when Hugo and his wounded head crossed his threshold. He was startled and concerned.

  'Good heavens!' he cried. 'What's been happening?'

  'Fell down a bank and bumped the old lemon against a tree,' said Hugo, with the quiet pride of a man who has had an accident. 'I looked in to see if you had got some glue or something to stick it up with.'

  John, as became one who thought nothing of putting stitches in cows, exhibited a cool efficiency. He bustled about, found water and cotton wool and iodine, and threw in sympathy as a make-weight. Only when the operation was completed did he give way to a natural curiosity.

  'How did it happen?'

  'Well, it started when I found that bounder Twist burgling the house.'

  'Twist?'

  'Yes, Twist. The Healthward Ho bird.'

  'You found Doctor Twist burgling the house?'

  'Yes, and I made him do bending and stretching exercises. And in the middle he legged it through the window, and Emily and I chivvied him about the garden. Then he disappeared, and I saw him again at the end of that path above the shrubberies, and I dashed after him and took a toss and it wasn't Twist at all, it was Ronnie.'

  John forbore to ask further questions. This incoherent tale satisfied him that his cousin, if not delirious, was certainly on the borderland. He remembered the whole-heartedness with which Hugo had drowned his sorrows only a short while back in this very room, and he was satisfied tha
t what the other needed was rest.

  'You'd better go to bed,' he said. 'I think I've fixed you up pretty well, but perhaps you had better see the doctor tomorrow.'

  'Doc. Twist?'

  'No, not Doctor Twist,' said John soothingly. 'Doctor Bain, down in the village.'

  'Something ought to be done about the man Twist,' argued Hugo. 'Somebody ought to pop it across him.'

  'If I were you I'd just forget all about Twist. Put him right out of your mind.'

  'But are we going to sit still and let perishers with waxed moustaches burgle the house whenever they feel inclined and not do a thing to bring their grey hairs in sorrow to the grave?'

  'I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you. I'd just go off and have a nice long sleep.'

  Hugo raised his eyebrows, and, finding that the process caused exquisite agony to his wounded head, quickly lowered them again. He looked at John with cold disapproval, pained at this evidence of supineness in a member of a proud family.

  'Oh?' he said. 'Well, bung-ho, then!'

  'Good night.'

  'Give my love to the Alpha Separator and all the little Separators.'

  'I will,' said John.

  He accompanied his cousin down the stairs and out into the stable-yard. Having watched him move away and feeling satisfied that he could reach the house without assistance, he felt in his pocket for the materials for the last smoke of the day, and was filling his pipe when Emily came round the corner.

  Emily was in great spirits.

  'Such larks!' said Emily. 'One of those big nights. Burglars dashing to and fro, people falling over banks and butting their heads against trees, and everything bright and lively. But let me tell you something. A fellow like your cousin Hugo is no use whatever to a dog in any real emergency. He's not a force. A broken reed. You should have seen him. He . . .'