The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 1: (Jeeves & Wooster): No.1

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘You are proposing to eat his lordship’s breakfast, sir?’

  ‘Jeeves,’ I said emotionally, and was about to go on to add that, if he had any doubts as to what I was proposing to do to that breakfast, he could remove them by standing to one side and watching me get into action, when one more I heard footsteps in the passage outside.

  Instead of speaking along these lines, accordingly, I blenched, as near as a fellow can blench when his face is all covered with boot polish, and broke off with a brief heart-cry. Once more I perceived that it had become imperative that I vanish from the scene.

  These footsteps, I must mention, were of the solid, sturdy, shoe-number-eleven type. It was natural, therefore, that I should assume that it was Chuffy who now stood without. And to encounter Chuffy, I need scarcely say, would have been foreign to my policy. I have already indicated with, I think, sufficient clearness, that he was not in sympathy with my aims and objects. That interview we had on the previous night had shown me that he was to be reckoned as essentially one of the opposition – a hostile element and a menace. Let him discover me here, and the first thing I knew he would be locking me up somewhere in a spirit of chivalrous zeal and sending messages to old Stoker to drop round and collect.

  Long, therefore, before the handle had turned I was down in the depths like a diving duck.

  The door opened. A female voice spoke. No doubt that of the future Mrs Constable Dobson.

  ‘Mr Stoker,’ it announced.

  Large, flat feet clumped into the room.

  18

  * * *

  Black Work in a Study

  I WEDGED MYSELF a little tighter in behind the old zareba. Not so good, not so good, a voice seemed to be whispering in my ear. Of all the unpleasant contingencies which could have arisen, this seemed to me about the scaliest. Whatever might have been said against Chuffnell Hall – and recent events had tended considerably to lessen its charm in my eyes – I had supposed that you could put forward at least one thing in its favour, viz that there was no possible chance of encountering J. Washburn Stoker on the premises. And, in spite of having my time fairly fully occupied with feeling like a jelly, I was still able to experience quite a spot of honest indignation of what I considered a dashed unjustifiable intrusion on his part.

  I mean to say, if a man has thrown his weight about in a stately home of England, ticking off the residents and asserting positively that he jolly well isn’t going to darken its doors again, he has no right to come strolling in barely two days later as if the place were an hotel with ‘Welcome’ on the mat. I felt pretty strongly about the whole thing.

  I was also wondering how Jeeves would handle this situation. By this time a shrewd bloke like this Stoker was bound to have guessed that his were the brains behind my escape, and it seemed not unlikely that he would make some tentative move towards scattering these brains on the hearthrug. His voice, when he spoke, undoubtedly indicated that some such idea was floating in his mind. It was harsh and roopy, and though all that he actually said by way of a start was ‘Ah!’ a determined man can get a lot of meaning into an ‘Ah!’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Jeeves.

  This business of lying curled up behind desks cuts both ways. It has its advantages and its drawbacks. Purely from the standpoint of the slinking fugitive, of course, fine. Indeed, could scarcely be bettered. But against this must be set the fact that it undoubtedly hampers a chap in his capacity of audience. The effect now was much the same as if I had been listening in to a dramatic sketch on the wireless. I got the voices, but I missed the play of expression. And I’d have given a lot to be able to see it. Not Jeeves’s, of course, because Jeeves never has any. But Stoker’s, it seemed to me, would have been well worth more than a casual glance.

  ‘So you’re here, are you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The next item was an extremely nasty laugh from the visitor. One of those hard, short, sharp ones.

  ‘I came here because I wanted information about where Mr Wooster has got to. I thought that Lord Chuffnell might possibly have seen him. I never reckoned I should run into you. Say, listen,’ said the Stoker disease, suddenly hotting up, ‘do you know what I’ve a mind to do to you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Break your damned neck.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I heard Jeeves cough.

  ‘A little extreme, sir, surely? I can appreciate that the fact that I decided – somewhat abruptly, I admit – to leave your employment and return to that of his lordship should occasion displeasure on your part, but –’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. Or are you going to deny that it was you who smuggled that guy Wooster off my yacht?’

  ‘No, sir. I admit that I was instrumental in restoring his liberty to Mr Wooster. In the course of a conversation which I had with him, Mr Wooster informed me that he was being detained on the vessel ultra vires, and, acting in your best interests, I released him. At that time, you will recall, sir, I was in your employment, and I felt it my duty to save you from what might have been an extremely serious contretemps.’

  I couldn’t see, of course, but I received the impression from a certain amount of gurgling and snorting which he put in during these remarks that old Stoker would have been glad to have the floor a bit earlier. I could have told him it wasn’t any good. You can’t switch Jeeves off when he has something to say which he feels will be of interest. The only thing is to stand by and wait till he runs down.

  But though he had now done so, it wasn’t right away that the party of the second part started anything in the nature of a counter-speech. I imagine that the substance of Jeeves’s little talk had given him food for thought.

  In this conjecture, it appeared that I was correct. Old Stoker breathed a bit tensely for a while, then he spoke in almost an awed voice. It’s often that way when you get up against Jeeves. He has a way of suggesting new viewpoints.

  ‘Are you crazy or am I?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Save me, did you say, from –?’

  ‘A contretemps? Yes, sir. I cannot make the assertion authoritatively, for I am not certain to what extent the fact that Mr Wooster came on board the yacht of his own volition would weigh with a jury –’

  ‘Jury?’

  ‘– but his detention on the vessel despite his expressed desire to leave would, I am inclined to imagine, constitute an act of kidnapping, the penalties for which, as you are no doubt aware, sir, are very severe.’

  ‘But, say, listen –!’

  ‘England is an extremely law-abiding country, sir, and offences which might pass unnoticed in your own land are prosecuted here with the greatest rigour. My knowledge of legal minutiœ is, I regret to say, slight, so I cannot asseverate with perfect confidence that this detention of Mr Wooster would have ranked as an act in contravention of the criminal code, and, as such, liable to punishment with penal servitude, but undoubtedly, had I not intervened, the young gentleman would have been in a position to bring a civil action and mulct you in very substantial damages. So, acting, as I say, in your best interests, sir, I released Mr Wooster.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Thanks,’ said old Stoker mildly.

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘I did what I considered the only thing that could avert a most disagreeable contingency, sir.’

  ‘Darned good of you.’

  I must say I can’t see why Jeeves shouldn’t go down in legend and song. Daniel did, on the strength of putting in half an hour or so in the lions’ den and leaving the dumb chums in a condition of suavity and camaraderie; and if what Jeeves had just done wasn’t entitled to rank well above a feat like that, I’m no judge of form. In less than five minutes he had reduced this ravening Stoker from a sort of human wildcat to a positive domestic pet. If I hadn’t been there and heard it, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible.

  ‘I�
��ve got to think about this,’ said old Stoker, milder than ever.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I hadn’t looked at it that way before. Yes, sir, I’ve got to think about this. I believe I’ll go for a walk and mull it over in my mind. Lord Chuffnell hasn’t seen Mr Wooster, has he?’

  ‘Not since last night, sir.’

  ‘Oh, he saw him last night, did he? Which way was he headed?’

  ‘I rather fancy it was Mr Wooster’s intention to pass the night in the Dower House and return to London today.’

  ‘The Dower House? That’s the place across the park?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I might look in there. It seems to me the first thing I’ve got to do is have a talk with Mr Wooster.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  I heard him go out through the french window, but it wasn’t till another moment or two had passed that I felt justified in coming to the surface. It being reasonable to suppose by then that the coast was clear, I poked the head up over the desk.

  ‘Jeeves,’ I said, and if there were tears in the eyes, what of it? We Woosters are not afraid to confess honest emotion, ‘there is none like you, none.’

  ‘It is extremely kind of you to say so, sir.’

  ‘It was all I could do to keep from leaping out and shaking your hand.’

  ‘It would scarcely have been judicious, in the circumstances, sir.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Your father wasn’t a snake-charmer, was he, Jeeves?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘It just crossed my mind. What do you think will happen when old Stoker gets to the Dower House?’

  ‘We can only conjecture, sir.’

  ‘My fear is that Brinkley may have slept it off by now.’

  ‘There is that possibility, sir.’

  ‘Still, it was a kindly thought, sending the fellow there, and we must hope for the best. After all, Brinkley still has that chopper. I say, do you think Chuffy is really coming down?’

  ‘At any moment, I fancy, sir.’

  ‘Then you wouldn’t advise my eating his breakfast?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘But I’m starving, Jeeves.’

  ‘I am extremely sorry, sir. The position at the moment is a little difficult. Later on, no doubt, I may be able to alleviate your distress.’

  ‘Have you had breakfast, Jeeves?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What did you have?’

  ‘The juice of an orange, sir, followed by Cute Crispies – an American cereal – scrambled eggs with a slice of bacon, and toast and marmalade.’

  ‘Oh, gosh! The whole washed down, no doubt, with a cup of strengthening coffee?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, my God! You really don’t think I could just sneak a single sausage?’

  ‘I would scarcely advocate it, sir. And it is a small point, but his lordship is having kippers.’

  ‘Kippers!’

  ‘And this, I fancy, will be his lordship coming now, sir.’

  So down one more into the lower levels for Bertram. And I had hardly fitted myself into the groove when the door opened.

  A voice spoke.

  ‘Why, hallo, Jeeves.’

  ‘Good morning, miss.’

  It was Pauline Stoker.

  I must say I was a bit peeved. Chuffnell Hall, whatever its other defects, should, as I have pointed out, have been entirely free from Stokers. And here they were, absolutely over-running the place like mice. I was quite prepared to find something breathing in my ear and look round and see little Dwight. I mean to say, I was feeling – bitterly, I admit – that if this was going to be an Old Home Week of Stokers, one might as well make the thing complete.

  Pauline had begun to sniff vigorously.

  ‘What’s that I smell, Jeeves?’

  ‘Kippered herrings, miss.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘His lordship’s, miss.’

  ‘Oh. I haven’t had breakfast yet, Jeeves.’

  ‘No, miss?’

  ‘No. Father yanked me out of bed and had me half-way here before I was properly awake. He’s all worked up, Jeeves.’

  ‘Yes, miss. I have just been having a conversation with Mr Stoker. He did appear somewhat overwrought.’

  ‘All the way here he was talking about what he was going to do if he ever found you again. And now you tell me he did find you. What happened? Didn’t he eat you?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Probably on a diet. Well, where has he got to? They told me he was in here.’

  ‘Mr Stoker left a moment ago with the intention of visiting the Dower House, miss. I think he hopes to find Mr Wooster there.’

  ‘Somebody ought to warn that poor sap.’

  ‘You need experience no anxiety for Mr Wooster, miss. He is not at the Dower House.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Elsewhere, miss.’

  ‘Not that I care where he is. Do you remember my telling you last night, Jeeves, that I was thinking of becoming Mrs Bertram W.?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. So you needn’t save up for that fish slice, after all. I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘I am glad to hear that, miss.’

  So was I. Her words were music to my ears.

  ‘Glad, are you?’

  ‘Yes, miss. I doubt whether the union would have been a successful one. Mr Wooster is an agreeable young gentleman, but I would describe him as essentially one of Nature’s bachelors.’

  ‘Besides being mentally negligible?’

  ‘Mr Wooster is capable of acting very shrewdly on occasion, miss.’

  ‘So am I. And that is why I say that, no matter if Father does tear the roof off, I am not going to marry that poor, persecuted lamb. Why should I? I’ve nothing against him.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to Lady Chuffnell, Jeeves.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Apparently she has had a little domestic trouble, too.’

  ‘Yes, miss. There was an unfortunate rift between her ladyship and Sir Roderick Glossop last night. Now, I am glad to say, her ladyship appears to have thought matters over and decided that she made a mistake in severing relations with the gentleman.’

  ‘One does think things over, doesn’t one?’

  ‘Almost invariably, miss.’

  ‘And a fat lot of use that is, if the severed relation doesn’t think them over too. Have you seen Lord Chuffnell this morning, Jeeves?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘How was he looking?’

  ‘Somewhat worried, it seemed to me, miss.’

  ‘He was?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘H’m. Well, I won’t keep you from your professional duties, Jeeves: smack into them right away, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Thank you, miss. Good morning.’

  For some moments after the door closed I remained motionless. I was passing the position of affairs under thoughtful review. To a certain extent you might say that relief was tingling through the veins like some rare wine, causing satisfaction and mental uplift. In the plainest possible language, weighing her words and speaking without dubiety or equivocation, this girl Pauline had stated that not even the strongest measures on the part of her father would induce her to shove on the old bridal veil and step up the aisle at my side. So far, so good.

  But had she thoroughly estimated that father’s powers of persuasion? That was what I asked myself. Had she ever seen him when he was really going good? Was she aware of what a Force he could be when in mid-season form? In a word, did she realize what she was up against, and know that to attempt to thwart J. Washburn Stoker, when in spate, was like entering a jungle and taking on the first couple of wildcats you encountered?

  It was this thought which prevented my rapture from being complete. It seemed to me that, in opposing her will to that of a bally retired pirate like this male parent of hers, the frail girl was going
out of her class and that her resistance to his matrimonial plans would be useless.

  And I was musing thus when I suddenly heard the sloosh of coffee in a cup, and a moment later there came what Drexdale Yeats would have called a metallic clang, and with profound emotion I divined that Pauline, unable to resist the sight of that tray any longer, had poured herself out a steaming beaker and was getting at the kippers. For there was no longer any possible room for doubt as to the correctness of Jeeves’s information. It was the scent of kippered herrings that was now wafted to me like a benediction, and I clenched my fists till the knuckles stood out white beneath the strain. I could mark every mouthful and each in turn went through me like a knife.

  It’s odd, the effect hunger has on one. You can’t tell what you will do under the stress of it. Let the most level-headed bird get really peckish, and he will throw prudence to the winds. I did so at this point. Obviously the sound scheme was for me to remain under cover and wait till all these Stokers and what not blew over, and that was the policy which, in a calmer frame of mind, I would have pursued. But the smell of those kippers and the knowledge that with every moment that passed they were melting away like snow upon the mountain tops and that pretty soon all the toast would be gone as well, was too powerful for me. I came up from behind that desk like a minnow on a hook.

  ‘Hi!’ I said, speaking with a strong note of pleading in my voice.

  It’s rummy how experience never teaches us. I had seen the reaction of the scullerymaid to my sudden appearance. I had noted its effect on old Chuffy. And I had watched Sir Roderick Glossop at the moment of impact. Yet here I was, bobbing up in just the same sudden fashion as before.

  And exactly the same thing happened again. If anything, rather more so. At the moment, Pauline Stoker was busy with a mouthful of kipper, and this for the nonce cramped her freedom of expression, so that all that occurred for about a second and a quarter was that a pair of horrified eyes stared into mine. Then the barrier of kipper gave way, and one of the most devastating yowls of terror I’ve ever heard in my puff ripped through the air.

  It coincided with the opening of the door and the appearance on the threshold of the fifth Baron Chuffnell. And the next moment he had dashed at her and gathered her in his arms, and she had dashed at him and been gathered.