by Unknown
A moment later, my conjecture was proved correct. A little procession came into view, crossing the strip of lawn outside the study. Heading it was Boko, looking less debonair than I have sometimes seen him. Following him came a man of garden-eresque appearance, armed with a pitchfork and accompanied by a dog of uncertain breed. The rear was brought up by Uncle Percy, waving a cigar menacingly like the angel expelling Adam from the Garden of Eden.
It was he who seemed to be doing most of the talking. From time to time, Boko would look around, as if about to say something, but whatever eloquence he may have been intending was checked by the expression on the face of the dog, which was that of one fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils, and the fact that the pitchfork to which I have alluded was almost touching the seat of his trousers.
Half-way across the lawn, Uncle Percy detached himself from the convoy and came stumping rapidly towards me, puffing emotionally at his cigar. Boko and his new friends continued in the direction of the drive.
After the painful shock, inevitable on seeing an old friend given the push from enclosed premises, my first thought, as you may have surmised, had been that there was nothing to keep me. The whole essence of the scheme to which I had consented to lend my services had been that Boko should be within earshot while I was making my observations to Uncle Percy, and nothing was clearer than that by the time the latter reached his sanctum he would have drifted away like thistledown.
I shot off, accordingly, not standing upon the order of my going but going at once, as the fellow said, and was making good progress when, as I approached the door, I suddenly observed that there hung over it a striking portrait of Aunt Agatha, from the waist upwards. In making my entrance, I had, of course, missed this, but there it had been all the time, and now it caught my eye and halted me in my tracks as if I had run into a lamppost.
It was the work of one of those artists who reveal the soul of the sitter, and it had revealed so much of Aunt Agatha’s soul that for all practical purposes it might have been that danger to traffic in person. Indeed, I came within an ace of saying ‘Oh, hullo!’ at the same moment when I could have sworn it said ‘Bertie!’ in that compelling voice which had so often rung in my ears and caused me to curl up in a ball in the hope that a meek subservience would enable me to get off lightly.
The weakness was, of course, merely a temporary one. A moment later, Bertram was himself again. But the pause had been long enough to allow Uncle Percy to come clumping into the room, and escape was now impossible. I remained, therefore, and stood shooting my cuffs, trusting that the action would induce fortitude. It does sometimes.
Uncle Percy appeared to be soliloquizing.
‘I trod on him! Trod on him! There he was, nestling in the grass, and I trod on him! It’s not enough that the fellow comes roaming my grounds uninvited at all hours of the night. He comes also by day, and reclines in my personal grass. No keeping him out, apparently. He oozes into the place like oil.’
Here, for the first time, he seemed to become aware of a nephew’s presence.
‘Bertie!’
‘Oh, hullo, Uncle Percy.’
‘My dear fellow! Just the chap I wanted to see.’
To say that I was surprised at this remark would be to portray my emotions but feebly. It absolutely knocked me endways.
I mean, consider the facts. Man and boy, I had known this old buzzard a matter of fifteen years, and not once during that period had he even hinted that my society held any attraction for him. In fact, on most of the occasions when we had foregathered, he had rather gone out of his way to indicate that the reverse was the case. I have already alluded to the episode of the hunting crop, and there had been other similar passages through the course of the years.
I have, I think, made it sufficiently clear that few harder eggs ever stepped out of the saucepan than this Percival, Lord Worplesdon. Rugged sea captains, accustomed to facing gales in the Western Ocean without a tremor, quivered like blancmanges when hauled up before him in his office and asked why the devil they had – or had not – ported the helm or spliced the main-brace during their latest voyage in his service. In disposition akin to a more than ordinarily short-tempered snapping turtle, he resembled in appearance a malevolent Aubrey Smith, and usually, when one encountered him, gave the impression of being just about to foam at the mouth.
Yet now he was gazing at me in a manner which, when you came to look closely and got past the bristling moustache, revealed itself as not only part human, but actually kindly. From the pain in the neck generally induced by the sight of Bertram Wooster he appeared to be absolutely free.
‘Who, me?’ I said, weakly, my amazement such that I was compelled to support myself against the terrestrial globe.
‘Yes, you. The very fellow. Have a drink, Bertie.’
I said something about it being a bit early, but he pooh-poohed the suggestion.
‘It’s never too early to have a drink, if you’ve been wading ankle deep in blasted Fittleworths. I was taking a stroll with my cigar, my mind deeply occupied with vital personal problems, and my foot came down on something squashy, and there the frightful chap was, reclining in the lush grass by the lake as if he had been a dashed field-mouse or something. If I had had a weak heart, it might have been the end of me.’
I couldn’t help mourning for Boko. I could picture what must have occurred. Making his way snakily towards the study window, he had heard Uncle Percy’s approach and had taken cover, little knowing that a moment later the latter’s number eleven foot was about to descend upon what – from the fact that the other had described it as squashy – must have been some tender portion of his anatomy. A nastyjar for the poor chap. A nastyjar for Uncle Percy, too, of course. In fact, one of those situations where the heart bleeds for both the party of the first part and the party of the second part.
‘Fittleworth!’ He shot an accusing glance at me. ‘Friend of yours, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, bosom.’
‘You would do well to choose your friends more carefully,’ he said, with the first lapse from that strange benevolence of his which he had yet shown.
I suppose this was really the moment for embarking upon an impassioned defence of Boko, stressing his admirable qualities. Not being able to think of any, however, I remained silent, and he carried on.
‘But never mind him. My gardening staff is seeing him off the premises, with strict orders to jab him in the seat of his pants with a pitchfork if he dares to offer the slightest resistance. I venture to think that these grounds will see less of him in the future. And, by George, that is what Bumpleigh Hall wants, to make it an earthly Paradise – fewer and better Fittleworths. Have a cigar, Bertie.’
‘I don’t think so, thanks.’
‘Nonsense. I can’t understand this in and out policy of yours with regard to my cigars. When I don’t want you to smoke them, you do – remember that hunting crop, eh, ha, ha? – and when I do want you to smoke them, you don’t. All silly nonsense. Put this in your face, you young rascal,’ he said, producing from the humidor something that looked like a torpedo, ‘and let’s have no more of this “I don’t think so, thanks.” I want you to be all relaxed and comfortable, because I have something very important to consult you about. Ah, bring it here, Maple.’
On the cue ‘It’s never too early to have a drink,’ I should have mentioned, he had pressed the bell, causing the butler to appear and book instruction. The latter had now re-entered with a halfbot from the oldest bin, and it was while genially uncorking this that the relative resumed his remarks.
‘Yes, never mind Fittleworth,’ he repeated, handing me a foaming goblet. ‘Let us dismiss him from our thoughts. I have other things to talk out. First and foremost . . . Cheerio, Bertie.’
‘Cheerio,’ I said, faintly.
‘Success to crime.’
‘Skin off your nose,’ I responded, still on the dazed side.
‘Mud in your eye,’ said this extraordinary changeling. ‘First a
nd foremost,’ he proceeded, passing a rapid glassful down the hatch, ‘I wish to express my appreciation of your spectacularly admirable conduct on the drive just now. I met Edwin out there, and he told me you had kicked him. A thing I’ve been wanting to do for years, but never had the nerve.’
Here he rose from his chair with outstretched hand, shook mine warmly and reseated himself.
‘Thinking over some of our recent meetings, Bertie,’ he said – I don’t say softly, because he couldn’t speak softly, but as softly as a chap who found it so difficult to speak softly could speak, ‘I fancy you may have run away with the idea that I was a bad-tempered, cross-grained old fellow. I believe I spoke harshly to you last night. You must overlook it. You must make allowances. You can’t judge a man with a son like Edwin by the same standards as men who haven’t got a son like Edwin. Did you happen to hear that he got me squarely with that infernal Scout’s stick of his last night?’
‘Me, too.’
‘Right on the—’
‘He got me on the head.’
‘Thinking I was a burglar, or some such nonsense. And when I wanted to take steps, Florence wouldn’t let me. You can imagine how I felt when I learned that you had kicked him. I wish I had seen it. Still, I gathered enough from his story to tell me that you behaved with notable gallantry and resource, and I don’t mind admitting, my boy, that the thing has completely revolutionized my opinion of you. For years I have been looking on you as a mere lackadaisical, spiritless young man about town. I see now how wrong I was. You have shown yourself to be possessed of the highest executive qualities, and I have decided that you are the chap to advise me in the crisis which has arisen in my affairs. I am in a painful dilemma, Bertie. It is absolutely essential that . . . But perhaps you have heard about it from Jeeves?’
‘He did give me a sort of outline.’
‘Chichester Clam?’
‘Yes.’
‘My vital need for meeting him in secret session?’
‘Yes.’
‘That clears the ground then. Never mind why it is so urgent for me to meet Chichester Clam in secret session. So long as you understand that it is, that is all that matters. He was the man in the potting shed last night.’
‘Yes.’
You know that, do you? It was Jeeves’s suggestion, and a very good one, too. In fact, if it hadn’t been for that revolting Fit-tleworth . . . But don’t let me get on to the subject of Fittleworth. I want to keep calm. Yes, Clam was in the potting shed. Curious fellow.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Most curious. I wonder how I can describe him to you. Ever seen a fawn?’
‘Like the chaps in that picture?’
‘No, not that sort of faun. I mean the animal. The timid fawn that shivers and shakes and at the slightest suspicion of danger starts like a . . . like a fawn. That’s Clam. Not to look at, I don’t mean. He’s stouter than the average fawn, and he wears hornrimmed spectacles, which, of course, fawns don’t. I’m referring to his character and disposition. You agree with me?’
I reminded him that, owing to the fact that I had never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, Clam’s psychology was a sealed book to me.
‘That’s true. I was forgetting. Well, that’s what he’s like. A fawn. Nervous. Quivering. Gets the wind up at the slightest provocation. Came out of that potting shed, I understand, shaking like a leaf and saying “Never again!” Yes, every drop of his manly courage had evaporated, and any scheme which we may devise for a future meeting will have to be a good one, a foolproof one, a scheme which even he can see involves him in no peril. Odd, this neurotic tendency in the American business man. Can you account for it? No? I can. Too much coffee.’
‘Coffee?’
‘That and the New Deal. Over in America, it appears, life for the business man is one long series of large cups of coffee, punctuated with shocks from the New Deal. He drinks a quart of coffee, and gets a nasty surprise from the New Deal. To pull himself together, he drinks another quart of coffee, and along comes another nasty surprise from the New Deal. He staggers off, calling feebly for more coffee, and . . . Well, you see what I mean. Vicious circle. No nervous system could stand it. Chi-chester Clam’s nerves are in ruins. He wants to take the next boat to New York. Knows he will be wrecking the business deal of a lifetime by doing so, but says he doesn’t care, just so long as he gets God’s broad, deep Atlantic Ocean in between him and the English potting shed. A most extraordinary prejudice he seems to have taken against potting sheds, so keep steadily in your mind the fact that whatever you may have to suggest must be totally free from anything in the nature of a potting-shed angle. What have you to suggest, Bertie?’
To this, of course, there was but one reply.
‘I think we’d better consult Jeeves.’
‘I have consulted Jeeves, and he says he’s baffled.’
I shot out an aghastish puff of smoke. The thing seemed incredible.
‘Jeeves says he’s baffled?’
‘Told me so himself. That’s why I’ve come to you. Fresh mind.’
‘When did he say that?’
‘Last night.’
I saw that all was not lost.
‘Ah, but he’s had a refreshing sleep since then, and you know how a spot of sleep picks you up. And, by Jove, Uncle Percy, I’ll tell you something I’ve just remembered. Early this morning I came upon him fishing in the river.’
‘What of it?’
‘The fact is tremendously significant. I didn’t actually question him on the subject, but a man of his calibre would be bound to have caught a few. No doubt, he had them for breakfast. In which case, his faculties will have been greatly stimulated. Probably by now he’s at the top of his form again, with his brain humming like a dynamo.’
It was plain that the relative found himself infected by my enthusiasm. In obvious excitement, he put the wrong end of his cigar in his mouth, singeing his moustache at the corner.
‘I never thought of that,’ he said, having cursed a bit.
‘That often happens with Jeeves.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Most of his major triumphs have been accomplished on fish.’
‘You don’t say?’
Absolutely. The phosphorus, you know.’
‘Of course.’
‘Even a single sardine will sometimes do the trick. Can you lay your hand on him?’
‘I’ll ring for Maple. Oh, Maple,’ he said, as the butler fetched up at journey’s end, ‘send Jeeves to me.’
‘Very good, m’lord.’
And another half-bottle, I think, don’t you, Bertie?’
Just as you say, Uncle Percy.’
‘It would be rash not to have it. You have no conception how it shakes a man, bringing his foot down on what he thinks is solid ground and finding it’s Fittleworth. Another of the same, Maple.’
‘Very good, m’lord.’
During the stage wait, which was not of long duration, the old relative filled in with some ad lib stuff about Boko, mostly about how much he disliked his face. Then the door opened again to admit a procession headed by the half-bottle on a salver. This was followed by Maple, who in his turn was followed by Jeeves. Maple withdrew, and Uncle Percy got down to it.
‘Jeeves.’
‘M’lord?’
‘Did you catch any fish this morning?’
‘Two, m’lord.’
‘Have ’em for breakfast?’
‘Yes, m’lord.’
‘Splendid. Capital. Excellent. Then come along. Hark for’ard.’
‘M’lord?’
‘I was telling his lordship how fish always gingered up your thought processes,’ I explained. ‘He is rather expecting that you may now have something constructive to suggest in re another meeting with Chichester Clam.’
‘I am sorry, sir. I have used every endeavour to hit upon a solution of the problem confronting his lordship, but I regret to say that my efforts have not been crowned with success.’
‘A wash-out, he says,’ I construed, for Uncle Percy’s benefit.
Uncle Percy said he had hoped for better things. Jeeves said he had, too.
Any good offering you a glass of bubbly? Might buck you up.’
‘I fear not, m’lord. Alcohol has a sedative rather than a stimulating effect on me.’
‘In that case, nothing to be done, I suppose. All right, Jeeves. Thanks.’
A fairly sombre silence fell upon the room for some moments, after the man’s departure. I gave the terrestrial globe a twirl. Uncle Percy stared at the stuffed trout.
‘Well, that’s that, what?’ I said, at length.
‘Eh?’
‘I mean, if Jeeves is baffled, hope would appear to be more or less dead.’
To my surprise, he did not agree with me. His eye flashed fire. I had underestimated the fighting spirit of these blokes who have made large fortunes in the shipping business. You may depress them for a while, but you can’t keep them down.
‘Nonsense, nonsense. Nothing of the kind. Jeeves isn’t the only man in this house with a head on his shoulders. Anyone who could conceive the idea of kicking Edwin and carry it out as brilliantly as you did is not to be beaten by a simple problem like this. I am relying on you, Bertie. Chichester Clam – how to meet him? Don’t give it up. Think again.’
‘Shall I go and brood a bit on the drive?’
‘Brood wherever you like, all over the grounds.’
‘Right ho,’ I said, and took a meditative departure.
I had scarcely closed the door and started to push along the passage, when Nobby appeared, as if out of a trap.