He raised his eyebrows.
‘Have you any objection to my sitting in your armchair?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Thanks.’
He seated himself, and stared before him with glazed eyes.
‘Now, then, Gussie,’ I said, ‘I will take your statement. What is all this rot about the wedding being off?’
‘It is off.’
‘But didn’t you show her the notebook?’
‘Yes. I showed her the notebook.’
‘Did she read its contents?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, didn’t she tout comprendre?’
‘Yes.’
‘And tout pardonner?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you must have got your facts twisted. The wedding can’t be off.’
‘It is, I tell you. Do you think I don’t know when a wedding’s off and when it isn’t? Sir Watkyn has forbidden it.’
This was an angle I had not foreseen.
‘Why? Did you have a row or something?’
‘Yes. About newts. He didn’t like me putting them in the bath.’
‘You put newts in the bath?’
‘Yes.’
Like a keen cross-examining counsel, I swooped on the point.
‘Why?’
His hand fluttered, as if about to reach for a straw.
‘I broke the tank. The tank in my bedroom. The glass tank I keep my newts in. I broke the glass tank in my bedroom, and the bath was the only place to lodge the newts. The basin wasn’t large enough. Newts need elbowroom. So I put them in the bath. Because I had broken the tank. The glass tank in my bedroom. The glass tank I keep my newts in –’
I saw that if allowed to continue in this strain he might go on practically indefinitely, so I called him to order with a sharp rap of a china vase on the mantelpiece.
‘I get the idea,’ I said, brushing the fragments into the fire-place. ‘Proceed. How does Pop Bassett come into the picture?’
‘He went to take a bath. It never occurred to me that anyone would be taking a bath as late as this. And I was in the drawing-room, when he burst in shouting: “Madeline, that blasted Fink-Nottle has been filling my bathtub with tadpoles!” And I lost my head a little, I’m afraid. I yelled: “Oh, my gosh, you silly old ass, be careful what you’re doing with those newts. Don’t touch them. I’m in the middle of a most important experiment.”’
‘I see. And then –’
‘I went on to tell him how I wished to ascertain whether the full moon affected the love life of newts. And a strange look came into his face, and he quivered a bit, and then he told me that he had pulled out the plug and all my newts had gone down the waste pipe.’
I think he would have preferred at this point to fling himself on the bed and turn his face to the wall, but I headed him off. I was resolved to stick to the res.
‘Upon which you did what?’
‘I ticked him off properly. I called him every name I could think of. In fact, I called him names that I hadn’t a notion I knew. They just seemed to come bubbling up from my subconsciousness. I was hampered a bit at first by the fact that Madeline was there, but it wasn’t long before he told her to go to bed, and then I was really able to express myself. And when I finally paused for breath, he forbade the banns and pushed off. And I rang the bell and asked Butterfield to bring me a glass of orange juice.’
I started.
‘Orange juice?’
‘I wanted picking up.’
‘But orange juice? At such a time?’
‘It was what I felt I needed.’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘Oh, well,’ I said.
Just another proof, of course, of what I often say – that it takes all sorts to make a world.
‘As a matter of fact, I could do with a good long drink now.’
‘The tooth-bottle is at your elbow.’
‘Thanks … Ah! That’s the stuff!’
‘Have a go at the jug.’
‘No, thanks. I know when to stop. Well, that’s the position, Bertie. He won’t let Madeline marry me, and I’m wondering if there is any possible way of bringing him round. I’m afraid there isn’t. You see, it wasn’t only that I called him names –’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, louse, I remember was one of them. And skunk, I think. Yes, I’m pretty sure I called him a wall-eyed skunk. But he might forgive that. The real trouble is that I mocked at that cow-creamer of his.’
‘Cow-creamer!’
I spoke sharply. He had started a train of thought. An idea had begun to burgeon. For some little time I had been calling on all the resources of the Wooster intellect to help me to solve this problem, and I don’t often do that without something breaking loose. At this mention of the cow-creamer, the brain seemed suddenly to give itself a shake and start off across country with its nose to the ground.
‘Yes. Knowing how much he loved and admired it, and searching for barbed words that would wound him, I told him it was modern Dutch. I had gathered from his remarks at the dinner table last night that that was the last thing it ought to be. “You and your eighteenth-century cow-creamers!” I said. “Pah! Modern Dutch!” or words to that effect. The thrust got home. He turned purple, and broke off the wedding.’
‘Listen, Gussie,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve got it.’
His face lit up. I could see that optimism had stirred and was shaking a leg. This Fink-Nottle has always been of an optimistic nature. Those who recall his address to the boys of Market Snodsbury Grammar School will remember that it was largely an appeal to the little blighters not to look on the dark side.
‘Yes, I believe I see the way. What you have got to do, Gussie, is pinch that cow-creamer.’
His lips parted, and I thought an ‘Eh, what?’ was coming through, but it didn’t. Just silence and a couple of bubbles.
‘That is the first, essential step. Having secured the cow-creamer, you tell him it is in your possession and say: “Now, how about it?” I feel convinced that in order to recover that foul cow he would meet any terms you care to name. You know what collectors are like. Practically potty, every one of them. Why, my Uncle Tom wants the thing so badly that he is actually prepared to yield up his supreme cook, Anatole, in exchange for it.’
‘Not the fellow who was functioning at Brinkley when I was there?’
‘That’s right.’
‘The chap who dished up those nonettes de poulet Agnes Sorel?’
‘That very artist.’
‘You really mean that your uncle would consider Anatole well lost if he could secure this cow-creamer?’
‘I have it from Aunt Dahlia’s own lips.’
He drew a deep breath.
‘Then you’re right. This scheme of yours would certainly solve everything. Assuming, of course, that Sir Watkyn values the thing equally highly.’
‘He does. Doesn’t he Jeeves?’ I said, putting it up to him, as he trickled in with the brandy. ‘Sir Watkyn Bassett has forbidden Gussie’s wedding,’ I explained, ‘and I’ve been telling him that all he has to do in order to make him change his mind is to get hold of that cow-creamer and refuse to give it back until he coughs up a father’s blessing. You concur?’
‘Undoubtedly, sir. If Mr Fink-Nottle possesses himself of the objet d’art in question, he will be in a position to dictate. A very shrewd plan, sir.’
‘Thank you, Jeeves. Yes, not bad, considering that I had to think on my feet and form my strategy at a moment’s notice. If I were you, Gussie, I would put things in train immediately.’
‘Excuse me, sir.’
‘You spoke, Jeeves?’
‘Yes, sir. I was about to say that before Mr Fink-Nottle can put the arrangements in operation there is an obstacle to be surmounted.’
‘What’s that?’
‘In order to protect his interests, Sir Watkyn has posted Constable Oates on guard in the collection-room.’
‘What!’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes, sir.’
The sunshine died out of Gussie’s face, and he uttered a stricken sound like a gramophone record running down.
‘However, I think that with a little finesse it will be perfectly possible to eliminate this factor. I wonder if you recollect, sir, the occasion at Chuffnell Hall, when Sir Roderick Glossop had become locked up in the potting-shed, and your efforts to release him appeared likely to be foiled by the fact that Police Constable Dobson had been stationed outside the door?’
‘Vividly, Jeeves.’
‘I ventured to suggest that it might be possible to induce him to leave his post by conveying word to him that the parlourmaid Mary, to whom he was betrothed, wished to confer with him in the raspberry bushes. The plan was put into effect and proved successful.’
‘True, Jeeves. But,’ I said dubiously, ‘I don’t see how anything like that could be worked here. Constable Dobson, you will recall, was young, ardent, romantic – just the sort of chap who would automatically go leaping into raspberry bushes if you told him there were girls in there. Eustace Oates has none of the Dobson fire. He is well stricken in years and gives the impression of being a settled married man who would rather have a cup of tea.’
‘Yes, sir, Constable Oates is, as you say, of a more sober temperament. But it is merely the principle of the thing which I would advocate applying to the present emergency. It would be necessary to provide a lure suited to the psychology of the individual. What I would suggest is that Mr Fink-Nottle should inform the officer that he has seen his helmet in your possession.’
‘Egad, Jeeves!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I see the idea. Yes, very hot. Yes, that would do it.’
Gussie’s glassy eye indicating that all this was failing to register, I explained.
‘Earlier in the evening, Gussie, a hidden hand snitched this gendarme’s lid, cutting him to the quick. What Jeeves is saying is that a word from you to the effect that you have seen it in my room will bring him bounding up here like a tigress after its lost cub, thus leaving you a clear field in which to operate. That is your idea in essence, is it not, Jeeves?’
‘Precisely, sir.’
Gussie brightened visibly.
‘I see. It’s a ruse.’
‘That’s right. One of the ruses, and not the worst of them. Nice work, Jeeves.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘That will do the trick, Gussie. Tell him I’ve got his helmet, wait while he bounds out, nip to the glass case and trouser the cow. A simple programme. A child could carry it out. My only regret, Jeeves, is that this appears to remove any chance Aunt Dahlia might have had of getting the thing. A pity there has been such a wide popular demand for it.’
‘Yes, sir. But possibly Mrs Travers, feeling that Mr Fink-Nottle’s need is greater than hers, will accept the disappointment philosophically.’
‘Possibly. On the other hand, possibly not. Still, there it is. On these occasions when individual interests clash, somebody has got to draw the short straw.’
‘Very true, sir.’
‘You can’t be expected to dish out happy endings all round – one per person, I mean.’
‘No, sir.’
‘The great thing is to get Gussie fixed. So buzz off, Gussie, and Heaven speed your efforts.’
I lit a cigarette.
‘A very sound idea, that, Jeeves. How did you happen to think of it?’
‘It was the officer himself who put it into my head, sir, when I was chatting with him not long ago. I gathered from what he said that he actually does suspect you of being the individual who purloined his helmet.’
‘Me? Why on earth? Dash it, I scarcely know the man. I thought he suspected Stiffy.’
‘Originally, yes, sir. And it is still his view that Miss Byng was the motivating force behind the theft. But he now believes that the young lady must have had a male accomplice, who did the rough work. Sir Watkyn, I understand, supports him in this theory.’
I suddenly remembered the opening passages of my interview with Pop Bassett in the library, and at last got on to what he had been driving at. Those remarks of his which had seemed to me then mere idle gossip had had, I now perceived, a sinister under-current of meaning. I had supposed that we were just two of the boys chewing over the latest bit of hot news, and all the time the thing had been a probe or quiz.
‘But what makes them think that I was the male accomplice?’
‘I gather that the officer was struck by the cordiality which he saw to exist between Miss Byng and yourself, when he encountered you in the road this afternoon, and his suspicions became strengthened when he found the young lady’s glove on the scene of the outrage.’
‘I don’t get you, Jeeves.’
‘He supposes you to be enamoured of Miss Byng, sir, and thinks that you were wearing her glove next to your heart.’
‘If it had been next my heart, how could I have dropped it?’
‘His view is that you took it out to press to your lips, sir.’
‘Come, come, Jeeves. Would I start pressing gloves to my lips at the moment when I was about to pinch a policeman’s helmet?’
‘Apparently Mr Pinker did, sir.’
I was on the point of explaining to him that what old Stinker would do in any given situation and what the ordinary, normal person with a couple of ounces more brain than a cuckoo clock would do were two vastly different things, when I was interrupted by the re-entrance of Gussie. I could see by the buoyancy of his demeanour that matters had been progressing well.
‘Jeeves was right, Bertie,’ he said. ‘He read Eustace Oates like a book.’
‘The information stirred him up?’
‘I don’t think I have ever seen a more thoroughly roused policeman. His first impulse was to drop everything and come dashing up here right away.’
‘Why didn’t he?’
‘He couldn’t quite bring himself to, in view of the fact that Sir Watkyn had told him to stay there.’
I followed the psychology. It was the same as that of the boy who stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled.
‘Then the procedure, I take it, will be that he will send word to Pop Bassett, notifying him of the facts and asking permission to go ahead?’
‘Yes. I expect you will have him with you in a few minutes.’
‘Then you ought not to be here. You should be lurking in the hall.’
‘I’m going there at once. I only came to report.’
‘Be ready to slip in the moment he is gone.’
‘I will. Trust me. There won’t be a hitch. It was a wonderful idea of yours, Jeeves.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You can imagine how relieved I’m feeling, knowing that in about five minutes everything will be all right. The only thing I’m a bit sorry for now,’ said Gussie thoughtfully, ‘is that I gave the old boy that notebook.’
He threw out this appalling statement so casually that it was a second or two before I got its import. When I did, a powerful shock permeated my system. It was as if I had been reclining in the electric chair and the authorities had turned on the juice.
‘You gave him the notebook!’
‘Yes. Just as he was leaving. I thought there might be some names in it which I had forgotten to call him.’
I supported myself with a trembling hand on the mantelpiece.
‘Jeeves!’
‘Sir?’
‘More brandy!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And stop doling it out in those small glasses, as if it were radium. Bring the cask.’
Gussie was regarding me with a touch of surprise.
‘Something the matter, Bertie?’
‘Something the matter?’ I let out a mirthless 1. ‘Ha! Well, this has torn it.’
‘How do you mean? Why?’
‘Can’t you see what you’ve done, you poor chump! It’s no use pinching that cow-creamer now. If old Bassett has read the contents of that notebook, noth
ing will bring him round.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, you saw how they affected Spode. I don’t suppose Pop Bassett is any fonder of reading home truths about himself than Spode is.’
‘But he’s had the home truths already. I told you how I ticked him off.’
‘Yes, but you could have got away with that. Overlook it, please … spoken in hot blood … strangely forgot myself … all that sort of stuff. Coldly reasoned opinions, carefully inscribed day by day in a notebook, are a very different thing.’
I saw that it had penetrated at last. The greenish tinge was back in his face. His mouth opened and shut like that of a goldfish which sees another goldfish nip in and get away with the ant’s egg which it had been earmarking for itself.
‘Oh, gosh!’
‘Yes.’
‘What can I do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Think, Bertie, think!’
I did so, tensely, and was rewarded with an idea.
‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘what exactly occurred at the conclusion of the vulgar brawl? You handed him the book. Did he dip into it on the spot?’
‘No. He shoved it away in his pocket.’
‘And did you gather that he still intended to take a bath?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then answer me this. What pocket? I mean the pocket of what garment? What was he wearing?’
‘A dressing gown.’
‘Over – think carefully, Fink-Nottle, for everything hangs on this – over shirt and trousers and things?’
‘Yes, he had his trousers on. I remember noticing.’
‘Then there is still hope. After leaving you, he would have gone to his room to shed the upholstery. He was pretty steamed up, you say?’
‘Yes, very much.’
‘Good. My knowledge of human nature, Gussie, tells me that a steamed-up man does not loiter about feeling in his pocket for notebooks and steeping himself in their contents. He flings off the garments, and legs it to the salle de bain. The book must still be in the pocket of his dressing gown – which, no doubt, he flung on the bed or over a chair – and all you have to do is nip into his room and get it.’
I had anticipated that this clear thinking would produce the joyous cry and the heartfelt burst of thanks. Instead of which, he merely shuffled his feet dubiously.
‘Nip into his room?
The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 1: (Jeeves & Wooster): No.1 Page 41