DARK PLOTTINGS AT BLANDINGS CASTLE
§ 1
A
T the open window of the great library of Blandings Castle, like a wet sock, as was his when he had nothing to his against, the Earl of Emsworth, that and peer, out over his domain.
It was a and the air was with scents. Yet in his lordship’s there was a look of melancholy. His was furrowed, his mouth peevish. And this was all the more in that he was as happy as only a fluffy-minded man with excellent health and a large can be. A writer, Blandings Castle in a magazine article, had once said: “Tiny have in the of the stones, until, viewed near at hand, the place with vegetation.” It would not have been a of the proprietor. Fifty-odd years of and had Lord Emsworth a moss-covered look. Very had the power to him. Even his son, the Hon. Freddie Threepwood, only do it occasionally.
Yet now he was sad. And—not to make a of it any longer—the of his was the that he had his and without them was as blind, to use his own simile, as a bat. He was aware of the that on his gardens, and was to out and among the flowers he loved. But no man, he so wisely, can to with any good result if the world is a blur.
The door him opened, and Beach the entered, a of one.
“Who’s that?” Lord Emsworth, on his axis.
“It is I, your lordship—Beach.”
“Have you them?”
“Not yet, your lordship,” the butler.
“You can’t have looked.”
“I have assiduously, your lordship, but without avail. Thomas and Charles also non-success. Stokes has not yet his report.”
“Ah!”
“I am re-despatching Thomas and Charles to your lordship’s bedroom,” said the Master of the Hunt. “I trust that their will be rewarded.”
Beach withdrew, and Lord Emsworth to the window again. The that spread itself him—though he was not able to see it—was a one, for the castle, which is one of the houses in England, upon a of ground at the southern end of the Vale of Blandings in the of Shropshire. Away in the ran to where the Severn like an sword; while up from the river park-land, and dipping, in a green almost to the walls, on the in a many-coloured of flowers as it the spot where the of Angus McAllister, his lordship’s gardener, began. The day being June the thirtieth, which is the very high-tide time of flowers, the of the was with roses, pinks, pansies, carnations, hollyhocks, columbines, larkspurs, London pride, Canterbury bells, and a of other choice of which only Angus have told you the names. A man was Angus; and in of being a good by Lord Emsworth’s assistance, he excellent results in his department. In his there was much at which to point with pride, little to view with concern.
Scarcely had Beach himself when Lord Emsworth was called upon to turn again. The door had opened for the second time, and a man in a beautifully-cut of was in the doorway. He had a long and by and after the mode, and he was on one leg. For Freddie Threepwood was at his in his parent’s presence.
“Hallo, guv’nor.”
“Well, Frederick?”
It would be with the truth to say that Lord Emsworth’s was a warm one. It the note of true affection. A he had had to pay a of five hundred to settle for his offspring; and, while this had not actually an at his bank account, it had to Freddie’s in his eyes.
“Hear you’ve your glasses, guv’nor.”
“That is so.”
“Nuisance, what?”
“Undeniably.”
“Ought to have a pair.”
“I have my pair.”
“Tough luck! And the other?”
“And, as you say, the other.”
“Have you looked for the things?”
“I have.”
“Must be somewhere, I mean.”
“Quite possibly.”
“Where,” asked Freddie, to his work, “did you see them last?”
“Go away!” said Lord Emsworth, on his child’s had to an effect.
“Eh?”
“Go away!”
“Go away?”
“Yes, go away!”
“Right ho!”
The door closed. His returned to the window once more.
He had been there some minutes when one of those which in libraries. Without or a of books started to move away from the parent and, out in a solid into the room, a of a small, study-like apartment. A man in came through and the books returned to their place.
The Lord Emsworth and the new-comer, as they there, was striking, almost dramatic. Lord Emsworth was so spectacle-less; Rupert Baxter, his secretary, so spectacled. It was his that you as you saw the man. They at you. If you had a conscience, they you through and through; and if your was one hundred cent. pure you not them. “Here,” you said to yourself, “is an man in spectacles.”
In Rupert Baxter as efficient, you did not him. He was that. Technically but a subordinate, he had by degrees, to the of his employer, the master of the house. He was the Brains of Blandings, the man at the switch, the person in charge, and the pilot, so to speak, who the storm. Lord Emsworth left to Baxter, only to be allowed to in peace; and Baxter, more than equal to the task, it without wincing.
Having got range, Baxter coughed; and Lord Emsworth, the sound, with a of hope. It might be that this problem of the missing pince-nez would the other’s efficiency.
“Baxter, my dear fellow, I’ve my glasses. My glasses. I have them. I cannot think where they can have gone to. You haven’t them by any chance?”
“Yes, Lord Emsworth,” the secretary, equal to the crisis. “They are your back.”
“Down my back? Why, my soul!” His the and it—like all Baxter’s statements—accurate. “Why, my soul, so they are! Do you know, Baxter, I I must be absent-minded.” He in the slack, the pince-nez, them beamingly. His had like the off one of his roses. “Thank you, Baxter, thank you. You are invaluable.”
And with a Lord Emsworth for the door, en for God’s air and the of McAllister. The movement from Baxter another cough—a sharp, this time; and his paused, reluctantly, like a dog from the chase. A cloud over the of his mood. Admirable as Baxter was in so many respects, he had a to worry him at times; and something told Lord Emsworth that he was going to worry him now.
“The car will be at the door,” said Baxter with firmness, “at two sharp.”
“Car? What car?”
“The car to take you to the station.”
“Station? What station?”
Rupert Baxter his calm. There were times when he his a little trying, but he it.
“You have forgotten, Lord Emsworth, that you with Lady Constance to go to London this afternoon.”
“Go to London!” Lord Emsworth, appalled. “In weather like this? With a thousand to to in the garden? What a perfectly notion! Why should I go to London? I London.”
“You with Lady Constance that you would give Mr. McTodd to-morrow at your club.”
“Who the is Mr. McTodd?”
“The well-known Canadian poet.”
“Never of him.”
“Lady Constance has long been a great of his work. She him, should he come to England, to pay a visit to Blandings. He is now in London and is to come to-morrow for two weeks. Lady Constance’s was that, as a to Mr. McTodd’s in the world of literature, you should meet him in London and him here yourself.”
Lord Emsworth now. He also that this positively had not been his sister Constance’s in the place. It was Baxter who had the suggestion, and Constance had approved. He use of the pince-nez to through them at his secretary; and not for the time in months was aware of a that this Baxter was a infliction. Baxter was above himself, his weight about, making himself a nuisance. He he of the man. But where he an successor? That was the trouble. With all his drawbacks, Baxter was efficient. Nevertheless, for a moment Lord Emsworth with the of him. And it is possible, such was his exasperation, that he might on this occasion have done something practical in that direction, had not the library door at this moment opened for the third time, to admit yet another intruder—at the of his lordship’s mood weakly.
“Oh—hallo, Connie!” he said, guiltily, like a small boy in the cupboard. Somehow his sister always had this upon him.
Of all those who had entered the library that the new was the best looking at. Lord Emsworth was tall and and scraggy; Rupert Baxter thick-set and by that which is presented by men of complexion; and Beach, though dignified, and Freddie, though slim, would have got in a competition. But Lady Constance Keeble took the eye. She was a woman in the middle forties. She had a fair, brow, teeth of a perfect whiteness, and the of an empress. Her were large and grey, and gentle—and misleading, for was the which who her would have to Lady Constance. Though when she got her way, on the occasions when people to her she was to herself in a manner of Cleopatra on one of the latter’s mornings.
“I I am not you,” said Lady Constance with a smile. “I just came in to tell you to be sure not to forget, Clarence, that you are going to London this to meet Mr. McTodd.”
“I was just telling Lord Emsworth,” said Baxter, “that the car would be at the door at two.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter. Of I might have that you would not forget. You are so capable. I don’t know what in the world we would do without you.”
The Efficient Baxter bowed. But, though gratified, he was not by the tribute. The same had often to him independently.
“If you will me,” he said, “I have one or two to to . . .”
“Certainly, Mr. Baxter.”
The Efficient One through the door in the bookshelf. He that his was in mood, but that he was him in hands.
Lord Emsworth from the window, out of which he had been with a detachment.
“Look here, Connie,” he feebly. “You know I fellows. It’s having them in the house, but when it comes to going to London to ’em . . .”
He morosely. It was a of his, this of his sister’s of and them in the home for visits. You when she was going to another on you. Already since the of the year he had from a dozen of the at intervals; and at this very moment his life was being by the that Blandings was a Miss Aileen Peavey, the of was to turn the off as with a tap.
“Can’t fellows,” his lordship. “Never could. And, by Jove, are worse. Miss Peavey . . .” Here failed the owner of Blandings. “Miss Peavey . . .” he after an pause. “Who is Miss Peavey?”
“My dear Clarence,” Lady Constance tolerantly, for the had her mild and amiable, “if you do not know that Aileen is one of the leading of the school, you must be very ignorant.”
“I don’t that. I know she poetry. I who is she? You produced her here like a out of a hat,” said his lordship, in a of resentment. “Where did you her?”
“I Aileen’s on an Atlantic when Joe and I were from our the world. She was very to me when I was the motion of the vessel. . . . If you what is her family, I think Aileen told me once that she was with the Rutlandshire Peaveys.”
“Never of them!” Lord Emsworth. “And, if they’re anything like Miss Peavey, God help Rutlandshire!”
Tranquil as Lady Constance’s mood was this morning, an came into her at these words, and there is little that in another she would have at her one of those come-backs for which she had been in the family from days onward; but at this the Efficient Baxter appeared again through the bookshelf.
“Excuse me,” said Baxter, attention with a of his spectacles. “I to mention, Lord Emsworth, that, to everybody’s convenience, I have that Miss Halliday shall call to see you at your to-morrow after lunch.”
“Good Lord, Baxter!” The started as if he had been in the leg. “Who’s Miss Halliday? Not another female?”
“Miss Halliday is the lady who is to Blandings to the library.”
“Catalogue the library? What it want for?”
“It has not been done since the year 1885.”
“Well, and look how we’ve got along without it,” said Lord Emsworth acutely.
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Clarence,” said Lady Constance, annoyed. “The of a great library like this must be up to date.” She moved to the door. “I do wish you would try to wake up and take an in things. If it wasn’t for Mr. Baxter, I don’t know what would happen.”
And with a of at her she left the room. Baxter, austere, returned to the under discussion.
“I have to Miss Halliday two-thirty as a hour for the interview.”
“But look here . . .”
“You will wish to see her definitely the engagement.”
“Yes, but look here, I wish you wouldn’t go me up with all these appointments.”
“I that as you were going to London to meet Mr. McTodd . . .”
“But I’m not going to London to meet Mr. McTodd,” Lord Emsworth with weak fury. “It’s out of the question. I can’t possibly Blandings. The weather may at any moment. I don’t want to miss a day of it.”
“The are all made.”
“Send the a wire . . . ‘unavoidably detained.’”
“I not take the for such a myself,” said Baxter coldly. “But possibly if you were to make the to Lady Constance . . .”
“Oh, it!” said Lord Emsworth unhappily, at once the of the scheme. “Oh, well, if I’ve got to go, I’ve got to go,” he said after a pause. “But to my garden and in London at this time of the year . . .”
There nothing to say on the subject. He took off his glasses, them, put them on again, and to the door. After all, he reflected, though the car was for him at two, at least he had the morning, and he to make the most of it. But his careless at the of among his flowers was dimmed, and would not be recaptured. He did not any project so as the idea of his sister Constance, but he about the whole affair. Confound Constance! . . . Dash Baxter! . . . Miss Peavey . . .
The door closed Lord Emsworth.
§ 2
Lady Constance meanwhile, downstairs, had the big hall, when the door of the smoking-room opened and a out. A round, with a healthy pink to it.
“Connie!” said the head.
Lady Constance halted.
“Yes, Joe?”
“Come in here a minute,” said the head. “Want to speak to you.”
Lady Constance into the smoking-room. It was large and book-lined, and its window looked out on to an Italian garden. A wide fire-place nearly the whole of one of it, and in of this, his spread to an blaze, Mr. Joseph Keeble had already taken his stand. His manner was bluff, but an might have in it.
“What is it, Joe?” asked Lady Constance, and at her husband. When, two years previously, she had married this widower, of the world nothing the that he had a large in South African diamond mines, there had not been wanting to set the match as one of convenience, a purely by which Mr. Keeble his money for Lady Constance’s social position. Such was not the case. It had been a marriage of on sides. Mr. Keeble his wife, and she was to him, though indulgent. They were a happy and couple.
Mr. Keeble his throat. He to some in speaking. And when he spoke it was not on the which he had to open, but on one which had already been out in previous conversations.
“Connie, I’ve been about that necklace again.”
Lady Constance laughed.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Joe. You haven’t called me into this room on a like this to talk about that for the hundredth time.”
“Well, you know, there’s no in taking risks.”
“Don’t be absurd. What can there be?”
“There was a over at Winstone Court, not ten miles from here, only a day or two ago.”
“Don’t be so fussy, Joe.”
“That necklace cost nearly twenty thousand pounds,” said Mr. Keeble, in the voice in which men of speak of large sums.
“I know.”
“It ought to be in the bank.”
“Once and for all, Joe,” said Lady Constance, her and and Cleopatrine, “I will not keep that necklace in a bank. What on earth is the use of having a necklace if it is in the strong-room of a bank all the time? There is the County Ball on, and the Bachelors’ Ball after that, and . . . well, I need it. I will send the thing to the bank when we pass through London on our way to Scotland, but not till then. And I do wish you would stop me about it.”
There was a silence. Mr. Keeble was now that his had stopped him from in a and fashion the which was on his mind: for he that his about the necklace, though they were, had the mood in which his wife had this interview. It was going to be more difficult now than to approach the main issue. Still, though she might be, the thing had to be done: for it a of finance, and in of finance Mr. Keeble was no longer a free agent. He and Lady Constance had a banking account, and it was she who the of it. This was an arrangement, by Mr. Keeble, which had been come to in the early days of the honeymoon, when men are to do things.
Mr. Keeble coughed. Not the sharp, which we have Rupert Baxter in the library, but a feeble, thing like the of a sheep.
“Connie,” he said. “Er—Connie.”
And at the a of cold to come over Lady Constance’s eyes: for some told her what it was that was now about to be introduced.
“Connie, I—er—had a from Phyllis this morning.”
Lady Constance said nothing. Her for an instant, then again. Her had not her.
Into the married life of this happy only one had itself up to the present. But it was a of proportions, a of super-shadow; and its had been chilling. It was Phyllis, Mr. Keeble’s stepdaughter, who had it—by the of the rich and man Lady Constance had to her (rather in the manner of a a card upon his victim) and off and marrying a from rich and person of all that to be was that his name was Jackson. Mr. Keeble, was that Phyllis do no wrong, had been prepared to accept the philosophically; but his wife’s had been and enduring. So much so that the of the girl’s name must be to him for a deed, Lady Constance having that she to it again.
Keenly alive to this of hers, Mr. Keeble stopped after making his announcement, and had to his keys in his pocket in order to the necessary to continue. He was not looking at his wife, but he just how her must be. This of his was no easy, for a morning.
“She says in her letter,” Mr. Keeble, his on the and his a pink, “that Jackson has got the of a big farm . . . in Lincolnshire, I think she said . . . if he can three thousand pounds.”
He paused, and a at his wife. It was as he had feared. She had congealed. Like some spell, the name Jackson had her to marble. It was like the Pygmalion and Galatea the way round. She was breathing, but there was no of it.
“So I was just thinking,” said Mr. Keeble, producing another on the keys, “it just my mind . . . it isn’t as if the thing were a . . . the place is money . . . present owner only selling he wants to go . . . it to me . . . and they would pay good on the . . .”
“What loan?” the icily, to life.
“Well, what I was . . . just a suggestion, you know . . . what me was that if you were we might . . . good investment, you know, and it’s hard to good . . . I was that we might them the money.”
He stopped. But he had got the thing out and happier. He his keys again, and the of his against the mantelpiece. The to give him confidence.
“We had settle this thing once and for all, Joe,” said Lady Constance. “As you know, when we were married, I was to do for Phyllis. I was prepared to be a mother to her. I gave her every chance, took her everywhere. And what happened?”
“Yes, I know. But . . .”
“She to a man with of money . . .”
“Shocking ass,” Mr. Keeble, up for a moment at the of the late lamented, he had liked. “And a rip, what’s more. I’ve stories.”
“Nonsense! If you are going to all the you about people, nobody would be safe. He was a man and he would have Phyllis perfectly happy. Instead of marrying him, she to go off with this—Jackson.” Lady Constance’s voice quivered. Greater have been packed into two syllables. “After what has happened, I to have nothing more to do with her. I shall not them a penny, so do not let us continue this any longer. I I am not an woman, but I must say that I consider, after the way Phyllis . . .”
The opening of the door her to off. Lord Emsworth, mould-stained and a old jacket, into the room. He at his sister and his brother-in-law, but that he was a conversation.
“‘Gardening As A Fine Art,’” he murmured. “Connie, have you a book called ‘Gardening As A Fine Art’? I was reading it in here last night. ‘Gardening As A Fine Art.’ That is the title. Now, where can it have got to?” His to and fro. “I want to it to McAllister. There is a passage in it that directly his views on . . .”
“It is on one of the shelves,” said Lady Constance shortly.
“On one of the shelves?” said Lord Emsworth, by this suggestion. “Why, of course, to be sure.”
Mr. Keeble was his keys moodily. A was on his pink face. These moments of did not come to him very often, for he loved his wife with a dog-like and had to being by her, but now him. She was unreasonable, he considered. She ought to have how he about little Phyllis. It was too cold-blooded to the child like an old shoe . . .
“Are you going?” he asked, his wife moving to the door.
“Yes. I am going into the garden,” said Lady Constance. “Why? Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No,” said Mr. Keeble despondently. “Oh, no.”
Lady Constance left the room, and a fell. Mr. Keeble the of his against the mantelpiece, and Lord Emsworth among the book-shelves.
“Clarence!” said Mr. Keeble suddenly. An idea—one might almost say an inspiration—had come to him.
“Eh?” his absently. He had his book and was its pages, absorbed.
“Clarence, can you . . .”
“Angus McAllister,” Lord Emsworth bitterly, “is an obstinate, stiff-necked son of Belial. The of this book in so many . . .”
“Clarence, can you me three thousand on good security and keep it dark from Connie?”
Lord Emsworth blinked.
“Keep something dark from Connie?” He his from his book in order to at this with a pity. “My dear fellow, it can’t be done.”
“She would know. I will tell you just why I want this money . . .”
“Money?” Lord Emsworth’s had again. He was reading once more. “Money? Money, my dear fellow? Money? Money? What money? If I have said once,” Lord Emsworth, “that Angus McAllister is all on the of hollyhocks, I’ve said it a hundred times.”
“Let me explain. This three thousand . . .”
“My dear fellow, no. No, no. It was like you,” said his with a heartiness, “it was like you—good and generous—to make this offer, but I have ample, thank you, ample. I don’t need three thousand pounds.”
“You don’t understand. I . . .”
“No, no. No, no. But I am very much obliged, all the same. It was of you, my dear fellow, to give me the opportunity. Very kind. Very, very, very kind,” his lordship, to the door and reading as he went. “Oh, very, very, very . . .”
The door closed him.
“Oh, damn!” said Mr. Keeble.
He into a chair in a of dejection. He of the he would have to to Phyllis. Poor little Phyllis . . . he would have to tell her that what she asked not be managed. And why, Mr. Keeble sourly, as he rose from his seat and to the writing-table, it not be managed? Simply he was a weak-kneed, who was of a pair of that had a to freeze.
“My dear Phyllis,” he wrote.
Here he stopped. How on earth was he to put it? What a to have to write! Mr. Keeble his his hands and aloud.
“Hallo, Uncle Joe!”
The letter-writer, sharply, was aware—without pleasure—of his nephew Frederick, his chair. He him resentfully, for he was not only but startled. He had not the door open. It was as if the smooth-haired had up out of a trap.
“Came in through the window,” the Hon. Freddie. “I say, Uncle Joe.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I say, Uncle Joe,” said Freddie, “can you me a thousand quid?”
Mr. Keeble a like a Pomeranian.
§ 3
As Mr. Keeble, red-eyed and overwrought, rose slowly from his chair and to in silence, his nephew his hand appealingly. It to to the Hon. Freddie that he had not up to his with the maximum of tact.
“Half a jiffy!” he entreated. “I say, don’t go in off the end for just a second. I can explain.”
Mr. Keeble’s themselves in a loud snort.
“Explain!”
“Well, I can. Whole trouble was, I started at the end. Shouldn’t have it on you like that. The is, Uncle Joe, I’ve got a scheme. I give you my word that, if you’ll only put off having for about three minutes,” said Freddie, his relative with some anxiety, “I can you on to a good thing. Honestly I can. And all I say is, if this I’m talking about is a thousand to you, will you it across? I’m game to it and it to your to cash up if the thing looks good to you.”
“A thousand pounds!”
“Nice sum,” Freddie ingratiatingly.
“Why,” Mr. Keeble, now recovered, “do you want a thousand pounds?”
“Well, who doesn’t, if it comes to that?” said Freddie. “But I don’t mind telling you my special for wanting it at just this moment, if you’ll to keep it under your as as the guv’nor is concerned.”
“If you that you wish me not to repeat to your father anything you may tell me in confidence, naturally I should not of doing such a thing.”
Freddie looked puzzled. His was no brain.
“Can’t work that out,” he confessed. “Do you you will tell him or you won’t?”
“I will not tell him.”
“Good old Uncle Joe!” said Freddie, relieved. “A topper! I’ve always said so. Well, look here, you know all the trouble there’s been about my a on the lately?”
“I do.”
“Between ourselves, I about five hundred of the best. And I just want to ask you one question. Why did I it?”
“Because you were an ass.”
“Well, yes,” Freddie, having the point, “you might put it that way, of course. But why was I an ass?”
“Good God!” the Mr. Keeble. “Am I a psycho-analyst?”
“I to say, if you come right to it, I all that I was on the of the fence. It’s a mug’s game on horses. The only way to make money is to be a bookie, and that’s what I’m going to do if you’ll part with that thousand. Pal of mine, who was up at Oxford with me, is in a bookie’s office, and they’re game to take me in too if I can put up a thousand quid. Only I must let them know quick, the offer’s not going to be open for ever. You’ve no what a of a of there is for that of job.”
Mr. Keeble, who had been with some energy to a word in this harangue, now to speak.
“And do you that I would . . . But what’s the use of time talking? I have no means of my hands on the you mention. If I had,” said Mr. Keeble wistfully. “If I had . . .” And his to the on the desk, the which had got as as “My dear Phyllis” and there.
Freddie upon him with sympathy.
“Oh, I know how you’re situated, Uncle Joe, and I’m sorry for you. I mean, Aunt Constance and all that.”
“What!” Irksome as Mr. Keeble sometimes the condition of his financial arrangements, he had always had the of that they were a his wife and himself. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I know that Aunt Constance an on the and the narrowly. And I think it’s a that she won’t to help old Phyllis. A girl,” said Freddie, “I always liked. Bally shame! Why the shouldn’t she that Jackson? I mean, love’s love,” said Freddie, who on this point.
Mr. Keeble was making noises.
“Perhaps I ought to explain,” said Freddie, “that I was having a after-breakfast the window there and the whole thing. I mean, you and Aunt Constance going to the about old Phyllis and you trying to bite the guv’nor’s ear and so forth.”
Mr. Keeble for awhile.
“You—you listened!” he managed to at length.
“And lucky for you,” said Freddie with a by the under which a nicer-minded would have withered; “dashed lucky for you that I did. Because I’ve got a scheme.”
Mr. Keeble’s of his relative’s was not a high one, and it is whether, had the him in a less mood, he would have time in into the of this scheme, the mention of which had been playing in and out of Freddie’s like a will-o’-the-wisp. But such was his at the moment that a of into his eye.
“A scheme? Do you a to help me out of—out of my difficulty?”
“Absolutely! You want the best seats, we have ’em. I mean,” Freddie on in of these words, “you want three thousand quid, and I can you how to it.”
“Then do so,” said Mr. Keeble; and, having opened the door, out, and closed it again, he the room and the window.
“Makes it a fuggy, but you’re right,” said Freddie, these manœuvres. “Well, it’s like this, Uncle Joe. You what you were saying to Aunt Constance about some bird being to up and pinch her necklace?”
“I do.”
“Well, why not?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why don’t you?”
Mr. Keeble his nephew with astonishment. He had been prepared for imbecility, but this his expectations.
“Steal my wife’s necklace!”
“That’s it. Frightfully quick you are, on to an idea. Pinch Aunt Connie’s necklace. For, mark you,” Freddie, so the respect from a nephew as to his uncle on the chest, “if a husband anything from a wife, it isn’t stealing. That’s law. I that out from a movie I saw in town.”
The Hon. Freddie was a great student of the movies. He tell a super-film from a super-super-film at a glance, and what he did not know about and have been in a sub-title.
“Are you insane?” Mr. Keeble.
“It wouldn’t be hard for you to of it. And once you’d got it would be happy. I mean, all you’d have to do would be to a cheque to pay for another one for Aunt Connie—which would make her perfectly chirpy, as well as you one up, if you me. Then you would have the other necklace, the one, to play about with. See what I mean? You sell it and by stealth, ship Phyllis her three thousand, push across my thousand, and what was left over would be a little private account for you to away where Aunt Connie wouldn’t know anything about it. And a useful thing,” said Freddie, “to have up your in case of emergencies.”
“Are you . . . ?”
Mr. Keeble was on the point of his previous when there came the that, despite all opinions, the man was anything but insane. The scheme, at which he had been prepared to scoff, was so brilliant, yet simple, that it almost that its have it out for himself.
“Not my own,” said Freddie modestly, as if in answer to the thought. “Saw much the same thing in a movie once. Only there the fellow, if I remember, wanted to do an company, and it wasn’t a necklace that he but bonds. Still, the principle’s the same. Well, how do we go, Uncle Joe? How about it? Is that a thousand or not?”
Even though he had in person to the of the door and the window, Mr. Keeble not from a conspirator-like about him. They had been speaking with voices, but now came from him in an almost whisper.
“Could it be done? Is it feasible?”
“Feasible? Why, it, what the is there to stop you? You do it in a second. And the of the whole thing is that, if you were copped, nobody say a word, husband from wife isn’t stealing. Law.”
The that in the nobody say a word to Mr. Keeble so at with the that he was to challenge it.
“Your aunt would have a good to say,” he ruefully.
“Eh? Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Well, you would have to that. After all, the would be against her out.”
“But she might.”
“Oh, well, if you put it like that, I she might.”
“Freddie, my boy,” said Mr. Keeble weakly, “I daren’t do it!”
The of his thousand from his so upon Freddie that he himself in a manner from in one of his years an older man.
“Oh, I say, don’t be such a rabbit!”
Mr. Keeble his head.
“No,” he repeated, “I daren’t.”
It might have that the had a deadlock, but Freddie, with a thousand in sight, was in too a condition to permit so an to such a promising plot. As he there, at his uncle’s pusillanimity, an idea was to him.
“By Jove! I’ll tell you what!” he cried.
“Not so loud!” the Mr. Keeble. “Not so loud!”
“I’ll tell you what,” Freddie in a whisper. “How would it be if I did the pinching?”
“What!”
“How would it . . .”
“Would you?” Hope, which had from Mr. Keeble’s face, came back. “My boy, would you really?”
“For a thousand you I would.”
Mr. Keeble at his relative’s hand and it feverishly.
“Freddie,” he said, “the moment you place that necklace in my hands, I will give you not a thousand but two thousand pounds.”
“Uncle Joe,” said Freddie with equal intensity, “it’s a bet!”
Mr. Keeble at his forehead.
“You think you can manage it?”
“Manage it?” Freddie laughed a light laugh. “Just watch me!”
Mr. Keeble his hand again with the warmth.
“I must go out and some air,” he said. “I’m all upset. May I this to you, Freddie?”
“Rather!”
“Good! Then to-night I will to Phyllis and say that I may be able to do what she wishes.”
“Don’t say ‘may,’” Freddie buoyantly. “The word is ‘will.’ Bally will! What ho!”
§ 4
Exhilaration is a drug; but, like other drugs, it has the that its last for very long. For ten minutes after his uncle had left him, Freddie Threepwood in his chair in a of ecstasy. He strong, vigorous, alert. Then by degrees, like a wind, to upon him—faintly at first, then more and more insistently, till by the end of a of an hour he was in a of self-mistrust. Or, to put it with less elegance, he was from an attack of cold feet.
The more he the which he had undertaken, the less did it appear to him. His was not a imagination, but he shape with a a of the bust-up that would should he be his Aunt Constance’s diamond necklace. Common would in such an event seal his as his Uncle Joseph’s in the matter. And if—as might happen—common failed at the crisis, told him that his Uncle Joseph would any knowledge of or with the act. And then where would he be? In the soup, undoubtedly. For Freddie not it from himself that there was nothing in his previous record to make it to his nearest and that he should the of a female relative for purely personal ends. The in the event of would be one of condemnation.
And yet he the idea of that two thousand to from his . . .
A man’s cross-roads.
* * * * *
The of into which these him had him up with a from the of his arm-chair and had set him about the room. His him at this point to with the long table on which Beach the butler, a tidy soul, was in the of in a the daily papers, papers, and which their way into the castle. The had the of him from his stupor, and in an way he the nearest daily paper, which to be the Morning Globe, and returned to his chair in the of his nerves with a of the intelligence. For, though now from any practical in the doings of the world, he still took a in what Captain Curb, the Head Lad, Little Brighteyes, and the of the newspaper for the day’s big event. He a cigarette and the journal.
The next moment, of directly, as was his practice, to the last page, which was to sport, he was with a in his at a on page one.
It was a well-displayed advertisement, and one that had the of many other readers of the paper that morning. It was to attention, and it had its object. But where others who read it had and how good money nonsense like this in the paper, to Freddie its was serious. It read to him like the Real Thing. His motion-picture-trained mind this at its face-value.
It ran as follows:—
LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!
Psmith Will Help You
Psmith Is Ready For Anything
DO YOU WANT
Someone To Manage Your Affairs?
Someone To Handle Your Business?
Someone To Take The Dog For A Run?
Someone To Assassinate Your Aunt?
PSMITH WILL DO IT
CRIME NOT OBJECTED TO
Whatever Job You Have To Offer
(Provided It Has Nothing To Do With Fish)
LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!
Address Applications To ‘R. Psmith, Box 365’
LEAVE IT TO PSMITH!
Freddie the paper with a of breath. He it up again, and read the a second time. Yes, it good.
More, it had something of the quality of a direct answer to prayer. Very now Freddie that what he had been for was a partner to the of this enterprise which he had so undertaken. In fact, not so much to them as to take them off his altogether. And such a partner he was now in a position to command. Uncle Joe was going to give him two thousand if he the thing off. This would be to come in for a hundred . . .
* * * * *
Two minutes later, Freddie was at the writing-desk, a letter. From time to time he over his at the door. But the house was still. No came to him at his task.
§ 5
Freddie out into the garden. He had not when from close at hand there was to him on the a in a high voice about Scottish obstinacy, which only have from one source. He his steps.
“Hallo, guv’nor.”
“Well, Frederick?”
Freddie shuffled.
“I say, guv’nor, do you think I might go up to town with you this afternoon?”
“What!”
“Fact is, I ought to see my dentist. Haven’t been to him for a of a time.”
“I cannot see the for you to visit a London dentist. There is an excellent man in Shrewsbury, and you know I have the to your going to London.”
“Well, you see, this my snappers. Always been to him, I to say. Anybody who anything about these will tell you mistake go about to different dentists.”
Already Lord Emsworth’s attention was to the waiting McAllister.
“Oh, very well, very well.”
“Thanks awfully, guv’nor.”
“But on one thing I insist, Frederick. I cannot have you about London the whole day. You must catch the twelve-fifty train back.”
“Right ho. That’ll be all right, guv’nor.”
“Now, to reason, McAllister,” said his lordship. “That is all I ask you to do—listen to . . .”
