 CHAPTER XIII. Section 1. Blanding's castle was a stir from foot to hall. Lights blazed, voices shouted, bells rang. All over the huge building there prevailed a vast activity like that of a barracks on the eve of the regiment's departure for abroad. Dinner was over and the expeditionary force was making its final preparations before starting off in many motorcars for the country ball that shiftly. In the bedrooms on every floor, Reggie's, doubtful at the last moment about their white ties, were feverishly arranging new ones. Bertie's brushed their already glistening hair, and Claude shouted to Archie's along the passages, insulting inquiries as to whether they had been sneaking their anchor chiefs. Valet's, skim-like swallows up and down corridors, maids fluttered in and out of rooms in aid of beauty and distress. The noise penetrated into every nook and corner of the house. It vexed the efficient Baxter, going through his papers in the library, preparatory to leaving blandings on the morrow, forever. It disturbed Lord Emsworth, who stoutly, declining to go within ten miles of the country ball, had retired to his room with a book on herbaceous borders. It troubled the peace of Beech, the butler, refreshing himself after his activities around the dinner table with a glass of sound port in the housekeeper's room. The only person in the place who paid no attention to it was Eve Halliday. Eve was too furious to pay attention to anything but her deleterious thoughts. As she walked on the terrace, to which she had fled in quest of solitude, her teeth were set, and her blue eyes glowed belligerently. As Miss Peavey would have put it in one of her colloquial moods, she was mad clear through. For Eve was a spirit of a girl, and there is nothing your girl of spirit so keenly resents as being made a fool of, whether it be by fate or by a fellow human creature. Eve was in the uncomfortable position of having had this indignity put upon her by both. But while as far as fate was concerned she merely smoldered rebelliously, her animosity towards Smith was vivid in the extreme. A hot wave of humiliation made her ride as she remembered the infantile guilelessness with which she had accepted the preposterous story he had told her and explanation of his presence at Blandings in another man's name. He had been playing with her all the time, fooling her. A most unforgivable crime of all, he had dared to pretend that he was fond of her, and Eve's face burned again to make her almost fond of him. How he must have laughed. Well, she was not beaten yet. Her chin went up and she began to walk quicker. He was clever, but she would be cleverer. The game was not over. Allo, a white waistcoat gleaming at her side, Paula's shoes shuffled on the turf. Light hair rushed in brilliantly to the last possible pitch of perfection, shown in the light of the stars. The honourable Freddy Threepwood was in her mist. Well, Freddy said Eve resignedly. I say, said Freddy, in the voice in which self-pity fought with commiseration for her. Beastly shame you aren't coming to the hub. I don't mind. But I do dash it. The thing won't be anything without you. Bally, wash out, and I've been trying out some new steps with the Victrola. Well, there will be plenty of other girls there for you to step on. I don't want other girls. Dash them. I want you. That's very nice of you, said Eve. The first truculence of her manner had softened. She reminded herself as she had so often been obliged to remind herself before that Freddy meant well. But it can't be helped. I'm only an employee here, not a guest. I'm not invited. I know, said Freddy, and that's what makes it so dashed sickening. It's like the picture I saw once, a modern Cinderella. Only there the girl nipped off to the dance, disguised, you know, and had a most topping time. I wish life was a bit more like the movies. Well, it was enough like the movies last night when, oh, Eve stopped her, heart gave a sudden jump. Somehow the presence of Freddy was so inextricably associated in her mind with limp proposals of marriage that she had completely forgotten that there was another and more dashing side to his nature. That side which Mr. Keeble had revealed to her, at their meeting in market-plandings on the previous afternoon, she looked at him with new eyes. Anything upset Freddy? Eve took him excitedly by the sleeve and drew him farther away from the house, not that there was any need to do so, for the bustle with him continued unabated. Freddy, she whispered, listen, I met Mr. Keeble yesterday after I left you, and he told me all about how you and he had planned to steal Lady Constance's necklace. Good Lord, cried Freddy, and leaped like a stranded fish, and I've got an idea, said Eve. She had, and it was one which had only in this instant come to her. Until now, though she had tilted her chin bravely and assured herself that the game was not over and that she was not yet beaten, the small discouraging voice had whispered to her all the while that this was mere bravado. What the voice had asked, are you going to do, and she had not been able to answer it. But now, with Freddy as an ally, she could act. Told you all about it. Freddy was muttering pallidly. He had never had a very high opinion of his Uncle Joseph's mentality, but he had supposed him capable of keeping a thing like that to himself. He was indeed thinking of Mr. Keeble almost the identical thoughts which Mr. Keeble, in the first moments of his interview with Eve and Market-Blandings, had thought of him. And these reflections brought much the same qualms which they had brought to the elder conspirator. Once these things got talked about, used Freddy agitatedly, you never knew where they would stop. Before his mental eye there swam a painful picture of his aunt Constance, informed of the plot, tackling him and demanding the return of her necklace. Told you all about it, he pleaded, and like Mr. Keeble, mopped his brow. It's all right, said Eve impatiently. It's quite all right. He asked me to steal the necklace, too. You, said Freddy gave me. Yes, Mike. Gosh, cried Freddy electrified. Then was it you who got the thing last night? Yes, it was. But for a moment, for a moment Freddy had to wrestle with something that was almost a sordid envy. Then better feelings prevailed. He quivered with manly generosity. He gave Eve's hand a tender pat. It was too dark for her to see it, but he was registering renunciation. Little girl, he murmured, there's no one I'd rather got that thousand quid than you. If I couldn't have it myself, I mean to say. Little girl, oh, be quiet, cried Eve. I wasn't doing it for any thousand pounds. I didn't want Mr. Keeble to give me money. You didn't want him to give you money, repeated Freddy, wanderingly. I just wanted to help Phyllis. She's my friend. Pals, partner, pals, pals till hell freezes, cried Freddy, deeply moved. What are you talking about? Sorry, that was a subtitle from a thing called Prairie Now, you know, just happened to cross my mind. It was in the second reel where the two fellows yes, yes, never mind. Thought I'd mention it. Tell me, it seemed to fit in. Do stop, Freddy. Righto. Tell me, resumed Eve, as Mr. McTodd going to the ball. Eh? Wait, yes, I suppose so. Then listen, you know that little cottage your father has let him have. Little cottage. Yes, in the wood-pass that you alley. Little cottage. I never heard of any little cottage. Well, he's got one, said Eve, and as soon as everybody has gone to the ball, you and I are going to burgle it. What? Burgle it. Burgle it. Yes, burgle it. Freddy gulped. Look here, old thing, he said plaintively. This is a bit beyond me. It doesn't seem to me to make any sense. Eve forced herself to be patient. After all, she reflected. Perhaps she had been approaching the matter a little rapidly. The desire to beat Freddy violently over the head-pass, and she began to speak slowly, and as far as she could manage it, in words of one syllable. I can make it quite clear if you will listen and not say a word till I've done. This man who calls himself McTodd is not McTodd at all. He is a thief who got into the place by saying that he was McTodd. He stole the jewels from me last night and hid them in his cottage. But I say don't interrupt. I know he has them there. So when he has gone to the ball and the coast is clear, you and I will go and search till we find them. But I say Eve crushed down her impatience once more. Well, do you really think this cove has got the necklace? I know he has. Well, then it's jolly well the best thing that could possibly have happened, because I got him here to pinch it for Uncle Joseph. What? Absolutely. You see, I began to have a doubt or two as to whether I was quite equal to the contract, so I roped in this bird by way of a gang. You got him here. You mean you sent for him and arranged that he should pass himself off as Mr. McTodd? Well, no, not exactly that. He was coming here as McTodd anyway, as far as I can gather, but I talked it over with him, you know, before that, and asked him to pinch the necklace. Then you know him quite well. He is a friend of yours. I wouldn't say that exactly, but he said he was a great pal of Phyllis and her husband. Did he tell you that? Absolutely. When? In the train. I mean, was it before or after you told him why you wanted the necklace stolen? Let me think. After. You're sure? Yes. Tell me exactly what happened, said Eve. I can't understand it all at present. Freddie marshaled his thoughts. Well, let's see. Well, to start with, I told Uncle Joe I would pinch the necklace and slip it to him, and he said if I did, he'd give me a thousand quid. As a matter of fact, he made it two thousand. And very decent of him, I thought it. Is that straight? Yes. Then I sort of got cold feet, began to wonder, don't you know, if I hadn't bitten off rather more than I could chew. Yes. And then I saw this advertisement in the paper. Advertisement? What advertisement? There was an advertisement in the paper saying if anybody wanted anything done, simply apply to this chap. So I wrote him a letter and went up and had to talk with him in the lobby of the Piccadilly Palace. Only, unfortunately, I'd promised the governor I'd catch the twelve fifty home, so I had to dash off in the middle. Must have thought me rather an ass. It's sometimes occurred to me since. I mean, practically all I said was, will you pinch my aunt's necklace? And then buzzed off to catch the train. Never thought I'd see the man again. But when I got into the five o'clock train, I missed the twelve fifty. There he was, his largest life. And the governor suddenly trickled in from another compartment and introduced him to me as McTodd, the poet. Then the governor legged it. In this chap told me he really wasn't McTodd, only pretending to be McTodd. Didn't that strike you as strange? Yes, rather rummy. Did you ask him why he was doing such an extraordinary thing? Oh yes, but he wouldn't tell me. And then he asked me why I wanted him to pinch Aunt Connie's necklace. And it suddenly occurred to me that everything was working rather smoothly. I mean, him being on his way to the castle like that. Right on the spot, don't you know? So I told him all about Phyllis. And it was then that he said that he had been a pal of hers and her husband's for years. So we fixed it up that he was to get the necklace and hand it over. I must say I was rather drawn to the chap. He said he didn't want any money for swiping the thing. Eve left bitterly. Why should he when he was going to get twenty thousand pounds worth of diamonds and keep them? Oh, Freddie, I should have thought that even you would have seen through him. You go to this perfect stranger and tell him that there is a valuable necklace waiting here to be stolen. You find him on his way to steal it. And you trust him implicitly, just because he tells you he knows Phyllis, whom he never heard of in his life till you mentioned her. Freddie, really? The honorable Freddie scratched his beautifully shaven chin. Well, when you put it like that, he said, I must own it does sound a bit off. But he seemed like such a dashed mate, he sort of bird. Cherry and all that, I like the feller. What nonsense. Well, but you liked him too. I mean to say you were about with him a good a slot. I hate him, said Eve, angrily. I wish I had never seen him. And if I let him get away with that necklace and cheap poor little Phyllis out of her money, I'll, I'll. She raised a grimly determined chin to the stars. Freddie watched her admiring. I say, you know, you are a wonderful girl, he said. He shan't get away with it if I have to pull the place down. When you chuck your head up like that, you remind me a bit of what's her name, the famous player star, you know, girl who was in wed to a satyr, only added Freddie Hurley. She isn't half so pretty. I say I was rather looking forward to that county ball. But now that this has happened, I don't mind missing it a bit. I mean, it seems to draw us closer together somehow. If you follow me, I say, honestly, all kidding aside, you think that love might some day awaken, and we shall want a lamp, of course, said Eve. Eh? A lamp to see with while we are in the cottage. Can you get one? Freddie reluctantly perceived that the moment for sentiment had not arrived. A lamp, oh yes, of course, rather. Better get to, said Eve, and meet me here about half an hour after everybody has gone to the ball. Section two. The tiny city room of Smith's Haven, a rest in the woods, had never reached a high standard of decorativeness, even in its best days. But as Eve paused from her labors and looked at it in the light of her lamp about an hour after her conversation with Freddie on the terrace, it presented a picture of desolation which would have startled the plain living gamekeeper to whom it once had been a home. Even Freddie, though normally an unobservant youth, seemed awed by the ruin he had helped create. Golly, he observed, I say, we've rather mugged the place up a bit. It was no overstatement. Eve had come to the cottage to search, and she had searched thoroughly. The torn carpet lay in, an untidy heat against the wall. The table was overturned, boards had been wrenched from the floor, bricks from the chimney place. The horsehair sofa was in ribbons, and the one small cushion in the room lay limply in a corner. It stuffing distributed north, south, east, and west. There was soot everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, on the fireplace, and on Freddie. A brace of dead bats, the further result of the ladders groping in the chimney, which had not been swept for seven months, reposed in the fender. The sitting room had never been luxurious. It was now not even cozy. Eve did not reply. She was struggling with what she was fair-minded enough to see was an entirely unjust fever of irritation, with her courteous and obliging assistant as its object. It was wrong she knew to feel like this, that she should be furious at her failure to find the jewels was excusable. But she had no possible right to be furious with Freddie, who was not his fault that soot had poured from the chimney in lieu of diamonds. If he had asked for a necklace and been given a dead bat, he was surely more to be pity than censored. Yet Eve, eyeing his grimy face, would have given very much to have been able to scream loudly and throw something at him. The fact was the honourable Freddie belonged to that unfortunate type of humanity which automatically gets blamed for everything in moments of stress. Well, the valley thing isn't here, said Freddie, spoke thickly as a man, Will, whose mouth is covered with soot. I know it isn't, said Eve, but this isn't the only room in the house. I think he might have hidden the stuff upstairs, or downstairs. Freddie shook his head, dislodging a portion of a third bat. Must be upstairs, if it's anywhere. I mean to say there isn't any downstairs. There's the cellar, said Eve. Take your lab and go and have a look. For the first time in the proceedings, a spirit of disaffection seemed to manifest itself in the bosom of her assistant. Up till this moment, Freddie had taken his orders plastically and executed them with promptness and civility. Even when the first shower of soot had driven him choking from the fireplace, his manly spirit had not been crushed. He had merely uttered a straddle, oh, I say, and returned gallantly to the attack. But now he obviously hesitated. Go on, said Eve impatiently. Yes, but I say, you know, what's the matter? I don't think the chap would be likely to hide a necklace in the cellar. I vote we give it a miss and try upstairs. Don't be silly, Freddie. He may have hidden it anywhere. Well, to be absolutely honest, I'd rather not go into any valley cellar if it's all the same to you. Whatever not, Beatles always had a horror of Beatles ever since I was a kid. Eve bit her lip. She was feeling as Miss P.V. had so often felt when associated in some delicate undertaking with Edward Coots that exasperating sense of man's inadequacy, which comes to high-spirited girls at moments such as these, to achieve the end for which she had started out that night, she would have waded waist-high through a sea of Beatles, but divining with that sixth sense which tells women when the male has been pushed just so far and can be pushed no farther, that Freddie, waxed though he might be in her hands in any other circumstances, was on this point adamant. She made no further effort to bend him to her will. All right, she said, I'll go down into the cellar. You go and look upstairs. No, I say, sure you don't mind. Eve took up her lamp and left the craven. For a girl of iron resolution and unswerving purpose, Eve's inspection of the cellar was decidedly cursory. A distinct feeling of relief came over her as she stood at the top of the stairs and saw by the light of the lamp how small and bare it was, for impervious as she might be to the intimidation of Beatles her armor still contained a chink. She was terribly afraid of rats, and even when the rays of the lamp disclosed no scuttling horrors, she still lingered for a moment before descending. You never knew with rats. They pretended not to be there, just to lure you on, and then came out and whizzed about your ankles. However, the memory of her scorn for Fretty's pusillanimity forced her on, and she went down. The word cellar is an elastic one. It could be applied equally to the acres of bottle fringe vaults which lie beneath the great pile like Blandi's castle, and to a hole in the ground, like the one in which she now found herself. This cellar was easily searched. She stamped on its stone flags with an ear strained to detect any note of hollowness, but none came. She moved the lamp so that it shone into every corner, but there was not even a crack in which a diamond necklace could have been concealed. Satisfied that the place contained nothing but a little cold dust and a smell of damp decay, Eve passed thankfully out. The law of elimination was doing its remorseless work. It had ruled out the cellar, the kitchen, and the living room, that is to say the whole of the lower of the two floors which made up the cottage. There now remained only the rooms upstairs. They were probably not more than two, and Fretty must already have searched one of these. The quest seemed to be nearing its end. As Eve made for the narrow staircase that led to the second floor, the lamp shook in her hand and cast weird shadows. Now that success was in sight, the strain was beginning to affect her nerves. It was to nerves that in the first instant of hearing it she attributed what sounded like a soft cough in the sitting room, few feet from where she stood. Then a chill feeling of dismay gripped her. It could only, she thought, be Fretty. Returned from his search, and if Fretty had returned from his search already, what could it mean except those upstairs rooms on which he had counted, so confidently, had proved as empty as the others? Fretty was not one of your restrained, unemotional men. If he had found the necklace he would have been downstairs in two bounds shouting. His silence was ominous. She opened the door and went in quickly. Fretty, she began, and break off with a gasp. It was not Fretty who had coughed, it was Smith. He was seated on the remains of the horse-hair sofa, towing with an automatic pistol, and gravely surveying through his monocle the ruins of a home. Three. Good evening, said Smith. It was not for a philosopher like himself to display astonishment. He was, however, undeniably feeling it, when a few minutes before he had encountered Fretty in the same room. He had received a distinct shock, but a rough theory which would account for Fretty's presence in his home from home. He had been able to work out. He groped in vain for one which would explain Eve. Mere surprise, however, was never enough to prevent Smith talking. He began at once. It was nice of you, he said, rising courteously, to look in, while you sit down, on the sofa perhaps, or would you prefer a break? Eve was not yet equal to speech. She had been so firmly convinced that he was ten miles away at Schiffley, that his presence here in the sitting-room of the cottage had something of the breathtaking quality of a miracle. The explanation, if she could have known it, was simple. Two excellent reasons had kept Smith from gracing the county ball with his dignified support. In the first place, as Schiffley was only four miles from the village where he had spent most of his life, he had regarded it as probable, if not certain, that he would have encountered there, old friends to whom it would have been both tedious and embarrassing to explain why he had changed his name to Mac Todd. And secondly, though, he had not actually anticipated a nocturnal raid on his little nook. He had thought it well to be on the premises that evening, in case Mr. Edward Coots should be getting ideas into his head. As soon there, for as the castle had emptied itself, and the wheels of the last car had passed away down the drive, he had pocketed Mr. Coots' revolver and proceeded to the cottage. Eve recovered her self-possession. She was not a girl given to collapse in moments of crisis. The first shock of amazement had passed. A humiliating feeling of extreme foolishness, which came directly after, had also passed. She was now grimly ready for battle. Where is Mr. Threepwood, chast? Upstairs, I have put him in storage for a while. Do not worry about Comrade Threepwood. He has lots to think about. He is under the impression that if he stirs out, he will be instantly shot. Oh, well, I want to put this lamp down. Will you please pick up that table? By all means. But I am a novice in these matters. What, I not to say hands up or something? Will you please pick up that table? A friend of mine, one Coots, you must meet him sometime. Generally remarks, hey, in a sharp arresting voice on these occasions. Personally, I consider the expression to abrupt. Still, he has great experience. Will you please pick up that table? Most certainly. I take it then that you would prefer to dispense with the usual formalities. In that case, I will park this revolver on the mantelpiece while we chat. I've taken a curious dislike to the thing. Makes me feel like dangerous Dan were groomed. He put down the lamp, and there was silence for a moment. Smith looked about him thoughtfully. Picked up one of the dead bats and covered it with his anchorchief. Somebody's mother, he murmured reverently. He sat down on the sofa. Mr. She stopped. I can't call you Mac Todd. Will you please tell me your name? Ronald said Smith, Ronald Eustis. I suppose you have a surname, snapped Eve, or an alias. Smith eyed her with a pained expression. I may be hypersensitive, he said, but that last remark sounded to me like a dirty dig. You seem to apply that I am some sort of criminal. Eve laughed shortly. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. There is not much sense in pretending now, is there? What is your name? Smith, the P. Asylum. Well, Mr. Smith, I imagine you understand why I'm here. I took it for granted that you had come to fulfill your kindly promise of doing the place up a bit. Will you be wounded if I say frankly that I preferred it the way it was before? All this may be the last word in ultra-modern interior decoration, but I suppose I am old fashioned. The whisper flies round Trupture in the joining counties. Smith is hardbound. He's not attuned to up-to-date methods. Honestly, don't you think you have rather unduly stressed the bizarre note? This suit. These dead bats. I have come to get that necklace. Ah, the necklace. I'm going to get it too. Smith shook his head gently. There, he said, if you will pardon me, I take issue with you. There is nobody to whom I would rather give that necklace than you. But there are special circumstances connected with it, which render such an action impossible. I fancy, Miss Halliday, that you have been misled by your young friend upstairs. No, let me speak, he said, raising a hand. You know what it treated is to me. The way I envisage the matter is thus. I still cannot understand as completely as I could wish how you come to be mixed up in the affair. But it is plain that in some way or other Comrade Freepord has enlisted your services. And I regret to be obliged to inform you that the modus animating him in this quest are not pure. To put it crisply, he is engaged in what Comrade Coots, to whom I elude it just now, would call funny business. I pardon me, said Smith. You will be patient for a few minutes more. I shall have finished, and shall then be delighted to lend an attentive ear to any remarks you may wish to make. As it occurs to me, indeed you hinted as much yourself just now, that my own position in this little matter has an appearance which, to the uninitiated, might seem tolerably rummy. I had better explain how I came to be guarding a diamond necklace, which does not belong to me. I rely on your womanly discretion to let the thing go no further. Will you please, in one moment, the facts are as follows. Our mutual friend, Mr. Keeble, Miss Halliday, has a step-daughter, who is married to one Comrade Jackson, who, if he had no other claim to fame, would go ring down through history for this reason, that he and I were at school together, and that he is my best friend. We two have sported on the green, oh, a lot of times. Well, owing to one thing and another, the Jackson family is rather badly up against it at present. Eve jumped up angrily. I don't believe a word of it, she cried. What is the use of trying to fool me like this? You had never heard of Phyllis before, Freddy spoke about her in the train. Believe me, I won't. Freddy got you down here to help him steal that necklace and give it to Mr. Keeble, so that he could help Phyllis. And now you've got it and are trying to keep it for yourself. Smith started slightly. His monocle fell from its place. Is everybody in this little plot? Are you also one of Comrade Keeble's core of assistance? Mr. Keeble asked me to try to get the necklace for him. Smith replaced his monocle thoughtfully. This, he said, opens up a new line of thought. Can it be that I had been wrong in Comrade Threepwood all this time? I must confess that when I found him here just now standing like Marius among the ruins of Carthage, the illusion is a classical one and the fruit of inexpensive education. I jumped. I may say spring to the conclusion that he was endeavoring to double cross both myself and the boss by getting hold of the necklace with a view to retaining it for his own benefit. It never occurred to me that he might be crediting me with the same sinful guile. Eve ran to him and clutched his arm. Mr. Smith, is it really true? Are you really a friend of Phyllis? She looks on me as a grandfather. Are you a friend of hers? We were at school together. This, said Smith cordially, is one of the most gratifying moments of my life. It makes us all seem like one great big family. But I never heard Phyllis speak about you. Strange said Smith. Strange. Surely she was not ashamed of her humble friend. Her what? I must explain to Smith that until recently I was earning a difficult livelihood by slinging fish about in Billingsgate Market. It is possible that some snobbish strain in Comrade Jackson's broad, which I confess I had not suspected, kept her from admitting that she was accustomed to hobnob with one in the fish business. Good gracious, cried Eve. I beg your pardon. Smith, fish business. Why was you who called at Phyllis's house while I was there, just before I came down here? I remember Phyllis saying how sorry she was that we had not met. She said you were just my sort of—I mean, she said she wanted me to meet you. This, said Smith, is becoming more and more gratifying every moment. It seems to me that you and I were made for each other. I am your best friend's best friend, and we both have a taste for stealing other people's jewelry. I cannot see how you can very well resist the conclusion that we are twin souls. Don't be silly. We shall get into that series of husbands and wives who work together. Where is the necklace? Smith sighed. The business note, always the business note. Can't we keep all that till later? No, we can't. Ah, well. Smith crossed the room and took down from the wall the case of stuffed birds. The one place, said Eve, with mortification, where we didn't think of looking. Smith opened the case and removed the center bird, the depress-looking fowl with glass eyes which stared with a haunting pathos. He felt in its interior and pulled at something that glittered and sparkled in the lamp-light. Oh, Eve ran her fingers almost lovingly through the jewels as they laid before her on the little table. Aren't they beautiful? Distinctly, I think I may say that of all the jewels I have ever stolen. Hey, Eve letten the necklace fall with a cry. Smith spun around. In the doorway stood Mr. Edward Coots, poignant pistol. Section 4. Hands up, said Mr. Coots, with the uncouth curtness of one who has not had the advantages of a refined home and a nice upbringing. He advanced warily, proceeded by the revolver, was a dainty miniature weapon, such as might have been the property of some gentle lady. Mr. Coots had, in fact, borrowed it from Miss Peavey, who, at this juncture, entered the room in a black and silver dinner-dress, surmounted by a rose de bourree wrapped, her spiritual face glowing softly in the subdued light. Atta boy had observed Miss Peavey crisply. She swooped on the table and gathered up the necklace. Mr. Coots, though probably gratified by the tribute, made no acknowledgment of it, but continued to direct an austere gaze at Eve and Smith. No funny business, he advised. I would be the last person, said Smith agreeably, to advocate anything of the sort. This, he said to Eve, his comrade Coots, of whom you have heard so much. Eve was staring, bewildered at the poetess, who, satisfied with the manner in which the preliminaries had been conducted, had begun looking at her with idle curiosity. Miss Peavey cried Eve. Of all the events of this eventful night, the appearance of Lady Constance's emotional friend in the role of criminal was the most disconcerting. Miss Peavey. Hello, responded that lady agreeably. What I think Miss Halliday has tried to say, cut in Smith, is that she is finding it a little difficult to adjust her mind to the present development. I too must confess myself somewhat at a loss. I know, of course, that comrade Coots had, shall I say, an acquisitive streak in him, but you I had always supposed to be one hundred percent soul, and snowy white at that. Yes, said Miss Peavey, but faintly interested. I imagine that you were a poetess. So I am a poetess, reported Miss Peavey hotly. Just you start injashing my palms and see how quickly I'll be in you with a brick. Well, Ed, no sense in sticking around here. Let's go. We'll have to tie these birds up, said Mr. Coots. Otherwise we'll have them squealing before I can make a getaway. Ed said Miss Peavey with a scorn, which her colleagues so often excited in her, try to remember sometimes that the thing balanced on your collar is a head, not a hubbard squash. And be careful what you're doing with that gat, waving it about like it was a bouquet or something. How are they going to squeal? They can't say a thing without telling everyone they snitched the stuff first. That's right, admitted Mr. Coots. Well then, don't come butting in. The silence into which this rebuke plunged Mr. Coots gave Smith the opportunity to reserve speech, an opportunity of which he was glad for, while he had nothing of definitely vital import to say, he was optimist enough to feel that his only hope of recovering the necklace was to keep the conversation going on the chance of something turning up. Affable though his manner was, he had never lost sight of the fact that one lead would take him across the space of floor separating him from Mr. Coots. At present that small but effective revolver precluded anything in the nature of leaps, however short. But if in the near future anything occurred to divert his adversary's vigilance even momentarily, he pursued a policy of watchful waiting and in the meantime started to talk again. If before you go, he said, you can spare us a moment of your valuable time, I should be glad of a few words, and first may I say that I cordially agree with your condemnation of Comrade Coots' recent suggestion. The man is an ass. Say, cried Mr. Coots, coming to life again, that'll be about all from you. If there wasn't ladies present, I'd bust you one. Ed said, Miss Peavey, with quiet authority, shut your trap. Mr. Coots subsided once more. Smith gazed at him through his monocle, interested. Pardon me, he said, but if it is not a rude question, are you too married? Eh? You seemed to talk to him like a wife. Am I addressing Mrs. Coots? You will be if you stick around a while. A thousand congratulations to Comrade Coots. Not quite so many to you, possibly, but fully that number of good wishes. He moved towards the poetess with extended hand. I am thinking of getting married myself shortly. Keep those hands up, said Mr. Coots. Surely, since Smith reproachfully, these conventions need not be observed among friends. You will find the only revolver I have ever possessed over there on the mantelpiece. Go and look at it. Yes, and have you jumpy on my back the moment I took my eyes off you. There is a suspicious vein in your nature, Comrade Coots, side Smith, which I do not like to see. Fight against him. He turned to Miss Peavey once more. To resume a pleasanter topic, you will let me know where to send the plate at. Fish slice, won't you? Huh, said the lady. I was hoping, proceed at Smith, if you do not think at a liberty on the part of one who has known you but a short time, to be allowed to send you a small wedding present in due season. And one of these days, perhaps, when I too am married, you and Comrade Coots will come and visit us in our little home. You will receive a hearty, unaffected welcome. You must not be offended if, just before you say goodbye, we count the spoons. One would scarcely have supposed Miss Peavey a sensitive woman. Yet, at this remark, an ominous frown clouded her white forehead. Her careless amiability seemed to wane. She raked Smith with a glittering eye. You're talking a damn lot, she observed coley. An old family of mine said Smith apologetically, and one concerning which there have been numerous complaints, I see now that I have been bore you, and I hope that you allow me to express. He broke off abruptly, not because he had reached the end of his remarks, but because at this moment there came from above their heads a sudden sharp cracking sound, and almost simultaneously a shower of plaster falling from the ceiling, followed by the startling appearance of a long shapely lug, which remained waggling in space, and from somewhere out of sight their filtered downy, sharp and agonized oath. Time and neglect had done their work with the flooring of the room, in which Smith had bestowed the honorable Freddie Threepwood. In creeping cautiously about in the dark, he had had the misfortune to go through. But as so often happens in this life, the misfortune of one is the good fortune of another. Badly as the accident had shaken Freddie from the point of view of Smith, it was almost ideal. The sudden appearance of a human leg through the ceiling at a moment of nervous tension is enough to unman the stoutest hearted, and Edward Coots made no attempt to conceal his pertubation. Leaping a clear six inches from the floor, he jerked up his head and quite unintentionally pulled the trigger of his revolver, a bullet ripped through the plaster. The leg disappeared, not for an instant since he had been shut in that upper room had Freddie Threepwood ceased to be mindful of Smith's parting statement that he would be shot if he tried to escape. And Mr. Coots' bullet seemed to him a dramatic fulfillment of that promise. Wrenching his leg with painful energy out of the abyss, he proceeded to execute a backwards spring which took him to the far wall, at which point, as it was impossible to get any farther away from the center of the fence, he was compelled to halt his retreat. Having rolled himself up into a small ball as he could manage, he sat where he was, trying not to breathe. His momentary intention of explaining through the hole that the entire thing had been a regrettable accident, he prudently abandoned. Unintelligent though he had often proved himself in other crises of his life, he had the sagacity now to realize that the neighborhood of the hole was unhealthy and should be avoided. So, preserving a complete and unbroken silence, he crouched there in the darkness, only asking to be let alone. And it seemed as the moment slipped by that his modest wish was to be gratified. Noises and the sound of voices came up to him from the room below, but no more bullets. It would be pulturing with the truth to say that this put him completely at his ease, but still it was something. Freddy's pulse began to return to the normal. Mr. Coots's, on the other hand, was beating with a dangerous quickness, swift and objectionable things had been happening to Edward Coots in that lower room. His first impression was that the rift in the plaster above him had been instantly followed by the collapse of the entire ceiling, but this was a mistaken idea. All that had occurred was that Smith, finding Mr. Coots's eye and pistol functioning in another direction, had sprung forward, snatched up a chair, hit the unfortunate man over the head with it, relieved him of his pistol, leaped to the mantelpiece, removed the revolver which lay there, and now holding both weapons in an attitude of menace was regarding him sensoriously through a gleaming eyeglass. No funny business, comrade Coots said, Smith. Mr. Coots picked himself up painfully as head was singing. He looked at the revolvers, blinked, opened his mouth, and shut it again, who was oppressed with a sense of defeat. Nature had not built him for a man of violence. Peaceful manipulation of a pack of cards in the smoke room of an Atlantic liner was a thing he understood and enjoyed. Rough and tumble encounters were alien to him and distasteful. As far as Mr. Coots was concerned the war was over, but Miss Peavey was a woman of spirit. Her hat was still in the ring. She clutched the necklace in a grasp of steel, and her fine eyes glared to fines. You think yourself smart, don't you, she said. Smith eyed her commiseratingly. Her valourious attitude appealed to him. Nevertheless, business was business. I'm afraid, he said regretfully, that I must trouble you to hand over that necklace. Try and get it, said Miss Peavey. Smith looked hurt. I'm a child in these matters, he said, but I had always gathered that on these occasions the wishes of the man behind the gun were automatically respected. I'll call your bluff, said Miss Peavey, firmly. I'm going to walk straight out of here with this collection of ice right now, and I'll bet you don't have the nerve to start any shooting. Shoot a woman, not you. Smith nodded gravely. Your knowledge of psychology is absolutely correct. Your trust in my sense of chivalry rests on solid ground. But he proceeded, cheering up. I fancy that I see a way out of this difficulty. An idea has been vouched safe to me. I shall shoot, not you, but Comrade Coots. This will dispose of all the implicitness. You attempt to edge out through that door. I shall immediately proceed to plug Comrade Coots in the leg. At least I shall try. I'm a poor shot and may hit him in some more vital spot. But at least you will have the consolation of knowing that I did my best and meant well. Hey, cried Mr. Coots, and never in a life liberally embellished with this favorite ejaculation of his had he uttered it more feelingly. He shot a feverish glance at Miss Peavey, and reading in her face indecision rather than that instant acquiescence which he had hoped to see cast off his customary attitude of respectful humility and asserted himself. He was no caveman, but this was one occasion when he meant to have his own way. With an agonized bound he reached Miss Peavey's side, wrenched the necklace from her grasp, and flung it into the enemy's camp. Eve stood and picked it up. I thank you, said Smith, with a brief bow in her direction. Miss Peavey breathed heavily. Her strong hands clenched and unclenched. Between her parted lips her teeth showed in a thin white line. Suddenly she swallowed quickly, as if draining a glass of unpalatable medicine. Well, she said in a low, even voice, that seems to be about all. Guests will be going. Come along, Ed. Pick up the Henry's. Coming, Liz replied, Mr. Coots humbly. They passed together into the night. Section 5. Silence followed their departure. Eve, weak with the reaction from the complex emotions which she had undergone since her arrival at the cottage, sat on the battered sofa, her chin resting in her hands. She looked at Smith, who hummed a light air, was delicately piled with the toe of issue, a funeral mound over the second of the dead bats. So that's that, she said. Smith looked up with a bright and friendly smile. You have a very happy gift of phrase, he said. That, as you sensibly say, is that. Eve was silent for a while. Smith completed the obsequies and stepped back with the air of a man who has done what he can for a fallen friend. Fancy Miss Peavey being at the city. She was somehow feeling a disinclination to allow the conversation to die down, and yet she had an idea that, unless it was permitted to die down, it might become embarrassingly intimate. Subconsciously she was endeavoring to analyze her views on this long, calm person who had so recently added himself to the list of those who claimed to look upon her with affection. I confess it came as something of a shock to me also, said Smith. In fact, the revelation that there was this other, deep aside to her nature, materially altered the opinion, I had formed of her. I found myself warming to Miss Peavey, something that was akin to respect began to stir within me. Indeed, I almost wished that we had not been compelled to deprive her of the jewels. We said, Eve, I'm afraid I didn't do much. Your attitude was exactly right, Smith assured her. You afforded just the moral support which a man needs in such a crisis. Silence fell once more. Eve returned to her thoughts, and then with the suddenness which surprised her, she found that she had made up her mind. So you're going to be married, she said. Smith polished his monocle thoughtfully. I think so, he said. I think so. What do you think? Eve regarded him steadfastly. Then she gave a little laugh. Yes, she said, I think so too. She paused. Shall I tell you something? You could tell me nothing more wonderful than that. When I met Cynthia and Mark at Blanton, she told me what the trouble was which made her husband leave her. What, do you suppose, it was? From my brief acquaintance with Comrade McTodd, I would hazard the guess that he tried to stab her with a bread knife. He struck me as a murderous looking specimen. They had some people to dinner, and there was chicken. And Cynthia gave all the giblets to the guest, and her husband bowed it out of his seat with a wild cry and shouting, You know I love those things better than anything in the world. Rushed from the house, never to return. Precisely how I would have wished him to rush had I been Mrs. Todd. Cynthia told me that he rushed from the house, never to return, six times since they were married. May I mention in passing, said Smith, that I do not like chicken giblets? Cynthia advised me, proceeded Eve, if ever I'm married, to marry someone eccentric. She said it was such fun. Well, I don't suppose I'm ever likely to meet anyone more eccentric than you, am I? I think you would be unwise to wait on the chance. The only thing is, said Eve, reflectively, Mrs. Smith, it doesn't sound much, does it? Smith beamed encourageingly. We must look into the future, he said. We must remember that I am only at the beginning of what I am convinced to be a singularly illustrious career. Lady Smith is better. Baroness Smith better still. And who knows, the Duchess of Smith. Well, anyhow, said Eve, you are wonderful just now, simply wonderful. The way you made one spring, your words, said Smith, are music to my ears. But we must not forget that the foundations of the success of the maneuver were laid by Comrade Freepund, had it not been for the timely incursion of his leg. Good gracious, cried Eve, Freddie, I'd forgotten all about him. The right spirit, said Smith, quite the right spirit. We must go and let him out. Just as you say, and then he could come with us on the stroll I was about to propose, that we should take through the woods. It is a lovely night, and what could be jollier than to have Comrade Freepund prowling at our side. I will go and let him out at once. No, don't bother, said Eve. End of Chapter 13 Chapter number 14 of Leave It to P. Smith This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Bellevue, Washington Leave It to P. Smith by P. G. Woodhouse Chapter 14 P. Smith accepts employment The golden stillness of a perfect summer morning brooded over Blanding's castle and its adjacent pleasure grounds. From a sky of unbroken blue, the sun poured down its heartening rays on all those roses, pinks, pansies, carnations, hollyhocks, columbines, larkspurs, London Pride, and Canterbury Bells, which made the gardens so rarely beautiful. Flanneled youths and maidens in white surge sported in the shade. Gay cries arose from the tennis courts behind the shrubbery, and birds, bees, and butterflies went about their business with a new energy and zip. In short, the casual observer, assuming that he was addicted to trite phrases, would have said that happiness reigned supreme. But happiness, even on the finest mornings, is seldom universal. The strolling youths and maidens were happy. The tennis players were happy. The birds, bees, and butterflies were happy. Eve, walking in pleasant meditation on the terrace, was happy. Freddy Threep Wood was happy, as he lounged in the smoking room and gloated over the information received from P. Smith in the small hours, that his thousand pounds was safe. Mr. Keeble, writing to Phyllis to inform her that she might clench the purchase of the Lincolnshire farm, was happy. Even Head Gardener Angus McAllister was as happy as a Scotsman can ever be. But Lord Emsworth drooping out of the library window felt only a nervous irritation more in keeping with the blizzards of winter than with the only fine July that England had known in the last ten years. We have seen his lordship in a similar attitude and a like frame of buying on a previous occasion, but then his melancholy had been due to the loss of his glasses. This morning these were perched firmly on his nose and he saw all things clearly. What was causing his gloom now was the fact that some ten minutes earlier his sister Constance had trapped him in the library full of jarring rebuke on the subject of the dismissal of Rupert Baxter, the world's most efficient secretary. It was to avoid her compelling eye that Lord Emsworth had turned to the window and what he saw from that window thrust him even deeper into the abyss of gloom. The sun, the birds, the bees, the butterflies and the flowers called to him to come out and have the time of his life, but he just lacked the nerve to make a dash for it. I think you must be mad, said Lady Constance bitterly, resuming her marks and starting at the point where she had begun before. Baxter's mad, retorted his lordship, also retreading old ground. You are too absurd. He threw flower pots at me. Do please stop talking about those flower pots. Mr. Baxter has explained the whole thing to me, and surely even you can see that his behavior was perfectly excusable. I don't like the fellow, cried Lord Emsworth, more than retreating to his last line of trenches, the one line from which all Lady Constance's eloquence had been unable to dislodge him. There was a silence, as there had been a short while before, when the discussion had reached this same point. You will be helpless without him, said Lady Constance. Nothing of the kind, said his lordship. You know you will. Where will you ever get another secretary capable of looking after everything, like Mr. Baxter? You know you are a perfect child, and unless you have someone whom you can trust and manage your affairs, I cannot see what will happen. Lord Emsworth made no reply. He merely gazed wainly from the window. Chaos moaned Lady Constance. His lordship remained mute, but now there was a gleam of something approaching pleasure in his pale eyes. For at this moment a car rounded the corner of the house from the direction of the stables and stood purring at the door. There was a trunk on the car and a suitcase, and almost simultaneously the efficient Baxter entered the library, clothed and spattered for travel. I have come to say goodbye, Lady Constance, said Baxter coldly and precisely, flashing at his late employer through his spectacles a look of stern reproach. The car which is taking me to the station is at the door. Oh, Mr. Baxter, Lady Constance, strong woman, though she was, fluttered with distress. Oh, Mr. Baxter, goodbye, he gripped her hand in brief farewell, and directed his spectacles for another tense instant upon the sagging figure at the window. Goodbye, Lord Emsworth. Eh, what, oh? Ah, yes, goodbye, my dear fellow. I mean goodbye, er, I hope you will have a pleasant journey. Thank you, said Baxter. But Mr. Baxter, said Lady Constance, Lord Emsworth said, the ex-Secretary Isalee, I am no longer in your employment. But Mr. Baxter moaned Lady Constance, surely, even now, misunderstanding, talk it all over quietly. Lord Emsworth started violently. Here, he protested, in much the same manner as that in which the recent Mr. Coots had been won't to say, hey, I fear it is too late, said Baxter, to his infinite relief, to talk things over. My arrangements are already made and cannot be altered. Ever since I came here to work for Lord Emsworth, my former employer, an American millionaire, named Jevons, has been making me flattering offers to return to him, until now a mistaken sense of loyalty has kept me from accepting these offers. But this morning I telegraphed to Mr. Jevons to say that I was at liberty and could join him at once. It is too late now to cancel this promise. Quite, quite, oh, certainly, quite, mustn't dream of it, my dear fellow, no, no, no, indeed, no, said Lord Emsworth, with an effervescent cordiality which struck both his hearers as in the most dubious taste. Baxter merely stiffened hotly, but Lady Constance was so poivently affected by the words and the joyous tone in which they were uttered that she could endure her brother's lowly society no longer, shaking Baxter's hand once more and gazing stonely for a moment at the worm by the window she'd left the room. For some seconds after she had gone there was a silence, a silence which Lord Emsworth found embarrassing. He turned to the window again and took in with one wistful glance the roses, the pinks, the pansies, the carnations, the hollyhocks, the columbines, the larkspers, the London pride, and the canterbury bells, and then suddenly there came to him the realization that with Lady Constance gone there no longer existed any reason why he should stay cooped up in this stuffy library on the finest morning that had ever been sent to gladden the heart of man. He shivered ecstatically from the top of his bald head to the soles of his roomy shoes and bounded gleefully from the window started to amble across the room. Lord Emsworth, his lordship halted, he was a one-track mine capable of accommodating only one thought at a time, if that, and he had almost forgotten that Baxter was still there. He eyed his late secretary peevishly. Yes, yes, is there anything? I should like to speak to you for a moment. I have a most important conference with McAllister. I will not detain you long, Lord Emsworth, I am no longer in your employment, but I think it my duty to say before I go, No, no, my dear fellow, I quite understand. Quite, quite, quite. Constance has been going over all that. I know what you are trying to say. The matter of the flower pots, please do not apologize. It is quite all right. I was startled at the time, I own, but no doubt you had excellent motives. Let's forget the whole affair. Baxter ground an impatient heel into the carpet. I had no intention of referring to the matter to which you allude, he said. I merely wished. Yes, yes, of course, a vagrant breeze floated in, at the window, languid with summer sense, and Lord Emsworth sniffing, shuffled restlessly. Of course, of course, of course, some other time, eh? Yes, yes, that will be capital, capital, capital, cap. The efficient Baxter uttered a sound that was partly a cry, partly a snort. Its quality was so arresting that Lord Emsworth paused. His fingers on the door handle and peered back at him, startled. Very well, said Baxter shortly, pray, do not let me keep you. If you are not interested in the fact that Blanding's castle is sheltering a criminal. It was not easy to divert Lord Emsworth when in quest of Angus MacAulister, but this remark succeeded in doing so. He let go of the door handle, and came back a step or two into the room. Sheltering a criminal? Yes, Baxter glanced at his watch. I must go now, or I shall miss my train, he said currently. I was merely going to tell you that this fellow who calls himself Ralston McTodd is not Ralston McTodd at all. Not Ralston McTodd, repeated his lordship blankly, but he suddenly perceived a flaw in this argument. But he said he was. He pointed out cleverly. Yes, I remember distinctly. He said he was McTodd. He is an imposter, and I imagine that if you investigate you will find that it is he and his accomplices who stole Lady Constance's necklace. But my dear fellow, Baxter walked bristly to the door. You'd need not take my word for it, he said. What I say can easily be proved. Get this so-called McTodd to write his name on a piece of paper, and then compare it with the signature to the letter was the real McTodd wrote when accepting Lady Constance's invitation to the castle. You will find it filed away in the drawer of that desk there. Lord Elmsworth adjusted his glasses and stared at the desk as if he expected it to do a conjuring trick. I will leave you to take what steps you please, said Baxter. Now that I am no longer in your employment, the thing does not concern me one way or another, but I thought you might be glad to hear the facts. Oh, I am, responded his lordship, still peering vaguely. Oh, I am. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes, yes. Goodbye. But Baxter, Lord Elmsworth trotted out onto the landing, but Baxter had got off to a good start and was almost out of sight round the bend of the stairs. But my dear fellow, pleaded his lordship plaintively over the banisters. From below out on the drive came the sound of an automobile getting into gear and moving off, then which no sound is more final. The great door of the castle closed with a soft but significant bang. A door's closed when handled by an un-tipped butler. Lord Elmsworth returned to the library to wrestle with his problem unaided. He was greatly disturbed. Apart from the fact that he disliked criminals and imposters as a class, it was a shock to him to learn that the particular criminal and imposter then, in residence at Blandings, was the man for whom, brief as had been the duration of their acquaintance, he had conceived a warm affliction. He was fond of P. Smith. P. Smith sued him. If he had had to choose any member of his immediate circle for the role of criminal and imposter, he would have chosen P. Smith. Last, he went to the window and looked out. There was the sunshine. There were the birds. There were the hollyhocks, carnations, and canterbury bells. All present and correct. But now they failed to cheer him. He was wondering dismally what on earth he was going to do. What did one do with criminals and imposters? Had him arrested, he supposed. But he shrinked from the thought of arresting P. Smith. It seemed so deused, unfriendly. He was still meditating gloomily when a voice spoke behind him. Good morning. I am looking for Miss Halliday. You have not seen her by any chance? Ah, there she is down there on the terrace. Lord Elmsworth was aware of P. Smith beside him at the window, waving quarterly to Eve, who waved back. I thought possibly continued P. Smith that Miss Halliday would be in her little room yonder. He indicated the dummy bookshelves through which he had entered. But I am glad to see that the morning is so fine that she has given Toil the Miss in Bulk. It is the right spirit, said P. Smith. I'd like to see it. Lord Elmsworth peered at him nervously through his glasses. His embarrassment and his distaste for the task that lay before him increased as he scanned his companion in vain for these signs of villainy which all well-regulated criminals and imposters ought to exhibit to the eye of disturbment. I am surprised to find you indoors, said P. Smith. On so glorious a morning I should have supposed that you would have been down there among the shrubs, taking a good sniff at a hollyhock or something. Lord Elmsworth braced himself for the ordeal, or, my dear fellow, that is to say, he paused. P. Smith was regarding him almost lovingly through his monocle and it was becoming increasingly difficult to warm up to the work of denouncing him. You were observing, said P. Smith. Lord Elmsworth uttered curious buzzing noises. I have just parted from Baxter, he said at length, deciding to approach the subject in more roundabout fashion. Indeed, said P. Smith courteously. Yes, Baxter has gone. Forever? Er, yes. Splendid, said P. Smith. Splendid, splendid. Lord Elmsworth removed his classes, twiddled them on their cord, and replaced them on his nose. He made, er, he, the fact is, he made, before he went, Baxter made a most remarkable statement, a charge. Well, in short, he made a very strange statement about you. P. Smith nodded gravely. I had been expecting something of the kind, he said. He said in no doubt that I was not really Ralston MacTodd. His lordship's mouth opened feebly. Er, yes, he said. I have been needing to tell you about that, said P. Smith ammiably. It is quite true, I am not Ralston MacTodd. You admit it? I am proud of it. Lord Elmsworth drew himself up. He endeavored to assume the attitude of stern censure, which came so naturally to him in interviews with his son Frederick. But he met P. Smith's eye and said again, Beneath the solemn friendliness of P. Smith's gaze, hotter was impossible. Then what the deuce are you doing here under his name? He asked, placing his finger in statesmen-like fashion on the very nub of the problem. I mean to say, he went on, making his meaning clearer. If you aren't MacTodd, why did you come here seeing you were MacTodd? P. Smith nodded slowly. The point is well taken, he said. I was expecting you to ask that question, primarily I want no thanks, but primarily I did to save you embarrassment. It saved me embarrassment? Precisely. When I came into the smoking room of our mutual club that afternoon, when you had been entertaining comrade MacTodd at lunch, I found him on the point of passing out of your life forever. It seems that he had taken Umbridge to some slight extent, because you had buzzed off to chat with the florist, across the way instead of remaining with him. And after we had exchanged a pleasant word or two, he legged it, leaving you short one modern poet. On your return I stepped into the breach to save you from the inconvenience of having to return here without a MacTodd of any description. No one, of course, could have been more alive than myself to the fact that I was merely a poor substitute, a sort of synthetic MacTodd, but I still considered that I was better than nothing, so I came along. His lordship digested this explanation in silence, then he seized on a magnificent point. Are you a member of the senior conservative club? Most certainly. Why then dash it, cried his lordship, paying to that august stronghold of respectability as striking a tribute as it had ever received. If you're a member of the senior conservative, you can't be a criminal. Baxter's an ass, exactly. Baxter would have it that you had stolen my sister's necklace. I can assure you that I have not got Lady Constance's necklace. Of course not, of course not, my dear fellow. I'm only telling you what that idiot Baxter said. Thank goodness I've got rid of the fellow. A cloud passed over his now sunny face. Though confounded, Connie was right about one thing. He relapsed into a somewhat moody silence. Yes, said P. Smith. A. said his lordship. You were saying that Lady Constance had been right about one thing. Oh yes, she was saying that I should have a hard time finding another secretary as capable as Baxter. P. Smith permitted himself to bestow an encouraging pat on his host's shoulder. You have touched on a matter, he said, which I had intended to broach to you at some convenient moment when you were at leisure. If you would care to accept my services, they are at your disposal. A. The fact is, said P. Smith, I am shortly about to be married, and it is more or less imperative that I connect with some job which will ensure a moderate competence. Why should I not become your secretary? You want to be my secretary? You have unraveled my meaning exactly, but I've never had a married secretary. I think that you would find a steady married man an improvement on these wild flower pot-throwing bachelors. If it would help to influence your decision, I may say that my bride to be is Miss Halliday, probably the finest library catalogist in the United Kingdom. A. Miss Halliday? That girl down there? No other, said P. Smith, waving fondly at Eve as she passed underneath the window, in fact the same. But I like her, said Lord Elmsworth, as if stating an insuperable objection. Excellent. She is a nice girl. I quite agree with you. Do you think you could really look after things here like Baxter? I am convinced of it. Then my dear fellow, well really, I must say, I must say, well, I mean, why shouldn't you? Precisely, said P. Smith, you have put in a nutshell the very thing I have been trying to express. But have you any experience as a secretary? I must admit that I have not. You see, until recently I was more or less one of the idle rich. I toiled not. Neither did I, except one. After a bump supper at Cambridge, spin. My name perhaps I ought to reveal to you, is P. Smith. The P is silent, and until very recently I lived an affluence not far from the village of much Middleford in this county. My name is probably unfamiliar to you, but you may have heard of the house which was, for many years, the P. Smith headquarters, Horfby Hall. Lord Elmsworth jerked his glasses off his nose. Horfby Hall, are you the son of the Smith who used to own Horfby Hall? Why, bless my soul, I knew your father well. Really? Yes, that is to say, I never met him. No. But I won the first prize for roses at the Shrewsbury Flower Show the year he won the prize for tulips. It seems to draw us very close together, said P. Smith. Why, my dear boy, cried Lord Elmsworth jubently, if you are really looking for a position of some kind and would care to be my secretary, nothing could suit me better. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Why, bless my soul, I am extremely obliged, said P. Smith, and I shall endeavor to give satisfaction, and surely if a mere baxter could hold down the job it should be well within the scope of a shropshire P. Smith. I think so, I think so. And now, if you will excuse me, I think I will go down and tell the glad news to the little woman, if I may so describe her. P. Smith made his way down the broad staircase at an even better pace than recently achieved by the departing baxter, for he rightly considered each moment of this excellent day wasted that was not spent in the company of Eve. He crooned blindly to himself as he passed through the hall, only pausing when, as he passed the door of the smoking room, the honourable Freddie Threepwood suddenly emerged. Oh, I say, said Freddie, just the fellow I wanted to see, I was going off to look for you. Freddie's tome was cordially itself. As far as Freddie was concerned, all that had passed between them in the cottage in the west wood last night was forgiven and forgotten. Say on, comrade Threepwood, replied P. Smith, and if I may offer the suggestion, make it snappy, for I would be elsewhere. I have man's work before me. Come over here, Freddie drew him into a far corner of the hall and lowered his voice to a whisper. I say, it's all right, you know. Excellent, said P. Smith, splendid. This is great news, what is all right? I've just seen Uncle Joe, he is going to cough up the money he promised me. I congratulate you. So now I shall be able to get into that bookie's business and make a pile. And, I say, you remember me telling you about Miss Holiday? What was that? Why, that I loved her, I mean, and all that. Ah, yes. Well, look here, between ourselves, said Freddie earnestly. The whole trouble all along has been that she thought I hadn't any money to get married on. She didn't actually say so in so many words. But you know how it is with women. You can read between the lines. If you know what I mean. So now everything's going to be all right. I shall simply go to her and say, well, what about it? And well, and so on. Don't you know? P. Smith considered the point gravely. I see a reasoning, Comrade Threepwood. He said, I can't attack but one flaw in it. Flaw? What flaw? The fact that Miss Holiday is going to marry me. The Honorable Freddie's jaw dropped. His prominent eyes became more prawn-like. What? P. Smith patted his shoulder commiseringly. Be a man, Comrade Threepwood, and bite the bullet. These things will happen to the best of us. Someday you will be thankful that this has occurred, purged in the holocaust of a mighty love. You will wander out into the sunset, a finer, broader man. And now I must reluctantly tear myself away. I have an important appointment. He patted his shoulder once more. If you would care to be a page at the wedding, Comrade Threepwood, I can honestly say that there is no one whom I would rather have in that capacity. And with the stately gesture of farewell P. Smith passed out on to the terrace to join Eve.