A Gentleman of Leisure by P. G. Wodehouse (english books to improve english .TXT) 📕

rooms. Dey belonged to one of de loidies. It was de easiest old t’ing ever, boss. I just went in when dere was nobody around, and dere dey was on de toible. I never butted into anyt’ing so soft.”

“Spike!”

“Yes, boss.”

“Do you remember the room you took them from?”

“Sure. It was de foist on de⁠—”

“Then just listen to me for a moment, my bright boy. When we’re at breakfast tomorrow you want to go to that room and put those things back⁠—all of them, mind you⁠—just where you found them. Do you understand?”

Spike’s jaw had fallen.

“Put dem back, boss?” he faltered.

“Every single one of them.”

“Boss!” said Spike plaintively.

“Remember⁠—every single one of them, just where it belongs. See?”

“Very well, boss.”

The dejection in his voice would have moved the sternest to pity. Gloom had enveloped Spike’s spirit. The sunlight had gone out of his life.

It had also gone out of the lives of a good many other people at the castle. This was mainly due to the growing shadow of the day of the theatricals.

For pure discomfort there are few things in the world that can compete with the final rehearsals of an amateur theatrical performance at a country house. Every day the atmosphere becomes more heavily charged with restlessness and depression. The producer of the piece, especially if he is also the author of it, develops a sort of intermittent insanity. He plucks at his moustache, if he has one; at his hair, if he has not. He mutters to himself. He gives vent to occasional despairing cries. The soothing suavity which marked his demeanour in the earlier rehearsals disappears.

He no longer says with a winning smile, “Splendid, old man, splendid! Couldn’t be better. But I think we’ll take that over just once more, if you don’t mind.” Instead, he rolls his eyes and snaps out, “Once more, please. This’ll never do. At this rate we might just as well cut out the show altogether. What’s that? No, it won’t be all right on the night! Now, then, once more; and do pull yourselves together this time.” After which the scene is sulkily resumed; and conversation, when the parties concerned meet subsequently, is cold and strained.

Matters had reached this stage at the castle. Everybody was thoroughly tired of the piece, and, but for the thought of the disappointment which (presumably) would rack the neighbouring nobility and gentry if it were not to be produced, would have resigned their places without a twinge of regret. People who had schemed to get the best and longest parts were wishing now that they had been content with First Footman or Giles, a villager.

“I’ll never run an amateur show again as long as I live,” confided Charteris to Jimmy, almost tearfully. “It’s not good enough. Most of them aren’t word-perfect yet.”

“It’ll be all right⁠—”

“Oh, don’t say it’ll be all right on the night.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Jimmy. “I was going to say it’ll be all right after the night. People will soon forget how badly the thing went.”

“You’re a nice, comforting sort of man, aren’t you?” said Charteris.

“Why worry?” said Jimmy. “If you go on like this, it’ll be Westminster Abbey for you in your prime. You’ll be getting brain fever.”

Jimmy himself was one of the few who were feeling reasonably cheerful. He was deriving a keen amusement at present from the manoeuvres of Mr. Samuel Galer, of New York. This lynx-eyed man, having been instructed by Mr. McEachern to watch Jimmy, was doing so with a thoroughness which would have aroused the suspicions of a babe. If Jimmy went to the billiard room after dinner, Mr. Galer was there to keep him company. If, during the course of the day, he had occasion to fetch a handkerchief or a cigarette case from his bedroom, he was sure, on emerging, to stumble upon Mr. Galer in the corridor. The employees of Dodson’s Private Inquiry Agency believed in earning their salaries.

Occasionally, after these encounters, Jimmy would come upon Sir Thomas Blunt’s valet, the other man in whom Spike’s trained eye had discerned the distinguishing marks of the sleuth. He was usually somewhere round the corner at these moments, and when collided with apologised with great politeness. Jimmy decided that he must have come under suspicion in this case vicariously, through Spike. Spike, in the servants’ hall, would, of course, stand out conspicuously enough to catch the eye of a detective on the look out for sin among the servants; and he himself, as Spike’s employer, had been marked down as a possible confederate.

It tickled him to think that both these giant brains should be so greatly exercised on his account.

He had been watching Molly closely during these days. So far no announcement of the engagement had been made. It struck him that possibly it was being reserved for public mention on the night of the theatricals. The whole county would be at the castle then. There could be no more fitting moment. He sounded Lord Dreever, and the latter said moodily that he was probably right.

“There’s going to be a dance of sorts after the show,” he said, “and it’ll be done then, I suppose. No getting out of it after that⁠—it’ll be all over the county. Trust my uncle for that! He’ll get on a table and shout it, shouldn’t wonder, and it’ll be in the Morning Post next day and Katie’ll see it. Only two days more! Oh, Lord!”

Jimmy deduced that Katie was the Savoy girl, concerning whom his lordship had vouchsafed no particulars save that she was a ripper and hadn’t a penny.

Only two days! Like the Battle of Waterloo, it was going to be a close-run affair. More than ever now he realised how much she meant to him, and there were moments when it seemed to him that she, too, had begun to understand. That night on the terrace seemed somehow to have changed their relationship. He thought he had got closer to her⁠—they were in touch. Before she had been frank, cheerful, unembarrassed;