Something New by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Not Be Others Besides Lord Emsworth In The Garden; And It

Occurred To Him That,  Especially After His Reputation For

Eccentric Conduct Had Been So Firmly Established By His

Misfortunes That Night In The Hall,  It Might Cause Comment Should

He Appear Before Them Carrying A Shoe.

Ashe Took The Shoe And,  Doing So,  Understood What Before Had

Puzzled Him. Across The Toe Was A Broad Splash Of Red Paint.

Though He Had Nothing Else To Go On,  He Saw All. The Shoe He Held

Was A Female Shoe. His Own Researches In The Museum Had Made Him

Aware Of The Presence There Of Red Paint. It Was Not Difficult To

Build Up On These Data A Pretty Accurate Estimate Of The Position

Of Affairs.

"Come With Me," Said Baxter.

He Left The Room. Ashe Followed Him.

In The Garden Lord Emsworth,  Garden Fork In Hand,  Was Dealing

Summarily With A Green Young Weed That Had Incautiously Shown Its

Head In The Middle Of A Flower Bed. He Listened To Baxter's

Statement With More Interest Than He Usually Showed In Anybody's

Statements. He Resented The Loss Of The Scarab,  Not So Much On

Account Of Its Intrinsic Worth As Because It Had Been The Gift Of

His Friend Mr. Peters.

"Indeed!" He Said,  When Baxter Had Finished. "Really? Dear Me!

It Certainly Seems--It Is Extremely Suggestive. You Are Certain

There Was Red Paint On This Shoe?"

"I Have It With Me. I Brought It On Purpose To Show You." He

Looked At Ashe,  Who Stood In Close Attendance. "The Shoe!"

Lord Emsworth Polished His Glasses And Bent Over The Exhibit.

"Ah!" He Said. "Now Let Me Look At--This,  You Say,  Is The--Just

So; Just So! Just--My Dear Baxter,  It May Be That I Have Not

Examined This Shoe With Sufficient Care,  But--Can You Point Out

To Me Exactly Where This Paint Is That You Speak Of?"

The Efficient Baxter Stood Staring At The Shoe With Wild,  Fixed

Stare. Of Any Suspicion Of Paint,  Red Or Otherwise,  It Was

Absolutely And Entirely Innocent!

The Shoe Became The Center Of Attraction,  The Center Of All Eyes.

The Efficient Baxter Fixed It With The Piercing Glare Of One Who

Feels That His Brain Is Tottering. Lord Emsworth Looked At It

With A Mildly Puzzled Expression. Ashe Marson Examined It With A

Sort Of Affectionate Interest,  As Though He Were Waiting For It

To Do A Trick Of Some Kind. Baxter Was The First To Break The

Silence.

"There Was Paint On This Shoe," He Said Vehemently. "I Tell You

There Was A Splash Of Red Paint Across The Toe. This Man Here

Will Bear Me Out In This. You Saw Paint On This Shoe?"

"Paint,  Sir?"

"What! Do You Mean To Tell Me You Did Not See It?"

"No,  Sir; There Was No Paint On This Shoe."

"This Is Ridiculous. I Saw It With My Own Eyes. It Was A Broad

Splash Right Across The Toe."

Lord Emsworth Interposed.

"You Must Have Made A Mistake,  My Dear Baxter. There Is Certainly

No Trace Of Paint On This Shoe. These Momentary Optical Delusions

Are,  I Fancy,  Not Uncommon. Any Doctor Will Tell You--"

"I Had An Aunt,  Your Lordship," Said Ashe Chattily,  "Who Was

Remarkably Subject--"

"It Is Absurd! I Cannot Have Been Mistaken," Said Baxter. "I Am

Positively Certain The Toe Of This Shoe Was Red When I Found It."

"It Is Quite Black Now,  My Dear Baxter."

"A Sort Of Chameleon Shoe," Murmured Ashe.

The Goaded Secretary Turned On Him.

"What Did You Say?"

"Nothing,  Sir."

Baxter's Old Suspicion Of This Smooth Young Man Came Surging Back

To Him.

"I Strongly Suspect You Of Having Had Something To Do With This."

"Really,  Baxter," Said The Earl,  "That Is Surely The Least

Probable Of Solutions. This Young Man Could Hardly Have Cleaned

The Shoe On His Way From The House. A Few Days Ago,  When Painting

In The Museum,  I Inadvertently Splashed Some Paint On My Own

Shoe. I Can Assure You It Does Not Brush Off. It Needs A Very

Systematic Cleaning Before All Traces Are Removed."

"Exactly,  Your Lordship," Said Ashe. "My Theory,  If I May--"

"Yes?"

"My Theory,  Your Lordship,  Is That Mr. Baxter Was Deceived By The

Light-And-Shade Effects On The Toe Of The Shoe. The Morning Sun,

Streaming In Through The Window,  Must Have Shone On The Shoe In

Such A Manner As To Give It A Momentary And Fictitious Aspect Of

Redness. If Mr. Baxter Recollects,  He Did Not Look Long At The

Shoe. The Picture On The Retina Of The Eye Consequently Had Not

Time To Fade. I Myself Remember Thinking At The Moment That The

Shoe Appeared To Have A Certain Reddish Tint. The Mistake--"

"Bah!" Said Baxter Shortly.

Lord Emsworth,  Now Thoroughly Bored With The Whole Affair And

Desiring Nothing More Than To Be Left Alone With His Weeds And

His Garden Fork,  Put In His Word. Baxter,  He Felt,  Was Curiously

Irritating These Days. He Always Seemed To Be Bobbing Up. The

Earl Of Emsworth Was Conscious Of A Strong Desire To Be Free From

His Secretary's Company. He Was Efficient,  Yes--Invaluable

Indeed--He Did Not Know What He Should Do Without Baxter; But

There Was No Denying That His Company Tended After A While To

Become A Trifle Tedious. He Took A Fresh Grip On His Garden Fork

And Shifted It About In The Air As A Hint That The Interview Had

Lasted Long Enough.

"It Seems To Me,  My Dear Fellow," He Said,  "The Only Explanation

That Will Square With The Facts. A Shoe That Is Really Smeared

With Red Paint Does Not Become Black Of Itself In The Course Of A

Few Minutes."

"You Are Very Right,  Your Lordship," Said Ashe Approvingly. "May

I Go Now,  Your Lordship?"

"Certainly--Certainly; By All Means."

"Shall I Take The Shoe With Me,  Your Lordship?"

"If You Do Not Want It,  Baxter."

The Secretary Passed The Fraudulent Piece Of Evidence To Ashe

Without A Word; And The Latter,  Having Included Both Gentlemen In

A Kindly Smile,  Left The Garden.

On Returning To The Butler's Room,  Ashe's First Act Was To Remove

A Shoe From The Top Of The Pile In The Basket. He Was About To

Leave The Room With It,  When The Sound Of Footsteps In The

Passage Outside Halted Him.

"I Do Not In The Least Understand Why You Wish Me To Come Here,

My Dear Baxter," Said A Voice,  "And You Are Completely Spoiling

My Morning,  But--"

For A Moment Ashe Was At A Loss. It Was A Crisis That Called For

Swift Action,  And It Was A Little Hard To Know Exactly What To

Do. It Had Been His Intention To Carry The Paint-Splashed Shoe

Back To His Own Room,  There To Clean It At His Leisure; But It

Appeared That His Strategic Line Of Retreat Was Blocked. Plainly,

The Possibility--Nay,  The Certainty--That Ashe Had Substituted

Another Shoe For The One With The Incriminating Splash Of Paint

On It Had Occurred To The Efficient Baxter Almost Directly The

Former Had Left The Garden.

The Window Was Open. Ashe Looked Out. There Were Bushes Below.

It Was A Makeshift Policy,  And One Which Did Not Commend Itself

To Him As The Ideal Method,  But It Seemed The Only Thing To Be

Done,  For Already The Footsteps Had Reached The Door. He Threw

The Shoe Out Of Window,  And It Sank Beneath The Friendly Surface

Of The Long Grass Round A Wisteria Bush.

Ashe Turned,  Relieved,  And The Next Moment The Door Opened And

Baxter Walked In,  Accompanied--With Obvious Reluctance---By His

Bored Employer.

Baxter Was Brisk And Peremptory.

"I Wish To Look At Those Shoes Again," He Said Coldly.

"Certainly,  Sir," Said Ashe.

"I Can Manage Without Your Assistance," Said Baxter.

"Very Good,  Sir."

Leaning Against The Wall,  Ashe Watched Him With Silent Interest,

As He Burrowed Among The Contents Of The Basket,  Like A Terrier

Digging For Rats. The Earl Of Emsworth Took No Notice Of The

Proceedings. He Yawned Plaintively,  And Pottered About The Room.

He Was One Of Nature's Potterers.

The Scrutiny Of The Man Whom He Had Now Placed Definitely As A

Malefactor Irritated Baxter. Ashe Was Looking At Him In An

Insufferably Tolerant Manner,  As If He Were An Indulgent Father

Brooding Over His Infant Son While Engaged In Some Childish

Frolic. He Lodged A Protest.

"Don't Stand There Staring At Me!"

"I Was Interested In What You Were Doing,  Sir."

"Never Mind! Don't Stare At Me In That Idiotic Way."

"May I Read A Book,  Sir?"

"Yes,  Read If You Like."

"Thank You,  Sir."

Ashe Took A Volume From The Butler's Slenderly Stocked Shelf. The

Shoe-Expert Resumed His Investigations In The Basket. He Went

Through It Twice,  But Each Time Without Success. After The Second

Search He Stood Up And Looked Wildly About The Room. He Was As

Certain As He Could Be Of Anything That The Missing Piece Of

Evidence Was Somewhere Within Those Four Walls. There Was Very

Little Cover In The Room,  Even For So Small A Fugitive As A Shoe.

He Raised The Tablecloth And Peered Beneath The Table.

"Are You Looking For Mr. Beach,  Sir?" Said Ashe. "I Think He Has

Gone To Church."

Baxter,  Pink With His Exertions,  Fastened A Baleful Glance Upon

Him.

"You Had Better Be Careful," He Said.

At This Point The Earl Of Emsworth,  Having Done All The Pottering

Possible In The Restricted Area,  Yawned Like An Alligator.

"Now,  My Dear Baxter--" He Began Querulously.

Baxter Was Not Listening. He Was On The Trail. He Had Caught

Sight Of A Small Closet In The Wall,  Next To The Mantelpiece,  And

It Had Stimulated Him.

"What Is In This Closet?"

"That Closet,  Sir?"

"Yes,  This Closet." He Rapped The Door Irritably.

"I Could Not Say,  Sir. Mr. Beach,  To Whom The Closet Belongs,

Possibly Keeps A Few Odd Trifles There. A Ball