Pelham Wodehouse - Right Ho, Jeeves

Mind you, after what had passed between us in the matter of that white mess-jacket with the brass buttons, I was not prepared absolutely to hand over to the man. I would, of course, merely take him into consultation. But, recalling some of his earlier triumphs—the Sipperley Case, the Episode of My Aunt Agatha and the Dog McIntosh, and the smoothly handled Affair of Uncle George and The Barmaid's Niece were a few that sprang to my mind—I felt justified at least in offering him the opportunity of coming to the aid of the young master in his hour of peril.

But before proceeding further, there was one thing that had got to be understood between us, and understood clearly.

“Jeeves,” I said, “a word with you.”

“Sir?”

“I am up against it a bit, Jeeves.”

“I am sorry to hear that, sir. Can I be of any assistance?”

“Quite possibly you can, if you have not lost your grip. Tell me frankly, Jeeves, are you in pretty good shape mentally?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Still eating plenty of fish?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then it may be all right. But there is just one point before I begin. In the past, when you have contrived to extricate self or some pal from some little difficulty, you have frequently shown a disposition to take advantage of my gratitude to gain some private end. Those purple socks, for instance. Also the plus fours and the Old Etonian spats. Choosing your moment with subtle cunning, you came to me when I was weakened by relief and got me to get rid of them. And what I am saying now is that if you are successful on the present occasion there must be no rot of that description about that mess-jacket of mine.”

“Very good, sir.”

“You will not come to me when all is over and ask me to jettison the jacket?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“On that understanding then, I will carry on. Jeeves, I'm engaged.”

“I hope you will be very happy, sir.”

“Don't be an ass. I'm engaged to Miss Bassett.”

“Indeed, sir? I was not aware—”

“Nor was I. It came as a complete surprise. However, there it is. The official intimation was in that note you brought me.”

“Odd, sir.”

“What is?”

“Odd, sir, that the contents of that note should have been as you describe. It seemed to me that Miss Bassett, when she handed me the communication, was far from being in a happy frame of mind.”

“She is far from being in a happy frame of mind. You don't suppose she really wants to marry me, do you? Pshaw, Jeeves! Can't you see that this is simply another of those bally gestures which are rapidly rendering Brinkley Court a hell for man and beast? Dash all gestures, is my view.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, what's to be done?”

“You feel that Miss Bassett, despite what has occurred, still retains a fondness for Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir?”

“She's pining for him.”

“In that case, sir, surely the best plan would be to bring about a reconciliation between them.”

“How? You see. You stand silent and twiddle the fingers. You are stumped.”

“No, sir. If I twiddled my fingers, it was merely to assist thought.”

“Then continue twiddling.”

“It will not be necessary, sir.”

“You don't mean you've got a bite already?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You astound me, Jeeves. Let's have it.”

“The device which I have in mind is one that I have already mentioned to you, sir.”

“When did you ever mention any device to me?”

“If you will throw your mind back to the evening of our arrival, sir. You were good enough to inquire of me if I had any plan to put forward with a view to bringing Miss Angela and Mr. Glossop together, and I ventured to suggest—”

“Good Lord! Not the old fire-alarm thing?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“You're still sticking to that?”

“Yes, sir.”

It shows how much the ghastly blow I had received had shaken me when I say that, instead of dismissing the proposal with a curt “Tchah!” or anything like that, I found myself speculating as to whether there might not be something in it, after all.

When he had first mooted this fire-alarm scheme of his, I had sat upon it, if you remember, with the maximum of promptitude and vigour. “Rotten” was the adjective I had employed to describe it, and you may recall that I mused a bit sadly, considering the idea conclusive proof of the general breakdown of a once fine mind. But now it somehow began to look as if it might have possibilities. The fact of the matter was that I had about reached the stage where I was prepared to try anything once, however goofy.

“Just run through that wheeze again, Jeeves,” I said thoughtfully. “I remember thinking it cuckoo, but it may be that I missed some of the finer shades.”

“Your criticism of it at the time, sir, was that it was too elaborate, but I do not think it is so in reality. As I see it, sir, the occupants of the house, hearing the fire bell ring, will suppose that a conflagration has broken out.”

I nodded. One could follow the train of thought.

“Yes, that seems reasonable.”

“Whereupon Mr. Glossop will hasten to save Miss Angela, while Mr. Fink-Nottle performs the same office for Miss Bassett.”

“Is that based on psychology?”

“Yes, sir. Possibly you may recollect that it was an axiom of the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, that the instinct of everyone, upon an alarm of fire, is to save the object dearest to them.”

“It seems to me that there is a grave danger of seeing Tuppy come out carrying a steak-and-kidney pie, but resume, Jeeves, resume. You think that this would clean everything up?”

“The relations of the two young couples could scarcely continue distant after such an occurrence, sir.”

“Perhaps you're right. But, dash it, if we go ringing fire bells in the night watches, shan't we scare half the domestic staff into fits? There is one of the housemaids—Jane, I believe—who already skips like the high hills if I so much as come on her unexpectedly round a corner.”

“A neurotic girl, sir, I agree. I have noticed her. But by acting promptly we should avoid such a contingency. The entire staff, with the exception of Monsieur Anatole, will be at the ball at Kingham Manor tonight.”

“Of course. That just shows the condition this thing has reduced me to. Forget my own name next. Well, then, let's just try to envisage. Bong goes the bell. Gussie rushes and grabs the Bassett.... Wait. Why shouldn't she simply walk downstairs?”

“You are overlooking the effect of sudden alarm on the feminine temperament, sir.”

“That's true.”

“Miss Bassett's impulse, I would imagine, sir, would be to leap from her window.”

“Well, that's worse. We don't want her spread out in a sort of puree on the lawn. It seems to me that the flaw in this scheme of yours, Jeeves, is that it's going to litter the garden with mangled corpses.”

“No, sir. You will recall that Mr. Travers's fear of burglars has caused him to have stout bars fixed to all the windows.”

“Of course, yes. Well, it sounds all right,” I said, though still a bit doubtfully. “Quite possibly it may come off. But I have a feeling that it will slip up somewhere. However, I am in no position to cavil at even a 100 to 1 shot. I will adopt this policy of yours, Jeeves, though, as I say, with misgivings. At what hour would you suggest bonging the bell?”

“Not before midnight, sir.”

“That is to say, some time after midnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right-ho, then. At 12.30 on the dot, I will bong.”

“Very good, sir.”

I Don't know why it is, but there's something about the rural districts after dark that always has a rummy effect on me. In London I can stay out till all hours and come home with the milk without a tremor, but put me in the garden of a country house after the strength of the company has gone to roost and the place is shut up, and a sort of goose-fleshy feeling steals over me. The night wind stirs the tree-tops, twigs crack, bushes rustle, and before I know where I am, the morale has gone phut and I'm expecting the family ghost to come sneaking up behind me, making groaning noises. Dashed unpleasant, the whole thing, and if you think it improves matters to know that you are shortly about to ring the loudest fire bell in England and start an all-hands-to-the-pumps panic in that quiet, darkened house, you err.