'No, sir.'
'Scarcely germane.'
'Quite so, sir.'
'Then carry on, Jeeves.'
'Very good, sir. So in the end, acting upon his own initiative, the constable arrived at the conclusion that as secure a place as any would be the potting-shed, the larger potting-shed ...'
'We understand, Jeeves. The one with the tiled roof
'Precisely, sir. He, therefore, placed Sir Roderick in the larger potting-shed, and remained on guard there throughout the remainder of the night. Some little time ago, the gardeners came on duty and the constable, summoning one of them – a young fellow named ...'
'All right, Jeeves.'
'Very good, sir. Summoning this young fellow, he dispatched him to the temporary residence of Sergeant Voules in the hope that the latter would now be sufficiently restored to be able to interest himself in the matter. Such, it appears, was the case. A night's sleep, acting in conjunction with a naturally robust constitution, had enabled Sergeant Voules to rise at his usual hour and partake of a hearty breakfast.'
'Breakfast!' I couldn't help murmuring in spite of my iron self-control. The word had touched an exposed nerve in Bertram.
'On receiving the communication, Sergeant Voules hastened to the Hall to interview his lordship.'
'Why his lordship?'
'His lordship is a Justice of the Peace, sir.'
'Of course, yes.'
'And, as such, has the power to commit the prisoner to incarceration in a more recognized prison. He is waiting in the library now, m'lord, till your lordship is at leisure to see him.'
If the word 'breakfast' was, as it were, the key word that had the power to set Bertram Wooster a-quiver, it appeared that 'prison' was the one that tickled old Stoker up properly. He uttered a hideous cry.
'But how can he be in prison? What's he got to do with prisons? Why does this fool of a cop think he ought to be in prison?'
'The charge, I understand, sir, is one of burglary.'
'Burglary!'
'Yes, sir.'
Old Stoker looked so piteously at me – why me, I don't know, but he did – that I nearly patted him on the head. In fact, I might quite easily have done so, had not my hand been stayed by a sudden noise in my rear like that made by a frightened hen or a rising pheasant. The Dowager Lady Chuffnell had come charging into the room.
'Marmaduke!' she cried, and I can give no better indication of her emotion than by saying that as she spoke her eyes rested on my face and it made no impression on her whatsoever. For all the notice she took of it, I might have been the Great White Chief. 'Marmaduke, I have the most terrible news. Roderick ...'
'All right,' said Chuffy, a little petulantly, I thought. 'We've had it too. Jeeves is just telling us.'
'But what are we to do?'
'I don't know.'
'And it is all my fault, all my fault.'
'Oh, don't say that, Aunt Myrtle,' said Chuffy, rattled but still preux. 'You couldn't have helped it.'
'I could. I could. I shall never forgive myself. If it had not been for me, he would never have gone out of the house with that black stuff on his face.'
I was really sorry for poor old Stoker. One thing after another, I mean to say. His eyes came out of his head like a snail's.
'Black stuff?' he gurgled faintly.
'He had covered his face with burnt cork to amuse Seabury'
Old Stoker tottered to a chair and sank into it. He seemed to be thinking that this was one of those stories you could listen to better sitting down.
'You can only remove the horrible stuff with butter ...'
'And petrol, so the cognoscenti tell me,' I couldn't help putting in. I like to keep these things straight. 'You support me, Jeeves? Petrol does the trick?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well, petrol, then. Petrol or butter. At any rate, it was to get something that would take the stuff off that he must have broken into this house. And now...!'
She cheesed it in mid-sentence, deeply moved. Not, however, any more deeply than old Stoker, who seemed to be more or less passing through the furnace.
'This is the finish,' he said, in a sort of pale voice. 'This is where I drop fifty million dollars and try to like it. A lot of use any testimony in a lunacy case is going to be from a fellow who gets himself pinched while wandering around the country in black face. Why, there isn't a judge in America who wouldn't rule out anything he said on the ground that he was crazy himself.'
Lady Chuffnell quivered.
'But he did it to please my son.'
'Anybody who would do anything to please a young hound like that,' said old Stoker, 'must have been crazy.'
He emitted a mirthless laugh.
'Well, the joke's on me, all right. Yes, the joke's certainly on me. I stake everything on the evidence of this man Glossop. I rely on him to save my fifty million by testifying that old George wasn't loco. And two minutes after I've put him on the stand, the other side'll come right back at me by showing that my expert is a loony himself, loonier than ever old George could have been if he'd tried for a thousand years. It's funny when you come to think of it. Ironical. Reminds one of that thing about Lo somebody's name led all the rest.'
Jeeves coughed. He had that informative gleam of his in his eyes.
'Abou ben Adhem, sir.'
'Have I what? said old Stoker, puzzled.
'The poem to which you allude relates to a certain Abou ben Adhem, who, according to the story, awoke one night from a deep dream of peace to find an angel ...'
'Get out!' said old Stoker, very quietly.
'Sir?'
'Get out of this room before I murder you.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And take your angels with you.'
'Very good, sir.'
The door closed. Old Stoker puffed out his breath in a stricken sort of way.
'Angels!' he said. At a time like this!'
I felt it only fair to stick up for Jeeves.
'He was perfectly right,' I said. 'I used to know the thing by heart at school. This cove found an angel sitting by his bed, writing in a book, don't you know, an the upshot of the whole affair was ... Oh, all right, if you don't want to hear.'
I withdrew to a corner of the room and picked up a photograph album. A Wooster does not thrust his conversation upon the unwilling.
From some time after this there was a good deal of what you might call mixed chatter, in which – through dudgeon – I took no part. Everybody talked at once, and nobody said anything that you could have described as being in the least constructive. Except old Stoker, who proved that I had been right in thinking that he must at one time have been a pirate of the Spanish or some other Main by coming boldly out with a suggestion for a rescue party.
'What's the matter,' he wanted to know, 'with going and breaking the door down and getting him out and smuggling him away and hiding him somewhere and letting these darned cops run circles round themselves, trying to find him?'
Chuffy demurred.
'We couldn't.'
'Why not?'
'You heard Jeeves say Dobson was on guard.'
'Bat him over the head with a shovel.'
Chuffy didn't seem to like this idea much. I suppose, if you're a JP, you have to be careful what you do. Bat policemen over the head with shovels, and the County looks askance.
'Well, darn it, then, bribe him.'
'You can't bribe an English policeman.'
'You mean that?'
'Not a chance.'
'My God, what a country!' said old Stoker, with a sort of whistling groan, and you could see that he would never be able to feel quite the same towards England again.
My dudgeon melted. We Woosters are human, and the spectacle of so much anguish in a moderately sized room was too much for me. I crossed to the fire-place and pressed the bell. With the result that just as old Stoker was beginning to say what he thought about the English policeman, the door opened and there was Jeeves.
Old Stoker eyed him balefully.
'You back?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well?'
'Sir?'
'What do you want?'
'The bell rang, sir.'
Chuffy did another spot of hand-waving.
'No, no, Jeeves. Nobody rang.'
I stepped forward.
'I rang, Chuffy.'
'What for?'
'For Jeeves.'
'We don't want Jeeves.'
'Chuffy, old man,' I said, and those present were, no doubt, thrilled by the quiet gravity of my tone, 'if there could ever be a time when you wanted Jeeves more than you do now, I ...' I lost the thread of my remarks, and had to start again. 'Chuffy,' I said, 'what I'm driving at is that there is only one man who can get you out of this mess. He stands before you. I mean Jeeves,' I said, to make the thing clearer. 'You know as well as I do that on these occasions Jeeves always finds the way.'
Chuffy was plainly impressed. I could see that memory had begun to stir, and that he was recalling some of the man's triumphs.
'By Jove, yes. That's right. He does, doesn't he?'
'He does, indeed.'
I shot a quelling glance at old Stoker, who had started to say something about angels, and turned to the man.
'Jeeves,' I said, 'we require your co-operation and advice.'
'Very good, sir.'
'To begin with, let me give you a brief synopsis ... do I mean synopsis?'
'Yes, sir. Synopsis is perfectly correct.'
'... a brief synopsis, then, of the position of affairs. I have no doubt that you recall the late Mr George Stoker. That cable you brought just now was to say that his will, under the terms of which Mr Stoker here has benefited so considerably, is being contested on the ground that the testator was as goofy as a coot.'
'Yes, sir.'
'In rebuttal of this, Mr Stoker had intended to bung Sir Roderick Glossop into the witness box to testify as an expert that old George was Grade A in the sanity line. Not a gibber in him, if you see what I mean. And in ordinary circs this move could not have failed. It would have brought home the bacon infallibly.'
'Yes, sir.'
'But, and this is the nub of the thing, Jeeves – Sir Roderick is now in the potting-shed – the larger potting-shed – with his face covered with burnt cork and a sharp sentence for burglary staring him in the eyeball. You see how this weakens him as a force?'
'Yes, sir.'
'In this world, Jeeves, you can do one of two things. You can set yourself up as a final authority on whether your fellow man is sane or not, or you can go blacking your face and getting put in potting-sheds. You cannot do both. So what is to be done, Jeeves?'
'I would suggest removing Sir Roderick from the shed, sir.'
I turned to the meeting.
'There! Didn't I tell you Jeeves would find the way?'
One dissentient voice. Old Stoker's. He seemed bent on heckling.
'Remove him from the shed, yes?' he said, and in an exceedingly nasty voice. 'How? With a team of angels?'
He started his buffalo imitations again, and I had to shush him pretty firmly.
'Can you remove Sir R from the s., Jeeves?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You are convinced of this?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You have already formulated a plan or scheme?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I take it all back,' said old Stoker reverently. 'Forget I said it. Get me out of this jam and you can come and wake me up in the night and talk about angels, if you want.'
'Thank you, sir. By removing Sir Roderick before he is actually brought into the presence of his lordship, sir,' proceeded Jeeves, 'we shall, I think, obviate all unpleasantness. His identity is not yet known to either Constable Dobson or Sergeant Voules. The constable had never seen him before their meeting last night, and assumes that he is a member of the troupe of negroid minstrels who performed on Mr Stoker's yacht. Sergeant Voules is under the same impression. We have, therefore, only to release Sir Roderick before the matter is gone further into, and all will be well.'
I followed him.
'I follow you, Jeeves,' I said.
'If you will allow me, sir, I will now sketch out the method which I would advocate for accomplishing this end.'
'Yes,' said old Stoker. 'What is this method? Spill it.'
I held up a hand. A thought had struck me.
'Wait, Jeeves,' I said. 'Just one moment.'
I fixed old Stoker with a compelling eye.
'Before we go any further, there are two things to be settled. Do you give your solemn word to purchase Chuffnell Hall from old Chuffy here at a price to be agreed upon between the two contracting parties?'
'Yes, yes, yes. Let's get on.'
'And you consent to the union of your daughter Pauline with old Chuffy, and none of that rot about her marrying me?'
'Sure, sure!'
'Jeeves,' I said, 'you may speak.'
I stepped back, and gave him the floor – noting, as I did so, that his eye was a-gleam with the light of pure intelligence. His head, as usual, bulged out at the back.
'Having given this matter a good deal of consideration, sir, I have come to the conclusion that the chief difficulty that confronts us in our attempt upon our objective lies in the presence before the entrance of the potting-shed of Constable Dobson.'
'Very true, Jeeves.'
'He represents the crux, if I may say so.'
'Certainly you may say so, Jeeves. Another way of putting it would be "the snag"?'
'Precisely, sir. Our first move, accordingly, must be to eliminate Constable Dobson.'
'That's what I said,' put in old Stoker rather querulously. And you wouldn't listen to me.'
I squelched him.
'You wanted to hit him over the head with a spade or something. All wrong. What is needed here is ... what's the word, Jeeves?'
'Finesse, sir.'
'Exactly. Carry on, Jeeves.'
'This, in my opinion, may be readily accomplished by sending word to him that the parlourmaid, Mary, wishes to see him in the raspberry bushes.'
I was stunned by the man's sagacity, but not so stunned as to be unable to turn to the others and add an explanatory footnote.
'This Mary, this parlourmaid,' I said, 'is betrothed to the blighter Dobson, and while I have only seen her in the distance, I can testify that she is exactly the sort of girl any red-blooded constable would come leaping into the raspberry bushes to meet. Full of sex appeal, eh, Jeeves?'
'An exceedingly attractive young woman, sir. And I think that we might make matters even more certain by including in the message a word to the effect that she had a cup of coffee and a ham sandwich for him. The constable, I find, has not yet breakfasted.'
I winced.
'Skim lightly over this bit, Jeeves. I am not made of marble.'
'I beg your pardon, sir. I was forgetting.'
'Quite all right, Jeeves. You will have to square Mary, of course?'
'No, sir. I have been canvassing her views, and I find that she is extremely eager to convey refreshment to the officer. I would suggest giving her a message – ostensibly from the latter – to the effect that he is waiting at the spot indicated.'
I had to interrupt.
'A snag, Jeeves. A crux, in fact. If he wanted food, why wouldn't he come straight to the house?'
'He would be apprehensive of being observed by Sergeant Voules, sir. He is under strict orders from his superior to remain at his post.'
'Then would he leave it?' asked Chuffy.
'My dear old man,' I said. 'He has not yet breakfasted. And this girl will be dripping with coffee and ham sandwiches. Don't hold up the run of the dialogue with foolish questions. Yes, Jeeves?'
'In his absence, sir, it would be a simple task to remove Sir Roderick and lead him to some place of concealment. His lordship's bedroom suggests itself
'And Dobson wouldn't have the nerve to confess that he had abandoned the post of d
uty. That's what you're driving at?'
'Precisely, sir, his lips would be sealed.'
Old Stoker shoved himself forward again.
'No good,' he said. 'Wouldn't work. I'm not saying we couldn't get Glossop away, but the cops would see that there had been funny business. Their man would have gone, and they'd figure it out that somebody had got him away. They would put two and two together and get wise to us having done it. Last night, for example, on my yacht ...'
He stopped, not wishing, I suppose, to disinter the dead past, but I saw what he meant. When I had got away from the yacht, it hadn't taken him long to see that Jeeves must have been at the bottom of it.
'It's a point, Jeeves,' I was bound to say. 'The constabulary might not be able to do anything definite, but they would talk about it, and before we knew where we were, the story would be out that Sir Roderick had been roaming around with his face blacked up. The local paper would get hold of it. One of those gossip-writers you find at the Drones, always waiting with their ears flapping for good stuff about the eminent, would hear of it, and then we should be just as badly off as if the old boy went and picked oakum at Dartmoor or somewhere for years.'
'No, sir. The officers would find a prisoner in the shed. I would advocate substituting you for Sir Roderick.'
I stared at the man.
'Me?'
'It is vital, if I may be allowed to point it out, sir, that a black-faced prisoner be found in the shed when the moment arrives for the accused to be conducted before his lordship.'
'But I don't look like old Glossop. We're built on different lines. Me – slender and willowy; him ... well, I don't wish to say anything derogatory concerning one who is bound to the aunt of an old friend by ties warmer than those of ... well, what I'm driving at is that you couldn't by any stretch of the imag. call him slender and willowy.'
'You are forgetting, sir, that only Constable Dobson has actually seen the prisoner; and his lips, as I say, will be sealed.'
It was true. I had forgotten that.
'Yes, but, Jeeves, dash it, anxious as I am to bring aid and comfort to this stricken home, I'm not so bally keen on doing five years in the jug for burglary.'
'There is no danger of that, sir. The building into which Sir Roderick was breaking at the moment of his arrest was your own garage.'
'But, Jeeves. Reflect. Consider. Review the position. Am I supposed to have allowed myself to be pinched for breaking into my own garage and shut up in a shed all night without saying a word? It isn't ... what is it ... it isn't plausible.'