Pelham Wodehouse - The Little Nugget

Clenching my fists and glaring at him, I cried, 'I'll foil you yet, you hound!'

Some people have no soul for the dramatic. He smiled tolerantly.

'Sure,' he said. 'Anything you like, Desperate Desmond. Enjoy yourself!'

And he left me.

I evacuated Sanstead House unostentatiously, setting off on foot down the long drive. My luggage, I gathered, was to follow me to the station in a cart. I was thankful to Providence for the small mercy that the boys were in their classrooms and consequently unable to ask me questions. Augustus Beckford alone would have handled the subject of my premature exit in a manner calculated to bleach my hair.

It was a wonderful morning. The sky was an unclouded blue, and a fresh breeze was blowing in from the sea. I think that something of the exhilaration of approaching spring must have stirred me, for quite suddenly the dull depression with which I had started my walk left me, and I found myself alert and full of schemes.

Why should I feebly withdraw from the struggle? Why should I give in to Smooth Sam in this tame way? The memory of that wink came back to me with a tonic effect. I would show him that I was still a factor in the game. If the house was closed to me, was there not the 'Feathers'? I could lie in hiding there, and observe his movements unseen.

I stopped on reaching the inn, and was on the point of entering and taking up my position at once, when it occurred to me that this would be a false move. It was possible that Sam would not take my departure for granted so readily as I assumed. It was Sam's way to do a thing thoroughly, and the probability was that, if he did not actually come to see me off, he would at least make inquiries at the station to find out if I had gone. I walked on.

He was not at the station. Nor did he arrive in the cart with my trunk. But I was resolved to risk nothing. I bought a ticket for London, and boarded the London train. It had been my intention to leave it at Guildford and catch an afternoon train back to Stanstead; but it seemed to me, on reflection, that this was unnecessary. There was no likelihood of Sam making any move in the matter of the Nugget until the following day. I could take my time about returning.

I spent the night in London, and arrived at Sanstead by an early morning train with a suit-case containing, among other things, a Browning pistol. I was a little ashamed of this purchase. To the Buck MacGinnis type of man, I suppose, a pistol is as commonplace a possession as a pair of shoes, but I blushed as I entered the gun-shop. If it had been Buck with whom I was about to deal, I should have felt less self-conscious. But there was something about Sam which made pistols ridiculous.

My first act, after engaging a room at the inn and leaving my suit-case, was to walk to the school. Before doing anything else, I felt I must see Audrey and tell her the facts in the case of Smooth Sam. If she were on her guard, my assistance might not be needed. But her present state of trust in him was fatal.

A school, when the boys are away, is a lonely place. The deserted air of the grounds, as I slipped cautiously through the trees, was almost eerie. A stillness brooded over everything, as if the place had been laid under a spell. Never before had I been so impressed with the isolation of Sanstead House. Anything might happen in this lonely spot, and the world would go on its way in ignorance. It was with quite distinct relief that, as I drew nearer the house, I caught sight of the wire of the telephone among the trees above my head. It had a practical, comforting look.

A tradesman's cart rattled up the drive and disappeared round the side of the house. This reminder, also, of the outside world was pleasant. But I could not rid myself of the feeling that the atmosphere of the place was sinister. I attributed it to the fact that I was a spy in an enemy's country. I had to see without being seen. I did not imagine that Johnson, grocer, who had just passed in his cart, found anything wrong with the atmosphere. It was created for me by my own furtive attitude.

Of Audrey and Ogden there were no signs. That they were out somewhere in the grounds this mellow spring morning I took for granted; but I could not make an extended search. Already I had come nearer to the house than was prudent.

My eye caught the telephone wire again and an idea came to me. I would call her up from the inn and ask her to meet me. There was the risk that the call would be answered by Smooth Sam, but it was not great. Sam, unless he had thrown off his role of butler completely—which would be unlike the artist that he was—would be in the housekeeper's room, and the ringing of the telephone, which was in the study, would not penetrate to him.

I chose a moment when dinner was likely to be over and Audrey might be expected to be in the drawing-room.

I had deduced her movements correctly. It was her voice that answered the call.

'This is Peter Burns speaking.'

There was a perceptible pause before she replied. When she did, her voice was cold.

'Yes?'

'I want to speak to you on a matter of urgent importance.'

'Well?'

'I can't do it through the telephone. Will you meet me in half an hour's time at the gate?'

'Where are you speaking from?'

'The “Feathers”. I am staying there.'

'I thought you were in London.'

'I came back. Will you meet me?'

She hesitated.

'Why?'

'Because I have something important to say to you—important to you.'

There was another pause.

'Very well.'

'In half an hour, then. Is Ogden Ford in bed?'

'Yes.'

'Is his door locked?'

'No.'

'Then lock it and bring the key with you.'

'Why?'

'I will tell you when we meet.'

'I will bring it.'

'Thank you. Good-bye.'

I hung up the receiver and set out at once for the school.

She was waiting in the road, a small, indistinct figure in the darkness.

'Is that you—Peter?'

Her voice had hesitated at the name, as if at some obstacle. It was a trivial thing, but, in my present mood, it stung me.

'I'm afraid I'm late. I won't keep you long. Shall we walk down the road? You may not have been followed, but it is as well to be on the safe side.'

'Followed? I don't understand.'

We walked a few paces and halted.

'Who would follow me?'

'A very eminent person of the name of Smooth Sam Fisher.'

'Smooth Sam Fisher?'

'Better known to you as White.'

'I don't understand.'

'I should be surprised if you did. I asked you to meet me here so that I could make you understand. The man who poses as a Pinkerton's detective, and is staying in the house to help you take care of Ogden Ford, is Smooth Sam Fisher, a professional kidnapper.'

'But—but—'

'But what proof have I? Was that what you were going to say? None. But I had the information from the man himself. He told me in the train that night going to London.'

She spoke quickly. I knew from her tone that she thought she had detected a flaw in my story.

'Why did he tell you?'

'Because he needed me as an accomplice. He wanted my help. It was I who got Ogden away that day. Sam overheard me giving money and directions to him, telling him how to get away from the school and where to go, and he gathered—correctly—that I was in the same line of business as himself. He suggested a partnership which I was unable to accept.'

'Why?'

'Our objects were different. My motive in kidnapping Ogden was not to extract a ransom.'

She blazed out at me in an absolutely unexpected manner. Till now she had listened so calmly and asked her questions with such a notable absence of emotion that the outburst overwhelmed me.

'Oh, I know what your motive was. There is no need to explain that. Isn't there any depth to which a man who thinks himself in love won't stoop? I suppose you told yourself you were doing something noble and chivalrous? A woman of her sort can trick a man into whatever meanness she pleases, and, just because she asks him, he thinks himself a kind of knight-errant. I suppose she told you that he had ill-treated her and didn't appreciate her higher self, and all that sort of thing? She looked at you with those big brown eyes of hers—I can see her—and drooped, and cried, till you were ready to do anything she asked you.'