Pelham Wodehouse - The Return of Jeeves

"When was this?"

"At breakfast. Do you want me to name names?"

"Go ahead."

"Captain Biggar!"

Mrs. Spottsworth started.

"What!"

"You weren't down, Rosalinda, or I'm sure you would have noticed it, too. He was as nervous as a treeful of elephants."

"Oh, no, no! Captain Biggar? That I can't and won't believe. If Captain Biggar were guilty, I should lose my faith in human nature. And that would be a far worse blow than losing the pendant."

"The pendant is gone, and he's gone. It adds up, don't you think? Oh, well," said Monica, "we shall soon know."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Why, the jewel-case, of course. The police will take it away and test it for fingerprints. What on earth's the matter, Bill?"

"Nothing's the matter," said Bill, who had leaped some eighteen inches into the air but saw no reason for revealing the sudden agonized thought which had motivated this adagio exhibition. "Er, Jeeves."

"M'lord?"

"Lady Carmoyle is speaking of Mrs.

Spottsworth's jewel-case."

"Yes, m'lord?"

"She threw out the interesting suggestion that the miscreant might have forgotten to wear gloves, in which event the bally thing would be covered with his fingerprints. That would be lucky, wouldn't it?"

"Extremely fortunate, m'lord."

"I'll bet he's wishing he hadn't been such an ass."

"Yes, m'lord."

"And that he could wipe them off."

"Yes, m'lord."

"You might go and get the thing, so as to have it ready for the police when they arrive."

"Very good, m'lord."

"Hold it by the edges, Jeeves. You don't want to disturb those fingerprints."

"I will exercise the greatest care, m'lord," said Jeeves, and went out, and almost simultaneously Colonel Wyvern came in through the French window.

At the moment of his entry Jill, knowing that when a man is in a state of extreme agitation there is nothing he needs more than a woman's gentle sympathy, had put her arms round Bill's neck and was kissing him tenderly. The spectacle brought the Colonel to a halt. It confused him.

With this sort of thing going on, it was difficult to lead up to the subject of horsewhips.

"Ha, hrr'mph!" he said, and Monica spun round, astounded.

"My goodness!" she said. "You have been quick.

It's only five minutes since I phoned."

"Eh?"

"Hullo, father," said Jill. "We were just waiting for you to show up. Have you brought your bloodhounds and magnifying glass?"

"What the dickens are you talking about?"

Monica was perplexed.

"Didn't you come in answer to my phone call, Colonel?"

"You keep talking about a phone call. What phone call? I came to see Lord Rowcester on a personal matter. What's all this about a phone call?"

"Mrs. Spottsworth's diamond pendant has been stolen, father."

"What? What? What?"

"This is Mrs. Spottsworth," said Monica. "Colonel Wyvern, Rosalinda, our Chief Constable."

"Charmed," said Colonel Wyvern, bowing gallantly, but an instant later he was the keen, remorseless police officer again. "Had your pendant stolen, eh? Bad show, bad show." He took out a note-book and a pencil. "An inside job, was it?"

"That's what we think."

"Then I'll have to have a list of everybody in the house."

Jill stepped forward, her hands extended.

"Wyvern, Jill," she said. "Slip on the bracelets, officer. I'll come quietly."

"Oh, don't be an ass," said Colonel Wyvern.

Something struck the door gently. It might have been a foot. Bill opened the door, revealing Jeeves. He was carrying the jewel-case, a handkerchief at its extreme edges.

"Thank you, m'lord," he said.

He advanced to the table and lowered the case on to it very carefully.

"Here is the case the pendant was in," said Mrs. Spottsworth.

"Good." Colonel Wyvern eyed Jeeves with approval. "Glad to see you were careful about handling it, my man."

"Oh, trust Jeeves for that," said Bill.

"And now," said Colonel Wyvern, "for the names."

As he spoke, the library door burst open, and Rory came dashing out, horror written on his every feature.

"I say, chaps," said Rory, "the most appalling thing has happened!"

Monica moaned.

"Not something more?"

"This is the absolute frozen limit. The Derby is just starting—"

"Rory, the Chief Constable is here."

"—andthe television set has gone on the blink. Oh, it's my fault, I suppose.

I was trying to get a perfect adjustment, and I must have twiddled the wrong thingummy."

"Rory, this is Colonel Wyvern, the Chief Constable."

"How are you, Chief C.? Do you know anything about television?"

The Colonel drew himself up.

"I do not!"

"You couldn't fix a set?" said Rory wistfully. "Not that there's time, of course. The race will be over. What about the radio?"

"In the corner, Sir Roderick," said Jeeves.

"Oh, thank Heaven!" cried Rory, galloping to it. "Come on and give me a hand, Jeeves."

The Chief Constable spoke coldly.

"Who is this gentleman?"

"Such as he is," said Monica apologetically, "my husband, Sir Roderick Carmoyle."

Colonel Wyvern advanced on Rory as majestically as his lack of inches permitted, and addressed the seat of his trousers, the only portion of him visible as he bent over the radio.

"Sir Roderick, I am conducting an investigation."

"But you'll hold it up to listen to the Derby?"

"When on duty, Sir Roderick, I allow nothing to interfere. I want a list—"

The radio, suddenly blaring forth, gave him one.

"... Taj Mahal, Sweet William, Garniture, Moke the Second, Voleur ... Quite an impressive list, isn't it?" said the radio. "There goes Gordon Richards.

Lots of people think this will be his lucky day. I don't see Bellwether ... Oh, yes, he's turning round now and walking back to the gate ...

They should be off in just a moment ... Sorry, no.

Two more have turned round. One of them is being very temperamental. It looks like Simple Simon.

No, it's the Irish outsider, Ballymore."

The Chief Constable frowned. "Really, I must ask—"

"Okay. I'll turn it down," said Rory, and immediately, being Rory, turned it up.

"They're in line now," yelled the radio, like a costermonger calling attention to his blood oranges, "all twenty-six of them ...

They're OFF ... Ballymore is left at the post."

Jill screamed shrilly. "Oh, no!"

"Vaurien," proceeded the radio, now, owing to Rory's ministrations, speaking in an almost inaudible whisper, like an invalid uttering a few last words from a sick-bed, "is in front, the Boussac pacemaker." Its voice strengthened a little. "Taj Mahal is just behind. I see Escalator. Escalator's going very strong.

I see Sweet William. I see Moke the Second. I see ..." Here the wasting sickness set in again, and the rest was lost in a sort of mouselike squeak.

The Chief Constable drew a relieved breath.

"Ha! At last! Now then, Lord Rowcester.

What servants have you here?"

Bill did not answer. Like a mechanical figure he was moving toward the radio, as if drawn by some invisible force.

"There's a cook," said Monica.

"A widow, sir," said Jeeves. "Mary Jane Piggott."

Rory looked round.

"Piggott? Who said Piggott?"

"A housemaid," said Monica, as Jill, like Bill, was drawn toward the radio as if in a trance. "Her name's Ellen. Ellen what, Jeeves?"

"French, m'lady. Ellen Tallulah French."

"The French horse," bellowed the radio, suddenly acquiring a new access of strength, "is still in front, then Moke the Second, Escalator, Taj Mahal ..."

"What about the gardener?"

"No, not Gardener," said Rory. "You mean Garniture."

"... Sweet William, Oratory ...

Vaurien's falling back, and Garniture—"

"You see?" said Rory.