The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 5: (Jeeves & Wooster)

by P. G. Wodehouse

  Nothing could have pleased me more than to hear that my old friend Stinker Pinker was giving satisfaction, and if it had not been for the dark shadow of the cat brooding over us I might quite have enjoyed this little get-together. For he was an entertaining companion, as these far-flung chaps so often are, and told me a lot I hadn’t known before about tsetse flies and what to do if cornered by a charging rhinoceros. But in the middle of one of his best stories – he had just got to where the natives seemed friendly, so he decided to stay the night – he broke off, cocked his head sideways, and said:

  ‘What was that?’

  I had heard it, too, of course. But I preserved my poise.

  ‘What was what?’ I said.

  ‘I heard a cat.’

  I continued to wear the mask. I laughed a light laugh.

  ‘Oh, that was my man Jeeves. He imitates cats.’

  ‘He does, eh?’

  ‘It gives him a passing pleasure.’

  ‘And, I suppose, gets a laugh if he does it at the pub near closing time when everyone’s fairly tight. I had a native bearer once who could imitate the mating call of the male puma.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘So that even female pumas were deceived. They used to come flocking round the camp in dozens, and were as sick as mud when they found it was only a native bearer. He was the one I was telling you we had to bury before sundown. Which reminds me. How are those spots of yours?’

  ‘Completely disappeared.’

  ‘Not always a good sign. It’s bad if they work inward and get mixed up with the blood stream.’

  ‘Doctor Murgatroyd expected them to disappear.’

  ‘He ought to know.’

  ‘I have great confidence in him.’

  ‘So have I, in spite of those whiskers.’ He paused, and laughed amusedly. ‘Odd, the passage of time.’

  ‘Pretty odd,’ I conceded.

  ‘Old Jimpy Murgatroyd. You’d never think, to look at him now, that when I knew him as a boy he was about the best wing-three we ever had at Haileybury. Fast as a streak and never failed to give the reverse pass. He scored two tries against Bedford, one of them from our twenty-five, and dropped a goal against Tonbridge.’

  Though not having a clue to what he was talking about, I said ‘Really?’ and he said ‘Absolutely’, and I think we should have had a lot more about E. Jimpson Murgatroyd the boy, but at this moment the cat came on the air again and he changed the subject.

  ‘Listen. Wouldn’t you swear that was a cat? That man of yours certainly makes it lifelike.’

  ‘Just a knack.’

  ‘A gift, I’d call it. Good animal-impersonators don’t grow on every bush. I never had another bearer like the puma chap. Plenty of fellows who could do you a passable screech owl, but that’s not the same thing. It’s lucky Cook isn’t here.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because he would insist on being confronted by what he imagined to be his cat and would tear the place apart to get at it. He wouldn’t believe for a moment that it was your man practising his art. You see, a very valuable cat belonging to Cook has vanished, and he is convinced that rival interests have stolen it. He talked of calling Scotland Yard in. But I must be getting along. I only stopped by to tell you about the remarkable improvement in my memory. It’s all coming back. It won’t be long before I shall be remembering why I thought your name was something that began with Al. Could it have been a nickname of some sort?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Not short for Alka-Seltzer, or something like that? Well, no good worrying about it now. It’ll come. It’ll come.’

  I couldn’t imagine what had given him this idea that my name began with Al, but it was a small point and I didn’t linger on it. No sooner had he beetled off than I was calling Jeeves in for a conference.

  When he came, he was full of apologies. He seemed to think he had let the young master down.

  ‘I fear you will have thought me remiss, sir, but I found it impossible to stifle the animal’s cries completely. I trust they were not overheard by your visitor.’

  ‘They were, and the visitor was none other than Major Plank, from whom you saved me so adroitly at Totleigh-in-the-Wold. He is closely allied to Pop Cook, and I don’t mind telling you that when he blew in I was as badly rattled as Macbeth, if you know what I mean, that time he was sitting down to dinner and the ghost turned up.’

  ‘I know the scene well, sir. “Never shake thy gory locks at me,” he said.’

  ‘And I don’t blame him. Plank heard those yowls.’

  ‘I am extremely sorry, sir.’

  ‘Not your fault. Cats will be cats. I was taken aback at the moment, like Macbeth, but I kept my head. I told him you were a cat-imitator brushing up your cat-imitating.’

  ‘A very ingenious ruse, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t think it was too bad.’

  ‘Did it satisfy the gentleman?’

  ‘It seemed to. But what of Pop Cook?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What’s worrying me is the possibility of Cook being less inclined to swallow the story and coming here to search the premises. And when I say the possibility, I mean the certainty. Figure it out for yourself. He finds me up at Eggesford Court apparently swiping the cat. He learns that I am lunching at Eggesford Hall. “Ha!” he says to himself, “one of the Briscoe gang, is he? And I caught him with the cat actually on his person.” Do you suppose that when Plank gets back and tells him he heard someone imitating cats chez me, he is going to believe that what Plank heard was a human voice? I doubt it, Jeeves. He will be at my door in ten seconds flat, probably accompanied by the entire local police force.’

  My remorseless reasoning had its effect. A slight wiggling of the nose showed that. Nothing could ever make Jeeves say ‘Gorblimey!’, but I could see that was the word that would have sprung to his lips if he hadn’t stopped it half-way. His comment on my obiter dicta was brief and to the point.

  ‘We must act, sir!’

  ‘And without stopping to pick daisies by the wayside. Are you still resolved not to return this cat to status quo?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Sam Weller would have done it like a shot to oblige Mr Pickwick.’

  ‘It is not my place to return cats, sir. But if I might make a suggestion.’

  ‘Speak on, Jeeves.’

  ‘Why should we not place the matter in the hands of the man Graham?’

  ‘Of course! I never thought of that.’

  ‘He is a poacher of established reputation, and a competent poacher is what we need.’

  ‘I see what you mean. His experience enables him to move around without letting a twig snap beneath his feet, which is the first essential when you are returning cats.’

  ‘Precisely, sir. With your permission I will go to the Goose and Grasshopper and tell him that you wish to see him.’

  ‘Do so, Jeeves,’ I said, and only a few minutes later I found myself closeted with Herbert (Billy) Graham.

  The first thing that impressed itself on me as I gave him the once-over was his air of respectability. I had always supposed that poachers were tough-looking eggs who wore whatever they could borrow from the nearest scarecrow and shaved only once a week. He, to the contrary, was neatly clad in form-fitting tweeds and was shaven to the bone. His eyes were frank and blue, his hair a becoming grey. I have seen more raffish Cabinet ministers. He looked like someone who might have sung in the sainted Briscoe’s church choir, as I was informed later he did, being the possessor of a musical tenor voice which came in handy for the anthem and when they were doing those ‘miserable sinner’ bits in the Litany.

  He was about the height and tonnage of Fred Astaire, and he had the lissomness which is such an asset in his chosen profession. One could readily imagine him flitting silently through the undergrowth with a couple of rabbits in his grasp, always two jumps ahead of the gamekeepers who were trying to locate him. The old ancestor had compared him to the S
carlet Pimpernel, and a glance was enough to tell me that the tribute was well deserved. I thought how wise Jeeves had been in suggesting that I entrust to him the delicate mission which I had in mind. When it comes to returning cats that have been snitched from their lawful homes, you need a specialist. Where Lloyd George or Winston Churchill would have failed, this Graham, I knew would succeed.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said, ‘you wished to see me?’

  I got down without delay to the nub. No sense in humming or, for the matter of that, hawing.

  ‘It’s about this cat.’

  ‘I delivered it according to instructions.’

  ‘And now I want you to take it back.’

  He seemed perplexed.

  ‘Back, sir?’

  ‘To where you got it.’

  ‘I do not quite understand, sir.’

  ‘I’ll explain.’

  I think I outlined the position of affairs rather well, making it abundantly clear that a Wooster could not countenance what was virtually tantamount, if tantamount is the word I want, to nobbling a horse and that the cat under advisement must be restored to its proprietor with all possible slippiness, and he listened attentively. But when I had finished, he shook his head.

  ‘Out of the question, sir.’

  ‘Out of the question? Why? You purloined it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then you can put it back.’

  ‘No, sir. You are overlooking certain vital facts.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The theft to which you refer was perpetrated as a personal favour to Miss Briscoe, whom I have known from childhood, and a sweet child she was.’

  I thought of trying to move him by saying that I had been a sweet child, too, but I knew that this was not the case, having frequently been informed to that effect by my Aunt Agatha, so I let it go. There was not much chance, of course, that he had ever met my Aunt Agatha and discussed me with her, but it was not worth risking.

  ‘Furthermore,’ he proceeded, and I was impressed, as I had been from the start, by the purity of his diction. He had evidently had a good education, though I doubted if he was an Oxford man. ‘Furthermore,’ he said, ‘I have five pounds on Potato Chip with the landlord of the Goose and Grasshopper.’

  ‘Aha!’ I said to myself, and I’ll tell you why I said ‘Aha’ to myself. I said it because the scales had fallen from my eyes and I saw all. Plainly that stuff about personal favours to sweet children had been the merest bobbledy-gook. He had been actuated throughout entirely by commercial motives. When Angelica Briscoe had come to him, he would have started with a regretful nolle prosequi on the ground that he had this fiver on Potato Chip and was obliged to protect his investment. She had said, would he do it for ten quid, which would leave him with a nice profit? He had right-hoed. Angelica had then touched Aunt Dahlia for ten and the deal had gone through. I have often thought I would have made a good detective. I can reason and deduce.

  Everything was simple now that the matter could be put on a business basis. All that remained was to arrange terms. It would have to be a ready-money transaction, he being the shrewd man he was, and fortunately I had brought wads of cash with me for betting-on-the-course-at-Bridmouth purposes, so there was no problem.

  ‘How much do you want?’ I said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘To de-cat my premises and restore this feline to the strength.’

  A sort of film came over his frank blue eyes, as I suppose it always did when he talked business, though not when singing in the choir. Fellows at the Drones have told me they notice the same thing in Oofy Prosser, the club millionaire, when they try to float a small loan with him to see them through till next Wednesday.

  ‘How much do I want, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Give it a name. We won’t haggle.’

  He pursed his lips.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, having unpursed them, ‘I couldn’t do it as cheap as I’d like, sir. You see, what with them having discovered the animal’s absence by this time, the hue and cry, as you might say, will be up and everybody at Mr Cook’s residence on the qui vive or alert. I’d be in the position of a spy in wartime carrying secret dispatches through the enemy’s lines with every eye on the look-out for him. I’d have to make it twenty pounds.’

  I was relieved. I had been expecting something higher. He, too, seemed to feel that he had erred on the side of moderation, for he immediately added:

  ‘Or, rather, thirty.’

  ‘Thirty!’

  ‘Thirty, sir.’

  ‘Let’s haggle,’ I said.

  But when I suggested twenty-five, a nicer-looking sort of number than thirty, he shook his grey head regretfully, so we went on haggling, and he haggled better than me, so that eventually we settled on thirty-five.

  It wasn’t one of my best haggling days.

  13

  * * *

  ONE OF THE questions put to me when I won that Scripture Knowledge prize at my private school was, I recall, ‘What do you know of the deaf adder?’, and my grip on Holy Writ enabled me to reply correctly that it stopped its ears and would not hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely, and after my session with Herbert Graham I knew how that charmer must have felt. If I had been in a position to compare notes with him, we would have agreed that the less we saw of adders in the future the better it would be for us.

  Nobody could have charmed more wisely than me as I urged Herbert Graham to lower his price, and nobody could have stopped his ears more firmly than did that human serpent. Talk about someone not meeting you half-way; he didn’t go an inch in the direction of coming to a peaceful settlement. Thirty-five quid, I mean to say. Absolutely monstrous. But that’s what happens when you’re up against it and the other fellow holds all the cards.

  Haggling is a thing that takes it out of you, and it was a limp Bertram Wooster who after Graham and cat had set forth on their journey sat skimming listlessly through the opening pages of By Order Of The Czar. And I had read enough to make me wish I had taken out The Mystery Of A Hansom Cab instead, when the telephone rang.

  It was, as I had feared, Aunt Dahlia. Sooner or later, I had of course realized, exchanges with the aged relative were inevitable, but I could have faced them better if they could have been postponed for a while. In my enfeebled condition I was in no shape to cope with aunts. A man who has just become engaged to a girl whose whole personality gives him a sinking feeling and who has had to pay thirty-five quid to a bloodsucker and another twopence to a lending library for a dud book is seldom in mid-season form.

  The old ancestor, on the other hand, little knowing that she was about to get a sock on the jaw which would shake her to her foundation garments, was all lightheartedness and joviality.

  ‘Hullo, fathead,’ she said. ‘What news on the Rialto?’

  ‘What, what, where?’ I responded, not getting it.

  ‘The cat. Has he brought it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it in your bosom?’

  I saw the time had come. Shrink though I might from revealing the awful truth, it had to be done. I took a deep breath. It was some small comfort to feel that she was at the end of the telephone wire a mile and a half away. You can never be certain what aunts will do when at close quarters. Far less provocation in my earlier days had led this one to buffet me soundly on the side of the head.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  ‘Billy Graham has taken it back.’

  ‘Taken it back?’

  ‘To Eggesford Court. I told him to.’

  ‘You told him to?’

  ‘Yes. You see—’

  That concluded for a considerable space of time my share in the duologue, for she got into high with the promptness which I had anticipated. She spoke as follows:

  ‘Hell’s bells! Ye gods! Angels and ministers of grace defend us! He brought the cat, and you deliberately turned it from your door, though you knew wh
at it meant to me. Letting the side down! Failing me in my hour of need! Bringing my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave! And after all I’ve done for you, you miserable ungrateful worm. Do you remember me telling you that when you were a babe and suckling and looking, I may add in passing, like a badly poached egg, you nearly swallowed your rubber comforter, and if I hadn’t jerked it out in time, you would have choked to death? It would go hard for you if you swallowed your rubber comforter now. I wouldn’t stir a finger. Do you remember when you had measles and I gave up hours of my valuable time to playing tiddlywinks with you and letting you beat me without a murmur?’

  I could have disputed that. My victories had been due entirely to skill. I haven’t played much tiddlywinks lately, but in those boyhood days I was pretty hot stuff at the pastime. I did not mention this, however, because she was proceeding and I didn’t like to interrupt the flow.

  ‘Do you remember when you were at that private school of yours I used to send you parcels of food at enormous expense because you said you were about to expire from starvation? Do you remember when you were at Oxford—’

  ‘Stop, aged r.,’ I cried, for she had touched me deeply with these reminiscences of the young Wooster. ‘You’re breaking my heart.’

  ‘You haven’t got a heart. If you had, you wouldn’t have driven that poor defenceless cat out into the snow. All I asked of you was to give it a bed in the spare room for a few days and so place my financial affairs on a sound basis, but you wouldn’t do a trifling service for me which would have cost you nothing except a bob or two for milk and fish. What, I ask myself, has become of the old-fashioned nephew to whom his aunt’s wishes were law? They don’t seem to be making them nowadays.’

  At this point Nature took its toll. She had to pause to take in breath, and I was enabled to speak.

  ‘Old blood relation,’ I said, ‘you are under a what-is-it.’

  ‘What is what?’

  ‘The thing people get under. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Begins with mis. Ah, I’ve got it, misapprehension. I’ve heard Jeeves use the word. Your view of my behaviour with the above cat is all cockeyed. I disapproved of your pinching it, because I felt that such an action stained the escutcheon of the Woosters, but I would have given it bed and board, however reluctantly, had it not been for Plank.’