Something New

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER IV

  In the morning following Aline's visit to Joan Valentine, Ashesat in his room, the Morning Post on the table before him. Theheady influence of Joan had not yet ceased to work within him;and he proposed, in pursuance of his promise to her, to gocarefully through the columns of advertisements, howeverpessimistic he might feel concerning the utility of that action.

  His first glance assured him that the vast fortunes of thephilanthropists, whose acquaintance he had already made in print,were not yet exhausted. Brian MacNeill still dangled his goldbefore the public; so did Angus Bruce; so did Duncan Macfarlaneand Wallace Mackintosh and Donald MacNab. They still had themoney and they still wanted to give it away.

  Ashe was reading listlessly down the column when, from the massof advertisements, one of an unusual sort detached itself.

  WANTED: Young Man of good appearance, who is poor and reckless, to undertake a delicate and dangerous enterprise. Good pay for the right man. Apply between the hours of ten and twelve at offices of Mainprice, Mainprice & Boole, 3, Denvers Street, Strand.

  And as he read it, half past ten struck on the little clock onhis mantelpiece. It was probably this fact that decided Ashe. Ifhe had been compelled to postpone his visit to the offices ofMessrs. Mainprice, Mainprice & Boole until the afternoon, it ispossible that barriers of laziness might have reared themselvesin the path of adventure; for Ashe, an adventurer at heart, wasalso uncommonly lazy. As it was, however, he could make animmediate start.

  Pausing but to put on his shoes, and having satisfied himself bya glance in the mirror that his appearance was reasonably good,he seized his hat, shot out of the narrow mouth of Arundell Streetlike a shell, and scrambled into a taxicab, with the feelingthat--short of murder--they could not make it too delicate anddangerous for him.

  He was conscious of strange thrills. This, he told himself, wasthe only possible mode of life with spring in the air. He hadalways been partial to those historical novels in which thecharacters are perpetually vaulting on chargers and riding acrosscountry on perilous errands. This leaping into taxicabs to answerstimulating advertisements in the Morning Post was very much thesame sort of thing. It was with fine fervor animating him that heentered the gloomy offices of Mainprice, Mainprice & Boole. Hisbrain was afire and he felt ready for anything.

  "I have come in ans--" he began, to the diminutive office boy,who seemed to be the nearest thing visible to a Mainprice or aBoole.

  "Siddown. Gottatakeyerturn," said the office boy; and for thefirst time Ashe perceived that the ante-room in which he stoodwas crowded to overflowing.

  This, in the circumstances, was something of a damper. He hadpictured himself, during his ride in the cab, striding into theoffice and saying. "The delicate and dangerous enterprise. Leadme to it!" He had not realized until now that he was not the onlyman in London who read the advertisement columns of the MorningPost, and for an instant his heart sank at the sight of all thiscompetition. A second and more comprehensive glance at his rivalsgave him confidence.

  The Wanted column of the morning paper is a sort of dredger,which churns up strange creatures from the mud of London'sunderworld. Only in response to the dredger's operations do theycome to the surface in such numbers as to be noticeable, for as arule they are of a solitary habit and shun company; but when theydo come they bring with them something of the horror of thedepths.

  It is the saddest spectacle in the world--that of the crowdcollected by a Wanted advertisement. They are so palpably notwanted by anyone for any purpose whatsoever; yet every time theygather together with a sort of hopeful hopelessness. What theywere originally--the units of these collections--Heaven knows.Fate has battered out of them every trace of individuality. Eachnow is exactly like his neighbor--no worse; no better.

  Ashe, as he sat and watched them, was filled with conflictingemotions. One-half of him, thrilled with the glamour ofadventure, was chafing at the delay, and resentful of these poorcreatures as of so many obstacles to the beginning of all thebrisk and exciting things that lay behind the mysterious brevityof the advertisement; the other, pitifully alive to the tragedyof the occasion, was grateful for the delay.

  On the whole, he was glad to feel that if one of these derelictsdid not secure the "good pay for the right man," it would not behis fault. He had been the last to arrive, and he would be thelast to pass through that door, which was the gateway ofadventure--the door with Mr. Boole inscribed on its ground glass,behind which sat the author of the mysterious request forassistance, interviewing applicants. It would be through theirown shortcomings--not because of his superior attractions--ifthey failed to please that unseen arbiter.

  That they were so failing was plain. Scarcely had one scarredvictim of London's unkindness passed through before the bellwould ring; the office boy, who, in the intervals of frowningsternly on the throng, as much as to say that he would stand nononsense, would cry, "Next!" and another dull-eyed wreck woulddrift through, to be followed a moment later by yet another. Theone fact at present ascertainable concerning the unknown searcherfor reckless young men of good appearance was that he appeared tobe possessed of considerable decision of character, a man who didnot take long to make up his mind. He was rejecting applicantsnow at the rate of two a minute.

  Expeditious though he was, he kept Ashe waiting for aconsiderable time. It was not until the hands of the fat clockover the door pointed to twenty minutes past eleven that theoffice boy's "Next!" found him the only survivor. He gave hisclothes a hasty smack with the palm of his hand and his hair afleeting dab to accentuate his good appearance, and turned thehandle of the door of fate.

  The room assigned by the firm to their Mr. Boole for his personaluse was a small and dingy compartment, redolent of thatatmosphere of desolation which lawyers alone know how to achieve.It gave the impression of not having been swept since thefoundation of the firm, in the year 1786. There was one smallwindow, covered with grime. It was one of those windows you seeonly in lawyers' offices. Possibly some reckless Mainprice orharebrained Boole had opened it in a fit of mad excitementinduced by the news of the Battle of Waterloo, in 1815, and hadbeen instantly expelled from the firm. Since then, no one haddared to tamper with it.

  Gazing through this window--or, rather, gazing at it, for X-rayscould hardly have succeeded in actually penetrating the alluvialdeposits on the glass--was a little man. As Ashe entered, heturned and looked at him as though he hurt him rather badly insome tender spot.

  Ashe was obliged to own to himself that he felt a little nervous.It is not every day that a young man of good appearance, who hasled a quiet life, meets face to face one who is prepared to payhim well for doing something delicate and dangerous. To Ashe thesensation was entirely novel. The most delicate and dangerous acthe had performed to date had been the daily mastication of Mrs.Bell's breakfast--included in the rent. Yes, he had to admitit--he was nervous: and the fact that he was nervous made him hotand uncomfortable.

  To judge him by his appearance, the man at the window was alsohot and uncomfortable. He was a little, truculent-looking man,and his face at present was red with a flush that sat unnaturallyon a normally lead-colored face. His eyes looked out from underthick gray eyebrows with an almost tortured expression. This waspartly owing to the strain of interviewing Ashe's preposterouspredecessors, but principally to the fact that the little man hadsuddenly been seized with acute indigestion, a malady to which hewas peculiarly subject.

  He removed from his mouth the black cigar he was smoking,inserted a digestive tabloid, and replaced the cigar. Then heconcentrated his attention on Ashe. As he did so the hostileexpression of his face became modified. He looked surprisedand--grudgingly--pleased.

  "Well, what do you want?" he said.

  "I came in answer to--"

  "In answer to my advertisement? I had given up hope of seeinganything part human. I thought you must be one of the clerks.You're certainly more like what I advertised for. Of all theseedy bunches of dead beats I ever struck, the aggregat
ion I'vejust been interviewing was the seediest! When I spend good moneyin advertising for a young man of good appearance, I want a youngman of good appearance--not a tramp of fifty-five."

  Ashe was sorry for his predecessors, but he was bound to admitthat they certainly had corresponded somewhat faithfully to thedescription just given. The comparative cordiality of his ownreception removed the slight nervousness that had been troublinghim. He began to feel confident--almost jaunty.

  "I'm through," said the little man wearily. "I've had enough ofinterviewing applicants. You're the last one I'll see. Are thereany more hobos outside?"

  "Not when I came in."

  "Then we'll get down to business. I'll tell you what I want done,and if you are willing you can do it; if you are not willing youcan leave it--and go to the devil! Sit down."

  Ashe sat down. He resented the little man's tone, but this wasnot the moment for saying so. His companion scrutinized himnarrowly.

  "So far as appearance goes," he said, "you are what I want." Ashefelt inclined to bow. "Whoever takes on this job has got to actas my valet, and you look like a valet." Ashe felt less inclinedto bow.

  "You're tall and thin and ordinary-looking. Yes; so far asappearance goes, you fill the bill."

  It seemed to Ashe that it was time to correct an impression thelittle man appeared to have formed.

  "I am afraid," he said, "if all you want is a valet, you willhave to look elsewhere. I got the idea from your advertisementthat something rather more exciting was in the air. I canrecommend you to several good employment agencies if you wish."He rose. "Good-morning!" he said.

  He would have liked to fling the massive pewter inkwell at thislittle creature who had so keenly disappointed him.

  "Sit down!" snapped the other.

  Ashe resumed his seat. The hope of adventure dies hard on aSpring morning when one is twenty-six, and he had the feelingthat there was more to come.

  "Don't be a damned fool!" said the little man. "Of course I'm notasking you to be a valet and nothing else."

  "You would want me to do some cooking and plain sewing on theside, perhaps?"

  Their eyes met in a hostile glare. The flush on the little man'sface deepened.

  "Are you trying to get fresh with me?" he demanded dangerously.

  "Yes," said Ashe.

  The answer seemed to disconcert his adversary. He was silent fora moment.

  "Well," he said at last, "maybe it's all for the best. If youweren't full of gall probably you wouldn't have come here at all;and whoever takes on this job of mine has got to have gall if hehas nothing else. I think we shall suit each other."

  "What is the job?"

  The little man's face showed doubt and perplexity.

  "It's awkward. If I'm to make the thing clear to you I've got totrust you. And I don't know a thing about you. I wish I hadthought of that before I inserted the advertisement."

  Ashe appreciated the difficulty.

  "Couldn't you make an A--B case out of it?"

  "Maybe I could if I knew what an A--B case was."

  "Call the people mixed up in it A and B."

  "And forget, halfway through, who was which! No; I guess I'llhave to trust you."

  "I'll play square."

  The little man fastened his eyes on Ashe's in a piercing stare.Ashe met them smilingly. His spirits, always fairly cheerful, hadrisen high by now. There was something about the little man, inspite of his brusqueness and ill temper, which made him feelflippant.

  "Pure white!" said Ashe.

  "Eh?"

  "My soul! And this"--he thumped the left section of hiswaistcoat--"solid gold. You may fire when ready, Gridley.Proceed, professor."

  "I don't know where to begin."

  "Without presuming to dictate, why not at the beginning?"

  "It's all so darned complicated that I don't rightly know whichis the beginning. Well, see here . . . I collect scarabs. I'mcrazy about scarabs. Ever since I quit business, you might saythat I have practically lived for scarabs."

  "Though it sounds like an unkind thing to say of anyone," saidAshe. "Incidentally, what are scarabs?" He held up his hand."Wait! It all comes back to me. Expensive classical education,now bearing belated fruit. Scarabaeus--Latin; noun, nominative--abeetle. Scarabaee--vocative--O you beetle! Scarabaeum--accusative--the beetle. Scarabaei--of the beetle. Scarabaeo--toor for the beetle. I remember now. Egypt--Rameses--pyramids--sacred scarabs! Right!"

  "Well, I guess I've gotten together the best collection ofscarabs outside the British Museum, and some of them are worthwhat you like to me. I don't reckon money when it comes to aquestion of my scarabs. Do you understand?"

  "Sure, Mike!"

  Displeasure clouded the little man's face.

  "My name is not Mike."

  "I used the word figuratively, as it were."

  "Well, don't do it again. My name is J. Preston Peters, and Mr.Peters will do as well as anything else when you want to attractmy attention."

  "Mine is Marson. You were saying, Mr. Peters--?"

  "Well, it's this way," said the little man.

  Shakespeare and Pope have both emphasized the tediousness of atwice-told tale; the Episode Of the Stolen Scarab need not berepeated at this point, though it must be admitted that Mr.Peters' version of it differed considerably from the calm,dispassionate description the author, in his capacity of officialhistorian, has given earlier in the story.

  In Mr. Peters' version the Earl of Emsworth appeared as a smoothand purposeful robber, a sort of elderly Raffles, worming his wayinto the homes of the innocent, and only sparing that portion oftheir property which was too heavy for him to carry away. Mr.Peters, indeed, specifically described the Earl of Emsworth as anoily old second-story man.

  It took Ashe some little time to get a thorough grasp of thetangled situation; but he did it at last.

  Only one point perplexed him.

  "You want to hire somebody to go to this castle and get thisscarab back for you. I follow that. But why must he go as yourvalet?"

  "That's simple enough. You don't think I'm asking him to buy ablack mask and break in, do you? I'm making it as easy for him aspossible. I can't take a secretary down to the castle, foreverybody knows that, now I've retired, I haven't got asecretary; and if I engaged a new one and he was caught trying tosteal my scarab from the earl's collection, it would looksuspicious. But a valet is different. Anyone can get fooled by acrook valet with bogus references."

  "I see. There's just one other point: Suppose your accomplicedoes get caught--what then?"

  "That," said Mr. Peters, "is the catch; and it's just because ofthat I am offering good pay to my man. We'll suppose, for thesake of argument, that you accept the contract and get caught.Well, if that happens you've got to look after yourself. Icouldn't say a word. If I did it would all come out, and so faras the breaking off of my daughter's engagement to youngThreepwood is concerned, it would be just as bad as though I hadtried to get the thing back myself.

  "You've got to bear that in mind. You've got to remember it ifyou forget everything else. I don't appear in this business inany way whatsoever. If you get caught you take what's coming toyou without a word. You can't turn round and say: 'I am innocent.Mr. Peters will explain all'--because Mr. Peters certainly won't.Mr. Peters won't utter a syllable of protest if they want to hangyou.

  "No; if you go into this, young man, you go into it with youreyes open. You go into it with a full understanding of therisks--because you think the reward, if you are successful, makesthe taking of those risks worth while. You and I know that whatyou are doing isn't really stealing; it's simply a tactful way ofgetting back my own property. But the judge and jury will havedifferent views."

  "I am beginning to understand," said Ashe thoughtfully, "why youcalled the job delicate and dangerous."

  Certainly it had been no overstatement. As a writer of detectivestories for the British office boy, he had imagined in his timemany undertakings that might be so described, but few to which
the description was more admirably suited.

  "It is," said Mr. Peters; "and that is why I'm offering good pay.Whoever carries this job through gets one thousand pounds."

  Ashe started.

  "One thousand pounds--five thousand dollars!"

  "Five thousand."

  "When do I begin?"

  "You'll do it?"

  "For five thousand dollars I certainly will."

  "With your eyes open?"

  "Wide open!"

  A look of positive geniality illuminated Mr. Peters' pinchedfeatures. He even went so far as to pat Ashe on the shoulder.

  "Good boy!" he said. "Meet me at Paddington Station at fouro'clock on Friday. And if there's anything more you want to knowcome round to this address."

  There remained the telling of Joan Valentine; for it wasobviously impossible not to tell her. When you haverevolutionized your life at the bidding of another you cannotwell conceal the fact, as though nothing had happened. Ashe hadnot the slightest desire to conceal the fact. On the contrary, hewas glad to have such a capital excuse for renewing theacquaintance.

  He could not tell her, of course, the secret details of thething. Naturally those must remain hidden. No, he would just goairily in and say:

  "You know what you told me about doing something new? Well, I'vejust got a job as a valet."

  So he went airily in and said it.

  "To whom?" said Joan.

  "To a man named Peters--an American."

  Women are trained from infancy up to conceal their feelings. Joandid not start or otherwise express emotion.

  "Not Mr. J. Preston Peters?"

  "Yes. Do you know him? What a remarkable thing."

  "His daughter," said Joan, "has just engaged me as a lady'smaid."

  "What!"

  "It will not be quite the same thing as three years ago," Joanexplained. "It is just a cheap way of getting a holiday. I usedto know Miss Peters very well, you see. It will be more liketraveling as her guest."

  "But--but--" Ashe had not yet overcome his amazement.

  "Yes?"

  "But what an extraordinary coincidence!"

  "Yes. By the way, how did you get the situation? And what put itinto your head to be a valet at all? It seems such a curiousthing for you to think of doing."

  Ashe was embarrassed.

  "I--I--well, you see, the experience will be useful to me, ofcourse, in my writing."

  "Oh! Are you thinking of taking up my line of work? Dukes?"

  "No, no--not exactly that."

  "It seems so odd. How did you happen to get in touch with Mr.Peters?"

  "Oh, I answered an advertisement."

  "I see."

  Ashe was becoming conscious of an undercurrent of something notaltogether agreeable in the conversation. It lacked the gay easeof their first interview. He was not apprehensive lest she mighthave guessed his secret. There was, he felt, no possible means bywhich she could have done that. Yet the fact remained that thosekeen blue eyes of hers were looking at him in a peculiar andpenetrating manner. He felt damped.

  "It will be nice, being together," he said feebly.

  "Very!" said Joan.

  There was a pause.

  "I thought I would come and tell you."

  "Quite so."

  There was another pause.

  "It seems so funny that you should be going out as a lady'smaid."

  "Yes?"

  "But, of course, you have done it before."

  "Yes."

  "The really extraordinary thing is that we should be going to thesame people."

  "Yes."

  "It--it's remarkable, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  Ashe reflected. No; he did not appear to have any further remarksto make.

  "Good-by for the present," he said.

  "Good-by."

  Ashe drifted out. He was conscious of a wish that he understoodgirls. Girls, in his opinion, were odd.

  When he had gone Joan Valentine hurried to the door and, havingopened it an inch, stood listening. When the sound of his doorclosing came to her she ran down the stairs and out into ArundellStreet. She went to the Hotel Mathis.

  "I wonder," she said to the sad-eyed waiter, "if you have a copyof the Morning Post?"

  The waiter, a child of romantic Italy, was only too anxious tooblige youth and beauty. He disappeared and presently returnedwith a crumpled copy. Joan thanked him with a bright smile.

  Back in her room, she turned to the advertisement pages. She knewthat life was full of what the unthinking call coincidences; butthe miracle of Ashe having selected by chance the father of AlinePeters as an employer was too much of a coincidence for her.Suspicion furrowed her brow.

  It did not take her long to discover the advertisement that hadsent Ashe hurrying in a taxicab to the offices of Messrs.Mainprice, Mainprice & Boole. She had been looking for somethingof the kind.

  She read it through twice and smiled. Everything was very clearto her. She looked at the ceiling above her and shook her head.

  "You are quite a nice young man, Mr. Marson," she said softly;"but you mustn't try to jump my claim. I dare say you need thatmoney too; but I'm afraid you must go without. I am going to haveit--and nobody else!"