November 18, 2025 • 34 mins
Join the absent-minded Earl of Emsworth as he inadvertently misplaces the pride of his scarab collection! American millionaire J. Preston Peters is offering a hefty $5000 reward for its safe return, but discretion is key—especially since Peters daughter is engaged to Emsworths son. Enter Joan Valentine and Ashe Marson, each determined to claim the reward; she as Aline Peters’ ladies maid and he as Mr. Peters’ valet. Their quest leads them to the grand Blandings Castle, where the ever-watchful Efficient Baxter poses a formidable challenge. This delightful caper is, in my humble opinion, one of Wodehouse’s most hilarious works. –Debra Lynn
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Speaker 1 (00:02):
Chapter five, Part three of Something New. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Something New by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter five, Part three.
(00:24):
When the final introduction had been made, conversation broke out again.
It dealt almost exclusively so far as Ash could follow it,
with the idiosyncrasies of the employers of those present. He
took it that this happened down the entire social scale
below stairs. Probably the lower servants in the servants hall
discussed the upper servants in the room, and the still
(00:47):
lower servants in the housemaid's sitting room discussed their superiors
of the servants hall, and the still room gossiped about
the housemaid's sitting room. He wondered which was the bottom
circle of all, and came to the conclusion that it
was probably represented by the small, respectful boy who had
acted as his guide a short while before. This boy,
(01:08):
having nobody to discuss anybody with, presumably sat in solitary meditation,
brooding on the odd job man. He thought of mentioning
this theory to Miss Willoughby, but decided that it was
too abstruse for her, and contented himself with speaking of
some of the plays he had seen before leaving London.
Miss Willoughby was an enthusiast on the drama in Colonel
(01:30):
Mant's military duties, keeping him much in town, she had
had wide opportunities of indulging her tastes. Miss Willoughby did
not like the country. She thought it dull. Don't you
think the country dull, mister Marson, I shan't find it
dull here, said ashe, and he was surprised to discover,
through the medium of a pleased giggle, that he was
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considered to have perpetrated a compliment. Mister Beach appeared in
due season a little distrait as becomes a man who
has just been engaged on important and responsible duties. Alfred
spilled a hack, as hurdim announced to missus Twemlow in
a bitter undertone. Within half an inch of his lordship's arm,
he spilled it. Missus Twemlow murmured condolences. Mister Beach's set
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expression was of one who was wondering how long the
strain of existence can be supported. Mister Beach, if you please,
dinner is served The Butler crushed down sad thoughts and
crooked his elbow missus twemlow, Ash, miscalculating degrees of rank.
In spite of all his caution, was within a step
of leaving the room out of his proper turn. But
(02:39):
the startled pressure of Miss Willoughby's hand on his arm
warned him in time. He stopped to allow the statuesque
Miss Chester to sail out under escort of a wizened
little man with a horseshoe pin in his tie, whose name,
in company with nearly all the others that had been
spoken to him since he came into the room, had
escaped Ash's memory. You were nearly making a bloomer, said
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Miss Willoughby brightly. You must be absent minded, mister Marson,
like his lordship is Lord Emsworth absent minded. Miss Willoughby laughed.
Why he forgets his own name sometimes. If it wasn't
for mister Baxter, goodness knows what would happen to him.
I don't think I know, mister Baxter. You will if
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you stay here long. You can't get away from him
if you're in the same house. Don't tell any one,
I said so. But he's the real master here his
Lordship's secretary, he calls himself, but he's really everything rolled
into one, like the man in the play. Ashe searching
in his dramatic memories for such a person in a play,
inquired whether Miss Willoughby meant poohba in the Mikado, of
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which there had been a revival in London recently. Miss
Willoughby did mean poohba. But nosey Parker is what I
call him, she said. He minds everybody's business as well
as his own. The last of the prison session trickled
into the steward's room. Mister Beach said grace, somewhat patronizingly.
The meal began. You've seen miss Peters, of course, mister
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Marson said Miss Willoughby, resuming conversation with the soup. Just
for a few minutes at Paddington. Oh, you haven't been
with mister Peters long. Then, ashe began to wonder whether
everybody he met was going to ask him this dangerous
question only a day or so, where were you before that?
Ashe was conscious of a prickly sensation, a little more
(04:32):
of this and he might as well reveal his true
mission at the castle and have done with it oh,
I was, That is to say, how are you feeling
after the journey, mister Marson said a voice from the
other side of the table, and ashe looking up gratefully
found Jane's eyes looking into his with a curiously amused expression.
He was too grateful for the interruption to try to
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account for this. He replied that he was feeling very well,
which was not the case. Miss Willoughby's interest was diverted
to a discussion of the defects of the various railroad
systems of Great Britain. At the head of the table,
mister Beach had started an intimate conversation with mister Ferris,
the valet of Lord Stockheath, the Honorable Freddy's poor old Percy,
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a cousin ashe had gathered of Aileen Peter's husband to be.
The butler spoke in more measured tones, even than usual,
for he was speaking of tragedy. We were all extremely sorry,
mister Ferris, to read of your misfortune, ashe wondered what
had been happening to mister Ferris. Yes, mister Beech replied
the valet, It's a fact we made a pretty poor show.
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He took a sip from his glass. There was no
concealing the fact I have never tried to conceal it
that poor Percy is not bright. Miss Chester entered the conversation.
I couldn't see where the girl what's her name, was
so very pretty. All the papers had pieces where it
said she was attractive and what not, but she didn't
look anything special to me. From her photograph in the mirror.
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What his lordship could see in her, I can't understand.
The photo didn't quite do her justice, Miss Chester. I
was present in court, and I must admit she was svelt,
decidedly svelt. And you must recollect that Percy from childhood
up has always been a highly susceptible young nutt. I
speak as one who knows him. Mister Beach turned to Joan.
(06:28):
We are speaking of the stock Heath breach of promised case,
Miss Simpson, of which you doubtless read in the newspapers.
Lord stock Heath is a nephew of ours. I fancy
his Lordship was greatly shocked at the occurrence. He was
chimed in mister Judson from down the table. I happened
to overhear him speaking of it to young Freddie. It
was in the library on the morning when the judge
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made his final summing up and slipped it into Lord Stockheath.
So proper, if ever anything of this sort happens to you,
you young scallow egg, he says to Freddie. Mister Beach
coughed mister Judson. Oh it's all right, mister Beach. We're
all in the family here in a manner of speaking.
It wasn't as though I was telling it to a
(07:10):
lot of outsiders. I'm sure none of these ladies. Oh
gentlemen will let it go beyond this room. The company murmured.
Virtuous acquiescence. He says to Freddie, you young scallowagg if
ever anything of this sort happens to you, you can
pack up and go off to Canada, for I'll have
nothing more to do with you, or words to that effect.
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And Freddy says, oh dash it all guv'nor you know what. However,
short mister Judson's imitation of his master's voice may have
fallen of histrionic perfection. It pleased the company. The room
shook with mirth. Mister Judson is clever, isn't he? Mister
Marson whispered Miss Willoughby, gazing with adoring eyes at the speaker.
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Mister Beach thought it expedient to deflect the conversation. By
the unwritten law of the room, every individual jewel had
the right to speak as freely as he wished about
his own personal employer. But Judson, in his opinions, sometimes
went a trifle too far. Tell me, mister Ferris, he said,
does his lordship seem to bear it well? Oh? Percy
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is bearing it well enough, ashe noted as a curious
fact that though the actual valet of any person under
discussion spoke of him almost affectionately by his Christian name,
the rest of the company used the greatest ceremony and
gave him his title with all respect. Lord stock Heath
was Percy to mister Ferris, and the Honorable Frederick Threepwood
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was Freddie to mister Judson. But to Ferris, mister Judson's
Freddie was the Honorable Frederick, and to Judson mister Ferris
Percy was Lord Stockheath. It was rather a pleasant form
of etiquette, and struck ash as somehow vaguely feudal. Percy
went on, mister Ferris, is bearing it like a little briton.
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The damage is not having come out of his pocket.
It's his old father who had to pay them that's
taking it to heart. You might say he's doing himself proud.
He says it's brought on his gout again and that's
why he's gone to Droiditch instead of coming here. I
dare say Percy isn't sorry. It has been said mister Beach,
summing up a most unfortunate occurrence. The modern tendency of
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the lower classes to get above themselves is becoming more
marked every day. The young female in this case was,
I understand a barmaid. It is deplorable that our young
men should allow themselves to get into such entanglements. The
wonder to me, said the irrepressible mister Judson, is that
more of these young chaps don't get put through it.
(09:44):
His lordship wasn't so wide of the mark when he
spoke like that to Freddy in the library that time.
I give you my word, it's a mercy. Young Freddy
hasn't been up against it. When we were in London,
Freddie and I. He went on cutting through mister Beech's
disapproving cough for what you might call the crash when
his lordship cut off supplies and had him come back
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and live here. Freddie was asking for it. Believe me,
fell in love with the girl in the chorus of
one of the theaters. Used to send me to the
stage door with notes and flowers every night for weeks,
as regular as clockwork. What was her name? It's on
the tip of my tongue. Funny how you forget these things?
Freddie was pretty far gone, I recollect, once happening to
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be looking round his room in his absence, coming on
a poem he had written to her. It was hot stuff,
very hot. If that girl has kept those letters, it's
my belief we shall see Freddie following in Lord Stockheath's footsteps.
There was a hush of delighted horror round the table. Oooh,
said Miss Chester's escort with unction. You don't say so,
(10:50):
mister Judson. It wouldn't half make them look silly if
the Honorable Frederick was sued for breach just now, with
the wedding coming on, there's no danger that it was
Joan's voice, and she had spoken with such decision that
she had the ear of the table. Immediately all eyes
looked in her direction, ashe was struck with her expression.
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Her eyes were shining as though she were angry, and
there was a flush on her face. A phrase he
had used in the train came back to him. She
looked like a princess in disguise. What makes you say that,
miss Simpson, inquired Judson, annoyed he had been at Pains
to make the company's flesh creep, and it appeared to
be Jones's aim to undo his work. It seemed to
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ask that Joane made an effort of some sort, as
though she were pulling herself together and remembering where she
was well, She said, almost lamely. I don't think it
at all likely that he proposed marriage to this girl.
You never can tell, said Judson. My impression is that
Freddy did. It's my belief that there's something on his
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mind these days. Before he went to London with his
lord the other day, he was behaving very strange, and
since he came back it's my belief that he has
been brooding. And I happen to know he followed the
affair of Lord Stockheath pretty closely, for he clipped the
clippings out of the paper. I found them myself one
day when I happened to be going through his things.
(12:17):
Beech cleared his throat, his mode of indicating that he
was about to monopolize the conversation. And in any case,
Miss Simpson, he said, solemnly, with things come to the
past they have come to, and the juries drawn from
the lower classes in the nasty mood therein, It don't
seem hardly necessary in these affairs for there to have
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been any definite promise of marriage. What with all this
socialism rampant. They seem so happy at the idea of
being able to do one of us an injury that
they give heavy damages without it. A few ardent expressions
and that's enough for them. You recollect the Havant case.
And when young Lord mount Anvil was sued, what it
comes to is that anarchy is getting the upper hand
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and the lower classes are getting above themselves. It's all
these here, cheap newspapers, that does it. They tempt the
lower classes to get above themselves. Only this morning I
had to speak severe to that young fellow, James the Footman.
He was a good young fellow once and did his
work well and had a proper respect for people. But
now he's gone all to pieces. And why because six
(13:22):
months ago he had the rheumatism and had the audacity
to send his picture and a testimonial saying that it
had cured him of awful agonies to walk in Shaw's
supreme ointment. And they printed it in half a dozen papers.
And it has been the ruin of James. He has
got above himself and don't care for nobody. Well, all
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I can say is, resumed Judson, that I hope to
goodness nothing won't happen to Freddy of that kind, for
it's not every girl that would have him. There was
a murmur of assent to this truth. Now, your miss Peters,
said Judson tolerantly. She seems a nice little thing. She
would be pleased to hear you say so, said Joan.
Joan Valentine, cried Judson, bringing his hands down on the
(14:07):
tablecloth with a bang. I've just remembered it. That was
the name of the girl Freddy used to write the
letters and poems to. And that's who it is. I've
been trying all along to think. You reminded me of
miss Simpson. You're the living image of Freddy's, Miss Joan Valentine.
Ashe was not normally a young man of particularly ready wit,
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but on this occasion it may have been that the
shock of this revelation added to the fact that something
must be done speedily, if Joan's discomposure was not to
become obvious to all present quickened his intelligence. Joan, usually
so sure of herself, so ready of resource, had gone
temporarily to pieces. She was quite white, and her eyes
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met Ashes with almost a haunted expression. If the attention
of the company was to be diverted, something drastic must
be done. A mere verbal attempt to change the conversation
would be useless. Inspiration descended on Ash. In the days
of his childhood Inhaling, Massachusetts, he had played truant from
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Sunday School again and again in order to frequent the
society of one Eddie Waffles, the official bad boy of
the locality. It was not so much Eddie's charm of
conversation which had attracted him, though that had been great,
as the fact that Eddie, among his other accomplishments, could
give a lifelike imitation of two cats fighting in a
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back yard. And ashe felt that he could never be
happy until he had acquired this gift from the Master,
in course of time he had done so. It might
be that his absences from Sunday school and the cause
of art had left him, in later years a trifle
shaky on the subject of the Kings of Judah, But
his hard won accomplishment had made him in requested every
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smoking concert at Oxford, and it saved the situation. Now
have you ever heard two cats fighting in a back yard?
He inquired casually of his neighbor, Miss Willoughby the next
moment the performance was in full swing. Young Master Waffles,
who had devoted considerable study to his subject, had conceived
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the combat of his imaginary cats in a broad, almost
homeric vein. The unpleasantness opened with a low, gurgling sound,
answered by another, a shade louder and possibly more querulous.
A momentary silence was followed by a long, drawn note
like rising wind, cut off abruptly, and succeeded by a
grumbling mutter. The response to this was a couple of
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sharp howls. Both parties to the contest then indulged in
a discontented whining, growing louder and louder until the air
was full of electric menace. And then, after another sharp silence,
came war noisy and overwhelming, standing at Master Waffles's side,
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you could follow almost every movement of that intricate fray
and mark how now one and now the other of
the battlers gained a short lived advantage. It was a
great fight. Shrewd blows were taken and given, and in
the eye of the imagination you could see the air
thick with flying fur. Louder and louder grew the din
and then at its height it ceased in one crescendo
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of tumult, and all was still save for a faint,
angry moaning. Such was the cat fight of Master Eddie
Waffles and Ash, though falling short of the master, as
a pupil, must rendered it faithfully and with energy. To
say that the attention of the company was diverted from
mister Judson and his remarks by the extraordinary noises which
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proceeded from Ash's lips would be to offer a mere
shadowy suggestion of the sensation caused by his efforts. At
first Stun's surprise, then consternation greeted him. Beach the butler
was staring as one watching a miracle, nearer apparently to
apoplexy than ever on the faces of the others. Every
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shade of emotion was to be seen. That this should
be happening in the steward's room at Blanding's Castle was
scarcely less amazing than if it had taken place in
a cathedral. The upper servants, rigid in their seats, looked
at each other like Cortes soldiers, with wild surmise. The
last faint moan of feline defiance died away, and silence
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fell on the room. As turned to Miss Willoughby. Just
like that, he said, I was telling Miss Willoughby, he
added apologetically to missus twemlow about the cats in London.
They were a great trial. For perhaps three seconds his
social reputation swayed to and fro in the balance, while
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the company pondered on what he had done. It was new,
but it was humorous. Or was it vulgar? There is
nothing the English upper servant so abhorres as vulgarity. That
was what the steward's room was trying to make up
its mind about. Then Miss Willoughby threw her shapely head back,
and the squeal of her laughter smote the ceiling. And
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at that the company made its decision. Everybody laughed, everybody
urged Ash to give an encore. Everybody was his friend
and admirer, everybody but Beach the butler. Beach the Butler
was shocked to his very core. His heavy lidded eyes
rested on Ash with disapproval. It seemed to Beach the
Butler that this young man Marson had got above himself.
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Ash found Joan at his side. Dinner was over, and
the diners were making for the housekeeper's room. Thank you,
mister Marson. That was very good of you, and very clever.
Her eyes twinkled. But what a terrible chance you took.
You have made yourself a popular success, but you might
just as easily have become a social outcast. As it is.
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I am afraid mister Beach did not approve. I'm afraid
he didn't. In a minute or so. I'm going to
fawn on him and make all well. Joan lowered her voice.
It was quite true what that odious little man said.
Freddie Threepwood did write me letters. Of course I destroyed
them long ago. But weren't you running the risk and
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coming here that he might recognize you? Wouldn't that make
it rather unpleasant for you? I never met him, you see,
he only wrote to me. When he came to the
station to meet us this evening. He looked startled to
see me. So I suppose he remembers my appearance. But
Aileen will have told him that my name is Simpson.
That fellow Judson said he was brooding. I think you
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ought to put him out of his misery. Mister Judson
must have been letting his imagination run away with him.
He is out of his misery. He sent a horrid
fat man named Jones to see me in London about
the letters, and I told him I had destroyed them.
He must have let him know that by this time,
I see. They went into the housekeeper's room. Mister Beach
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was standing before the fire. Ash went up to him.
It was not an easy matter to mollify mister Beach.
Ash tried the most tempting topics. He mentioned swollen feet.
He dangled the lining of mister Beach's stomach temptingly before
his eyes, but the butler was not to be softened.
Only when Ash turned the conversation to the subject of
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the museum did a flicker of animation stir him. Mister
Beach was fond and proud of the Blanding's Castle museum.
It had been the means of getting him into print
for the first and only time in his life. A
year before, a representative of the Intelligencer and Echo from
the neighboring town of Blatchford had come to visit the
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castle on behalf of his paper, and he had begun
one section of his article with the words under the
auspices of mister Beach, my genial cicerone. I then visited
his Lordship's museum. Mister Beach measured the clipping in a
special writing desk. He responded almost amiably to Ash's questions. Yes,
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he had seen the scareb he pronounced it scayrub, which
mister Peters had presented to his lordship. He understood that
his lordship thought very highly of mister Peters's sca rub.
He had overheard mister Baxter telling his lordship that it
was extremely valuable. Mister Beach said, ashe, I wonder whether
you would take me to see Lord Emsworth's museum. Mister
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Beach regarded him heavily. I shall be pleased to take
you to see his Lordship's museum. He replied, one can
attribute only to the nervous mental condition following the interview
he had had with Ash in his bedroom. The rash
act mister Peters attempted shortly after dinner. Mister Peters, shortly
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after dinner, was in a dangerous and reckless mood. He
had had a wretched time all through the meal. The
blanding chef had ex detnded himself in honor of the
house party, and had produced a succession of dishes which,
in happier days mister Peters would have devoured eagerly. To
be compelled by considerations of health to pass these by
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was enough to damp the liveliest optimist. Mister Peters had
suffered terribly. Occasions of feasting and revelry like the present
were for him so many battlefields on which greed fought
with prudence. All through dinner he brooded on Ash's defiance
and the horrors which were to result from that defiance.
One of mister Peters's most painful memories was of a
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two week's visit he had once paid to mister Muldoon
in his celebrated establishment at White Plains. He had been
persuaded to go there by a brother millionaire whom until
then he had always regarded as a friend. The memory
of mister Muldoon's cold shower baths and brisk system of
physical exercise still lingered. The thought that under Ash's rule
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he was to go through privately, very much what he
had gone through in the company of a gang of
other unfortunates at Muldoon's froze him with horror. He knew
those health cranks who believed that all mortal ailments could
be cured by cold showers and brisk walks. They were
all alike, and they nearly killed you. His worst nightmare
was the one where he dreamed he was back at Muldoon's,
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leading his horse up that endless hill outside the village.
He would not stand it. He would be hanged. If
he'd stand it, he would defy Ash. But if he
defied Ash, Ash would go away, And then whom could
he find to recover his lost scarab. Mister Peters began
to appreciate the true meaning of the phrase about the
horns of a dilemma. The horns of this dilemma occupied
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his attention until the end of the dinner. He shifted
uneasily from one to the other and back again. He
rose from the table in a thoroughly overwrought condition of mind.
And then somehow, in the course of the evening he
found himself alone in the hall, not a dozen feet
from the unlocked museum door. It was not immediately that
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he appreciated the significance of this fact. He had come
to the hall because its solitude suited his mood. It
was only after he had finished a cigar Ash could
not stop his smoking after dinner, that it suddenly flashed
on him that he had ready at hand a solution
of all his troubles. A brief minute's resolute action, and
the scab would be his again, and the menace of
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Ash a thing of the past. He glanced about him. Yes,
he was alone. Not once since the removal of the
scarab had begun to exercise his mind, had mister Peters
contemplated for an instant the possibility of recovering it himself.
The prospect of the unpleasantness that would ensue had been
enough to make him regard such an action as out
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of the question. The risk was too great to be
considered for a moment. But here he was in a
position where the risk was negligible. Like Ash, he had
always visualized the recovery of his scaab as a thing
of the small hours, a daring act to be performed
when sleep held a castle in its grip, that an
opportunity would be presented to him of walking in quite
(26:12):
calmly and walking out again with the cheeps in his
pocket had never occurred to him as a possibility. Yet
now this chance was presenting itself in all its simplicity,
and all he had to do was to grasp it.
The door of the museum was not even closed. He
could see from where he stood that it was ajar.
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He moved cautiously in its direction, not in a straight
line as one going to a museum, but circuitously, as
one strolling without an aim. From time to time he
glanced over his shoulder. He reached the door, hesitated, and
passed it. He turned, reached the door again, and again
passed it. He stood for a moment, darting his eyes
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about the hall. Then, in a burst of resolution, he
dashed for the door and shot in like a rabbit.
At the same moment, the efficient Baxter, who from the
shelter of a pillar on the gallery that ran around
two thirds of the hall, had been eyeing the peculiar
movements of the distinguished guest with considerable interest for some
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minutes began to descend the stairs. Rupert Baxter, the Earl
of Emsworth's indefatigable private secretary, was one of those men
whose chief characteristic is a vague suspicion of their fellow
human beings. He did not suspect them of this or
that definite crime. He simply suspected them. He prowled through life,
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as we are told the hosts of Midian prowled. His
powers in this respect were well known at Blandings Castle.
The Earl of Emsworth said, Baxter is invaluable, positively invaluable.
The Honorable Freddie said a chap, he can't take a
step in this valley house without stumbling over that damned
feller Baxter. The man servant and the maid servant with
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the in the gates. Like miss Willoughby, employing that crisp
gift for characterization, which is the property of the English
lower orders, described him as a nosy parker, peering over
the railing of the balcony and observing the curious movements
of mister Peters, who, as a matter of fact, while
making up his mind to approach the door, had been
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backing and filling about the hall in a quaint, serpentine manner,
like a man trying to invent a new variety of
the tango. The Efficient Baxter had found himself in some way,
why he did not know, of what he could not say,
but in some nebulous way suspicious. He had not definitely
accused mister Peters in his mind of any specific tort
(28:42):
or malfeasance. He had merely felt that something fishy was toward.
He had a sixth sense in such matters. But when
mister Peters, making up his mind, leaped into the museum,
Baxter's suspicions lost their vagueness and became crystallized, descended on
him like a bolt from the skies. On oaths before
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a notary, the Efficient Baxter would have declared that J.
Preston Peters was about to try to purloin the scaab
lest we should seem to be attributing two miraculous powers
of intuition to Lord Emsworth's secretary. It should be explained
that the mystery which hung about that curio had exercised
his mind not a little, since his employer had given
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it to him to place in the museum. He knew
Lord Emsworth's power of forgetting, and he did not believe
his account of the transaction. Scaab maniacs like mister Peters
did not give away specimens from their collections as presents.
But he had not divined the truth of what had
happened in London. The conclusion at which he had arrived
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was that Lord Emsworth had bought the scareb and had
forgotten all about it. To support this theory was the
fact that the latter had taken his check book to
London with him. Baxter's long acquaintance with the Earl had
left him with the conviction that but there was no
saying what he might not do if left loose in
London with a check book. As to mister Peters's motive
(30:06):
for entering the museum, that too, seemed completely clear to
the secretary. He was a curio enthusiast himself, and he
had served collectors in a secretarial capacity, and he knew
both from experience and observation that strange madness, which may
at any moment afflicked the collector, blotting out morality and
the nice distinction between meum and tuum as with a
(30:30):
sponge He knew that collectors who would not steal a
loaf if they were starving, might and did fall before
the temptation of a coveted curio. He descended the stairs
three at a time, and entered the museum at the
very instant when mister Peters's twitching fingers were about to
close on his treasure. He handled the delicate situation with
(30:51):
eminent tact. Mister Peters, at the sound of his step,
had executed a backward leap, which was as good as
a confession of guilt, and his face was rigid with dismay.
But the efficient Baxter pretended not to notice these phenomena.
His manner when he spoke was easy and unembarrassed. Ah,
taking a look at our little collection, mister Peters, you
(31:12):
will see that we have given the place of honor
to your cheops. It is certainly a fine specimen, a
wonderfully fine specimen. Mister Peters was recovering slowly. Baxter talked
on to give him time. He spoke of Mott and Babastis,
of Ammon and the Book of the Dead. He directed
the other's attention to the Roman coins. He was touching
(31:35):
on some aspects of the Princess Gillichippa of Mitanni, in
whom his hearer could scarcely fail to be interested. When
the door opened and Beach the butler came in, accompanied
by Ash. In the bustle of the interruption, mister Peters escaped,
glad to be elsewhere and questioning for the first time
in his life the dictum that if you want a
(31:55):
thing well done, you must do it yourself was not aware, Sir,
said Beach the butler, that you were in occupation of
the museum. I would not have intruded, but this young
man expressed a desire to examine the exhibits, and I
took the liberty of conducting him. Come in, Beach, come in,
said Baxter. The light fell on Ash's face, and he
(32:16):
recognized him as the cheerful young man who had inquired
the way to mister Peters's room before dinner, and who
he had by this time discovered was not the Honorable
Freddy's friend George Emerson, or indeed any other of the
guests of the house. He felt suspicious, Oh, Beach, Sir,
just a moment. He drew the butler into the hall
(32:39):
out of earshot Beach, who is that man, mister Peters valet, Sir,
mister Peters valet, Yes, sir, has he been in service? Long?
Asked Baxter, remembering that a mere menial had addressed him
as old man Beach lowered his voice. He and the
(33:00):
pficient Baxter were old allies, and it seemed right to
Beach to confide in him. He has only just joined
mister Peters, sir, and he has never been in service before.
He told me so himself, and I was unable to
elicit from him any information as to his antecedents. His
manner struck me, Sir, as peculiar. It crossed my mind
(33:20):
to wonder whether mister Peters happened to be aware of this.
I should dislike to do any young man in injury,
but it might be anyone coming to a gentleman without
a character like this young man, mister Peters might have
been deceived, Sir. The efficient Baxter's manner became distraught. His
mind was working rapidly. Should he be informed, sir? Eh,
(33:43):
who mister Peters, sir, in case he should have been deceived? No, No,
mister Peters knows his own business far from me. Be
it to a pere officious sir, but mister Peters probably
knows all about him. Tell me, Beach, who was it
suggested this visit to the museum, did you? It was
at the young man's express desire that I conducted him, Sir.
(34:06):
The efficient Baxter returned to the museum without a word. Ashe,
standing in the middle of the room, was impressing the
topography of the place on his memory. He was unaware
of the piercing stare of suspicion that was being directed
at him from behind. He did not see Baxter. He
was not even thinking of Baxter. But Baxter was on
(34:27):
the alert. Baxter was on the war path. Baxter knew.
End of chapter five
Chapter five, Part three of Something New. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Something New by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter five, Part three.
(00:24):
When the final introduction had been made, conversation broke out again.
It dealt almost exclusively so far as Ash could follow it,
with the idiosyncrasies of the employers of those present. He
took it that this happened down the entire social scale
below stairs. Probably the lower servants in the servants hall
discussed the upper servants in the room, and the still
(00:47):
lower servants in the housemaid's sitting room discussed their superiors
of the servants hall, and the still room gossiped about
the housemaid's sitting room. He wondered which was the bottom
circle of all, and came to the conclusion that it
was probably represented by the small, respectful boy who had
acted as his guide a short while before. This boy,
(01:08):
having nobody to discuss anybody with, presumably sat in solitary meditation,
brooding on the odd job man. He thought of mentioning
this theory to Miss Willoughby, but decided that it was
too abstruse for her, and contented himself with speaking of
some of the plays he had seen before leaving London.
Miss Willoughby was an enthusiast on the drama in Colonel
(01:30):
Mant's military duties, keeping him much in town, she had
had wide opportunities of indulging her tastes. Miss Willoughby did
not like the country. She thought it dull. Don't you
think the country dull, mister Marson, I shan't find it
dull here, said ashe, and he was surprised to discover,
through the medium of a pleased giggle, that he was
(01:51):
considered to have perpetrated a compliment. Mister Beach appeared in
due season a little distrait as becomes a man who
has just been engaged on important and responsible duties. Alfred
spilled a hack, as hurdim announced to missus Twemlow in
a bitter undertone. Within half an inch of his lordship's arm,
he spilled it. Missus Twemlow murmured condolences. Mister Beach's set
(02:16):
expression was of one who was wondering how long the
strain of existence can be supported. Mister Beach, if you please,
dinner is served The Butler crushed down sad thoughts and
crooked his elbow missus twemlow, Ash, miscalculating degrees of rank.
In spite of all his caution, was within a step
of leaving the room out of his proper turn. But
(02:39):
the startled pressure of Miss Willoughby's hand on his arm
warned him in time. He stopped to allow the statuesque
Miss Chester to sail out under escort of a wizened
little man with a horseshoe pin in his tie, whose name,
in company with nearly all the others that had been
spoken to him since he came into the room, had
escaped Ash's memory. You were nearly making a bloomer, said
(03:02):
Miss Willoughby brightly. You must be absent minded, mister Marson,
like his lordship is Lord Emsworth absent minded. Miss Willoughby laughed.
Why he forgets his own name sometimes. If it wasn't
for mister Baxter, goodness knows what would happen to him.
I don't think I know, mister Baxter. You will if
(03:23):
you stay here long. You can't get away from him
if you're in the same house. Don't tell any one,
I said so. But he's the real master here his
Lordship's secretary, he calls himself, but he's really everything rolled
into one, like the man in the play. Ashe searching
in his dramatic memories for such a person in a play,
inquired whether Miss Willoughby meant poohba in the Mikado, of
(03:47):
which there had been a revival in London recently. Miss
Willoughby did mean poohba. But nosey Parker is what I
call him, she said. He minds everybody's business as well
as his own. The last of the prison session trickled
into the steward's room. Mister Beach said grace, somewhat patronizingly.
The meal began. You've seen miss Peters, of course, mister
(04:09):
Marson said Miss Willoughby, resuming conversation with the soup. Just
for a few minutes at Paddington. Oh, you haven't been
with mister Peters long. Then, ashe began to wonder whether
everybody he met was going to ask him this dangerous
question only a day or so, where were you before that?
Ashe was conscious of a prickly sensation, a little more
(04:32):
of this and he might as well reveal his true
mission at the castle and have done with it oh,
I was, That is to say, how are you feeling
after the journey, mister Marson said a voice from the
other side of the table, and ashe looking up gratefully
found Jane's eyes looking into his with a curiously amused expression.
He was too grateful for the interruption to try to
(04:55):
account for this. He replied that he was feeling very well,
which was not the case. Miss Willoughby's interest was diverted
to a discussion of the defects of the various railroad
systems of Great Britain. At the head of the table,
mister Beach had started an intimate conversation with mister Ferris,
the valet of Lord Stockheath, the Honorable Freddy's poor old Percy,
(05:18):
a cousin ashe had gathered of Aileen Peter's husband to be.
The butler spoke in more measured tones, even than usual,
for he was speaking of tragedy. We were all extremely sorry,
mister Ferris, to read of your misfortune, ashe wondered what
had been happening to mister Ferris. Yes, mister Beech replied
the valet, It's a fact we made a pretty poor show.
(05:41):
He took a sip from his glass. There was no
concealing the fact I have never tried to conceal it
that poor Percy is not bright. Miss Chester entered the conversation.
I couldn't see where the girl what's her name, was
so very pretty. All the papers had pieces where it
said she was attractive and what not, but she didn't
look anything special to me. From her photograph in the mirror.
(06:04):
What his lordship could see in her, I can't understand.
The photo didn't quite do her justice, Miss Chester. I
was present in court, and I must admit she was svelt,
decidedly svelt. And you must recollect that Percy from childhood
up has always been a highly susceptible young nutt. I
speak as one who knows him. Mister Beach turned to Joan.
(06:28):
We are speaking of the stock Heath breach of promised case,
Miss Simpson, of which you doubtless read in the newspapers.
Lord stock Heath is a nephew of ours. I fancy
his Lordship was greatly shocked at the occurrence. He was
chimed in mister Judson from down the table. I happened
to overhear him speaking of it to young Freddie. It
was in the library on the morning when the judge
(06:50):
made his final summing up and slipped it into Lord Stockheath.
So proper, if ever anything of this sort happens to you,
you young scallow egg, he says to Freddie. Mister Beach
coughed mister Judson. Oh it's all right, mister Beach. We're
all in the family here in a manner of speaking.
It wasn't as though I was telling it to a
(07:10):
lot of outsiders. I'm sure none of these ladies. Oh
gentlemen will let it go beyond this room. The company murmured.
Virtuous acquiescence. He says to Freddie, you young scallowagg if
ever anything of this sort happens to you, you can
pack up and go off to Canada, for I'll have
nothing more to do with you, or words to that effect.
(07:30):
And Freddy says, oh dash it all guv'nor you know what. However,
short mister Judson's imitation of his master's voice may have
fallen of histrionic perfection. It pleased the company. The room
shook with mirth. Mister Judson is clever, isn't he? Mister
Marson whispered Miss Willoughby, gazing with adoring eyes at the speaker.
(07:53):
Mister Beach thought it expedient to deflect the conversation. By
the unwritten law of the room, every individual jewel had
the right to speak as freely as he wished about
his own personal employer. But Judson, in his opinions, sometimes
went a trifle too far. Tell me, mister Ferris, he said,
does his lordship seem to bear it well? Oh? Percy
(08:15):
is bearing it well enough, ashe noted as a curious
fact that though the actual valet of any person under
discussion spoke of him almost affectionately by his Christian name,
the rest of the company used the greatest ceremony and
gave him his title with all respect. Lord stock Heath
was Percy to mister Ferris, and the Honorable Frederick Threepwood
(08:38):
was Freddie to mister Judson. But to Ferris, mister Judson's
Freddie was the Honorable Frederick, and to Judson mister Ferris
Percy was Lord Stockheath. It was rather a pleasant form
of etiquette, and struck ash as somehow vaguely feudal. Percy
went on, mister Ferris, is bearing it like a little briton.
(08:58):
The damage is not having come out of his pocket.
It's his old father who had to pay them that's
taking it to heart. You might say he's doing himself proud.
He says it's brought on his gout again and that's
why he's gone to Droiditch instead of coming here. I
dare say Percy isn't sorry. It has been said mister Beach,
summing up a most unfortunate occurrence. The modern tendency of
(09:23):
the lower classes to get above themselves is becoming more
marked every day. The young female in this case was,
I understand a barmaid. It is deplorable that our young
men should allow themselves to get into such entanglements. The
wonder to me, said the irrepressible mister Judson, is that
more of these young chaps don't get put through it.
(09:44):
His lordship wasn't so wide of the mark when he
spoke like that to Freddy in the library that time.
I give you my word, it's a mercy. Young Freddy
hasn't been up against it. When we were in London,
Freddie and I. He went on cutting through mister Beech's
disapproving cough for what you might call the crash when
his lordship cut off supplies and had him come back
(10:04):
and live here. Freddie was asking for it. Believe me,
fell in love with the girl in the chorus of
one of the theaters. Used to send me to the
stage door with notes and flowers every night for weeks,
as regular as clockwork. What was her name? It's on
the tip of my tongue. Funny how you forget these things?
Freddie was pretty far gone, I recollect, once happening to
(10:28):
be looking round his room in his absence, coming on
a poem he had written to her. It was hot stuff,
very hot. If that girl has kept those letters, it's
my belief we shall see Freddie following in Lord Stockheath's footsteps.
There was a hush of delighted horror round the table. Oooh,
said Miss Chester's escort with unction. You don't say so,
(10:50):
mister Judson. It wouldn't half make them look silly if
the Honorable Frederick was sued for breach just now, with
the wedding coming on, there's no danger that it was
Joan's voice, and she had spoken with such decision that
she had the ear of the table. Immediately all eyes
looked in her direction, ashe was struck with her expression.
(11:13):
Her eyes were shining as though she were angry, and
there was a flush on her face. A phrase he
had used in the train came back to him. She
looked like a princess in disguise. What makes you say that,
miss Simpson, inquired Judson, annoyed he had been at Pains
to make the company's flesh creep, and it appeared to
be Jones's aim to undo his work. It seemed to
(11:36):
ask that Joane made an effort of some sort, as
though she were pulling herself together and remembering where she
was well, She said, almost lamely. I don't think it
at all likely that he proposed marriage to this girl.
You never can tell, said Judson. My impression is that
Freddy did. It's my belief that there's something on his
(11:56):
mind these days. Before he went to London with his
lord the other day, he was behaving very strange, and
since he came back it's my belief that he has
been brooding. And I happen to know he followed the
affair of Lord Stockheath pretty closely, for he clipped the
clippings out of the paper. I found them myself one
day when I happened to be going through his things.
(12:17):
Beech cleared his throat, his mode of indicating that he
was about to monopolize the conversation. And in any case,
Miss Simpson, he said, solemnly, with things come to the
past they have come to, and the juries drawn from
the lower classes in the nasty mood therein, It don't
seem hardly necessary in these affairs for there to have
(12:37):
been any definite promise of marriage. What with all this
socialism rampant. They seem so happy at the idea of
being able to do one of us an injury that
they give heavy damages without it. A few ardent expressions
and that's enough for them. You recollect the Havant case.
And when young Lord mount Anvil was sued, what it
comes to is that anarchy is getting the upper hand
(13:00):
and the lower classes are getting above themselves. It's all
these here, cheap newspapers, that does it. They tempt the
lower classes to get above themselves. Only this morning I
had to speak severe to that young fellow, James the Footman.
He was a good young fellow once and did his
work well and had a proper respect for people. But
now he's gone all to pieces. And why because six
(13:22):
months ago he had the rheumatism and had the audacity
to send his picture and a testimonial saying that it
had cured him of awful agonies to walk in Shaw's
supreme ointment. And they printed it in half a dozen papers.
And it has been the ruin of James. He has
got above himself and don't care for nobody. Well, all
(13:44):
I can say is, resumed Judson, that I hope to
goodness nothing won't happen to Freddy of that kind, for
it's not every girl that would have him. There was
a murmur of assent to this truth. Now, your miss Peters,
said Judson tolerantly. She seems a nice little thing. She
would be pleased to hear you say so, said Joan.
Joan Valentine, cried Judson, bringing his hands down on the
(14:07):
tablecloth with a bang. I've just remembered it. That was
the name of the girl Freddy used to write the
letters and poems to. And that's who it is. I've
been trying all along to think. You reminded me of
miss Simpson. You're the living image of Freddy's, Miss Joan Valentine.
Ashe was not normally a young man of particularly ready wit,
(14:28):
but on this occasion it may have been that the
shock of this revelation added to the fact that something
must be done speedily, if Joan's discomposure was not to
become obvious to all present quickened his intelligence. Joan, usually
so sure of herself, so ready of resource, had gone
temporarily to pieces. She was quite white, and her eyes
(14:49):
met Ashes with almost a haunted expression. If the attention
of the company was to be diverted, something drastic must
be done. A mere verbal attempt to change the conversation
would be useless. Inspiration descended on Ash. In the days
of his childhood Inhaling, Massachusetts, he had played truant from
(15:10):
Sunday School again and again in order to frequent the
society of one Eddie Waffles, the official bad boy of
the locality. It was not so much Eddie's charm of
conversation which had attracted him, though that had been great,
as the fact that Eddie, among his other accomplishments, could
give a lifelike imitation of two cats fighting in a
(15:31):
back yard. And ashe felt that he could never be
happy until he had acquired this gift from the Master,
in course of time he had done so. It might
be that his absences from Sunday school and the cause
of art had left him, in later years a trifle
shaky on the subject of the Kings of Judah, But
his hard won accomplishment had made him in requested every
(15:54):
smoking concert at Oxford, and it saved the situation. Now
have you ever heard two cats fighting in a back yard?
He inquired casually of his neighbor, Miss Willoughby the next
moment the performance was in full swing. Young Master Waffles,
who had devoted considerable study to his subject, had conceived
(16:15):
the combat of his imaginary cats in a broad, almost
homeric vein. The unpleasantness opened with a low, gurgling sound,
answered by another, a shade louder and possibly more querulous.
A momentary silence was followed by a long, drawn note
like rising wind, cut off abruptly, and succeeded by a
grumbling mutter. The response to this was a couple of
(16:38):
sharp howls. Both parties to the contest then indulged in
a discontented whining, growing louder and louder until the air
was full of electric menace. And then, after another sharp silence,
came war noisy and overwhelming, standing at Master Waffles's side,
(16:59):
you could follow almost every movement of that intricate fray
and mark how now one and now the other of
the battlers gained a short lived advantage. It was a
great fight. Shrewd blows were taken and given, and in
the eye of the imagination you could see the air
thick with flying fur. Louder and louder grew the din
and then at its height it ceased in one crescendo
(17:22):
of tumult, and all was still save for a faint,
angry moaning. Such was the cat fight of Master Eddie
Waffles and Ash, though falling short of the master, as
a pupil, must rendered it faithfully and with energy. To
say that the attention of the company was diverted from
mister Judson and his remarks by the extraordinary noises which
(17:44):
proceeded from Ash's lips would be to offer a mere
shadowy suggestion of the sensation caused by his efforts. At
first Stun's surprise, then consternation greeted him. Beach the butler
was staring as one watching a miracle, nearer apparently to
apoplexy than ever on the faces of the others. Every
(18:05):
shade of emotion was to be seen. That this should
be happening in the steward's room at Blanding's Castle was
scarcely less amazing than if it had taken place in
a cathedral. The upper servants, rigid in their seats, looked
at each other like Cortes soldiers, with wild surmise. The
last faint moan of feline defiance died away, and silence
(18:29):
fell on the room. As turned to Miss Willoughby. Just
like that, he said, I was telling Miss Willoughby, he
added apologetically to missus twemlow about the cats in London.
They were a great trial. For perhaps three seconds his
social reputation swayed to and fro in the balance, while
(18:49):
the company pondered on what he had done. It was new,
but it was humorous. Or was it vulgar? There is
nothing the English upper servant so abhorres as vulgarity. That
was what the steward's room was trying to make up
its mind about. Then Miss Willoughby threw her shapely head back,
and the squeal of her laughter smote the ceiling. And
(19:12):
at that the company made its decision. Everybody laughed, everybody
urged Ash to give an encore. Everybody was his friend
and admirer, everybody but Beach the butler. Beach the Butler
was shocked to his very core. His heavy lidded eyes
rested on Ash with disapproval. It seemed to Beach the
Butler that this young man Marson had got above himself.
(19:35):
Ash found Joan at his side. Dinner was over, and
the diners were making for the housekeeper's room. Thank you,
mister Marson. That was very good of you, and very clever.
Her eyes twinkled. But what a terrible chance you took.
You have made yourself a popular success, but you might
just as easily have become a social outcast. As it is.
(19:57):
I am afraid mister Beach did not approve. I'm afraid
he didn't. In a minute or so. I'm going to
fawn on him and make all well. Joan lowered her voice.
It was quite true what that odious little man said.
Freddie Threepwood did write me letters. Of course I destroyed
them long ago. But weren't you running the risk and
(20:18):
coming here that he might recognize you? Wouldn't that make
it rather unpleasant for you? I never met him, you see,
he only wrote to me. When he came to the
station to meet us this evening. He looked startled to
see me. So I suppose he remembers my appearance. But
Aileen will have told him that my name is Simpson.
That fellow Judson said he was brooding. I think you
(20:40):
ought to put him out of his misery. Mister Judson
must have been letting his imagination run away with him.
He is out of his misery. He sent a horrid
fat man named Jones to see me in London about
the letters, and I told him I had destroyed them.
He must have let him know that by this time,
I see. They went into the housekeeper's room. Mister Beach
(21:03):
was standing before the fire. Ash went up to him.
It was not an easy matter to mollify mister Beach.
Ash tried the most tempting topics. He mentioned swollen feet.
He dangled the lining of mister Beach's stomach temptingly before
his eyes, but the butler was not to be softened.
Only when Ash turned the conversation to the subject of
(21:24):
the museum did a flicker of animation stir him. Mister
Beach was fond and proud of the Blanding's Castle museum.
It had been the means of getting him into print
for the first and only time in his life. A
year before, a representative of the Intelligencer and Echo from
the neighboring town of Blatchford had come to visit the
(21:45):
castle on behalf of his paper, and he had begun
one section of his article with the words under the
auspices of mister Beach, my genial cicerone. I then visited
his Lordship's museum. Mister Beach measured the clipping in a
special writing desk. He responded almost amiably to Ash's questions. Yes,
(22:07):
he had seen the scareb he pronounced it scayrub, which
mister Peters had presented to his lordship. He understood that
his lordship thought very highly of mister Peters's sca rub.
He had overheard mister Baxter telling his lordship that it
was extremely valuable. Mister Beach said, ashe, I wonder whether
you would take me to see Lord Emsworth's museum. Mister
(22:30):
Beach regarded him heavily. I shall be pleased to take
you to see his Lordship's museum. He replied, one can
attribute only to the nervous mental condition following the interview
he had had with Ash in his bedroom. The rash
act mister Peters attempted shortly after dinner. Mister Peters, shortly
(22:52):
after dinner, was in a dangerous and reckless mood. He
had had a wretched time all through the meal. The
blanding chef had ex detnded himself in honor of the
house party, and had produced a succession of dishes which,
in happier days mister Peters would have devoured eagerly. To
be compelled by considerations of health to pass these by
(23:12):
was enough to damp the liveliest optimist. Mister Peters had
suffered terribly. Occasions of feasting and revelry like the present
were for him so many battlefields on which greed fought
with prudence. All through dinner he brooded on Ash's defiance
and the horrors which were to result from that defiance.
One of mister Peters's most painful memories was of a
(23:35):
two week's visit he had once paid to mister Muldoon
in his celebrated establishment at White Plains. He had been
persuaded to go there by a brother millionaire whom until
then he had always regarded as a friend. The memory
of mister Muldoon's cold shower baths and brisk system of
physical exercise still lingered. The thought that under Ash's rule
(23:59):
he was to go through privately, very much what he
had gone through in the company of a gang of
other unfortunates at Muldoon's froze him with horror. He knew
those health cranks who believed that all mortal ailments could
be cured by cold showers and brisk walks. They were
all alike, and they nearly killed you. His worst nightmare
was the one where he dreamed he was back at Muldoon's,
(24:21):
leading his horse up that endless hill outside the village.
He would not stand it. He would be hanged. If
he'd stand it, he would defy Ash. But if he
defied Ash, Ash would go away, And then whom could
he find to recover his lost scarab. Mister Peters began
to appreciate the true meaning of the phrase about the
horns of a dilemma. The horns of this dilemma occupied
(24:44):
his attention until the end of the dinner. He shifted
uneasily from one to the other and back again. He
rose from the table in a thoroughly overwrought condition of mind.
And then somehow, in the course of the evening he
found himself alone in the hall, not a dozen feet
from the unlocked museum door. It was not immediately that
(25:06):
he appreciated the significance of this fact. He had come
to the hall because its solitude suited his mood. It
was only after he had finished a cigar Ash could
not stop his smoking after dinner, that it suddenly flashed
on him that he had ready at hand a solution
of all his troubles. A brief minute's resolute action, and
the scab would be his again, and the menace of
(25:28):
Ash a thing of the past. He glanced about him. Yes,
he was alone. Not once since the removal of the
scarab had begun to exercise his mind, had mister Peters
contemplated for an instant the possibility of recovering it himself.
The prospect of the unpleasantness that would ensue had been
enough to make him regard such an action as out
(25:50):
of the question. The risk was too great to be
considered for a moment. But here he was in a
position where the risk was negligible. Like Ash, he had
always visualized the recovery of his scaab as a thing
of the small hours, a daring act to be performed
when sleep held a castle in its grip, that an
opportunity would be presented to him of walking in quite
(26:12):
calmly and walking out again with the cheeps in his
pocket had never occurred to him as a possibility. Yet
now this chance was presenting itself in all its simplicity,
and all he had to do was to grasp it.
The door of the museum was not even closed. He
could see from where he stood that it was ajar.
(26:33):
He moved cautiously in its direction, not in a straight
line as one going to a museum, but circuitously, as
one strolling without an aim. From time to time he
glanced over his shoulder. He reached the door, hesitated, and
passed it. He turned, reached the door again, and again
passed it. He stood for a moment, darting his eyes
(26:55):
about the hall. Then, in a burst of resolution, he
dashed for the door and shot in like a rabbit.
At the same moment, the efficient Baxter, who from the
shelter of a pillar on the gallery that ran around
two thirds of the hall, had been eyeing the peculiar
movements of the distinguished guest with considerable interest for some
(27:15):
minutes began to descend the stairs. Rupert Baxter, the Earl
of Emsworth's indefatigable private secretary, was one of those men
whose chief characteristic is a vague suspicion of their fellow
human beings. He did not suspect them of this or
that definite crime. He simply suspected them. He prowled through life,
(27:36):
as we are told the hosts of Midian prowled. His
powers in this respect were well known at Blandings Castle.
The Earl of Emsworth said, Baxter is invaluable, positively invaluable.
The Honorable Freddie said a chap, he can't take a
step in this valley house without stumbling over that damned
feller Baxter. The man servant and the maid servant with
(27:59):
the in the gates. Like miss Willoughby, employing that crisp
gift for characterization, which is the property of the English
lower orders, described him as a nosy parker, peering over
the railing of the balcony and observing the curious movements
of mister Peters, who, as a matter of fact, while
making up his mind to approach the door, had been
(28:20):
backing and filling about the hall in a quaint, serpentine manner,
like a man trying to invent a new variety of
the tango. The Efficient Baxter had found himself in some way,
why he did not know, of what he could not say,
but in some nebulous way suspicious. He had not definitely
accused mister Peters in his mind of any specific tort
(28:42):
or malfeasance. He had merely felt that something fishy was toward.
He had a sixth sense in such matters. But when
mister Peters, making up his mind, leaped into the museum,
Baxter's suspicions lost their vagueness and became crystallized, descended on
him like a bolt from the skies. On oaths before
(29:04):
a notary, the Efficient Baxter would have declared that J.
Preston Peters was about to try to purloin the scaab
lest we should seem to be attributing two miraculous powers
of intuition to Lord Emsworth's secretary. It should be explained
that the mystery which hung about that curio had exercised
his mind not a little, since his employer had given
(29:25):
it to him to place in the museum. He knew
Lord Emsworth's power of forgetting, and he did not believe
his account of the transaction. Scaab maniacs like mister Peters
did not give away specimens from their collections as presents.
But he had not divined the truth of what had
happened in London. The conclusion at which he had arrived
(29:46):
was that Lord Emsworth had bought the scareb and had
forgotten all about it. To support this theory was the
fact that the latter had taken his check book to
London with him. Baxter's long acquaintance with the Earl had
left him with the conviction that but there was no
saying what he might not do if left loose in
London with a check book. As to mister Peters's motive
(30:06):
for entering the museum, that too, seemed completely clear to
the secretary. He was a curio enthusiast himself, and he
had served collectors in a secretarial capacity, and he knew
both from experience and observation that strange madness, which may
at any moment afflicked the collector, blotting out morality and
the nice distinction between meum and tuum as with a
(30:30):
sponge He knew that collectors who would not steal a
loaf if they were starving, might and did fall before
the temptation of a coveted curio. He descended the stairs
three at a time, and entered the museum at the
very instant when mister Peters's twitching fingers were about to
close on his treasure. He handled the delicate situation with
(30:51):
eminent tact. Mister Peters, at the sound of his step,
had executed a backward leap, which was as good as
a confession of guilt, and his face was rigid with dismay.
But the efficient Baxter pretended not to notice these phenomena.
His manner when he spoke was easy and unembarrassed. Ah,
taking a look at our little collection, mister Peters, you
(31:12):
will see that we have given the place of honor
to your cheops. It is certainly a fine specimen, a
wonderfully fine specimen. Mister Peters was recovering slowly. Baxter talked
on to give him time. He spoke of Mott and Babastis,
of Ammon and the Book of the Dead. He directed
the other's attention to the Roman coins. He was touching
(31:35):
on some aspects of the Princess Gillichippa of Mitanni, in
whom his hearer could scarcely fail to be interested. When
the door opened and Beach the butler came in, accompanied
by Ash. In the bustle of the interruption, mister Peters escaped,
glad to be elsewhere and questioning for the first time
in his life the dictum that if you want a
(31:55):
thing well done, you must do it yourself was not aware, Sir,
said Beach the butler, that you were in occupation of
the museum. I would not have intruded, but this young
man expressed a desire to examine the exhibits, and I
took the liberty of conducting him. Come in, Beach, come in,
said Baxter. The light fell on Ash's face, and he
(32:16):
recognized him as the cheerful young man who had inquired
the way to mister Peters's room before dinner, and who
he had by this time discovered was not the Honorable
Freddy's friend George Emerson, or indeed any other of the
guests of the house. He felt suspicious, Oh, Beach, Sir,
just a moment. He drew the butler into the hall
(32:39):
out of earshot Beach, who is that man, mister Peters valet, Sir,
mister Peters valet, Yes, sir, has he been in service? Long?
Asked Baxter, remembering that a mere menial had addressed him
as old man Beach lowered his voice. He and the
(33:00):
pficient Baxter were old allies, and it seemed right to
Beach to confide in him. He has only just joined
mister Peters, sir, and he has never been in service before.
He told me so himself, and I was unable to
elicit from him any information as to his antecedents. His
manner struck me, Sir, as peculiar. It crossed my mind
(33:20):
to wonder whether mister Peters happened to be aware of this.
I should dislike to do any young man in injury,
but it might be anyone coming to a gentleman without
a character like this young man, mister Peters might have
been deceived, Sir. The efficient Baxter's manner became distraught. His
mind was working rapidly. Should he be informed, sir? Eh,
(33:43):
who mister Peters, sir, in case he should have been deceived? No, No,
mister Peters knows his own business far from me. Be
it to a pere officious sir, but mister Peters probably
knows all about him. Tell me, Beach, who was it
suggested this visit to the museum, did you? It was
at the young man's express desire that I conducted him, Sir.
(34:06):
The efficient Baxter returned to the museum without a word. Ashe,
standing in the middle of the room, was impressing the
topography of the place on his memory. He was unaware
of the piercing stare of suspicion that was being directed
at him from behind. He did not see Baxter. He
was not even thinking of Baxter. But Baxter was on
(34:27):
the alert. Baxter was on the war path. Baxter knew.
End of chapter five
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