Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit:

by P. G. Wodehouse

  'Do you know Horace Pendlebury-Davenport?' I said, after a longish pause during which we worked away at our respective kippers.

  The man who married Valerie Twistleton?'

  That's the chap. Formerly the Drones Club Darts champion.'

  'I've met him. But why bring him up?'

  'Because he points the moral and adorns the tale. During the period of their betrothal he and Valerie had a row similar in calibre to that which has occurred between you and Stilton and pretty nearly parted forever.'

  She gave me the frosty eye.

  'Must we talk about Mr Cheesewright?'

  'I see him as tonight's big topic.'

  'I don't, and I think I'll go home.'

  'Oh, not yet. I want to tell you about Horace and Valerie. They had this row of which I speak and might, as I say, have parted forever, had they not been reconciled by a woman who, so Horace says, looked as if she bred cocker spaniels. She told them a touching story, which melted their hearts. She said she had once loved a bloke and quarrelled with him about some trifle, and he turned on his heel and went off to the Federated Malay States and married the widow of a rubber planter. And each year from then on there arrived at her address a simple posy of white violets, together with a slip of paper bearing the words "It might have been". You wouldn't like that to happen with you and Stilton, would you?'

  'I'd love it.'

  'It doesn't give you a pang to think that at this very moment he may be going the rounds of the shipping offices, inquiring about sailings to the Malay States?'

  They'd be shut at this time of night.'

  'Well, first thing tomorrow morning, then.'

  She laid down her knife and fork and gave me an odd look.

  'Bertie, you're extraordinary,' she said.

  'Eh? How do you mean, extraordinary?'

  'All this nonsense you have been talking, trying to reconcile me and D'Arcy Not that I don't admire you for it. I think it's rather wonderful of you. But then everybody says that, though you have a brain like a peahen, you're the soul of kindness and generosity.'

  Well, I was handicapped here by the fact that, never having met a peahen, I was unable to estimate the quality of these fowls' intelligence, but she had spoken as if they were a bit short of the grey matter, and I was about to ask her who the hell she meant by 'everybody', when she resumed.

  'You want to marry me yourself, don't you?'

  I had to take another mouthful of the substance in the bottle before I could speak. One of those difficult questions to answer.

  'Oh, rather,' I said, for I was anxious to make the evening a success. 'Of course. Who wouldn't?'

  And yet you –'

  She did not proceed further than the word 'you', for at this juncture, with the abruptness with which these things always happen, the joint was pinched. The band stopped in the middle of a bar. A sudden hush fell upon the room. Square-jawed men shot up through the flooring, and one, who seemed to be skippering the team, stood out in the middle and in a voice like a foghorn told everybody to keep their seats. I remember thinking how nicely timed the whole thing was – breaking loose, I mean, at a moment when the conversation had taken a distasteful turn and threatened to become fraught with embarrassment. I have heard hard things said about the London police force – notably by Catsmeat Potter-Pirbright and others on the morning after the annual Oxford and Cambridge boat race – but a fairminded man had to admit that there were occasions when they showed tact of no slight order.

  I wasn't alarmed, of course. I had been through this sort of thing many a time and oft, as the expression is, and I knew what happened. So, noting that my guest was giving a rather close imitation of a cat on hot bricks, I hastened to dispel her alarm.

  'No need to get the breeze up,' I said. 'Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail or knock the breast,' I added, using one of Jeeves's gags which I chanced to remember. 'Everything is quite in order.'

  'But won't they arrest us?'

  I laughed lightly. These novices!

  'Absurd. No danger of that whatsoever.'

  'How do you know?'

  'All this is old stuff to me. Here in a nutshell is the procedure. They round us up, and we push off in an orderly manner to the police station in plain vans. There we assemble in the waiting room and give our names and addresses, exercising a certain latitude as regards the details. I, for example, generally call myself Ephraim Gadsby of The Nasturtiums, Jubilee Road, Streatham Common. I don't know why. Just a whim. You, if you will be guided by me, will be Matilda Bott of 365 Churchill Avenue, East Dulwich. These formalities concluded, we shall be free to depart, leaving the proprietor to face the awful majesty of Justice.'

  She refused to be consoled. The resemblance to a cat on hot bricks became more marked. Though instructed by the foghorn chap to keep her seat, she shot up as if a spike had come through it.

  'I'm sure that's not what happens.'

  'It is, unless they've changed the rules.'

  'You have to appear in court.'

  'No, no.'

  'Well, I'm not going to risk it. Good night.'

  And getting smoothly off the mark she made a dash for the service door, which was not far from where we sat. And an adjacent constable, baying like a bloodhound, started off in hot pursuit.

  Whether I acted judiciously at this point is a question which I have never been able to decide. Sometimes I think yes, reflecting that the Chevalier Bayard in my place would have done the same, sometimes no. Briefly what occurred was that as the gendarme came galloping by, I shoved out a foot, causing him to take the toss of a lifetime. Florence withdrew, and the guardian of the peace, having removed his left boot from his right ear, with which it had become temporarily entangled, rose and informed me that I was in custody.

  As at the moment he was grasping the scruff of my neck with one hand and the seat of my trousers with the other, I saw no reason to doubt the honest fellow.

  CHAPTER 6

  I spent the night in what is called durance vile, and bright and early next day was haled before the beak at Vinton Street police court, charged with assaulting an officer of the Law and impeding him in the execution of his duties, which I suppose was a fairly neat way of putting it. I was extremely hungry and needed a shave.

  It was the first time I had met the Vinton Street chap, always hitherto having patronized his trade rival at Bosher Street, but Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps, who was introduced to him on the morning of January the first one year, had told me he was a man to avoid, and the truth of this was now borne in upon me in no uncertain manner. It seemed to me, as I stood listening to the cop running through the story sequence, that Barmy, in describing this Solon as a twenty-minute egg with many of the less lovable qualities of some high-up official of the Spanish Inquisition, had understated rather than exaggerated the facts.

  I didn't like the look of the old blister at all. His manner was austere, and as the tale proceeded his face, such as it was, grew hard and dark with menace. He kept shooting quick glances at me through his pince-nez, and the dullest eye could see that the constable was getting all the sympathy of the audience and that the citizen cast for the role of Heavy in this treatment was the prisoner Gadsby More and more the feeling stole over me that the prisoner Gadsby was about to get it in the gizzard and would be lucky if he didn't fetch up on Devil's Island.

  However, when the J'accuse stuff was over and I was asked if I had anything to say, I did my best. I admitted that on the occasion about which we had been chatting I had extended a foot causing the officer to go base over apex, but protested that it had been a pure accident without any arrière-pensée on my part. I said I had been feeling cramped after a longish sojourn at the table and had merely desired to unlimber the leg muscles.

  'You know how sometimes you want a stretch,' I said.

  'I am strongly inclined,' responded the beak, 'to give you one. A good long stretch.'

  Rightly recognizing this as comedy, I uttered a cordial guffaw to show that m
y heart was in the right place, and an officious blighter in the well of the court shouted 'Silence!' I tried to explain that I was convulsed by His Worship's ready wit, but he shushed me again, and His Worship came to the surface once more.

  'However,' he went on, adjusting his pince-nez, 'in consideration of your youth I will exercise clemency.'

  'Oh, fine!' I said.

  'Fine,' replied the other half of the cross-talk act, who seemed to know all the answers, 'is right. Ten pounds. Next case.'

  I paid my debt to Society, and pushed off.

  Jeeves was earning the weekly envelope by busying himself at some domestic task when I reached the old home. He cocked an inquiring eye at me, and I felt that an explanation was due to him. It would have surprised him, of course, to discover that my room was empty and my bed had not been slept in.

  A little trouble last night with the minions of the Law, Jeeves,' I said. 'Quite a bit of that Eugene-Aram-walked-between-with-gyves-upon-his-wrists stuff.'

  'Indeed, sir? Most vexing.'

  'Yes, I didn't like it very much, but the magistrate – with whom I have just been threshing the thing out – had a wonderful time. I brought a ray of sunshine into his drab life all right. Did you know that these magistrates were expert comedians?'

  'No, sir. The fact had not been drawn to my attention.'

  'Think of Groucho Marx and you will get the idea. One gag after another, and all at my expense. I was just the straight man, and I found the experience most unpleasant, particularly as I had had no breakfast that any conscientious gourmet could call breakfast. Have you ever passed the night in chokey, Jeeves?'

  'No, sir. I have been fortunate in that respect.'

  'It renders the appetite unusually keen. So rally round, if you don't mind, and busy yourself with the skillet. We have eggs on the premises, I presume?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'I shall need about fifty, fried, with perhaps the same number of pounds of bacon. Toast, also. Four loaves will probably be sufficient, but stand by to weigh in more if necessary. And don't forget the coffee – say sixteen pots.'

  'Very good, sir.'

  And after that,' I said with a touch of bitterness, 'I suppose you will go racing round to the Junior Ganymede to enter this spot of bother of mine in the club book.'

  'I fear I have no alternative, sir. Rule Eleven is very strict.'

  'Well, if you must, you must, I suppose. I wouldn't want you to be hauled up in a hollow square of butlers and have your buttons snipped off. That club book, Jeeves. You're absolutely sure there's nothing in it in the C's under "Cheesewright"?'

  'Nothing but what I outlined last night, sir.'

  And a lot of help that is!' I said moodily. 'I don't mind telling you Jeeves, that this Cheesewright has become a menace.'

  'Indeed, sir?'

  And I had hoped that you might have found something in the club book which would have enabled me to spike his guns. Still, if you can't, of course. All right, rush along and dish up that breakfast.'

  I had slept but fitfully on the plank bed which was all that Vinton Street Gestapo had seen their way to provide for the use of clients, so after partaking of a hearty meal I turned in between the sheets. Like Rollo Beaminster, I wanted to forget. It must have been well after the luncheon hour when the sound of the telephone jerked me out of the dreamless. Feeling a good deal refreshed, I shoved on a dressing-gown and went to the instrument.

  It was Florence.

  'Bertie?' she yipped.

  'Hullo? I thought you said you were going to Brinkley today.'

  'I'm just starting. I rang up to ask how you got on after I left last night.'

  I laughed a mirthless laugh.

  'Not so frightfully well,' I replied. 'I was scooped in by the constabulary.'

  'What! You told me they didn't arrest you.'

  'They don't. But they did.'

  Are you all right now?'

  'Well, I have a pinched look.'

  'But I don't understand. Why did they arrest you?'

  'It's a long story. Cutting it down to the gist, I noticed that you were anxious to leave, so, observing that a rozzer was after you hell for leather, I put a foot out, tripping him up and causing him to lose interest in the chase.'

  'Good gracious!'

  'It seemed to me the prudent policy to pursue. Another moment and he would have had you by the seat of the pants, and of course we can't have that sort of thing going on. The upshot of the affair was that I spent the night in a prison cell and had rather a testing morning with the magistrate at Vinton Street police court. However, I'm pulling round all right.'

  'Oh, Bertie!' Seeming deeply moved, she thanked me brokenly, and I said Don't mention it. Then she gasped a sudden gasp, as if she had received a punch on the third waistcoat button. 'Did you say Vinton Street?'

  'That's right.'

  'Oh, my goodness! Do you know who that magistrate was?'

  'I couldn't tell you. No cards were exchanged. We boys in court call him Your Worship.'

  'He's D'Arcy's uncle!'

  I goshed. It had startled me not a little.

  'You don't mean that?'

  'Yes.'

  'What, the one who likes soup?'

  'Yes. Just imagine if after having dinner with him last night I had appeared before him in the dock this morning!'

  'Embarrassing. Difficult to know what to say.'

  'D'Arcy would never have forgiven me.'

  'Eh?'

  'He would have broken the engagement.'

  I didn't get this.

  'How do you mean?'

  'How do I mean what?'

  'How do you mean that he would have broken the engagement? I thought it was off already.'

  She gave what I believe is usually called a rippling laugh.

  'Oh, no. He rang me up this morning and climbed down. And I forgave him. He's starting to grow a moustache today.'

  I was profoundly relieved.

  'Well, that's splendid,' I said, and when she Oh-Bertied and I asked her what she was Oh-Bertying about, she explained that what she had had in mind was the fact that I was so chivalrous and generous.

  'Not many men in your place, feeling as you do about me, would behave like this.'

  'Quite all right.'

  'I'm very touched.'

  'Don't give it another thought. It's really all on again, is it?'

  'Yes. So mind you don't breathe a word to him about my being at that place with you.'

  'Of course not.'

  'D'Arcy is so jealous.'

  'Exactly. He must never know.'

  'Never. Why, if he even found out I was telephoning to you now, he would have a fit.'

  I was about to laugh indulgently and say that this was what Jeeves calls a remote contingency, because how the dickens could he ever learn that we had been chewing the fat, when my eye was attracted by a large object just within my range of vision. Slewing the old bean round a couple of inches, I was enabled to perceive that this large O was the bulging form of G. D'Arcy Cheesewright. I hadn't heard the door bell ring, and I hadn't seen him come in, but there unquestionably he was, haunting the place once more like a resident spectre.

  CHAPTER 7

  It was a moment for quick thinking. One doesn't want fellows having fits all over one's sitting-room. I was extremely dubious, moreover, as to whether, should he ascertain who was at the other end of the wire, he would confine himself to fits.

  'Certainly Catsmeat,' I said. 'Of course, Catsmeat. I quite understand, Catsmeat. But I'll have to ring off now, Catsmeat, as our mutual friend Cheesewright has just come in. Good-bye, Catsmeat.' I hung up the receiver and turned to Stilton. 'That was Catsmeat,' I said.

  He made no comment on this information, but stood glowering darkly. Now that I had been apprised of the ties of blood linking him with mine host of Vinton Street, I could see the family resemblance. Both uncle and nephew had the same way of narrowing their gaze and letting you have it from beneath the overhanging eyebrow. Th
e only difference was that whereas the former pierced you to the roots of the soul through rimless pince-nez, with the latter you got the eye nude.

  For a moment I was under the impression that my visitor's emotion was due to his having found me at this advanced hour in pyjamas and a dressing-gown, a costume which, if worn at three o'clock in the afternoon, is always liable to start a train of thought. But it seemed that this was not so. More serious matters were on the agenda.

  'Wooster,' he said, in a rumbling voice like the Cornish Express going through a tunnel, 'where were you last night?'

  I own the question rattled me. For an instant, indeed, I rocked on my base. Then I reminded myself that nothing could be proved against me, and was strong again.

  Ah, Stilton,' I said cheerily, 'come in, come in. Oh, you are in, aren't you? Well, take a seat and tell me all your news. A lovely day, is it not? You'll find a lot of people who don't like July in London, but I am all for it myself. It always seems to me there's a certain sort of something about it.'

  He appeared to be one of those fellows who are not interested in July in London, for he showed no disposition to pursue the subject, merely giving one of those snorts of his.

  'Where were you last night, you blighted louse?' he said, and I noticed that the face was suffused, the cheek muscles twitching and the eyes, like stars, starting from their spheres.

  I had a pop at being cool and nonchalant.

  'Last night?' I said, musing. 'Let me see, that would be the night of July, the twenty-second, would it not? H'm. Ha. The night of–'

  He swallowed a couple of times.

  'I see you have forgotten. Let me assist your memory. You were in a low night club with Florence Craye, my fiancée.'

  'Who, me?'

  'Yes, you. And this morning you were in the dock at Vinton Street police court.'