November 18, 2025 • 27 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 six 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 six. Among the compensations
(00:26):
of advancing age is a wholesome pessimism, which, though it
takes the fine edge off of whatever triumphs may come
to us, has the admirable effect of preventing Fate from
working off on us any of those gold bricks coins
with strings attached and unhatched chickens at which ardent youth
snatches with such enthusiasm to its subsequent disappointment. As we
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emerge from the twenties, we grow into a habit of
mind that looks askance at fate bearing gifts. We miss,
perhaps the occasional prize, but we all so avoid leaping
lightheartedly into traps. Ash Marson had yet to reach the
age of tranquil mistrust, and when Fate seemed to be
treating him kindly, he was still young enough to accept
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such kindness as on their face value and rejoice at them.
As he sat on his bed at the end of
his first night in Castle Blandings, he was conscious to
a remarkable degree that fortune was treating him well. He
had survived not merely without discredit, but with positive triumph,
the initiatory plunge into the etiquette maelstream of life below stairs.
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So far from doing the wrong thing and drawing down
on himself the just scorn of the steward's room, he
had been the life and soul of the party. Even
if tomorrow, in an absent minded fit, he should anticipate
the groom of the chambers in the march to the table,
he would be forgiven, for the humorist has his privileges
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so much for that. But that was only a part
of Fortune's kindnesses. To have discovered on the first day
of their association the correct method of handling and reducing
to subjection his irascible employer was an even greater boon.
A prolonged association with mister Peters on the lines in
which their acquaintance had begun would have been extremely trying. Now,
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by virtue of a fortunate stand at the outset, he
had spiked the millionaire's guns. Thirdly, and most important of all,
he had not only made himself familiar with the locality
and surroundings of the scarab, but he had seen beyond
the possibility of doubt that the removal of it and
the earning of the five thousand dollars would be the
simplest possible task. Already he was spending the money in
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his mind, and to such lengths had optimism led him
that as he sat on his bed reviewing the events
of the day, his only doubt was whether to get
the scab at once or to let it remain where
it was until he had the opportunity of doing mister
Peter's interior good on the line he had mapped out
in their conversation. For of course, directly he had restored
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the scab to its rightful owner and pocketed the reward,
his position as healer and trainer to the millionaire would
cease automatically. He was sorry for that, because it troubled
him to think that a sick man would not be
made well. But on the whole, looking at it from
every aspect, it would be best to get the scaub
as soon as possible and leave mister Peter's digestion to
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look after itself. Being twenty six and an optimist, he
had no suspicion that fate might be playing with him,
that Fate might have unpleasant surprises in store, that Fate
even now was preparing to smite him in his hour
of joy, with that powerful weapon, the efficient Baxter. He
looked at his watch. It was five minutes to one.
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He had no idea whether they kept early hours at
Blanding's castle or not, but he deemed it prudent to
give the household another hour in which to settle down,
after which he would just trot down and collect the Scaub.
The novel he had brought down with him from London
fortunately proved interesting. Two o'clock came before he was ready
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for it. He slipped the book into his pocket and
opened the door. All was still still and uncommonly dark.
Along the corridor on which his room was situated, the
snores of sleeping domestics exploded, growled, and twittered in the air.
Every menial on the list seemed to be snoring, some
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in one key, some in another, some defiantly, some plaintively.
But the main fact was that they were all snoring somehow,
thus intimating that so far as this side of the
house was concerned, the coast might be considered clear and
interruption of his plans a negligible risk. Researches made at
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an earlier hour had familiarized him with the geography of
the place. He found his way to the green baized
door without difficulty, and stepping through was in the hall,
where the remains of the log fire still glowed a
fitful red. This, however, was the only illumination, and it
was fortunate that he did not require light to guide
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him to the museum. He knew the direction and had
measured the distance. It was precisely seventeen steps from where
he stood. Cautiously and with avoidance of noise, he began
to make the seventeen steps. He was beginning the eleventh
when he bumped into somebody, somebody soft, somebody whose hand,
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as it touched his, felt small and feminine. The fragment
of a log fell on the ashes, and the fire
gave a dying spurt. Darkness succeeded the sudden glow. The
fire was out. That little flame had been its last
effort before expiring, but it had been enough to enable
him to recognize Joan Valentine, good Lord. He gasped. His
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astonishment was short lived. Next moment, the only thing that
surprised him was the fact that he was not more surprised.
There was something about this girl that made the most
bizarre happenings seem right and natural. Ever since he had
met her, his life had changed from an orderly succession
of uninteresting days to a strange carnival of the unexpected,
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and use was accustoming him to it. Life had taken
on the quality of a dream in which anything might happen,
and in which everything that did happen was to be
accepted with the calmness natural in dreams. It was strange
that she should be here in the pitch dark hall
in the middle of the night, but after all, no
stranger than that he should be in this dream world
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in which he now moved. It had to be taken
for granted that people did all sorts of odd things,
from all sorts of odd motives. Hello, he said, don't
be alarmed. No, No, I think we are both here
for the same reason. You don't mean to say, Yes,
I have come here to earn the five thousand dollars too,
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mister Marson, we are rivals. In his present frame of mind,
it seemed so simple and intelligible to ashe that he
wondered whether he was really hearing it the first time.
He had an odd feeling that he had known this
all along. You are here to get the scaab exactly
ashe was dimly conscious of some objection to this, But
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at first it eluded him. Then he pinned it down.
But you want a young man of good appearance, he said.
I don't know what you mean, but Aleen Peters is
an old friend of mine. She told me her father
would give a large reward to whoever recovered the scaab.
So I look out, whispered ashe we'un, there's somebody coming.
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There was a soft footfall on the stairs, a click,
and above Ash's head or light flashed out. He looked round.
He was alone, and the green baized door was swaying
gently to and fro. Who's that? Who's there? Said a voice.
The Efficient Baxter was coming down the broad staircase. A
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general suspicion of mankind and a definite and particular suspicion
of one individual made a bad opiate. For over an hour,
Sleep had avoided the efficient Baxter with an unconquerable coyness.
He had tried all the known ways of wooing slumber,
but they had failed him. From the counting of sheep downward.
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The events of the night had whipped his mind to
a restless activity. Try as he might to lose consciousness,
the recollection of the plot he had discovered surged up
and kept him wakeful. It is the penalty of the
suspicious type of mind that it suffers from its own activity.
From the moment he detected mister Peters in the act
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of rifling the museum and marked down Ash as an accomplice,
Baxter's repose was doomed. Nor poppy, nor man Dragea, nor
all the drowsy syrup of the world could ever medicine
him to that sweet sleep which he owed yesterday. But
it was the recollection that, on previous occasions of wakefulness,
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hot whiskey and water had done the trick which had
now brought him from his bed and downstairs. His objective
was the decanter on the table of the smoking room,
which was one of the rooms opening on the gallery
that looked down on the hall. Hot water he could
achieve in his bedroom by means of his stove. So
out of bed he had climbed, and downstairs he had come,
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and here he was, to all appearances, just in time
to foil the very plot on which he had been brooding.
Mister Peters might be in bed, but there in the
hall below him stood the accomplice, not ten paces from
the museum's door. He arrived on the spot at racing
speed and confronted Ash, what are you doing here? And
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then from the Baxter viewpoint, things began to go wrong.
By all the rules of the game, Ash, caught, as
it were, red handed, should have wilted, stammered, and confessed all.
But ashe was fortified by the philosophic calm which comes
to us in dreams, and moreover, he had his story ready.
Mister Peters rang for me, sir. He had never expected
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to feel grateful to the little firebrand who employed him,
but he had to admit that the millionaire, in their
late conversation had shown forethought. The thought struck him that
but for mister Peters's advice, he might by now be
in an extremely awkward position, For his was not a
swiftly inventive mind. Rang for you at half past two
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in the morning to read to him, sir, To read
to him at this hour. Mister Peters suffers from insomnia, sir.
He has a weak digestion, and pain sometimes prevents him
from sleeping. The lining of his stomach is not at
all what it should be. I don't believe a word
of it. With that meekness which makes the good man wrong.
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So press of a spectacle. Ashe produced and exhibited his novel,
Here is the book I am about to read to him,
I think, sir, if you will excuse me, I had
better be going to his room. Good night, sir. He
proceeded to mount the stairs. He was sorry for mister Peters,
so shortly about to be roused from a refreshing slumber.
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But these were life's tragedies and must be borne bravely.
The efficient Baxter dogged him the whole way, sprinting silently
in his wake and dodging into the shadows whenever the
light of an occasional electric bulb made it advisable to
keep to the open. Then abruptly he gave up the pursuit.
For the first time, his comparative impotence in this silent
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conflict on which he had embarked was made manifest to him,
and he perceived that on mere suspicion, however strong, he
could do nothing to accuse mister Peters of theft, or
to accuse him of being accessory to a theft was
out of the question, yet his whole being revolted at
the thought of allowing the sanctity of the museum to
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be violated. Officially, its contents belonged to Lord Elmsworth, but
ever since his connection with the castle he had been
put in charge of them, and he had come to
look on them as his own property. If he was
only a collector by proxy, he had nevertheless the collector's
devotion to his curios, beside which the lioness attachment to
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her cubs is hepid. And he was prepared to do
anything to retain in his possession a scarab toward which
he already entertained the feelings of a life proprietor. No,
not quite anything. He stopped short at the idea of
causing unpleasantness between the father of the Honorable Freddy and
the father of the Honorable Freddy's fiancee. His secretarial position
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at the castle was a valuable one, and he was
loath to jeopardize it. There was only one way in
which this delicate affair could be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
It was obvious from what he had seen that night
that mister Peters's connection with the attempt on the scab
was to be merely sympathetic, and that the actual theft
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was to be accomplished by Ash. His only course, therefore,
was to catch Ash actually in the museum. Then mister
Peters need not appear in the matter at all. Mister
Peters's position in those circumstances would be simply that of
a man who had happened to employ, through no fault
of his own, a valet who happened to be a thief.
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He had made a mistake, he perceived in locking the
door of the museum. In future he must leave it
open as a trap is open, and he must stay
up nights and keep watch. With these reflections, the efficient
Baxter returned to his room. Meantime, ashe had entered mister
Peters's bedroom and switched on the light, Mister Peters, who
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had just succeeded in dropping off to sleep, sat up
with a start. I've come to read to you, said Ash.
Mister Peters emitted a stifled howl in which wrath and
self pity were nicely blended. You fool. Don't you know
I have just managed to get to sleep, and now
you're awake again, said ashe soothingly. Such is life, A
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little rest, a little folding of the hands in sleep,
and then bing off we go again. I hope you
will like this novel. I dipped into it and it
seems good. What do you mean by coming in here
at this time of night? Are you crazy? It was
your suggestion, and by the way, I must thank you
for it. I apologize for calling it thin. It worked
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like a charm. I don't think he believed it. In fact,
I know he didn't, but it held him. I couldn't
have thought up anything half so good in an emergency,
mister Peters, wrath changed to excitement. Did you get it?
Have you been after my my cheaaps? I have been
after your cheaps, but I didn't get it. Bad men
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were abroad. That fellow with the spectacles, who was in
the museum when I met you there this evening, swooped
down from nowhere and I had to tell him that
you had rung for me to read to you. Fortunately
I had this novel on me. I think he followed
me upstairs to see whether I really did come to
your room, mister Peters groaned miserably. Baxter, he said, He's
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a man named Baxter, Lord Emsworth's private secretary, and he
suspects us. He's the man we I mean you have
got to look out for. Well, never mind, let's be
happy while we can make yourself comfortable and I'll start reading.
After all, what could be pleasanter than a little literature
in the small hours? Shall I begin? Ashmarson found Joan
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Valentine in the stable yard after breakfast the next morning,
playing with a retriever puppy. Will you spare me a
moment of your valuable time? Certainly, mister Marson. Shall we
walk out into the open somewhere where we can't be overheard.
Perhaps it would be better they moved off. Request your
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canine friend to withdraw, said Ash. He prevents me from
marshaling my thoughts. I'm afraid he won't withdraw. Never mind,
I'll do my best in spite of him. Tell me
was I dreaming or did I really meet you in
the hall this morning at about twenty minutes after two
you did? And did you really tell me that you
had come to the castle to steal, recover, recover? Mister
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Peter's scarab I did. Then It's true. It is Ash
scraped the ground with a meditative tow. This, he said,
seems to me to complicate matters somewhat. It complicates them abominably.
I suppose you were surprised when you found that I
was on the same game as yourself. Not in the
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least you weren't. I knew it directly. I saw the
advertisement in the Morning Post, and I hunted up the
Morning Post. Directly you had told me that you had
become mister Peter's valet. You have known all along I have.
Ashe regarded her admiringly, You're wonderful because I saw through you.
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Partly that, but chiefly because you had the pluck to
undertake a thing like this. You undertook it. But I'm
a man and I'm a woman. And my theory, mister Marson,
is that a woman can do nearly everything better than
a man. What a splendid test case this would make
to settle the votes for women question once and for all.
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Here we are you and I, a man and a woman,
each trying for the same thing, and each starting with
equal chances. Suppose I beat you. How about the inferiority
of women. Then I never said women were inferior. You
did with your eyes. Besides, you're an exceptional woman. You
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can't get out of it with a compliment. I'm an
ordinary woman, and I'm going to beat a real man.
Ash frowned. I don't like to think of our selves
working against each other. Why not because I like you.
I like you, mister Marson. But we must not let
sentiment interfere with business. You want, mister Peters five thousand dollars,
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so do I. I hate the thought of being the
instrument to prevent you from getting the money you won't
be I shall be the instrument to prevent you from
getting it. I don't like that thought either, but one
has got to face it. It makes me feel mean.
That's simply your old fashioned masculine attitude toward the female.
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Mister Marson. You look on woman as a weak creature
to be shielded and petted. We aren't anything of the sort.
We're terrors. We're as hard as nails. We're awful creatures.
You mustn't let my sex interfere with your trying to
get this reward. Think of me as though I were
another man. We're up against each other in a fair fight,
and I don't want any special privileges. If you don't
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do your best from now onward, I shall never forget you.
Do you understand? I suppose so, and we shall need
to do our best. That little man with the glasses
is on his guard. I was listening to you last
night from behind the door. By the way. You shouldn't
have told me to run away and then have stayed
yourself to be caught. That is an example of the
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sort of thing I mean. It was chivalry, not business.
I had a story ready to account for my being there.
You had not, And what a capital story it was.
I shall borrow it for my own use. If I
am caught, I shall say I had to read Aileen
to sleep because she suffers from insomnia, and I shouldn't
wonder if she did. Poor girl. She doesn't get enough
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to eat. She is being starved, poor child. I heard
one of the footmen say that she refused everything at
dinner last night, And though she vows it isn't, my
belief is that it's all because she is afraid to
make a stand against your old father. It's a shame.
She is a weak creature to be shielded and petted,
said ashe solemnly. Joan laughed, Well, yes, you caught me there.
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I admit that poor Eileen is not a shining example
of the formidable modern woman. But she stopped. Oh bother,
I've just thought of what I ought to have said,
the good repartee that would have crushed you. I suppose
it's too late now, not at all. I'm like that myself,
only it is generally the next day when I hit
the right answer. Shall we go back? She is a
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weak creature to be shielded and petted, Thank you so much,
said Joan gratefully. And why is she a weak creature?
Because she has allowed herself to be shielded and petted,
because she has permitted man to give her special privileges.
And generally, No, it isn't so good as I thought
it was going to be. It should be, Crisper said,
ashe critically. It lacks the punch. But it brings me
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back to my point, which is that I am not
going to imitate her and forfeit my independence of action
in return for chivalry. Try to look at it from
my point of you, mister Marson, I know you need
the money just as much as I do. Well. Don't
you think I should feel a little mean if I
thought you were not trying your hardest to get it
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simply because you didn't think it would be fair to
try your hardest against a woman that would cripple me.
I should not feel as though I had the right
to do anything. It's too important a matter for you
to treat me like a child and let me win
to avoid disappointing me. I want the money, but I
don't want it handed to me. Believe me, said ashe earnestly,
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it will not be handed to you. I have studied
the Baxter question more deeply than you have, and I
can assure you that Baxter is a menace. What has
put him so firmly on the right set I don't know,
but he seems to have divined the exact state of
affairs in its entirety, so far as I am concerned.
That is to say, of course, he has no idea
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you were mixed up in the business. But I am
afraid his suspicion of me will hit you as well.
What I mean is that, for some time to come,
I fancy that man proposes to camp out on the
rug in front of the museum door. It would be
madness for either of us to attempt to go there
at present. It is being made very hard for us,
isn't it? And I thought it was going to be
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so simple. I think we should give him at least
a week to simmer down. Fully that let us look
on the bright side. We are in no hurry. Blanding's
castle is quite as comfortable as number seven Arundel Street,
and the Commissariat department is a revelation to me. I
had no idea English servants did themselves so well. And
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as for the social side, I love it. I revel
in it. For the first time in my life. I
feel as though I am somebody. Did you observe my
manner toward the kitchen maid who waited on us at
dinner last night? A touch of the old No bless
about it? I fancy dignified, but not unkind, I think,
And I can keep it up so far as I
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am concerned. Let this life continue indefinitely. But what about
mister Peters. Don't you think there is danger he may
change his mind about that five thousand dollars if we
keep him waiting too long. NA a chance of it
being almost within touch of the scarab has had the
worst effect on him. It has intensified the craving. By
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the way, have you seen the scarab? Yes, I got
missus Twemlow to take me to the museum while you
were talking to the butler. It was dreadful to feel
that it was lying there in the open, waiting for
somebody to take it, and not be able to do anything.
I felt exactly the same. It isn't much to look at,
is it. If it hadn't been for the label, I
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wouldn't have believed it was the thing for which Peters
was offering five thousand dollars reward. But that's his affair.
A thing is worth what somebody will give for it. Ours,
not to reason why ours, but to elude Baxter and
gather it in ours. Indeed, you speak as though we
were partners instead of rivals. Ash uttered an exclamation. You've
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hit it. Why not? Why any cutthroat competition? Why shouldn't
we form a company? It would solve everything. Joan looked thoughtful.
You mean divide the reward exactly into two equal parts,
and the labor the labor? How shall we divide that?
Ash hesitated my idea. He said was that I should
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do what I might call the rough work, and you
mean you should do the actual taking of the scaup exactly.
I would look after that end of it. And what
would my duties be? Well, you you would, as it were,
How shall I put it? You would, so to speak,
lend moral support by lying snugly in bed, fast asleep
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ashe avoided her eye. Well, yes, or something on those lines,
while you ran all the risks. No, no, the risks
are practically non exist. I thought you said just now
that it would be madness for either of us to
attempt to go to the museum at present. Joan laughed.
It won't do, mister Marson. You remind me of an
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old cat I once had. Whenever he killed a mouse,
he would bring it into the drawing room and lay
it affectionately at my feet. I would reject the corpse
with horror and turn him out, But back he would come,
with his loathsome gift. I simply couldn't make him understand
that he was not doing me a kindness. He thought
highly of his mouse, and it was beyond him to
realize that I did not want it. You are just
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the same with your chivalry It's very kind of you
to keep offering me your dead mouse, but honestly, I
have no use for it. I won't take favors just
because I happen to be a female. If we are
going to form this partnership, I insist on doing my
fair share of the work and running my fair share
of the risks, the practically non existent risks. You're very resolute, say, pigheaded.
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I shan't mind, certainly. I am a girl has got
to be even nowadays if she wants to play fair. Listen,
mister Marson, I will not have the dead mouse. I
do not like dead mice. If you attempt to work
off your dead mouse on me, this partnership ceases before
it has begun. If we are to work together, we
are going to make alternate attempts to get the scaub.
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No other arrangement will satisfy me. Then I claim the
right to make the first one. You don't do anything
of the sort we toss up for first chance, like
little ladies and gentlemen, have you a coin, I will
spin a new call. Ash made a last stand. This
is perfectly mister Marson. Ash gave in. He produced a
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coin and handed it to her gloomily. Under protest, he said,
head or tail, said Joan, unmoved, Ash watched the coin
gyrating in the sunshine tail. He cried. The coin stopped
rolling tail it is, said Joan, What a noose? Since, well,
never mind, I'll get my chance. If you fail, I
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shan't fail, said ashe fervently. If I have to pull
the museum down, I won't fail. Thank Hevin. There's no
chance now of your doing anything foolish. Don't be too sure. Well,
good luck, mister Marson. Thank you, partner. They shook hands
as they parted at the door. Joan made one further remark.
There's just one thing, mister Marson. Yes, if I could
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have accepted the mouse from any one, I should certainly
have accepted it from you. End of Chapter six
Chapter six 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 six. Among the compensations
(00:26):
of advancing age is a wholesome pessimism, which, though it
takes the fine edge off of whatever triumphs may come
to us, has the admirable effect of preventing Fate from
working off on us any of those gold bricks coins
with strings attached and unhatched chickens at which ardent youth
snatches with such enthusiasm to its subsequent disappointment. As we
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emerge from the twenties, we grow into a habit of
mind that looks askance at fate bearing gifts. We miss,
perhaps the occasional prize, but we all so avoid leaping
lightheartedly into traps. Ash Marson had yet to reach the
age of tranquil mistrust, and when Fate seemed to be
treating him kindly, he was still young enough to accept
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such kindness as on their face value and rejoice at them.
As he sat on his bed at the end of
his first night in Castle Blandings, he was conscious to
a remarkable degree that fortune was treating him well. He
had survived not merely without discredit, but with positive triumph,
the initiatory plunge into the etiquette maelstream of life below stairs.
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So far from doing the wrong thing and drawing down
on himself the just scorn of the steward's room, he
had been the life and soul of the party. Even
if tomorrow, in an absent minded fit, he should anticipate
the groom of the chambers in the march to the table,
he would be forgiven, for the humorist has his privileges
(01:58):
so much for that. But that was only a part
of Fortune's kindnesses. To have discovered on the first day
of their association the correct method of handling and reducing
to subjection his irascible employer was an even greater boon.
A prolonged association with mister Peters on the lines in
which their acquaintance had begun would have been extremely trying. Now,
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by virtue of a fortunate stand at the outset, he
had spiked the millionaire's guns. Thirdly, and most important of all,
he had not only made himself familiar with the locality
and surroundings of the scarab, but he had seen beyond
the possibility of doubt that the removal of it and
the earning of the five thousand dollars would be the
simplest possible task. Already he was spending the money in
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his mind, and to such lengths had optimism led him
that as he sat on his bed reviewing the events
of the day, his only doubt was whether to get
the scab at once or to let it remain where
it was until he had the opportunity of doing mister
Peter's interior good on the line he had mapped out
in their conversation. For of course, directly he had restored
(03:05):
the scab to its rightful owner and pocketed the reward,
his position as healer and trainer to the millionaire would
cease automatically. He was sorry for that, because it troubled
him to think that a sick man would not be
made well. But on the whole, looking at it from
every aspect, it would be best to get the scaub
as soon as possible and leave mister Peter's digestion to
(03:28):
look after itself. Being twenty six and an optimist, he
had no suspicion that fate might be playing with him,
that Fate might have unpleasant surprises in store, that Fate
even now was preparing to smite him in his hour
of joy, with that powerful weapon, the efficient Baxter. He
looked at his watch. It was five minutes to one.
(03:51):
He had no idea whether they kept early hours at
Blanding's castle or not, but he deemed it prudent to
give the household another hour in which to settle down,
after which he would just trot down and collect the Scaub.
The novel he had brought down with him from London
fortunately proved interesting. Two o'clock came before he was ready
(04:12):
for it. He slipped the book into his pocket and
opened the door. All was still still and uncommonly dark.
Along the corridor on which his room was situated, the
snores of sleeping domestics exploded, growled, and twittered in the air.
Every menial on the list seemed to be snoring, some
(04:32):
in one key, some in another, some defiantly, some plaintively.
But the main fact was that they were all snoring somehow,
thus intimating that so far as this side of the
house was concerned, the coast might be considered clear and
interruption of his plans a negligible risk. Researches made at
(04:53):
an earlier hour had familiarized him with the geography of
the place. He found his way to the green baized
door without difficulty, and stepping through was in the hall,
where the remains of the log fire still glowed a
fitful red. This, however, was the only illumination, and it
was fortunate that he did not require light to guide
(05:13):
him to the museum. He knew the direction and had
measured the distance. It was precisely seventeen steps from where
he stood. Cautiously and with avoidance of noise, he began
to make the seventeen steps. He was beginning the eleventh
when he bumped into somebody, somebody soft, somebody whose hand,
(05:33):
as it touched his, felt small and feminine. The fragment
of a log fell on the ashes, and the fire
gave a dying spurt. Darkness succeeded the sudden glow. The
fire was out. That little flame had been its last
effort before expiring, but it had been enough to enable
him to recognize Joan Valentine, good Lord. He gasped. His
(05:57):
astonishment was short lived. Next moment, the only thing that
surprised him was the fact that he was not more surprised.
There was something about this girl that made the most
bizarre happenings seem right and natural. Ever since he had
met her, his life had changed from an orderly succession
of uninteresting days to a strange carnival of the unexpected,
(06:19):
and use was accustoming him to it. Life had taken
on the quality of a dream in which anything might happen,
and in which everything that did happen was to be
accepted with the calmness natural in dreams. It was strange
that she should be here in the pitch dark hall
in the middle of the night, but after all, no
stranger than that he should be in this dream world
(06:42):
in which he now moved. It had to be taken
for granted that people did all sorts of odd things,
from all sorts of odd motives. Hello, he said, don't
be alarmed. No, No, I think we are both here
for the same reason. You don't mean to say, Yes,
I have come here to earn the five thousand dollars too,
(07:03):
mister Marson, we are rivals. In his present frame of mind,
it seemed so simple and intelligible to ashe that he
wondered whether he was really hearing it the first time.
He had an odd feeling that he had known this
all along. You are here to get the scaab exactly
ashe was dimly conscious of some objection to this, But
(07:26):
at first it eluded him. Then he pinned it down.
But you want a young man of good appearance, he said.
I don't know what you mean, but Aleen Peters is
an old friend of mine. She told me her father
would give a large reward to whoever recovered the scaab.
So I look out, whispered ashe we'un, there's somebody coming.
(07:47):
There was a soft footfall on the stairs, a click,
and above Ash's head or light flashed out. He looked round.
He was alone, and the green baized door was swaying
gently to and fro. Who's that? Who's there? Said a voice.
The Efficient Baxter was coming down the broad staircase. A
(08:07):
general suspicion of mankind and a definite and particular suspicion
of one individual made a bad opiate. For over an hour,
Sleep had avoided the efficient Baxter with an unconquerable coyness.
He had tried all the known ways of wooing slumber,
but they had failed him. From the counting of sheep downward.
(08:28):
The events of the night had whipped his mind to
a restless activity. Try as he might to lose consciousness,
the recollection of the plot he had discovered surged up
and kept him wakeful. It is the penalty of the
suspicious type of mind that it suffers from its own activity.
From the moment he detected mister Peters in the act
(08:49):
of rifling the museum and marked down Ash as an accomplice,
Baxter's repose was doomed. Nor poppy, nor man Dragea, nor
all the drowsy syrup of the world could ever medicine
him to that sweet sleep which he owed yesterday. But
it was the recollection that, on previous occasions of wakefulness,
(09:09):
hot whiskey and water had done the trick which had
now brought him from his bed and downstairs. His objective
was the decanter on the table of the smoking room,
which was one of the rooms opening on the gallery
that looked down on the hall. Hot water he could
achieve in his bedroom by means of his stove. So
out of bed he had climbed, and downstairs he had come,
(09:31):
and here he was, to all appearances, just in time
to foil the very plot on which he had been brooding.
Mister Peters might be in bed, but there in the
hall below him stood the accomplice, not ten paces from
the museum's door. He arrived on the spot at racing
speed and confronted Ash, what are you doing here? And
(09:52):
then from the Baxter viewpoint, things began to go wrong.
By all the rules of the game, Ash, caught, as
it were, red handed, should have wilted, stammered, and confessed all.
But ashe was fortified by the philosophic calm which comes
to us in dreams, and moreover, he had his story ready.
Mister Peters rang for me, sir. He had never expected
(10:15):
to feel grateful to the little firebrand who employed him,
but he had to admit that the millionaire, in their
late conversation had shown forethought. The thought struck him that
but for mister Peters's advice, he might by now be
in an extremely awkward position, For his was not a
swiftly inventive mind. Rang for you at half past two
(10:36):
in the morning to read to him, sir, To read
to him at this hour. Mister Peters suffers from insomnia, sir.
He has a weak digestion, and pain sometimes prevents him
from sleeping. The lining of his stomach is not at
all what it should be. I don't believe a word
of it. With that meekness which makes the good man wrong.
(10:59):
So press of a spectacle. Ashe produced and exhibited his novel,
Here is the book I am about to read to him,
I think, sir, if you will excuse me, I had
better be going to his room. Good night, sir. He
proceeded to mount the stairs. He was sorry for mister Peters,
so shortly about to be roused from a refreshing slumber.
(11:21):
But these were life's tragedies and must be borne bravely.
The efficient Baxter dogged him the whole way, sprinting silently
in his wake and dodging into the shadows whenever the
light of an occasional electric bulb made it advisable to
keep to the open. Then abruptly he gave up the pursuit.
For the first time, his comparative impotence in this silent
(11:44):
conflict on which he had embarked was made manifest to him,
and he perceived that on mere suspicion, however strong, he
could do nothing to accuse mister Peters of theft, or
to accuse him of being accessory to a theft was
out of the question, yet his whole being revolted at
the thought of allowing the sanctity of the museum to
(12:05):
be violated. Officially, its contents belonged to Lord Elmsworth, but
ever since his connection with the castle he had been
put in charge of them, and he had come to
look on them as his own property. If he was
only a collector by proxy, he had nevertheless the collector's
devotion to his curios, beside which the lioness attachment to
(12:27):
her cubs is hepid. And he was prepared to do
anything to retain in his possession a scarab toward which
he already entertained the feelings of a life proprietor. No,
not quite anything. He stopped short at the idea of
causing unpleasantness between the father of the Honorable Freddy and
the father of the Honorable Freddy's fiancee. His secretarial position
(12:50):
at the castle was a valuable one, and he was
loath to jeopardize it. There was only one way in
which this delicate affair could be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
It was obvious from what he had seen that night
that mister Peters's connection with the attempt on the scab
was to be merely sympathetic, and that the actual theft
(13:11):
was to be accomplished by Ash. His only course, therefore,
was to catch Ash actually in the museum. Then mister
Peters need not appear in the matter at all. Mister
Peters's position in those circumstances would be simply that of
a man who had happened to employ, through no fault
of his own, a valet who happened to be a thief.
(13:33):
He had made a mistake, he perceived in locking the
door of the museum. In future he must leave it
open as a trap is open, and he must stay
up nights and keep watch. With these reflections, the efficient
Baxter returned to his room. Meantime, ashe had entered mister
Peters's bedroom and switched on the light, Mister Peters, who
(13:54):
had just succeeded in dropping off to sleep, sat up
with a start. I've come to read to you, said Ash.
Mister Peters emitted a stifled howl in which wrath and
self pity were nicely blended. You fool. Don't you know
I have just managed to get to sleep, and now
you're awake again, said ashe soothingly. Such is life, A
(14:14):
little rest, a little folding of the hands in sleep,
and then bing off we go again. I hope you
will like this novel. I dipped into it and it
seems good. What do you mean by coming in here
at this time of night? Are you crazy? It was
your suggestion, and by the way, I must thank you
for it. I apologize for calling it thin. It worked
(14:35):
like a charm. I don't think he believed it. In fact,
I know he didn't, but it held him. I couldn't
have thought up anything half so good in an emergency,
mister Peters, wrath changed to excitement. Did you get it?
Have you been after my my cheaaps? I have been
after your cheaps, but I didn't get it. Bad men
(14:56):
were abroad. That fellow with the spectacles, who was in
the museum when I met you there this evening, swooped
down from nowhere and I had to tell him that
you had rung for me to read to you. Fortunately
I had this novel on me. I think he followed
me upstairs to see whether I really did come to
your room, mister Peters groaned miserably. Baxter, he said, He's
(15:18):
a man named Baxter, Lord Emsworth's private secretary, and he
suspects us. He's the man we I mean you have
got to look out for. Well, never mind, let's be
happy while we can make yourself comfortable and I'll start reading.
After all, what could be pleasanter than a little literature
in the small hours? Shall I begin? Ashmarson found Joan
(15:42):
Valentine in the stable yard after breakfast the next morning,
playing with a retriever puppy. Will you spare me a
moment of your valuable time? Certainly, mister Marson. Shall we
walk out into the open somewhere where we can't be overheard.
Perhaps it would be better they moved off. Request your
(16:02):
canine friend to withdraw, said Ash. He prevents me from
marshaling my thoughts. I'm afraid he won't withdraw. Never mind,
I'll do my best in spite of him. Tell me
was I dreaming or did I really meet you in
the hall this morning at about twenty minutes after two
you did? And did you really tell me that you
had come to the castle to steal, recover, recover? Mister
(16:27):
Peter's scarab I did. Then It's true. It is Ash
scraped the ground with a meditative tow. This, he said,
seems to me to complicate matters somewhat. It complicates them abominably.
I suppose you were surprised when you found that I
was on the same game as yourself. Not in the
(16:49):
least you weren't. I knew it directly. I saw the
advertisement in the Morning Post, and I hunted up the
Morning Post. Directly you had told me that you had
become mister Peter's valet. You have known all along I have.
Ashe regarded her admiringly, You're wonderful because I saw through you.
(17:10):
Partly that, but chiefly because you had the pluck to
undertake a thing like this. You undertook it. But I'm
a man and I'm a woman. And my theory, mister Marson,
is that a woman can do nearly everything better than
a man. What a splendid test case this would make
to settle the votes for women question once and for all.
(17:31):
Here we are you and I, a man and a woman,
each trying for the same thing, and each starting with
equal chances. Suppose I beat you. How about the inferiority
of women. Then I never said women were inferior. You
did with your eyes. Besides, you're an exceptional woman. You
(17:51):
can't get out of it with a compliment. I'm an
ordinary woman, and I'm going to beat a real man.
Ash frowned. I don't like to think of our selves
working against each other. Why not because I like you.
I like you, mister Marson. But we must not let
sentiment interfere with business. You want, mister Peters five thousand dollars,
(18:13):
so do I. I hate the thought of being the
instrument to prevent you from getting the money you won't
be I shall be the instrument to prevent you from
getting it. I don't like that thought either, but one
has got to face it. It makes me feel mean.
That's simply your old fashioned masculine attitude toward the female.
(18:35):
Mister Marson. You look on woman as a weak creature
to be shielded and petted. We aren't anything of the sort.
We're terrors. We're as hard as nails. We're awful creatures.
You mustn't let my sex interfere with your trying to
get this reward. Think of me as though I were
another man. We're up against each other in a fair fight,
and I don't want any special privileges. If you don't
(18:57):
do your best from now onward, I shall never forget you.
Do you understand? I suppose so, and we shall need
to do our best. That little man with the glasses
is on his guard. I was listening to you last
night from behind the door. By the way. You shouldn't
have told me to run away and then have stayed
yourself to be caught. That is an example of the
(19:18):
sort of thing I mean. It was chivalry, not business.
I had a story ready to account for my being there.
You had not, And what a capital story it was.
I shall borrow it for my own use. If I
am caught, I shall say I had to read Aileen
to sleep because she suffers from insomnia, and I shouldn't
wonder if she did. Poor girl. She doesn't get enough
(19:39):
to eat. She is being starved, poor child. I heard
one of the footmen say that she refused everything at
dinner last night, And though she vows it isn't, my
belief is that it's all because she is afraid to
make a stand against your old father. It's a shame.
She is a weak creature to be shielded and petted,
said ashe solemnly. Joan laughed, Well, yes, you caught me there.
(20:04):
I admit that poor Eileen is not a shining example
of the formidable modern woman. But she stopped. Oh bother,
I've just thought of what I ought to have said,
the good repartee that would have crushed you. I suppose
it's too late now, not at all. I'm like that myself,
only it is generally the next day when I hit
the right answer. Shall we go back? She is a
(20:26):
weak creature to be shielded and petted, Thank you so much,
said Joan gratefully. And why is she a weak creature?
Because she has allowed herself to be shielded and petted,
because she has permitted man to give her special privileges.
And generally, No, it isn't so good as I thought
it was going to be. It should be, Crisper said,
ashe critically. It lacks the punch. But it brings me
(20:50):
back to my point, which is that I am not
going to imitate her and forfeit my independence of action
in return for chivalry. Try to look at it from
my point of you, mister Marson, I know you need
the money just as much as I do. Well. Don't
you think I should feel a little mean if I
thought you were not trying your hardest to get it
(21:10):
simply because you didn't think it would be fair to
try your hardest against a woman that would cripple me.
I should not feel as though I had the right
to do anything. It's too important a matter for you
to treat me like a child and let me win
to avoid disappointing me. I want the money, but I
don't want it handed to me. Believe me, said ashe earnestly,
(21:31):
it will not be handed to you. I have studied
the Baxter question more deeply than you have, and I
can assure you that Baxter is a menace. What has
put him so firmly on the right set I don't know,
but he seems to have divined the exact state of
affairs in its entirety, so far as I am concerned.
That is to say, of course, he has no idea
(21:52):
you were mixed up in the business. But I am
afraid his suspicion of me will hit you as well.
What I mean is that, for some time to come,
I fancy that man proposes to camp out on the
rug in front of the museum door. It would be
madness for either of us to attempt to go there
at present. It is being made very hard for us,
isn't it? And I thought it was going to be
(22:14):
so simple. I think we should give him at least
a week to simmer down. Fully that let us look
on the bright side. We are in no hurry. Blanding's
castle is quite as comfortable as number seven Arundel Street,
and the Commissariat department is a revelation to me. I
had no idea English servants did themselves so well. And
(22:37):
as for the social side, I love it. I revel
in it. For the first time in my life. I
feel as though I am somebody. Did you observe my
manner toward the kitchen maid who waited on us at
dinner last night? A touch of the old No bless
about it? I fancy dignified, but not unkind, I think,
And I can keep it up so far as I
(22:57):
am concerned. Let this life continue indefinitely. But what about
mister Peters. Don't you think there is danger he may
change his mind about that five thousand dollars if we
keep him waiting too long. NA a chance of it
being almost within touch of the scarab has had the
worst effect on him. It has intensified the craving. By
(23:18):
the way, have you seen the scarab? Yes, I got
missus Twemlow to take me to the museum while you
were talking to the butler. It was dreadful to feel
that it was lying there in the open, waiting for
somebody to take it, and not be able to do anything.
I felt exactly the same. It isn't much to look at,
is it. If it hadn't been for the label, I
(23:39):
wouldn't have believed it was the thing for which Peters
was offering five thousand dollars reward. But that's his affair.
A thing is worth what somebody will give for it. Ours,
not to reason why ours, but to elude Baxter and
gather it in ours. Indeed, you speak as though we
were partners instead of rivals. Ash uttered an exclamation. You've
(24:02):
hit it. Why not? Why any cutthroat competition? Why shouldn't
we form a company? It would solve everything. Joan looked thoughtful.
You mean divide the reward exactly into two equal parts,
and the labor the labor? How shall we divide that?
Ash hesitated my idea. He said was that I should
(24:26):
do what I might call the rough work, and you
mean you should do the actual taking of the scaup exactly.
I would look after that end of it. And what
would my duties be? Well, you you would, as it were,
How shall I put it? You would, so to speak,
lend moral support by lying snugly in bed, fast asleep
(24:49):
ashe avoided her eye. Well, yes, or something on those lines,
while you ran all the risks. No, no, the risks
are practically non exist. I thought you said just now
that it would be madness for either of us to
attempt to go to the museum at present. Joan laughed.
It won't do, mister Marson. You remind me of an
(25:10):
old cat I once had. Whenever he killed a mouse,
he would bring it into the drawing room and lay
it affectionately at my feet. I would reject the corpse
with horror and turn him out, But back he would come,
with his loathsome gift. I simply couldn't make him understand
that he was not doing me a kindness. He thought
highly of his mouse, and it was beyond him to
realize that I did not want it. You are just
(25:33):
the same with your chivalry It's very kind of you
to keep offering me your dead mouse, but honestly, I
have no use for it. I won't take favors just
because I happen to be a female. If we are
going to form this partnership, I insist on doing my
fair share of the work and running my fair share
of the risks, the practically non existent risks. You're very resolute, say, pigheaded.
(25:57):
I shan't mind, certainly. I am a girl has got
to be even nowadays if she wants to play fair. Listen,
mister Marson, I will not have the dead mouse. I
do not like dead mice. If you attempt to work
off your dead mouse on me, this partnership ceases before
it has begun. If we are to work together, we
are going to make alternate attempts to get the scaub.
(26:19):
No other arrangement will satisfy me. Then I claim the
right to make the first one. You don't do anything
of the sort we toss up for first chance, like
little ladies and gentlemen, have you a coin, I will
spin a new call. Ash made a last stand. This
is perfectly mister Marson. Ash gave in. He produced a
(26:42):
coin and handed it to her gloomily. Under protest, he said,
head or tail, said Joan, unmoved, Ash watched the coin
gyrating in the sunshine tail. He cried. The coin stopped
rolling tail it is, said Joan, What a noose? Since, well,
never mind, I'll get my chance. If you fail, I
(27:04):
shan't fail, said ashe fervently. If I have to pull
the museum down, I won't fail. Thank Hevin. There's no
chance now of your doing anything foolish. Don't be too sure. Well,
good luck, mister Marson. Thank you, partner. They shook hands
as they parted at the door. Joan made one further remark.
There's just one thing, mister Marson. Yes, if I could
(27:29):
have accepted the mouse from any one, I should certainly
have accepted it from you. End of Chapter six
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