Pelham Wodehouse - The Return of Jeeves

"He was, was he?" he said in his tactful way. "Well, I hope you didn't believe him."

Mrs. Spottsworth stiffened. She sensed a slur on the man she loved.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Awful liar, that chap."

"Why do you say that, Sir Roderick?"

"I was thinking of those yarns of his at dinner last night."

"They were perfectly true."

"Not a bit of it," said Rory buoyantly.

"Don't you let him pull your leg, my dear Mrs. Dogsbody. All these fellows from out East are the most frightful liars. It's due, I believe, to the ultra-violet rays of the sun in those parts. They go out without their solar topees, and it does something to them. I have this from an authoritative source. One of them used to come to headquarters a lot when I was in the Guns, Pistols and Ammunition, and we became matey.

And one night, when in his cups, he warned me not to swallow a single word any of them said. "Look at me", he reasoned. "Did you ever hear a chap tell the ghastly lies I do? Why, I haven't spoken the truth since I was so high.

And so low are standards east of Suez that my nickname out there is George Washington"."

"Coffee is served in the living-room, m'lord," said Jeeves, intervening in his polished way and averting what promised, judging from the manner in which Mrs. Spottsworth's eyes had begun to glitter, to develop into an ugly brawl.

Following his guests into the living-room, Bill was conscious of a growing sense of uneasiness and alarm. He had not supposed that anything could have increased his mental discomfort, but Rory's words had done so a hundredfold. As he lowered himself into a chair, accepted a cup of coffee and spilled it over his trousers, one more vulture had added itself to the little group already gnawing at his bosom. For the first time he had begun to question the veracity of Captain Biggar's story of the pendant, and at the thought of what he had let himself in for if that story had not been true his imagination boggled.

Dimly he was aware that Rory and Monica had collected all the morning papers and were sitting surrounded by them their faces grave and tense. The sands were running out. Less than an hour from now the Derby would be run, and soon, if ever, they must decide how their wagers were to be placed.

"Racing News," said Monica, calling the meeting to order. "What does the Racing News say, Rory?"

Rory studied that sheet in his slow, thorough way.

"Lot of stuff about the Guineas form. Perfect rot, all of it. You can't go by the Guineas. Too many unknowns. If you want my considered opinion, there's nothing in sight to beat Taj Mahal. The Aga has the mares, and that's what counts. The sires don't begin to matter compared with the mares."

"I'm glad to hear you pay this belated tribute to my sex."

"Yes, I think for my two quid it's Taj Mahal on the nose."

"That settles Taj Mahal for me. Whenever you bet on them, they start running backwards.

Remember that dog-race."

Rory was obliged to yield this point.

"I admit my nominee let the side down on that occasion," he said. "But when a real rabbit gets loose on a dog track, it's bound to cause a bit of confusion. Taj Mahal gets my two o'goblins."

"I thought your money was going on Oratory."

"Oratory is my outsider bet, ten bob each way."

"Well, here's another hunch for you.

Escalator."

"Escalator?"

"Wasn't H's the first store to have escalators?"

"By jove, yes. We've got the cup, you know. Our safety-landing device has enabled us to clip three seconds off the record. The Oxford Street boys are livid. I must look into this Escalator matter."

"Lester Piggott is riding it."

"That settles it. L. Piggott is the name of the chap stationed in the Trunks, Bags and Suit-cases, as fine a man as ever punched a time-clock. I admit his L stands for Lancelot, but that's a good enough omen for me."

Monica looked across at Mrs.

Spottsworth.

"I suppose you think we're crazy, Rosalinda?"

Mrs. Spottsworth smiled indulgently.

"Of course not, dear. This brings back the old days with Mr. Bessemer. Racing was all he ever thought of. We spent our honeymoon at Sheepshead Bay. It's the Derby, is it, you're so interested in?"

"Just our silly little annual flutter. We don't bet high. Can't afford to. We have to watch the pennies."

"Rigidly," said Rory. He chuckled amusedly, struck by a whimsical idea. "I was just thinking," he went on in explanation of his mirth, "that the smart thing for me to have done would have been to stick to that pendant of yours I picked up last night and go off to London with it and pawn it, thus raising a bit of ... Yes, old man?"

Bill swallowed.

"I didn't speak."

"I thought you did."

"No, just a hiccup."

"To which," Rory conceded, "you were fully entitled. If a man can't hiccup in his own house, in whose house can he hiccup? Well, summing up, Taj Mahal two quid.

Escalator ten bob each way. I'll go and send off my wire." He paused. "But wait.

Is it not rash to commit oneself without consulting Jeeves?"

"Why Jeeves?"

"My dear Moke, what that man doesn't know about form isn't worth knowing. You should have heard him yesterday when I asked him if he had any views on the respective contestants in England's premier classic race. He just stood there rattling off horses and times and records as if he were the Archbishop of Canterbury."

Monica was impressed.

"I didn't know he was as hot as that.

Are there no limits to the powers of this wonder man? We'll go and confer with him at once."

They hurried out, and Bill, having cleared his throat, said "Er".

Mrs. Spottsworth looked up inquiringly.

"Er, Rosie. That pendant of yours. The one Rory was speaking of."

"Yes?"

"I was admiring it last night."

"It's nice, isn't it?"

"Beautiful. You didn't have it at Cannes, did you?"

"No. I hadn't met Mr. Spottsworth then. It was a present from him."

Bill leaped. His worst suspicions had been confirmed.

"A present from Mr. Sp—?" he gasped.

Mrs. Spottsworth laughed.

"It's too funny," she said. "I was talking to Captain Biggar about it last night, and I told him one of my husbands gave it to me, but I couldn't remember which. It was Mr.

Spottsworth, of course. So silly of me to have forgotten."

Bill gulped.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, quite."

"It ... it wasn't given to you by some fellow on one of those hunting expeditions ... as a ... as a sort of memento?"

Mrs. Spottsworth stared.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought ... fellow grateful for kindnesses ... saying good-bye ... might have said "Won't you accept this as a little memento ... and all that sort of thing"."

The suggestion plainly offended Mrs.

Spottsworth.

"Do you imagine that I accept diamond pendants from "fellows", as you call them?"

"Well, I—"

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing. Mr.

Spottsworth bought that pendant when we were in Bombay. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. A funny little shop with a very fat Chinaman behind the counter, and Mr. Spottsworth would insist on trying to speak Chinese. And just as he was bargaining, there was an earthquake. Not a bad one, but everything was all red dust for about ten minutes, and when it cleared, Mr.

Spottsworth said "Let's get out of here!" and paid what the man was asking and grabbed the pendant and we raced out and never stopped running till we had got back to the hotel."

A dull despair had Bill in its grip.

He heaved himself painfully to his feet.

"I wonder if you would excuse me," he said.

"I have to see Jeeves about something."

"Well, ring for Jeeves."

Bill shook his head.

"No, I think, if you don't mind, I'll go and see him in his pantry."