Something New, Pelham Grenville Wodehouse [best historical biographies TXT] 📗

Now Brought Him From His Bed And Downstairs. His Objective Was

The Decanter On The Table Of The Smoking-Room,  Which Was One Of

The Rooms Opening On The Gallery That Looked Down On The Hall.

Hot Water He Could Achieve In His Bedroom By Means Of His Stove.

 

So Out Of Bed He Had Climbed And Downstairs He Had Come; And Here

He Was,  To All Appearances,  Just In Time To Foil The Very Plot On

Which He Had Been Brooding. Mr. Peters Might Be In Bed,  But There

In The Hall Below Him Stood The Accomplice,  Not Ten Paces From

The Museum's Door. He Arrived On The Spot At Racing Speed And

Confronted Ashe.

 

"What Are You Doing Here?"

 

And Then,  From The Baxter Viewpoint,  Things Began To Go Wrong. By

All The Rules Of The Game,  Ashe,  Caught,  As It Were,  Red-Handed,

Should Have Wilted,  Stammered And Confessed All; But Ashe Was

Fortified By That Philosophic Calm Which Comes To Us In Dreams,

And,  Moreover,  He Had His Story Ready.

 

"Mr. Peters Rang For Me,  Sir."

 

He Had Never Expected To Feel Grateful To The Little Firebrand

Who Employed Him,  But He Had To Admit That The Millionaire,  In

Their Late Conversation,  Had Shown Forethought. The Thought

Struck Him That But For Mr. Peters' Advice He Might By Now Be In

An Extremely Awkward Position; For His Was Not A Swiftly

Inventive Mind.

 

"Rang For You? At Half-Past Two In The Morning!"

 

"To Read To Him,  Sir."

 

"To Read To Him At This Hour?"

 

"Mr. Peters Suffers From Insomnia,  Sir. He Has A Weak Digestion

And Pain Sometimes Prevents Him From Sleeping. The Lining Of His

Stomach Is Not At All What It Should Be."

 

"I Don't Believe A Word Of It."

 

With That Meekness Which Makes The Good Man Wronged So Impressive

A Spectacle,  Ashe Produced And Exhibited His Novel.

 

"Here Is The Book I Am About To Read To Him. I Think,  Sir,  If You

Will Excuse Me,  I Had Better Be Going To His Room. Good Night,

Sir."

 

He Proceeded To Mount The Stairs. He Was Sorry For Mr. Peters,  So

Shortly About To Be Roused From A Refreshing Slumber; But These

Were Life's Tragedies And Must Be Borne Bravely.

 

The Efficient Baxter Dogged Him The Whole Way,  Sprinting Silently

In His Wake And Dodging Into The Shadows Whenever The Light Of An

Chapter 6 Pg 113

Occasional Electric Bulb Made It Inadvisable To Keep To The Open.

Then Abruptly He Gave Up The Pursuit. For The First Time His

Comparative Impotence In This Silent Conflict On Which He Had

Embarked Was Made Manifest To Him,  And He Perceived That On Mere

Suspicion,  However Strong,  He Could Do Nothing. To Accuse Mr.

Peters Of Theft Or To Accuse Him Of Being Accessory To A Theft

Was Out Of The Question.

 

Yet His Whole Being Revolted At The Thought Of Allowing The

Sanctity Of The Museum To Be Violated. Officially Its Contents

Belonged To Lord Emsworth,  But Ever Since His Connection With The

Castle He Had Been Put In Charge Of Them,  And He Had Come To Look

On Them As His Own Property. If He Was Only A Collector By Proxy

He Had,  Nevertheless,  The Collector's Devotion To His Curios,

Beside Which The Lioness' Attachment To Her Cubs Is Tepid; And He

Was Prepared To Do Anything To Retain In His Possession A Scarab

Toward Which He Already Entertained The Feelings Of A Life

Proprietor.

 

No--Not Quite Anything! He Stopped Short At The Idea Of Causing

Unpleasantness Between The Father Of The Honorable Freddie And

The Father Of The Honorable Freddie's Fiancee. His Secretarial

Position At The Castle Was A Valuable One And He Was Loath To

Jeopardize It.

 

There Was Only One Way In Which This Delicate Affair Could Be

Brought To A Satisfactory Conclusion. It Was Obvious From What He

Had Seen That Night That Mr. Peters' Connection With The Attempt

On The Scarab Was To Be Merely Sympathetic,  And That The Actual

Theft Was To Be Accomplished By Ashe. His Only Course,  Therefore,

Was To Catch Ashe Actually In The Museum. Then Mr. Peters Need

Not Appear In The Matter At All. Mr. Peters' Position In Those

Circumstances Would Be Simply That Of A Man Who Had Happened To

Employ,  Through No Fault Of His Own,  A Valet Who Happened To Be A

Thief.

 

He Had Made A Mistake,  He Perceived,  In Locking The Door Of The

Museum. In Future He Must Leave It Open,  As A Trap Is Open;

And He Must Stay Up Nights And Keep Watch. With These

Reflections,  The Efficient Baxter Returned To His Room.

 

Meantime Ashe Had Entered Mr. Peters' Bedroom And Switched On The

Light. Mr. Peters,  Who Had Just Succeeded In Dropping Off To

Sleep,  Sat Up With A Start.

 

"I've Come To Read To You," Said Ashe.

 

Mr. Peters Emitted A Stifled Howl,  In Which Wrath And Self-Pity

Were Nicely Blended.

 

"You Fool,  Don't You Know I Have Just Managed To Get To Sleep?"

 

"And Now You're Awake Again," Said Ashe Soothingly. "Such Is

Life! A Little Rest,  A Little Folding Of The Hands In Sleep,  And

Chapter 6 Pg 114

Then Bing!--Off We Go Again. I Hope You Will Like This Novel. I

Dipped Into It And It Seems Good."

 

"What Do You Mean By Coming In Here At This Time Of Night? Are

You Crazy?"

 

"It Was Your Suggestion; And,  By The Way,  I Must Thank You For

It. I Apologize For Calling It Thin. It Worked Like A Charm. I

Don't Think He Believed It--In Fact,  I Know He Didn't; But It

Held Him. I Couldn't Have Thought Up Anything Half So Good In An

Emergency."

 

Mr. Peters' Wrath Changed To Excitement.

 

"Did You Get It? Have You Been After My--My Cheops?"

 

"I Have Been After Your Cheops,  But I Didn't Get It. Bad Men Were

Abroad. That Fellow With The Spectacles,  Who Was In The Museum

When I Met You There This Evening,  Swooped Down From Nowhere,  And

I Had To Tell Him That You Had Rung For Me To Read To You.

Fortunately I Had This Novel On Me. I Think He Followed Me

Upstairs To See Whether I Really Did Come To Your Room."

 

Mr. Peters Groaned Miserably.

 

"Baxter," He Said; "He's A Man Named Baxter--Lord Emsworth's

Private Secretary; And He Suspects Us. He's The Man We--I Mean

You--Have Got To Look Out For."

 

"Well,  Never Mind. Let's Be Happy While We Can. Make Yourself

Comfortable And I'll Start Reading. After All,  What Could Be

Pleasanter Than A Little Literature In The Small Hours? Shall I

Begin?"

 

                        *   *   *

 

Ashe Marson Found Joan Valentine In The Stable Yard After

Breakfast The Next Morning,  Playing With A Retriever Puppy. "Will

You Spare Me A Moment Of Your Valuable Time?"

 

"Certainly,  Mr. Marson."

 

"Shall We Walk Out Into The Open Somewhere--Where We Can't Be

Overheard?"

 

"Perhaps It Would Be Better."

 

They Moved Off.

 

"Request Your Canine Friend To Withdraw," Said Ashe. "He Prevents

Me From Marshaling My Thoughts."

 

"I'm Afraid He Won't Withdraw."

 

Chapter 6 Pg 115

Never Mind. I'll Do My Best In Spite Of Him. Tell Me,  Was I

Dreaming Or Did I Really Meet You In The Hall This Morning At

About Twenty Minutes After Two?"

 

"You Did."

 

"And Did You Really Tell Me That You Had Come To The Castle To

Steal--"

 

"Recover."

 

"--Recover Mr. Peters' Scarab?"

 

"I Did."

 

"Then It's True?"

 

"It Is."

 

Ashe Scraped The Ground With A Meditative Toe.

 

"This," He Said,  "Seems To Me To Complicate Matters Somewhat."

 

"It Complicates Them Abominably!"

 

"I Suppose You Were Surprised When You Found That I Was On The

Same Game As Yourself."

 

"Not In The Least."

 

"You Weren't!"

 

"I Knew It Directly I Saw The Advertisement In The Morning Post.

And I Hunted Up The Morning Post Directly You Had Told Me That

You Had Become Mr. Peters' Valet."

 

"You Have Known All Along!"

 

"I Have."

 

Ashe Regarded Her Admiringly.

 

"You're Wonderful!"

 

"Because I Saw Through You?"

 

"Partly That; But Chiefly Because You Had The Pluck To Undertake

A Thing Like This."

 

"You Undertook It."

 

"But I'm A Man."

 

"And I'm A Woman. And My Theory,  Mr. Marson,  Is That A Woman Can

Chapter 6 Pg 116

Do Nearly Everything Better Than A Man. What A Splendid Test Case

This Would Make To Settle The Votes-For-Women Question Once And

For All! Here We Are--You And I--A Man And A Woman,  Each Trying

For The Same Thing And Each Starting With Equal Chances. Suppose

I Beat You? How About The Inferiority Of Women Then?"

 

"I Never Said Women Were Inferior."

 

"You Did With Your Eyes."

 

"Besides,  You're An Exceptional Woman."

 

"You Can't Get Out Of It With A Compliment. I'm An Ordinary Woman

And I'm Going To Beat A Real Man."

 

Ashe Frowned.

 

"I Don't Like To Think Of Ourselves As Working Against Each

Other."

 

"Why Not?"

 

"Because I Like You."

 

"I Like You,  Mr. Marson; But We Must Not Let Sentiment Interfere

With Business. You Want Mr. Peters' Five Thousand Dollars. So Do

I."

 

"I Hate The Thought Of Being The Instrument To Prevent You From

Getting The Money."

 

"You Won't Be. I Shall Be The Instrument To Prevent You From

Getting It. I Don't Like That Thought,  Either; But One Has Got To

Face It."

 

"It Makes Me Feel Mean."

 

"That's Simply Your Old-Fashioned Masculine Attitude Toward The

Female,  Mr. Marson. You Look On Woman As A Weak Creature,  To Be

Shielded And Petted. We Aren't Anything Of The Sort. We're

Terrors! We're As Hard As Nails. We're Awful Creatures. You

Mustn't Let My Sex Interfere With Your Trying To Get This Reward.

Think Of Me As Though I Were Another Man. We're Up Against Each

Other In A Fair Fight,  And I Don't Want Any Special Privileges.

If You Don't Do Your Best From Now Onward I Shall Never Forgive

You. Do You Understand?"

 

"I Suppose So."

 

"And We Shall Need To