The Jeeves Omnibus (360 page)

I don’t know if he would have developed this theme, but before he could speak there came from the street a musical tooting.

‘There she is,’ he said, and went out.

So did I. I had no wish to meet Vanessa. I slid out of the back door and returned to Wee Nooke. And I had picked up
By Order Of The Czar
and was hoping to discover what it was that he had ordered, my bet being that a lot of characters with names ending in ‘sky’ would be off to Siberia before they knew what had hit them, when who should enter hurriedly but Orlo.

He had an envelope in his hand.

‘Oh, there you are, Bertie,’ he said. ‘I can only stop a minute. Vanessa’s out there in the car.’

‘Ask her to come in.’

‘She won’t come in. She says it would be too painful for you.’

‘What would?’

‘Meeting her, you ass. Gazing on her when you knew she is another’s.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘No sense in giving yourself a lot of agony if you don’t have to.’

‘Quite.’

‘I wouldn’t have disturbed you, only I wanted to give you this letter. It’s a note I’ve written to Cook in place of the one Vanessa wrote last night.’

‘Oh, she wrote him a note?’

‘Yes.’

‘To be pinned to her pincushion?’

‘That was the idea. But she dropped it somewhere and couldn’t be bothered to hunt around for it. So I thought I had better send him a line. If you’re running away with a man’s daughter, it’s only civil to let him know. And I would put the facts before him much better than she would. Girls are apt not to stick to the point when writing letters. With the best intentions in the world they ramble and embroider. A University-trained man like myself who contributes to the
New Statesman
does not fall into this blunder. He is concise. He is lucid.’

‘I didn’t know you wrote for the
New Statesman
.’

‘Occasional letters to the editor. And I rarely fail to enter for the weekly competitions.’

‘Absorbing work.’

‘Very.’

‘I’m a writer of sorts myself. When my Aunt Dahlia was running that paper of hers,
Milady’s Boudoir
, I did a piece for it on What The Well-Dressed Man Is Wearing.’

‘Did you indeed? Next time we meet you must tell me all about it. Can’t stop now. Vanessa’s waiting and,’ he added as the tooting of a horn broke the morning stillness, ‘getting impatient. Here’s the letter.’

‘You want me to take it to Cook?’

‘What do you think I want you to do with it? Get it framed?’

And so saying he legged it like a nymph surprised while bathing, and I picked up my
By Order Of The Czar
.

As I did so I was thinking bitterly that I wished the general public would stop regarding me as an uncomplaining Hey-You on whom all the unpleasant jobs could be shovelled off. Whenever something sticky was afoot and action had to be taken the cry was sure to go up, ‘Let Wooster do it’. I have already touched on my Aunt Agatha’s tendency to unload her foul son Thos on me at all seasons. My Aunt Dahlia had blotted the sunshine from my life in the matter of the cat. And here was Orlo Porter coolly telling me to take the letter to Cook, as if entering Cook’s presence in his present difficult mood wasn’t much the same as joining Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, of whom I had read when I won that Scripture Knowledge prize at my private school, on their way to the burning fiery furnace. What, I asked myself, was to be done?

It was a dilemma which might well have baffled a lesser man, but the whole point about the Woosters is that they are not lesser men. I don’t suppose it was more than three-quarters of an hour before the solution flashed on me – viz. to write Cook’s name and address on the envelope, stick a stamp on it and post it. Having decided to do this, I returned to my reading.

But everything seemed to conspire today to prevent me making any real progress with
By Order Of The Czar
. Scarcely had I perused a paragraph when the door burst open and I found that I was seeing Cook after all. He was standing on the threshold looking like the Demon King in a pantomime.

With him was Major Plank.

19

I HAVE ALWAYS
rather prided myself on being a good host, putting visitors at their ease with debonair smiles and courteous wisecracks, but I am compelled to admit that at the sight of these two I didn’t come within a mile of doing so, and the best I could do in the way of wisecracks was a hoarse cry like that of a Pekinese with laryngitis. It was left to Plank to get the conversation going.

‘We’re in luck, Cook,’ he said. ‘They haven’t started yet. Because if they had,’ he added, reasoning closely, ‘the bounder wouldn’t be here, would he?’

‘You’re right,’ said Cook. Then, addressing me, ‘Where is my daughter, you scoundrel?’

‘Yes, where is she, rat?’ said Plank, and I suddenly came over all calm. From being a Pekinese with throat trouble I turned in a flash into one of those fellows in historical novels who flick a speck of dust from the irreproachable mechlin lace at their wrists preparatory to making the bad guys feel like pieces of cheese. Because with my quick intelligence I had spotted that the parties of the second part had got all muddled up and that I was in a position to score off them as few parties of the second part had ever been scored off.

‘Fill me in on two points, Messrs Plank and Cook, if you will be so good,’ I said. ‘(
a
) Why are you taking up space in my cottage which I require for other purposes, and (
b
) What the hell are you talking about? What is all this song and dance about daughters?’

‘Trying to brazen it out,’ said Plank. ‘I told you he would. He reminds me of a man I knew in East Africa, who always tried to brazen things out. If you caught him with his fingers in your cigar box, he would say he was just tidying the cigars. Fellow named Abercrombie-Smith, eventually eaten by a crocodile on the Lower Zambesi. But even he had to give up when confronted with overwhelming evidence. Confront this blighter with the overwhelming evidence, Cook.’

‘I will,’ said Cook, producing an envelope from his pocket. ‘I have here a letter from my daughter. Signed “Vanessa”.’

‘A very important point,’ said Plank.

‘I will read it to you. “Dear Father. I am going away with the man I love.”’

‘Let’s see him wriggle out of that,’ said Plank.

‘Yes,’ said Cook. ‘What have you to say?’

‘Merely this,’ I riposted. I was thinking how mistaken Orlo had been in asserting that girls rambled when writing letters. Anything more lucid and concise than this one I had never come across. Possibly, I felt, Vanessa, too, was a contributor to the
New Statesman
. ‘Cook,’ I said, ‘you are labouring under a what-d’you-call-it.’

‘See!’ said Plank. ‘Didn’t I say he would try to brazen it out?’

‘That letter does not refer to me.’

‘Are you denying that you are the man my daughter loves?’

‘That’s just what I am denying.’

‘In spite of the fact that she is always in and out of this beastly cottage and is probably at this moment hiding under the bed in the spare room,’ said Plank, continuing to shove his oar in in the most unnecessary manner. These African explorers have no tact, no reticence.

‘May I explain,’ I said. ‘The chap you’re looking for is Orlo Porter. They fell for each other when she was in London and love has been burgeoning ever since, if burgeoning means what I think it means, until they felt they could bear being separated no longer. So she pinched your car and they’ve driven off together to the registrar’s.’

It didn’t go well. Cook said I was lying, and Plank said of course I was, adding that the more he saw of me the more I reminded him of Abercrombie-Smith, who, he said, would undoubtedly have done a long stretch in chokey if the crocodile hadn’t taken things into its own hands.

I should have mentioned that in the course of these exchanges Cook’s complexion had been steadily deepening. It now looked like a Drone Club tie, which is a rich purple. There was talk at one time of having it crimson with white spots, but the supporters of that view were outvoted.

‘How dare you have the insolence to suppose that I am fool enough to believe this story of my daughter being in love with Orlo Porter?’ he thundered. ‘As if any girl in her senses would love Orlo Porter.’

‘Ridiculous,’ said Plank.

‘Vanessa would turn from him in disgust.’

‘On her heel,’ said Plank.

‘What she can see in
you
I cannot imagine.’

‘Nor can I,’ said Plank. ‘He’s got a beard like one of those Victorian novelists. Revolting spectacle.’

It was true that I hadn’t shaved this morning, but this was going too far. I don’t mind criticism, but I will not endure vulgar abuse.

‘Pfui,’ I said. It is an expression I don’t often use, but Nero Wolfe is always saying it with excellent results, and it seemed to fit in rather well here. ‘Enough of this back-chat. Read this,’ I said, handing Cook Orlo’s letter.

I must say his reception of what Plank would have called the overwhelming evidence was all that could be desired. His jaw fell. He snorted. His face crumpled up like a sheet of carbon paper.

‘Good God!’ he gurgled.

‘What is it?’ asked Plank. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘This is from Porter, saying that he has eloped with Vanessa.’

‘Probably a forgery.’

‘No. Porter’s writing is unmistakable …’ He choked. ‘Mr Wooster—’

‘Don’t call him Mister Wooster as if he were a respectable member of society,’ said Plank. ‘He’s a desperate criminal who once came within an ace of stinging me for five pounds. He is known to the police as Alpine Joe. Address him as that. Wooster is only a pen name.’

Cook did not seem to have listened – and I didn’t blame him.

‘Mr Wooster, I owe you an apology.’

I decided to temper justice with m. No sense in grinding the poor old buster beneath the iron heel. True, he had been extremely offensive, but to a man who has lost his daughter and his cat within a day or two of each other much must be excused.

‘Don’t give it another thought, my dear fellow,’ I said. ‘We all make mistakes. I forgive you freely. If this little misunderstanding has taught you not to speak till you are sure of your facts, it will have been time well spent.’

I had paused, speculating as to whether I wasn’t being a bit too patronising, when somebody said ‘Miaow’ in a low voice, and looking down I saw that the cat had strolled in. And if ever a cat chose the wrong moment for getting the party spirit and
wanting
to mix with the boys, this cat was that cat. I looked at it with a wild surmise, as silent as those bimbos on the peak in Darien. With both hands pressed to the top of my head to prevent it taking to itself the wings of a dove and soaring to the ceiling, I was asking myself what the harvest would be.

I was speedily informed on this point.

‘Ha!’ said Cook, scooping up the animal and pressing it to his bosom. He seemed to have lost all interest in eloping daughters.

‘I told you it must have been Alpine Joe who was the kidnapper,’ said Plank. ‘That was why he was hanging about the stables that day. He was waiting his chance.’

‘Biding his time.’

‘And he hasn’t a word to say for himself.’

He was right. I was unable to utter. I couldn’t clear myself by exposing the aged relative at the bar of world opinion. I couldn’t make them believe that I was going to return the cat. You might have described me as being trapped in the net of fate if you had happened to think of the expression, and when that happens to you, it is no use saying anything. Ask the boys in Dartmoor or Pentonville. I could only trust that joy at recovering his lost one might soften Cook’s heart and make him let me off lightly.

Not a hope.

‘I shall insist on an exemplary sentence,’ he said.

‘And meanwhile,’ said Plank in that offensively officious way of his, ‘shall I be hitting him on the head with my stick? The Zulu knob-kerrie would be better, but I left it up at the house.’

‘I was going to ask you to go for a policeman.’

‘While you do what?’

‘While I take the cat back to Potato Chip.’

‘Suppose while we’re both gone he does a bunk?’

‘You have a point there.’

‘When anyone is caught stealing in Bongo on the Congo, they tie him down on an ant-hill until they can get hold of the walla-walla, as judges are called in the native dialect. Makes it awkward for the accused if he isn’t fond of ants and the walla-walla is away for the week-end, but into each life some rain must fall and he ought to have thought of that before he started pinching things. We’re short of ants, of course, but we can tie him to the sofa. It only means pulling down a couple of curtain cords.’

‘Then by all means let us do as you suggest.’

‘Better gag him. We don’t want him yelling for help.’

‘My dear Plank, you think of everything.’

I am a great reader of novels of suspense, and I had often wondered how the heroes of them felt when the heavy tied them up, as he generally did about half-way through. I was now in a position to get a rough idea, but of course only a rough one, for they were pretty nearly always attached to a barrel of gunpowder with a lighted candle on top of it, which must have made the whole thing considerably more poignant.

I had been spared this what you might call added attraction, but even so I was far from being in sunny mood. I think it was the gag which contributed most to the lowering of my spirits. Plank had inserted his tobacco pouch between my upper and lower teeth, and it tasted far too strongly of African explorer to be agreeable. It was a great relief when I heard a footstep and realized that Jeeves had returned from revelling with Mrs P. B. Pigott of Balmoral, Mafeking Road.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he said.

He expressed no surprise at seeing me tied to a sofa with curtain cords, just as he would have e. no s. if he had seen me being eaten by a crocodile like the late Abercrombie-Smith, though in the latter case he might have heaved a regretful sigh.

Assuming that I would prefer to be without them, he removed the gag and unfastened my bonds.