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

Of,  But Which Only He Could Dispose Of--The Scarab."

The Honorable Freddie Was Beyond Speech. He Made No Comment On

This Statement. Ashe Continued:

"I Interviewed This Man Jones. I Said To Him: 'I Am In The

Honorable Frederick Threepwood's Confidence. I Know Everything.

Have You Any Instructions For Me?' He Replied: 'What Do You

Know?' I Answered: 'I Know That The Honorable Frederick

Threepwood Has Something He Wishes To Hand To You,  But Which He

Has Been Unable To Hand To You Owing To Having Had An Accident

And Being Confined To His Room.' He Then Told Me To Tell You To

Let Him Have The Scarab By Messenger."

Freddie Pulled Himself Together With An Effort. He Was In Sore

Straits,  But He Saw One Last Chance. His Researches In Detective

Fiction Had Given Him The Knowledge That Detectives Occasionally

Relaxed Their Austerity When Dealing With A Deserving Case. Even

Gridley Quayle Could Sometimes Be Softened By A Hard-Luck Story.

Freddie Could Recall Half A Dozen Times When A Detected Criminal

Had Been Spared By Him Because He Had Done It All From The Best

Motives. He Determined To Throw Himself On Ashe's Mercy.

"I Say,  You Know," He Said Ingratiatingly,  "I Think It's Bally

Marvelous The Way You've Deduced Everything,  And So On."

"Well?"

"But I Believe You Would Chuck It If You Heard My Side Of The

Case."

"I Know Your Side Of The Case. You Think You Are Being

Blackmailed By A Miss Valentine For Some Letters You Once Wrote

Her. You Are Not. Miss Valentine Has Destroyed The Letters. She

Told The Man Jones So When He Went To See Her In London. He Kept

Your Five Hundred Pounds And Is Trying To Get Another Thousand

Out Of You Under False Pretenses."

"What? You Can't Be Right."

"I Am Always Right."

"You Must Be Mistaken."

"I Am Never Mistaken."

"But How Do You Know?"

"I Have My Sources Of Information."

"She Isn't Going To Sue Me For Breach Of Promise?"

"She Never Had Any Intention Of Doing So."

The Honorable Freddie Sank Back On The Pillows.

"Good Egg!" He Said With Fervor. He Beamed Happily. "This," He

Observed,  "Is A Bit Of All Right."

For A Space Relief Held Him Dumb. Then Another Aspect Of The

Matter Struck Him,  And He Sat Up Again With A Jerk.

"I Say,  You Don't Mean To Say That That Rotter Jones Was Such A

Rotter As To Do A Rotten Thing Like That?"

"I Do."

Freddie Grew Plaintive.

"I Trusted That Man," He Said. "I Jolly Well Trusted Him

Absolutely."

"I Know," Said Ashe. "There Is One Born Every Minute."

"But"--The Thing Seemed To Be Filtering Slowly Into Freddie's

Intelligence "What I Mean To Say Is,  I--I--Thought He Was Such A

Good Chap."

"My Short Acquaintance With Mr. Jones," Said Ashe "Leads Me To

Think That He Probably Is--To Himself."

"I Won't Have Anything More To Do With Him."

"I Shouldn't."

"Dash It,  I'll Tell You What I'll Do. The Very Next Time I Meet

The Blighter,  I'll Cut Him Dead. I Will! The Rotter! Five Hundred

Quid He's Had Off Me For Nothing! And,  If It Hadn't Been For You,

He'd Have Had Another Thousand! I'm Beginning To Think That My

Old Governor Wasn't So Far Wrong When He Used To Curse Me For

Going Around With Jones And The Rest Of That Crowd. He Knew A

Bit,  By Gad! Well,  I'm Through With Them. If The Governor Ever

Lets Me Go To London Again,  I Won't Have Anything To Do With

Them. I'll Jolly Well Cut The Whole Bunch! And To Think That,  If

It Hadn't Been For You . . ."

"Never Mind That," Said Ashe. "Give Me The Scarab. Where Is It?"

"What Are You Going To Do With It?"

"Restore It To Its Rightful Owner."

"Are You Going To Give Me Away To The Governor?"

"I Am Not."

"It Strikes Me," Said Freddie Gratefully,  "That You Are A Dashed

Good Sort. You Seem To Me To Have The Making Of An Absolute

Topper! It's Under The Mattress. I Had It On Me When I Fell

Downstairs And I Had To Shove It In There."

Ashe Drew It Out. He Stood Looking At It,  Absorbed. He Could

Hardly Believe His Quest Was At An End And That A Small Fortune

Lay In The Palm Of His Hand. Freddie Was Eyeing Him Admiringly.

"You Know," He Said,  "I've Always Wanted To Meet A Detective.

What Beats Me Is How You Chappies Find Out Things."

"We Have Our Methods."

"I Believe You. You're A Blooming Marvel! What First Put You On

My Track?"

"That," Said Ashe,  "Would Take Too Long To Explain. Of Course I

Had To Do Some Tense Inductive Reasoning; But I Cannot Trace

Every Link In The Chain For You. It Would Be Tedious."

"Not To Me."

"Some Other Time."

"I Say,  I Wonder Whether You've Ever Read Any Of These

Things--These Gridley Quayle Stories? I Know Them By Heart."

With The Scarab Safely In His Pocket,  Ashe Could Contemplate The

Brightly-Colored Volume The Other Extended Toward Him Without

Active Repulsion. Already He Was Beginning To Feel A Sort Of

Sentiment For The Depressing Quayle,  As Something That Had Once

Formed Part Of His Life.

"Do You Read These Things?"

"I Should Say Not. I Write Them."

There Are Certain Supreme Moments That Cannot Be Adequately

Described. Freddie's Appreciation Of The Fact That Such A Moment

Had Occurred In His Life Expressed Itself In A Startled Cry And A

Convulsive Movement Of All His Limbs. He Shot Up From The Pillows

And Gaped At Ashe.

"You Write Them? You Don't Mean,  Write Them!"

"Yes."

"Great Scott!"

He Would Have Gone On,  Doubtless,  To Say More; But At This Moment

Voices Made Themselves Heard Outside The Door. There Was A

Movement Of Feet. Then The Door Opened And A Small Procession

Entered.

It Was Headed By The Earl Of Emsworth. Following Him Came Mr.

Peters. And In The Wake Of The Millionaire Were Colonel Horace

Mant And The Efficient Baxter. They Filed Into The Room And Stood

By The Bedside. Ashe Seized The Opportunity To Slip Out.

Freddie Glanced At The Deputation Without Interest. His Mind Was

Occupied With Other Matters. He Supposed They Had Come To Inquire

After His Ankle And He Was Mildly Thankful That They Had Come In

A Body Instead Of One By One. The Deputation Grouped Itself About

The Bed And Shuffled Its Feet. There Was An Atmosphere Of

Awkwardness.

"Er--Frederick!" Said Lord Emsworth. "Freddie,  My Boy!"

Mr. Peters Fiddled Dumbly With The Coverlet. Colonel Mant Cleared

His Throat. The Efficient Baxter Scowled. "Er--Freddie,  My Dear

Boy,  I Fear We Have A Painful--Er--Task To Perform."

The Words Struck Straight Home At The Honorable Freddie's Guilty

Conscience. Had They,  Too,  Tracked Him Down? And Was He Now To Be

Accused Of Having Stolen That Infernal Scarab? A Wave Of Relief

Swept Over Him As He Realized That He Had Got Rid Of The Thing. A

Decent Chappie Like That Detective Would Not Give Him Away. All

He Had To Do Was To Keep His Head And Stick To Stout Denial. That

Was The Game--Stout Denial.

"I Don't Know What You Mean," He Said Defensively.

"Of Course You Don't--Dash It!" Said Colonel Mant. "We're Coming

To That. And I Should Like To Begin By Saying That,  Though In A

Sense It Was My Fault,  I Fail To See How I Could Have Acted---"

"Horace!"

"Oh,  Very Well! I Was Only Trying To Explain."

Lord Emsworth Adjusted His Pince-Nez And Sought Inspiration From

The Wall Paper.

"Freddie,  My Boy," He Began,  "We Have A Somewhat Unpleasant--A

Somewhat Er--Disturbing--We Are Compelled To Break It To You. We

Are All Most Pained And Astounded; And--"

The Efficient Baxter Spoke. It Was Plain He Was In A Bad Temper.

"Miss Peters," He Snapped,  "Has Eloped With Your Friend Emerson."

Lord Emsworth Breathed A Sigh Of Relief.

"Exactly,  Baxter. Precisely! You Have Put The Thing In A

Nutshell. Really,  My Dear Fellow,  You Are Invaluable."

All Eyes Searched Freddie's Face For Signs Of Uncontrollable

Emotion. The Deputation Waited Anxiously For His First

Grief-Stricken Cry.

"Eh? What?" Said Freddie.

"It Is Quite True,  Freddie,  My Dear Boy. She Went To London With

Him On The Ten-Fifty."

"And If I Had Not Been Forcibly Restrained," Said Baxter Acidly,

Casting A Vindictive Look At Colonel Mant,  "I Could Have

Prevented It."

Colonel Mant Cleared His Throat Again And Put A Hand To His

Mustache.

"I'm Afraid That Is True,  Freddie. It Was A Most Unfortunate

Misunderstanding. I'll Tell You How It Happened: I Chanced To Be

At The Station Bookstall When The Train Came In. Mr. Baxter Was

Also In The Station. The Train Pulled Up And This Young Fellow

Emerson Got In--Said Good-By To Us,  Don't You Know,  And Got In.

Just As The Train Was About To Start,  Miss Peters Exclaiming,

'George Dear,  I'm Going With You---,  Dash It,' Or Some Such

Speech--Proceeded To Go--Hell For Leather--To The Door Of Young

Emerson's Compartment. On Which---"

"On Which," Interrupted Baxter,  "I Made A Spring To Try And Catch

Her. Apart From Any Other Consideration,  The Train Was Already

Moving And Miss Peters Ran Considerable Risk Of Injury. I Had

Hardly Moved When I Felt A Violent Jerk At My Ankle And Fell To

The Ground. After I Had Recovered From The Shock,  Which Was Not

Immediately,  I Found--"

"The Fact Is,  Freddie,  My Boy," The Colonel Went On,  "I Acted

Under A Misapprehension. Nobody Can Be Sorrier For The Mistake

Than I; But Recent Events In This House Had Left Me With The

Impression That Mr. Baxter Here Was Not Quite Responsible For His