Pelham Wodehouse - The Return of Jeeves

"Oh, it's all right," said Jill. "There's been a change in the situation. Sweethearts still."

"Well, that's fine. I've been showing Rosalinda round the place—"

"—with its avenues of historic oaks, its tumbling streams alive with trout and tench, and its breath-taking vistas lined with flowering shrubs ...

How did you like it?" said Bill.

Mrs. Spottsworth clasped her hands and closed her eyes in an ecstasy.

"It's wonderful, wonderful!" she said. "I can't understand how you can bring yourself to part with it, Billiken."

Bill gulped. "Am I going to part with it?"

"You certainly are," said Mrs.

Spottsworth emphatically, "if I have anything to say about it. This is the house of my dreams.

How much do you want for it—lock, stock and barrel?"

"You've taken my breath away."

"Well, that's me. I never could endure beating about the bush. If I want a thing, I say so and write a note. I'll tell you what let's do. Suppose I pay you a deposit of two thousand, and we can decide on the purchase price later?"

"You couldn't make it three thousand?"

"Sure." Mrs. Spottsworth unscrewed her fountain pen and having unscrewed it, paused.

"There's just one thing, though, before I sign on the dotted line. This place isn't damp, is it?"

"Damp?" said Monica. "Why, of course not."

"You're sure?"

"Dry as a bone."

"That's swell. Damp is death to me.

Fibrositis and sciatica."

Rory came in through the French window, laden with roses.

"A nosegay for you, Moke, old girl, with comps. of R. Carmoyle," he said, pressing the blooms into Monica's hands. "I say, Bill, it's starting to rain."

"What of it?"

"What of it?" echoed Rory, surprised.

"My dear old boy, you know what happens in this house when it rains. Water through the roof, water through the walls, water, water everywhere.

I was merely about to suggest in a kindly Boy Scout sort of spirit that you had better put buckets under the upstairs skylight. Very damp house, this," he said, addressing Mrs.

Spottsworth in his genial, confidential way.

"So near the river, you know. I often say that whereas in the summer months the river is at the bottom of the garden, in the winter months the garden is at the bottom of the—"

"Excuse me, m'lady," said the housemaid Ellen, appearing in the doorway. "Could I speak to Mrs. Spottsworth, m'lady?"

Mrs. Spottsworth, who had been staring, aghast, at Rory, turned, pen in hand.

"Yes?"

"Moddom," said Ellen, "your pendant's been pinched."

She had never been a girl for breaking things gently.

With considerable gratification Ellen found herself the centre of attraction. All eyes were focused upon her, and most of them were bulging. Bill's, in particular, struck her as being on the point of leaving their sockets.

"Yes," she proceeded, far too refined to employ the Bulstrode-Trelawny "Yus", "I was laying out your clothes for the evening, moddom, and I said to myself that you'd probably be wishing to wear the pendant again tonight, so I ventured to look in the little box, and it wasn't there, moddom. It's been stolen."

Mrs. Spottsworth drew a quick breath. The trinket in question was of little intrinsic worth—it could not, as she had said to Captain Biggar, have cost more than ten thousand dollars—but, as she had also said to Captain Biggar, it had a sentimental value for her. She was about to express her concern in words, but Bill broke in.

"What do you mean, it's been stolen?" he demanded hotly. You could see that the suggestion outraged him. "You probably didn't look properly."

Ellen was respectful, but firm.

"It's gone, m'lord."

"You may have dropped it somewhere, Mrs.

Spottsworth," said Jill. "Was the clasp loose?"

"Why, yes," said Mrs. Spottsworth.

"The clasp was loose. But I distinctly remember putting it in its case last night."

"Not there now, moddom," said Ellen, rubbing it in.

"Let's go up and have a thorough search," said Monica.

"We will," said Mrs. Spottsworth. "But I'm afraid ... very much afraid—"

She followed Ellen out of the room. Monica, pausing at the door, eyed Rory balefully for an instant.

"Well, Bill," she said, "so you don't sell the house, after all. And if Big Mouth there hadn't come barging in prattling about water and buckets, that cheque would have been signed."

She swept out, and Rory looked at Bill, surprised.

"I say, did I drop a brick?"

Bill laughed hackingly.

"If one followed you about for a month, one would have enough bricks to build a house."

"In re this pendant. Anything I can do?"

"Yes, keep out of it."

"I could nip off in the car and fetch some of the local constabulary."

"Keep right out of it." Bill looked at his watch. "The Derby will be starting in a few minutes. Go in there and get the television working."

"Right," said Rory. "But if I'm needed, give me a shout."

He disappeared into the library, and Bill turned to Jeeves, who had once again effaced himself. In times of domestic crisis, Jeeves had the gift, possessed by all good butlers, of creating the illusion that he was not there. He was standing now at the extreme end of the room, looking stuffed.

"Jeeves!"

"M'lord?" said Jeeves, coming to life like a male Galatea.

"Any suggestions?"

"None of practical value, m'lord. But a thought has just occurred which enables me to take a somewhat brighter view of the situation. We were speaking not long since of Captain Biggar as a gentleman who had removed himself permanently from our midst. Does it not seem likely to your lordship that in the event of Ballymore emerging victorious the Captain, finding himself in possession of ample funds, will carry out his original plan of redeeming the pendant, bringing it back and affecting to discover it on the premises?"

Bill chewed his lip.

"You think so?"

"It would be the prudent course for him to pursue, m'lord. Suspicion, as I say, must inevitably rest upon him, and failure to return the ornament would place him in the disagreeable position of becoming a hunted man in hourly danger of being apprehended by the authorities. I am convinced that if Ballymore wins, we shall see Captain Biggar again."

"If Ballymore wins."

"Precisely, m'lord."

"Then one's whole future hangs on whether it does."

"That is how matters stand, m'lord."

Jill uttered a passionate cry.

"I'm going to start praying!"

"Yes, do," said Bill. "Pray that Ballymore will run as he has never run before.

Pray like billy-o. Pray all over the house.

Pray—"

Monica and Mrs. Spottsworth came back.

"Well," said Monica, "it's gone. There's no doubt about that.

I've just phoned for the police."

Bill reeled.

"What!"

"Yes. Rosalinda didn't want me to, but I insisted. I told her you wouldn't dream of not doing everything you could to catch the thief."

"You ... You think the thing's been stolen?"

"It's the only possible explanation."

Mrs. Spottsworth sighed.

"Oh, dear! I really am sorry to have started all this trouble."

"Nonsense, Rosalinda. Bill doesn't mind. All Bill wants is to see the crook caught and bunged into the cooler. Isn't it, Bill?"

"Yes, sir!" said Bill.

"For a good long stretch, too, let's hope."

"We mustn't be vindictive."

"No," said Mrs. Spottsworth. "You're quite right. Justice, but not vengeance."

"Well, one thing's certain," said Monica. "It's an inside job."

Bill stirred uneasily.

"Oh, do you think so?"

"Yes, and I've got a pretty shrewd idea who the guilty party is."

"Who?"

"Someone who was in a terrible state of nerves this morning."

"Oh?"

"His cup and saucer were rattling like castanets."