Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (8 page)

The reason why the blood froze in my v. needs little
explanation. The dullest eye could have perceived the
delicacy of my position. With the cat practically
vis-à-vis
as
you might say and Plank among those present, my predicament
was that of a member of the criminal classes who has got
away with the Maharajah's ruby and after stashing it among
his effects sees a high official of Scotland Yard walk in at the
door. Worse, as a matter of fact, because rubies don't talk,
whereas cats do. This one had struck me during our brief
acquaintance as the taciturn type, content merely to purr, but
who knew that, finding itself in unfamiliar surroundings and
missing its pal Potato Chip, it would not utter a yowl or two?
And a single mew would be enough to plunge me in the soup.

I remember my Aunt Agatha once making me take her
revolting son, young Thos, to a play at the Old Vic by the
name of
Macbeth.
Thos slept throughout, but I thought it
rather good and the reason I bring it up is because there was a
scene in it where Macbeth is giving a big dinner party and the
ghost of a fellow called Banquo, whom he has recently
murdered, crashes the gate all covered with blood. Macbeth
took it big, and the point I'm trying to make is that my feelings
on seeing Plank were much the same as his on that occasion. I
goggled at him as he would have goggled at a scorpion or
tarantula or whatever they have in Africa if on going to bed
one night he had found it nestling in his pyjamas.

Plank was very merry and bright.

'I thought I'd come and tell you,' he said, 'that I'm getting
my memory back. Pretty soon I'll be remembering every detail
of that first meeting of ours. Wrapped in mist at the moment,
but light is beginning to seep through. It's often that way with
malaria.'

I didn't like the sound of this at all. As I explained earlier,
the meeting to which he referred had been one fraught with
embarrassment for me, and I would have preferred to let the
dead past bury its dead as the fellow said. Well, when I remind
you that it concluded with a suggestion on his part that he hit
me over the head with a Zulu knob-kerrie, you will probably
gather that it had not been conducted throughout in an
atmosphere of the utmost cordiality.

'One thing I remember,' he proceeded, 'is that you were very
keen on Rugby football, which of course is the great interest of
my life, and I told you my village team was shaping well and
showed great promise. And by an extraordinary stroke of luck
I've got a new vicar, chap called Pinker, who was an international
prop forward. Played for Oxford four years and got I
don't know how many English caps. He pulls the whole side
together, besides preaching an excellent sermon.'

Nothing could have pleased me more than to hear that my
old friend Stinker Pinker was giving satisfaction, and if it had
not been for the dark shadow of the cat brooding over us I
might quite have enjoyed this little get-together. For he was an
entertaining companion, as these far-flung chaps so often are,
and told me a lot I hadn't known before about tsetse flies and
what to do if cornered by a charging rhinoceros. But in the
middle of one of his best stories – he had just got to where the
natives seemed friendly, so he decided to stay the night – he
broke off, cocked his head sideways, and said:

'What was that?'

I had heard it, too, of course. But I preserved my poise.

'What was what?' I said.

'I heard a cat.'

I continued to wear the mask. I laughed a light laugh.

'Oh, that was my man Jeeves. He imitates cats.'

'He does, eh?'

'It gives him a passing pleasure.'

'And, I suppose, gets a laugh if he does it at the pub near
closing time when everyone's fairly tight. I had a native bearer
once who could imitate the mating call of the male puma.'

'Really?'

'So that even female pumas were deceived. They used to
come flocking round the camp in dozens, and were as sick as
mud when they found it was only a native bearer. He was the
one I was telling you we had to bury before sundown. Which
reminds me. How are those spots of yours?'

'Completely disappeared.'

'Not always a good sign. It's bad if they work inward and get
mixed up with the blood stream.'

'Doctor Murgatroyd expected them to disappear.'

'He ought to know.'

'I have great confidence in him.'

'So have I, in spite of those whiskers.' He paused, and
laughed amusedly. 'Odd, the passage of time.'

'Pretty odd,' I conceded.

'Old Jimpy Murgatroyd. You'd never think, to look at him
now, that when I knew him as a boy he was about the best
wing-three we ever had at Haileybury. Fast as a streak and
never failed to give the reverse pass. He scored two tries against
Bedford, one of them from our twenty-five, and dropped a
goal against Tonbridge.'

Though not having a clue to what he was talking about, I
said 'Really?' and he said 'Absolutely', and I think we should
have had a lot more about E. Jimpson Murgatroyd the boy, but
at this moment the cat came on the air again and he changed
the subject.

'Listen. Wouldn't you swear that was a cat? That man of
yours certainly makes it lifelike.'

'Just a knack.'

'A gift, I'd call it. Good animal-impersonators don't grow
on every bush. I never had another bearer like the puma chap.
Plenty of fellows who could do you a passable screech owl, but
that's not the same thing. It's lucky Cook isn't here.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because he would insist on being confronted by what he
imagined to be his cat and would tear the place apart to get at
it. He wouldn't believe for a moment that it was your man
practising his art. You see, a very valuable cat belonging to
Cook has vanished, and he is convinced that rival interests
have stolen it. He talked of calling Scotland Yard in. But I
must be getting along. I only stopped by to tell you about the
remarkable improvement in my memory. It's all coming back.
It won't be long before I shall be remembering why I thought
your name was something that began with Al. Could it have
been a nickname of some sort?'

'I don't think so.'

'Not short for Alka-Seltzer, or something like that? Well,
no good worrying about it now. It'll come. It'll come.'

I couldn't imagine what had given him this idea that my
name began with Al, but it was a small point and I didn't linger
on it. No sooner had he beetled off than I was calling Jeeves in
for a conference.

When he came, he was full of apologies. He seemed to
think he had let the young master down.

'I fear you will have thought me remiss, sir, but I found it
impossible to stifle the animal's cries completely. I trust they
were not overheard by your visitor.'

'They were, and the visitor was none other than Major
Plank, from whom you saved me so adroitly at Totleigh-in-the-
Wold. He is closely allied to Pop Cook, and I don't mind
telling you that when he blew in I was as badly rattled as
Macbeth, if you know what I mean, that time he was sitting
down to dinner and the ghost turned up.'

'I know the scene well, sir. "Never shake thy gory locks at
me," he said.'

'And I don't blame him. Plank heard those yowls.'

'I am extremely sorry, sir.'

'Not your fault. Cats will be cats. I was taken aback at the
moment, like Macbeth, but I kept my head. I told him you
were a cat-imitator brushing up your cat-imitating.'

'A very ingenious ruse, sir.'

'Yes, I didn't think it was too bad.'

'Did it satisfy the gentleman?'

'It seemed to. But what of Pop Cook?'

'Sir?'

'What's worrying me is the possibility of Cook being less
inclined to swallow the story and coming here to search the
premises. And when I say the possibility, I mean the certainty.
Figure it out for yourself. He finds me up at Eggesford Court
apparently swiping the cat. He learns that I am lunching at
Eggesford Hall. "Ha!" he says to himself, "one of the Briscoe
gang, is he? And I caught him with the cat actually on his
person." Do you suppose that when Plank gets back and tells
him he heard someone imitating cats
chez
me, he is going to
believe that what Plank heard was a human voice? I doubt it,
Jeeves. He will be at my door in ten seconds flat, probably
accompanied by the entire local police force.'

My remorseless reasoning had its effect. A slight
wiggling of the nose showed that. Nothing could ever make
Jeeves say 'Gorblimey!', but I could see that was the word
that would have sprung to his lips if he hadn't stopped it halfway.
His comment on my
obiter dicta
was brief and to the
point.

'We must act, sir!'

'And without stopping to pick daisies by the wayside. Are
you still resolved not to return this cat to
status quo
?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Sam Weller would have done it like a shot to oblige Mr
Pickwick.'

'It is not my place to return cats, sir. But if I might make a
suggestion.'

'Speak on, Jeeves.'

'Why should we not place the matter in the hands of the
man Graham?'

'Of course! I never thought of that.'

'He is a poacher of established reputation, and a competent
poacher is what we need.'

'I see what you mean. His experience enables him to move
around without letting a twig snap beneath his feet, which is
the first essential when you are returning cats.'

'Precisely, sir. With your permission I will go to the Goose
and Grasshopper and tell him that you wish to see him.'

'Do so, Jeeves,' I said, and only a few minutes later I found
myself closeted with Herbert (Billy) Graham.

The first thing that impressed itself on me as I gave him the
once-over was his air of respectability. I had always supposed
that poachers were tough-looking eggs who wore whatever
they could borrow from the nearest scarecrow and shaved only
once a week. He, to the contrary, was neatly clad in formfitting
tweeds and was shaven to the bone. His eyes were frank
and blue, his hair a becoming grey. I have seen more raffish
Cabinet ministers. He looked like someone who might have
sung in the sainted Briscoe's church choir, as I was informed
later he did, being the possessor of a musical tenor voice which
came in handy for the anthem and when they were doing those
'miserable sinner' bits in the Litany.

He was about the height and tonnage of Fred Astaire, and
he had the lissomness which is such an asset in his chosen
profession. One could readily imagine him flitting silently
through the undergrowth with a couple of rabbits in his grasp,
always two jumps ahead of the gamekeepers who were trying
to locate him. The old ancestor had compared him to the
Scarlet Pimpernel, and a glance was enough to tell me that the
tribute was well deserved. I thought how wise Jeeves had been
in suggesting that I entrust to him the delicate mission which
I had in mind. When it comes to returning cats that have been
snitched from their lawful homes, you need a specialist. Where
Lloyd George or Winston Churchill would have failed, this
Graham, I knew would succeed.

'Good afternoon, sir,' he said, 'you wished to see me?'

I got down without delay to the nub. No sense in humming
or, for the matter of that, hawing.

'It's about this cat.'

'I delivered it according to instructions.'

'And now I want you to take it back.'

He seemed perplexed.

'Back, sir?'

'To where you got it.'

'I do not quite understand, sir.'

'I'll explain.'

I think I outlined the position of affairs rather well, making
it abundantly clear that a Wooster could not countenance what
was virtually tantamount, if tantamount is the word I want, to
nobbling a horse and that the cat under advisement must be
restored to its proprietor with all possible slippiness, and he
listened attentively. But when I had finished, he shook his
head.

'Out of the question, sir.'

'Out of the question? Why? You purloined it.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then you can put it back.'

'No, sir. You are overlooking certain vital facts.'

'Such as?'

'The theft to which you refer was perpetrated as a personal
favour to Miss Briscoe, whom I have known from childhood,
and a sweet child she was.'

I thought of trying to move him by saying that I had been a
sweet child, too, but I knew that this was not the case, having
frequently been informed to that effect by my Aunt Agatha, so
I let it go. There was not much chance, of course, that he had
ever met my Aunt Agatha and discussed me with her, but it
was not worth risking.

'Furthermore,' he proceeded, and I was impressed, as I had
been from the start, by the purity of his diction. He had
evidently had a good education, though I doubted if he was an
Oxford man. 'Furthermore,' he said, 'I have five pounds on
Potato Chip with the landlord of the Goose and Grasshopper.'

'Aha!' I said to myself, and I'll tell you why I said 'Aha' to
myself. I said it because the scales had fallen from my eyes and
I saw all. Plainly that stuff about personal favours to sweet
children had been the merest bobbledy-gook. He had been
actuated throughout entirely by commercial motives. When
Angelica Briscoe had come to him, he would have started with
a regretful
nolle prosequi
on the ground that he had this fiver on
Potato Chip and was obliged to protect his investment. She
had said, would he do it for ten quid, which would leave him
with a nice profit? He had right-hoed. Angelica had then
touched Aunt Dahlia for ten and the deal had gone through. I
have often thought I would have made a good detective. I can
reason and deduce.

Everything was simple now that the matter could be put
on a business basis. All that remained was to arrange terms.
It would have to be a ready-money transaction, he being
the shrewd man he was, and fortunately I had brought wads
of cash with me for betting-on-the-course-at-Bridmouth
purposes, so there was no problem.