The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 2: (Jeeves & Wooster): No. 2 (43 page)

My composure was somewhat restored – not altogether, but somewhat – when the dim f. spoke, and I recognized Jeeves’s voice.

‘GOOD EVENING, SIR,’
he said.

‘Good evening, Jeeves,’ I responded.

‘You gave me quite a start, sir.’

‘Nothing to the one you gave me. I thought the top of my head had come off.’

‘I am sorry to have been the cause of you experiencing any discomfort, sir. I was unable to herald my approach, the encounter being quite unforeseen. You are up late, sir.’

‘Yes.’

‘One could scarcely desire more delightful conditions for a nocturnal ramble.’

‘That is your view, is it?’

‘It is indeed, sir. I always feel that nothing is so soothing as a walk in a garden at night.’

‘Ha!’

‘The cool air. The scent of growing things. That is tobacco plant which you can smell, sir.’

‘Is it?’

‘The stars, sir.’

‘Stars?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘What about them?’

‘I was merely directing your attention to them, sir. Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.’

‘Jeeves –’

‘There’s not the smallest orb which thou beholdest, sir, but in his motion like an angel sings, still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims.’

‘Jeeves –’

‘Such harmony is in immortal souls. But whilst this muddy vesture of decay doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.’

‘Jeeves –’

‘Sir?’

‘You couldn’t possibly switch it off, could you?’

‘Certainly, sir, if you wish it.’

‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘You know how one isn’t, sometimes.’

‘Yes, sir. I quite understand. I procured the brooch, sir.’

‘Brooch?’

‘The one which you wished me to purchase in place of the trinket lost in the fire, sir. Lady Florence’s birthday present.’

‘Oh, ah.’ It will give you some rough indication of how what he had called this nocturnal ramble of mine had affected me, when I say that I had completely forgotten about the damn’ thing. ‘You got it, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And handed it in?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. That’s off my mind, then. And, believe me, Jeeves, the more I can get off my mind at this juncture, the better I shall like it, because it’s already loaded down well above the Plimsoll mark.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, sir.’

‘Do you know why I’m prowling about this garden?’

‘I was hoping that you might enlighten me, sir.’

‘I will. This is no careless saunter on which you find me engaged, Jeeves, but an enterprise whose consequences may well stagger humanity.’

He listened attentively while I sketched out the events which had led up to the tragedy, interrupting only with a respectful intake of the breath as I spoke of Uncle Percy, Boko and the Joke Goods. It was plain that my story had gripped him.

‘An eccentric young gentleman, Mr Fittleworth, sir,’ was his comment, as I concluded.

‘Loony to the eyebrows,’ I agreed.

‘The scheme which he had formulated is not, however, without its ingenuity. His lordship would undoubtedly be most grateful to anyone whom he supposed to have foiled a raid on the premises on this particular night. I happen to be aware that, despite her ladyship’s repeated instructions to him to attend to the matter, he forgot to post the letter renewing his burglary insurance.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I had the facts from his lordship in person, sir. Ascertaining that I was about to drive to London this afternoon, he gave me the communication to dispatch in the metropolitan area, so that it
should
reach its destination tomorrow morning by the first delivery. His emotion, as he urged me not to fail him and alluded to what her ladyship would say if she ever discovered his negligence, was very noticeable. He shook visibly.’

I was amazed.

‘You don’t mean he’s scared of Aunt Agatha?’

‘Intensely, sir.’

‘A tough bird like him? Practically a bucko mate of a tramp steamer?’

‘Even bucko mates stand in awe of the captains of their vessels, sir.’

‘Well, you absolutely astound me. I should have thought that if ever there was a bimbo who was master in his own home, that bimbo was Percival, Lord Worplesdon.’

‘I am inclined to doubt whether the gentleman exists who could be master in a home that contained her ladyship, sir.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I breathed deeply. For the first time since Boko had outlined the night’s programme, I was conscious of a relaxation of the strain. It would be paltering with the truth to say that even now Bertram Wooster looked forward with any actual relish to busting that scullery window, but it was stimulating to feel that the action was likely to produce solid results.

‘Then you think this scheme of Boko’s will drag home the gravy?’

‘Quite conceivably, sir.’

‘That’s a comfort.’

‘On the other hand –’

‘Oh, golly, Jeeves. What’s wrong now?’

‘I was merely about to say that Mr Fittleworth has selected a somewhat unfortunate moment for his enterprise, sir. It tends to clash with his lordship’s arrangements.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘By an unfortunate coincidence, his lordship will in a few moments from now be proceeding to the potting shed to confer with Mr Chichester Clam.’

‘Chichester Clam?’

‘Yes, sir.’

I shook the head.

‘I think the strain to which I have been subject must have affected my hearing. You sound to me just as if you were saying Chichester Clam.’

‘Yes, sir. Mr J. Chichester Clam, managing director of the Clam Line.’

‘What on earth’s a clam line?’

‘The shipping line, sir, which, if you remember is on the eve of being merged with his lordship’s Pink Funnel.’

I got it at last.

‘You mean the chap Uncle Percy is trying to get together with? The ancient mariner from America?’

‘Precisely, sir. Owing to the conflagration at Wee Nooke, it became necessary to think of some other spot where the two gentlemen could meet and discuss their business without fear of interruption.’

‘And you chose the potting shed?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘God bless you, Jeeves.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Is this bird in the potting shed now?’

‘I should be disposed to imagine so, sir. When I motored to London this afternoon, it was with instructions for his lordship to establish telephonic communication with Mr Clam at his hotel and urge him to hasten to Steeple Bumpleigh and be in the potting shed half an hour after midnight. The gentleman expressed complete understanding and agreement, and assured me that he would drive down in good time to keep the appointment.’

I could not repress a pang of gentle pity for this hand across the sea. Born and brought up in America, he would, of course, not have the slightest idea of the sort of place Steeple Bumpleigh was and what he was letting himself in for in going there. I couldn’t, offhand, say what Steeple Bumpleigh was saving up for Chichester Clam, but obviously he was headed for a sticky evening.

I saw, too, what Jeeves meant about Boko having selected an unfortunate moment for his enterprise.

‘Half an hour after midnight? It must be nearly that now.’

‘Exactly that, sir.’

‘Then Uncle Percy will be manifesting himself at any moment.’

‘If I am not mistaken, sir, this would be his lordship whom you can hear approaching.’

And, sure enough, from somewhere to the nor’-nor’-east there came the sound of some solid object shuffling through the night.

I inhaled in quick concern.

‘Egad, Jeeves!’

‘Sir?’

‘’Tis he!’

‘Yes, sir.’

I mused a moment.

‘Well,’ I said, though not liking the prospect and wishing that the civility could have been avoided, ‘I suppose I’d better pass the
time
of day. What ho,’ I continued, as he came abreast. ‘What ho, what ho!’

I must say the results were not unpleasing – to a man, I mean, who, like myself, had twice tonight been forced to skip like the hills on finding himself unexpectedly addressed from the shadows. Watching the relative soar skywards with a wordless squeak, obviously startled out of a year’s growth, I was conscious of a distinct sensation of getting a bit of my own back. I felt that, whatever might befall, I was at least that much to the good.

In introducing this uncle by marriage, I showed him to be a man who, in moments of keen emotion, had a tendency to say ‘What?’ and keep on saying it. He did so now.

‘What? What? What? What? What?’ he ejaculated, making five in all. ‘What?’ he added, bringing it up to the round half dozen.

‘Lovely evening, Uncle Percy,’ I said, hoping by the exercise of suavity to keep the conversation on an amicable plane. ‘Jeeves and I were just talking about the stars. What was it you said about the stars, Jeeves?’

‘I alluded to the fact that there was not the smallest orb which did not sing in its motion like an angel, still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims, sir.’

‘That’s right. Worth knowing, that, eh, Uncle Percy?’

During these exchanges, the relative had been going on saying ‘What?’ in a sort of strangled voice, as if still finding it a bit hard to cope with the pressure of events. He now came forward and peered at me, feasting the eyes as far as was possible in the uncertain light.

‘You!’ he said, with a kind of gasp, like some strong swimmer in his agony. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

‘Just sauntering.’

‘Then go and saunter somewhere else, damn it.’

The Woosters are quick to take a hint, and are generally able to spot when our presence is not desired. Reading between the lines, I could see that he was wishing me elsewhere.

‘Right ho, Uncle Percy,’ I said, still maintaining the old suavity, and was about to withdraw, when another of those voices which seemed to be so common in these parts spoke in my immediate rear, causing me to equal, if not to improve upon, the old relative’s recent standing high jump.

‘What’s all this?’ it said, and with what is sometimes called a sickening qualm I perceived that it was Stilton who had joined our little group. Boko had been completely wrong about the man. Rosy though his cheeks may have been, here was no eight-hour slumberer, who had to be brought to life by alarm clocks, but a vigilant guardian of the peace who was always up and doing, working while others slept.

Stilton was looking gruesomely official. His helmet gleamed in the starlight. His regulation boots had settled themselves solidly into the turf. I rather think he had got his notebook out.

‘What’s all this?’ he repeated.

I suppose Uncle Percy was still feeling a bit edgy. Nothing else could have explained the crisp, mouth-filling expletive which now proceeded from him like a shot out of a gun. It sounded to me like something he must have picked up from one of the sea captains in his employment. These rugged mariners always have excellent vocabularies, and no doubt they frequently drop in at the office on their return from a voyage and teach them something new.

‘What the devil do you mean, what’s all this? And who the devil are you to come trespassing in my grounds, asking what’s all this? What’s all this yourself? What,’ proceeded Uncle Percy, warming to his work, ‘are you doing here, you great oaf? I suppose you’re just sauntering, too? Good God! I try to enjoy a quiet stroll in my garden, and before I can so much as inhale a breath of air I find it crawling with nephews and policemen. I come out to be alone with Nature, and the first thing I know I can’t move for the crowd. What is this place? Piccadilly Circus? Hampstead Heath on Bank Holiday? The spot chosen for the annual outing of the police force?’

I saw his point. Nothing is more annoying to a man who is seeking privacy than to discover that, without knowing it, he had thrown his grounds open to the public. In addition to which, of course, Chichester Clam was waiting for him in the potting shed.

The acerbity of his tone had not been lost on Stilton. Well, I mean to say, it couldn’t very well have been. That expletive alone would have been enough to tell him that he was not a welcome visitor. I could see that he was piqued. His was in many ways a haughty spirit, and it was plain that he resented this brusqueness. From the fact that the top of his helmet moved sharply in the direction of the stars, I knew that he had drawn himself to his full height.

He found himself, however, in a somewhat embarrassing position. He could not come back with anything really snappy, Uncle Percy being a Justice of the Peace and, as such, able to put it across him
like
the dickens if he talked out of his turn. Besides being his future father-in-law. He was compelled, accordingly, to temper his resentment with a modicum of reserve and to take it out in stiffness of manner.

‘I am sorry –’

‘No use being sorry. Thing is not to do it, blast it.’

‘– to intrude –’

‘Then stop intruding.’

‘– but I am here in the performance of my duty.’

‘What do you mean? Never heard such nonsense.’

‘I received a telephone call just now, desiring me to proceed to the Hall immediately.’

‘Telephone call? Telephone call? What rot! At this time of night? Who telephoned you?’

I suppose that stiff, official manner is difficult to keep up. Quite a bit of a strain, probably. At any rate, Stilton now lapsed from it.

‘Young ruddy Edwin,’ he replied sullenly.

‘My son Edwin?’

‘Yes. He said he had seen a burglar in the grounds.’

A spasm seemed to pass through Uncle Percy. The word ‘burglar’ had plainly touched a chord. He spun round with passionate gesture.

‘Jeeves!’

‘M’lord?’

‘Did you post that letter?’

‘Yes, m’lord.’

‘Phew!’ said Uncle Percy, and mopped his brow.

He was still mopping it, when there came the sound of galloping feet and somebody started giving tongue in the darkness.

‘Hi! Hi! Hi! Wake up, everybody. Turn out the guard. I’ve caught a burglar in the potting shed.’

The voice was Boko’s, and with another pang of pity I realized that J. Chichester Clam’s troubles had begun. He knew now what happened to people who came to Steeple Bumpleigh.