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

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘Thought of anything, Jeeves?’

  ‘Not yet, sir, I regret to say.’

  ‘What, no results whatever?’

  ‘None, sir, I fear.’

  I groaned a hollow one, and shoved on the trousers. I had become so accustomed to having this gifted man weigh in with the ripest ideas at the drop of the hat that the possibility of his failing to deliver on this occasion had not occurred to me. The blow was a severe one, and it was with a quivering hand that I now socked the feet. A strange frozen sensation had come over me, rendering the physical and mental processes below par. It was as though both limbs and bean had been placed in a refrigerator and overlooked for several days.

  ‘It may be, Jeeves,’ I said, a thought occurring, ‘that you haven’t got the whole scenario clear in your mind. I was able to give you only the merest outline before going off to scour the torso. I think it would help if we did what they do in the thrillers. Do you ever read thrillers?’

  ‘Not very frequently, sir.’

  ‘Well, there’s always a bit where the detective, in order to clarify his thoughts, writes down a list of suspects, motives, times when, alibis, clues and what not. Let us try this plan. Take pencil and paper, Jeeves, and we will assemble the facts. Entitle the thing “Wooster, B., – position of.” Ready?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right. Now, then. Item one – Aunt Dahlia says that if I don’t pinch that cow-creamer and hand it over to her, she will bar me from her table, and no more of Anatole’s cooking.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We now come to Item Two – viz, if I do pinch the cow-creamer and hand it over to her, Spode will beat me to a jelly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Furthermore – Item Three – if I pinch it and hand it over to her and don’t pinch it and hand it over to Harold Pinker, not only shall I undergo the jellying process alluded to above, but Stiffy will take that notebook of Gussie’s and hand it over to Sir Watkyn Bassett. And you know and I know what the result of that would be. Well, there you are. That’s the set-up. You’ve got it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It is certainly a somewhat unfortunate state of affairs.’

  I gave him one of my looks.

  ‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘don’t try me too high. Not at a moment like this. Somewhat unfortunate, forsooth! Who was it you were telling me about the other day, on whose head all the sorrows of the world had come?’

  ‘The Mona Lisa, sir.’

  ‘Well, if I met the Mona Lisa at this moment, I would shake her by the hand and assure her that I knew just how she felt. You see before you, Jeeves, a toad beneath the harrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The trousers perhaps a quarter of an inch higher, sir. One aims at the carelessly graceful break over the instep. It is a matter of the nicest adjustment.’

  ‘Like that?’

  ‘Admirable, sir.’

  I sighed.

  ‘There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself “Do trousers matter?”’

  ‘The mood will pass, sir.’

  ‘I don’t see why it should. If you can’t think of a way out of this mess, it seems to me that it is the end. Of course,’ I proceeded on a somewhat brighter note, ‘you haven’t really had time to get your teeth into the problem yet. While I am at dinner, examine it once more from every angle. It is just possible that an inspiration might pop up. Inspirations do, don’t they? All in a flash, as it were?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The mathematician Archimedes is related to have discovered the principle of displacement quite suddenly one morning, while in his bath.’

  ‘Well, there you are. And I don’t suppose he was such a devil of a chap. Compared with you, I mean.’

  ‘A gifted man, I believe, sir. It has been a matter of general regret that he was subsequently killed by a common soldier.’

  ‘Too bad. Still, all flesh is as grass, what?’

  ‘Very true, sir.’

  I lighted a thoughtful cigarette and, dismissing Archimedes for the nonce, allowed my mind to dwell once more on the ghastly jam into which I had been thrust by young Stiffy’s ill-advised behaviour.

  ‘You know, Jeeves,’ I said, ‘when you really start to look into it, it’s perfectly amazing how the opposite sex seems to go out of its way to snooter me. You recall Miss Wickham and the hot-water bottle?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Gwladys what-was-her-name, who put her boyfriend with the broken leg to bed in my flat?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Pauline Stoker, who invaded my rural cottage at dead of night in a bathing suit?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What a sex! What a sex, Jeeves! But none of that sex, however deadlier than the male, can be ranked in the same class with this Stiffy. Who was the chap lo whose name led all the rest – the bird with the angel?’

  ‘Abou ben Adhem, sir.’

  ‘That’s Stiffy. She’s the top. Yes, Jeeves?’

  ‘I was merely about to inquire, sir, if Miss Byng, when she uttered her threat of handing over Mr Fink-Nottle’s notebook to Sir Watkyn, by any chance spoke with a twinkle in her eye?’

  ‘A roguish one, you mean, indicating that she was merely pulling my leg? Not a suspicion of it. No, Jeeves, I have seen untwinkling eyes before, many of them, but never a pair so totally free from twinkle as hers. She wasn’t kidding. She meant business. She was fully aware that she was doing something which even by female standards was raw, but she didn’t care. The whole fact of the matter is that all this modern emancipation of women has resulted in them getting it up their noses and not giving a damn what they do. It was not like this in Queen Victoria’s day. The Prince Consort would have had a word to say about a girl like Stiffy, what?’

  ‘I can conceive that His Royal Highness might quite possibly not have approved of Miss Byng.’

  ‘He would have had her over his knee, laying into her with a slipper, before she knew where she was. And I wouldn’t put it past him to have treated Aunt Dahlia in a similar fashion. Talking of which, I suppose I ought to be going and seeing the aged relative.’

  ‘She appeared very desirous of conferring with you, sir.’

  ‘Far from mutual, Jeeves, that desire. I will confess frankly that I am not looking forward to the séance.’

  ‘No, sir?’

  ‘No. You see, I sent her a telegram just before tea, saying that I wasn’t going to pinch that cow-creamer, and she must have left London long before it arrived. In other words, she has come expecting to find a nephew straining at the leash to do her bidding, and the news will have to be broken to her that the deal is off. She will not like this, Jeeves, and I don’t mind telling you that the more I contemplate the coming chat, the colder the feet become.’

  ‘If I might suggest, sir – it is, of course, merely a palliative – but it has often been found in times of despondency that the assumption of formal evening dress has a stimulating effect on the morale.’

  ‘You think I ought to put on a white tie? Spode told me black.’

  ‘I consider that the emergency justifies the departure, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  And, of course, he was. In these delicate matters of psychology he never errs. I got into the full soup and fish, and was immediately conscious of a marked improvement. The feet became warmer, a sparkle returned to the lack-lustre eyes, and the soul seemed to expand as if someone had got to work on it with a bicycle pump. And I was surveying the effect in the mirror, kneading the tie with gentle fingers and running over in my mind a few things which I proposed to say to Aunt Dahlia if she started getting tough, when the door opened and Gussie came in.

  At the sight of this bespectacled bird, a pang of compassion shot through me, for a glance was enough to tell me that he was not abreast of stop-press events. There was visible in his demeanour not one of the earmarks of a man to whom Stiffy had been confiding her plans. His bearing was buoyant, and I exchanged a swift, meaning glance with Jeeves. Mine said ‘He little knows!’
and so did his.

  ‘What ho!’ said Gussie. ‘What ho! Hallo, Jeeves.’

  ‘Good evening, sir.’

  ‘Well, Bertie, what’s the news? Have you seen her?’

  The pang of compash became more acute. I heaved a silent sigh. It was to be my mournful task to administer to this old friend a very substantial sock on the jaw, and I shrank from it.

  Still, these things have to be faced. The surgeon’s knife, I mean to say.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’ve seen her. Jeeves, have we any brandy?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Could you get a spot?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘Better bring the bottle.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  He melted away, and Gussie stared at me in honest amazement.

  ‘What’s all this? You can’t start swigging brandy just before dinner.’

  ‘I do not propose to. It is for you, my suffering old martyr at the stake, that I require the stuff.’

  ‘I don’t drink brandy.’

  ‘I’ll bet you drink this brandy – yes, and call for more. Sit down, Gussie, and let us chat awhile.’

  And depositing him in the armchair, I engaged him in desultory conversation about the weather and the crops. I didn’t want to spring the thing on him till the restorative was handy. I prattled on, endeavouring to infuse into my deportment a sort of bedside manner which would prepare him for the worst, and it was not long before I noted that he was looking at me oddly.

  ‘Bertie, I believe you’re pie-eyed.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then what are you babbling like this for?’

  ‘Just filling in till Jeeves gets back with the fluid. Ah, thank you, Jeeves.’

  I took the brimming beaker from his hand, and gently placed Gussie’s fingers round the stem.

  ‘You had better go and inform Aunt Dahlia that I shall not be able to keep our tryst, Jeeves. This is going to take some time.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  I turned to Gussie, who was now looking like a bewildered halibut.

  ‘Gussie,’ I said, ‘drink that down, and listen. I’m afraid I have bad news for you. About that notebook.’

  ‘About the notebook?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t mean she hasn’t got it?’

  ‘That is precisely the nub or crux. She has, and she is going to give it to Pop Bassett.’

  I had expected him to take it fairly substantially, and he did. His eyes, like stars, started from their spheres and he leaped from the chair, spilling the contents of the glass and causing the room to niff like the saloon bar of a pub on a Saturday night.

  ‘What!’

  ‘That is the posish, I fear.’

  ‘But, my gosh!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t really mean that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘She has her reasons.’

  ‘But she can’t realize what will happen.’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  ‘It will mean ruin!’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Oh, my gosh!’

  It has often been said that disaster brings out the best in the Woosters. A strange calm descended on me. I patted his shoulder.

  ‘Courage, Gussie! Think of Archimedes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was killed by a common soldier.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Well, it can’t have been pleasant for him, but I have no doubt he passed out smiling.’

  My intrepid attitude had a good effect. He became more composed. I don’t say that even now we were exactly like a couple of French aristocrats waiting for the tumbril, but there was a certain resemblance.

  ‘When did she tell you this?’

  ‘On the terrace not long ago.’

  ‘And she really meant it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There wasn’t –’

  ‘A twinkle in her eyes? No. No twinkle.’

  ‘Well, isn’t there any way of stopping her?’

  I had been expecting him to bring this up, but I was sorry he had done so. I foresaw a period of fruitless argument.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There is. She says she will forgo her dreadful purpose if I steal old Bassett’s cow-creamer.’

  ‘You mean that silver cow thing he was showing us at dinner last night?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘But why?’

  I explained the position of affairs. He listened intelligently, his face brightening.

  ‘Now I see! Now I understand! I couldn’t imagine what her idea was. Her behaviour seemed so absolutely motiveless. Well, that’s fine. That solves everything.’

  I hated to put a crimp in his happy exuberance, but it had to be done.

  ‘Not quite, because I’m jolly well not going to do it.’

  ‘What! Why not?’

  ‘Because, if I do, Roderick Spode says he will beat me to a jelly.’

  ‘What’s Roderick Spode got to do with it?’

  ‘He appears to have espoused that cow-creamer’s cause. No doubt from esteem for old Bassett.’

  ‘H’m! Well, you aren’t afraid of Roderick Spode.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Nonsense! I know you better than that.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  He took a turn up and down the room.

  ‘But, Bertie, there’s nothing to be afraid of in a man like Spode, a mere mass of beef and brawn. He’s bound to be slow on his feet. He would never catch you.’

  ‘I don’t intend to try out as a sprinter.’

  ‘Besides, it isn’t as if you had to stay on here. You can be off the moment you’ve put the thing through. Send a note down to this curate after dinner, telling him to be on the spot at midnight, and then go to it. Here is the schedule, as I see it. Steal cow-creamer – say, twelve-fifteen to twelve-thirty, or call it twelve-forty, to allow for accidents. Twelve-forty-five, be at stables, starting up your car. Twelve-fifty, out on the open road, having accomplished a nice, smooth job. I can’t think what you’re worrying about. The whole thing seems childishly simple to me.’

  ‘Nevertheless –’

  ‘You won’t do it?’

  ‘No.’

  He moved to the mantelpiece, and began fiddling with a statuette of a shepherdess of sorts.

  ‘Is this Bertie Wooster speaking?’ he asked.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Bertie Wooster whom I admired so at school – the boy we used to call “Daredevil Bertie”?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘In that case, I suppose there is nothing more to be said.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Our only course is to recover the book from the Byng.’

  ‘How do you propose to do that?’

  He pondered, frowning. Then the little grey cells seemed to stir.

  ‘I know. Listen. That book means a lot to her, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘This being so, she would carry it on her person, as I did.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘In her stocking, probably. Very well, then.’

  ‘How do you mean, very well, then?’

  ‘Don’t you see what I’m driving at?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, listen. You could easily engage her in a sort of friendly romp, if you know what I mean, in the course of which it would be simple to … well, something in the nature of a jocular embrace …’

  I checked him sharply. There are limits, and we Woosters recognize them.

  ‘Gussie, are you suggesting that I prod Stiffy’s legs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We need not delve into my reasons,’ I said, stiffly. ‘Suffice it that the shot is not on the board.’

  He gave me a look, a kind of wide-eyed, reproachful look, such as a dying newt might hav
e given him, if he had forgotten to change its water regularly. He drew in his breath sharply.

  ‘You certainly have altered completely from the boy I knew at school,’ he said. ‘You seem to have gone all to pieces. No pluck. No dash. No enterprise. Alcohol, I suppose.’

  He sighed and broke the shepherdess, and we moved to the door. As I opened it, he gave me another look.

  ‘You aren’t coming down to dinner like that, are you? What are you wearing a white tie for?’

  ‘Jeeves recommended it, to keep up the spirits.’

  ‘Well, you’re going to feel a perfect ass. Old Bassett dines in a velvet smoking-jacket with soup stains across the front. Better change.’

  There was a good deal in what he said. One does not like to look conspicuous. At the risk of lowering the morale, I turned to doff the tails. And as I did so there came to us from the drawing room below the sound of a fresh young voice chanting, to the accompaniment of a piano, what exhibited all the symptoms of being an old English folk song. The ear detected a good deal of ‘Hey nonny nonny’, and all that sort of thing.

  This uproar had the effect of causing Gussie’s eyes to smoulder behind the spectacles. It was as if he were feeling that this was just that little bit extra which is more than man can endure.

  ‘Stephanie Byng!’ he said bitterly. ‘Singing at a time like this!’

  He snorted, and left the room. And I was just finishing tying the black tie, when Jeeves entered.

  ‘Mrs Travers,’ he announced formally.

  An ‘Oh, golly!’ broke from my lips. I had known, of course, hearing that formal announcement, that she was coming, but so does a poor blighter taking a stroll and looking up and seeing a chap in an aeroplane dropping a bomb on his head know that that’s coming, but it doesn’t make it any better when it arrives.

  I could see that she was a good deal stirred up – all of a doodah would perhaps express it better – and I hastened to bung her civilly into the armchair and make my apologies.

  ‘Frightfully sorry I couldn’t come and see you, old ancestor,’ I said. ‘I was closeted with Gussie Fink-Nottle upon a matter deeply affecting out mutual interests. Since we last met, there have been new developments, and my affairs have become somewhat entangled, I regret to say. You might put it that Hell’s foundations are quivering. That is not overstating it, Jeeves?’