A Gentleman of Leisure, P. G. Wodehouse [speld decodable readers .TXT] 📗

He had approached Jimmy in the early stages of the hunt and Jimmy, being in the mood when he would have lent anything to anybody, yielded the required five pounds without a murmur.

But what was five pounds? The garment of gloom and the intellectual pallor were once more prominent when his lordship repaired to his room to don the loud tweeds which, as Lord Herbert, he was to wear in the first act.

There was a good deal to be said against stealing, as a habit; but it cannot be denied that, in certain circumstances, it offers an admirable solution of a financial difficulty, and, if the penalties were not so exceedingly unpleasant, it is probable that it would become far more fashionable than it is.

His lordship’s mind did not turn immediately to this outlet from his embarrassment. He had never stolen before, and it did not occur to him directly to do so now. There is a conservative strain in all of us. But gradually, as it was borne in upon him that it was the only course possible, unless he were to grovel before Hargate on the morrow and ask for time to pay⁠—an unthinkable alternative⁠—he found himself contemplating the possibility of having to secure the money by unlawful means. By the time he had finished his theatrical toilet, he had definitely decided that this was the only thing to be done.

His plan was simple. He knew where the money was⁠—in the dressing table in Sir Thomas’s room. He had heard Saunders instructed to put it there. What could be easier than to go and get it? Everything was in his favour. Sir Thomas would be downstairs receiving his guests. The coast would be clear. Why, it was like finding the money.

Besides, he reflected, as he worked his way through a bottle of Mumm which he had had the forethought to abstract from the supper table as a nerve-steadier, it was not really stealing. Dash it all, the man had given him the money! It was his own! He had half a mind⁠—he poured himself out another glass of the elixir⁠—to give Sir Thomas a jolly good talking to into the bargain. Yes, dash it all!

He pushed on his cuffs fiercely. The British lion was roused.

A man’s first crime is, as a rule, a shockingly amateurish affair. Now and then, it is true, we find beginners forging with the accuracy of old hands or breaking into houses with the finish of experts. But these are isolated cases. The average tyro lacks generalship altogether. Spennie Dreever may be cited as a typical novice. It did not strike him that inquiries might be instituted by Sir Thomas when he found the money gone, and that suspicion might conceivably fall upon himself. Courage may be born of champagne, but rarely prudence.

The theatricals began at half past eight with a duologue. The audience had been hustled into their seats, happier than is usual in such circumstances, owing to the rumour which had been circulated that the proceedings were to terminate with an informal dance. The castle was singularly well constructed for such a purpose. There was plenty of room and a sufficiency of retreat for those who sat out, in addition to a conservatory large enough to have married off half the couples in the country.

Spennie’s idea had been to establish an alibi by mingling with the throng for a few minutes, and then to get through his burglarious speciality during the duologue, when his absence would not be noticed. It might be that if he disappeared later in the evening people would wonder what had become of him.

He lurked about till the last of the audience had taken their seats. As he was moving off through the hall a hand fell upon his shoulder. Conscience makes cowards of us all. Spennie bit his tongue and leaped three inches into the air.

“Halloa, Charteris!” he said gaspingly.

Charteris appeared to be in a somewhat overwrought condition. Rehearsals had turned him into a pessimist, and now that the actual moment of production had arrived his nerves were in a thoroughly jumpy condition, especially as the duologue was to begin in two minutes and the obliging person who had undertaken to prompt had disappeared.

“Spennie,” said Charteris, “where are you off to?”

“What⁠—what do you mean? I was just going upstairs.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve got to come and prompt. That fellow Blake has vanished. I’ll wring his neck! Come along!”

Spennie went reluctantly. Halfway through the duologue the official prompter returned, with the remark that he had been having a bit of a smoke on the terrace and that his watch had gone wrong. Leaving him to discuss the point with Charteris, Spennie slipped quietly away.

The delay, however, had had the effect of counteracting the uplifting effects of the Mumm. The British lion required a fresh fillip. He went to his room to administer it. By the time he emerged he was feeling just right for the task in hand. A momentary doubt occurred to him whether it would not be a good thing to go down and pull Sir Thomas’s nose as a preliminary to the proceedings; but he put the temptation aside. Business before pleasure.

With a jaunty, if somewhat unsteady, step he climbed the stairs to the floor above, and made his way down the corridor to Sir Thomas’s room. He switched on the light and went to the dressing table. The drawer was locked, but in his present mood Spennie, like Love, laughed at locksmiths. He grasped the handle and threw his weight into a sudden tug. The drawer came out with a report like a pistol shot.

“There!” said his lordship, wagging his head severely.

In the drawer lay the four banknotes. The sight of them brought back his grievances with a rush. He would teach Sir Thomas to treat him like a kid. He would show him!

He was removing the notes, frowning fiercely the while, when he heard a cry of surprise