November 21, 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 eleven, Part one 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 eleven, Part one,
(00:25):
Blandings Castle dozed in the calm of an English Sunday afternoon,
all was peace. Freddie was in bed, with orders from
the doctor to stay there until further notice. Baxter had
washed his face, Lord Emsworth had returned to his garden fork.
The rest of the house party strolled about the grounds
or sad in them, for the day was one of
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those late spring days that are warm with a premature
suggestion of midsummer. Aleen Peters was sitting at the open
window of her bedroom, which commanded an extensive view of
the terraces. A pile of letter lay on the table
beside her, for she had just finished reading her mail.
The postman came late to the castle on Sundays, and
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she had not been able to do this until luncheon
was over. Aileen was puzzled. She was conscious of a
fit of depression for which she could in no way account.
She had a feeling that all was not well with
the world, which was the more remarkable, and that she
was usually keenly susceptible to weather conditions, and reveled in
sunshine like a kitten. Yet here was a day nearly
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as fine as an American day, and she found no
solace in it. She looked down on the terrace. As
she looked, the figure of George Emerson appeared, walking swiftly,
and at the sight of him, something seemed to tell
her that she had found the key to her gloom.
There are many kinds of walk. George Emerson's was the
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walk of mental unrest. His hands were clasped behind his back,
his eyes stared straight in front of him. From beneath
lowering brows, and between his teeth was an unlighted cigar.
No man who is not a professional politician holds an
unlighted cigar in his mouth unless he wishes to irritate
and baffle a ticket chopper in the subway, or because
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unpleasant meditations have caused him to forget he has it
there plainly, then all was not well with George Emerson.
Aileen had suspected as much at luncheon, and looking back,
she realized that it was at luncheon, her depression had begun.
The discovery startled her a little. She had not been aware,
or she had refused to admit to herself that George's
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troubles bulked so large on her horizon. She had always
told herself that she liked George, that George was a
dear old friend, that George amused and stimulated her. But
she would have denied she was so wrapped up in
George that the sight of him in trouble would be
enough to spoil for her the finest day she had
seen since she left America. There was something not only
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startling but shocking in the thought. She was honest enough
with herself to recognize that Freddie, her official loved one,
might have paced the grounds of the castle, chewing an
unlighted cigar by the hour without stirring any emotion in
her at all. And she was to marry Freddy next month.
This was surely a matter that called for thought. She proceeded,
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gazing down the while at the perambulating George to give
it thought. Aileen's was not a deep nature. She had
never pretended to herself that she loved the honorable Freddy
in the sense in which the word is used in books.
She liked him, and she liked the idea of being
connected with the peerage. Her father liked the idea, and
she liked her father, and the combination of these likings
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had caused her to reply yes when last autumn Freddy,
swelling himself out like an embarrassed frog and gulping, had
uttered that memorable speech beginning I say, you know it's
like this, don't you know? And ending what I mean
is will you marry me? What she had looked forward
to being placidly happy as the Honorable Missus Frederick Threepwood
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and then George Emerson had reappeared in her life a
disturbing element. Until today, she would have resented the suggestion
that she was in love with George. She liked to
be with him, partly because he was so easy to
talk to, and partly because it was exciting to be
continually resisting the will power he made no secret of
trying to exercise. But today there was a difference. She
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had suspected it at luncheon, and she realized it now
as she looked down at him from behind the curtain
and marked his air of gloom. She could no longer
disguise it from herself. She felt maternal, horribly maternal. George
was in trouble, and she wanted to comfort him. Freddie
too was in trouble. But did she want to comfort Freddie. No.
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On the contrary, she was already regretting her promise so
lightly given before luncheon to go and sit with him
that afternoon. A well marked feeling of annoyance that he
should have been so silly as to tumble downstairs and
sprain his ankle was her chief sentiment respecting Freddy. George
Emerson continued to perambulate, and Aileen continued to watch him.
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At last, she could endure it no longer. She gathered
up her letters, stacked them in a corner of the
dressing table, and left the room. George had reached the
end of the terrace and turned when she began to
descend the stone steps outside the front door. He quickened
his pace as he caught sight of her. He halted
before her and surveyed her morosely. I have been looking
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for you, he said, and here I am. Cheer up, George,
Whatever is the matter? I've been sitting in my room
looking at you, and you have been simply prowling what
has gone wrong? Everything? How do you mean? Everything? Exactly
what I say? I'm done for. Read this. Aileen took
the yellow slip of paper a cable, added, George, I
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got it this morning, nailed on from my room in London.
Read it. I'm trying to. It doesn't seem to make sense.
George laughed grimly. It makes sense, all right. I don't
see how you can say that, Meredith elephant kangaroo office
cipher I was forgetting. Elephant means seriously ill and unable
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to attend to duty. Meredith is one of the partners
in my firm in New York. Oh, I'm so sorry.
Do you think he is very sick? Are you very
fond of mister Meredith. Meredith is a good fellow, and
I like him. But if it was simply a matter
of his being ill, I'm afraid I could manage to
bear up under the news. Unfortunately, kangaroo means return without
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fail by the next boat. You must return by the
next boat. Aileen looked at him in her eyes, a
slow growing comprehension of the situation. Oh, she said at length,
I put it stronger than that, said George. But the
next boat. That means on Wednesday, Wednesday morning, from Southampton,
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I shall have to leave here tomorrow. Aileen's eyes were
fixed on the blue hills across the valley, but she
did not see them. There was a mist between. She
was feeling crushed and ill treated and lonely. It was
as though George was already gone, and she left alone
in an alien land. But George, she said, She could
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find no other words for her protest against the inevitable.
It's bad luck, said Emerson quietly. But I shouldn't wonder
if it is not the best thing that really could
have happened. It finishes me cleanly, instead of letting me
drag on and make both of us miserable. If this
cable hadn't come, I suppose I should have gone on
bothering you up to the day of your wedding. I
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should have fancied to the last moment that there was
a chance for me. But this ends me with one punch.
Even I haven't the nerve to imagine that I can
work a miracle in the few hours before the train
leaves tomorrow. I must just make the best of it
if we ever meet again. And I don't see why
we should you will be married. My particular brand of
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mental suggestion doesn't work at long range. I shan't hope
to influence you by telepathy. He leaned on the balustrade
at her side and spoke in a low level voice.
This thing, he said, coming as a shock, coming out
of the blue sky without warning. Meredith is the last
man in the world you would expect to crack up.
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He looked as fit as a dray horse the last
time I saw him. Somehow seems to have hammered a
certain amount of sense into me. O. It never struck
me before, But I suppose I have been about the
most pumptuous, conceited fool that ever happened. Why I should
have imagined that there was a sort of irresistible fascination
in me which was bound to make you break off
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your engagement and upset the whole universe simply to win
the wonderful reward of marrying me is more than I
can understand. I suppose it takes a shock to make
a fellow see exactly what he really amounts to. I
couldn't think any more of you than I do, But
if I could, the way you have put up with
my mouthing and swaggering and posing as a sort of
superman would make me do it. You have been wonderful.
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Aileen could not speak. She felt as though her whole
world had been turned upside down in the last quarter
of an hour. This was a new George Emerson, a
George at whom it was impossible to laugh, but an
insidiously attractive George. Her heart beat quickly. Her mind was
not clear, but dimly she realized that he had pulled
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down her chief barrier of defense, and that she was
more open to attack than she had ever been. Obstinacy,
the automatic desire to resist the pressure of a will
that attempted to overcome her own, had kept her cool
and level headed. In the past. With masterfulness, she had
been able to cope. Humility was another thing altogether. Soft
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Heartedness was Aileen's weakness. She had never clearly recognized it,
but it had been partly pity that had induced her
to except Freddie. He had seemed so downtrodden and sorry
for himself during those autumn days when they had first met.
Prudence warned her that strange things might happen if once
she allowed herself to pity George Emerson. The silence lengthened.
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Aileen could find nothing to say in her present mood.
There was danger in speech. We have known each other
so long, said Emerson, and I have told you so
often that I love you. We have come to make
almost a joke of it, as though we were playing
some game. It just happens that that is our way
to laugh at things. But I am going to say
it once again, even though it has come to be
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a sort of catch phrase, I love you. I'm reconciled
to the fact that I am done for out of
the running, and that you are going to marry somebody else.
But I am not going to stop loving you. It
isn't a question of whether I should be happier if
I forgot you. I can't do it. It's just an impossibility,
and that's all there is to it. Whatever I may
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be to you, you are part of me, and you
always will be part of me. I might just as
well try to go on living without breathing as living
without loving you. He stopped and straightened himself. That's all.
I don't want to spoil a perfectly good spring afternoon
for you by pulling out the tragic stop I had
to say all that. But it's the last time. It
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shan't occur again. There will be no tragedy when I
step into the train tomorrow. Is there any chance that
you might come and see me off? Aileen nodded, you will.
That will be splendid. Now I'll go and pack and
break it to my host that I must leave him.
I expect it will be news to him to learn
that I am here. I doubt if he knows me
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by sight. Eileen stood where he had left her, leaning
on the balustrade. In the fullness of time, there came
to her the recollection. She had promised Freddy that shortly
after luncheon she would sit with him. The Honorable Freddy,
draped in purple pajamas and propped up with many pillows,
was lying in bed reading Gridley Quail. Investigator. Aileen's entrance
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occurred at a peculiarly poignant moment in the story, and
gave him a feeling of having been brought violently to
Earth from a flight in the clouds. It is not
often an author has the good fortune to grip a reader,
as the author of Gridley Quail gripped Freddy. One of
the results of his absorbed mood was that he greeted
Aileen with a stare of an even glassier quality than usual.
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His eyes were by nature a trifle prominent, and to Aileen,
in the overstrung condition in which her talk with George
Emerson had left her, they seemed to bulge at her
like a snail's. A man seldom looks his best in bed,
and to Aileen, seeing him for the first time at
this disadvantage, the honorable Freddy seemed quite repulsive. It was
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with a feeling of positive panic that she wondered whether
he would want her to kiss him. Freddie made no
such demand. He was not one of your demonstrative lovers.
He contented himself with rolling over in bed and dropping
his lower jaw, Hello, Eileen. Aileen sat down on the
edge of the bed. Well. Freddie, her betrothed, improved his
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appearance a little by hitching up his jaw, as though
feeling that would be too extreme a measure. He did
not close his mouth altogether, but he diminished the abyss.
The honorable Freddie belonged to the class of persons who
moved through life with their mouths always restfully open. It
seemed to Aileen that on this particular afternoon, a strange
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dumbness had descended on her. She had been unable to
speak to George, and now she could not think of
anything to say to Freddie. She looked at him, and
he looked at her, and the clock on the mantelpiece
went on ticking. It was that vally cat of Aunt Anne's,
said Freddie, at length, a saying light conversation. It came
legging it up the stairs and I took the most
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frightful toss. I hate cats? Do you hate cats? I
knew a fellow in London who couldn't stand cats. Aileen
began to wonder whether there was not something permanently wrong
with her organs of speech. It should have been a
simple matter to develop the cat theme, but she found
herself unable to do so. Her mind was concentrated to
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the exclusion of all else, on the repellent nature of
the spectacle provided by her loved one In pajamas. Freddie
resumed the conversation. I was just reading a corking book.
Have you ever read these things? They come out every
month and they're corking. The fellow who writes them must
be a corker. It beats me how he thinks of
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these things. They are about a detective, a chap called
Gridly Quail, frightfully exciting an obvious remedy for dumbness, struck Aileen.
Shall I read to you, Freddie? Right, ho, good scheme.
I've got to the top of this page. Aileen took
the paper covered book. Seven guns covered him with deadly precision.
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Did you get as far as that? Yes, just beyond.
It's a bit thick, don't you know? This chappy Quail
has been trapped in a lonely house thinking he was
going to see a pal in distress, and instead of
the pal, there pop out a whole squad of masked
blighters with guns. I don't see how he's going to
get out of it myself, but I'll bet he does.
He's a corker. If anybody could have pitied Aileen more
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than she pitied herself as she waded through the adventures
of mister Quayle, it would have been Ashmarson. He had
writhed as he wrote the words, and she writhed as
she read them. The Honorable Freddy also rised, but with
tense excitement. What's the matter? Don't stop? He cried, as
Aileen's voice ceased. I'm getting a horse, Freddy. Freddy hesitated
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the desire to remain on the trail with Gridley, struggled
with rudimentary politeness. How would it be? Would you mind
if I just took a look at the rest of
it myself? We could talk afterwards, you know, I shan't
be long. Of course, do read it if you want to.
But do you really liked this sort of thing? Freddie?
Me rather, why don't you? I don't know, it seems
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a little I don't know. Freddy had become absorbed in
his story. Aileen did not attempt further analysis for her
attitude towards mister Quayle. She relapsed into silence. It was
a silence pregnant with thought. For the first time in
their relations she was trying to visualize to herself exactly
what marriage with this young man would mean hitherto It
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struck her she had really seen so little of Freddy
that she had scarcely had a chance of examining him
in the crowded world outside. He had always seemed a
tolerable enough person. Today somehow he was different. Everything was
different to day. This she took it was a fair
sample of what she might expect after marriage. Marriage meant
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to come to essentials that two people were very often
and for lengthy periods alone together, dependent on each other
for mutual entertainment. What exactly would it be like being
alone often and for lengthy periods with Freddy? Well, it would,
she assumed, be like this. It's all right, said Freddy,
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without looking up. He did get out. He had a
bomb on him, and he threatened to drop it and
blow the place to pieces unless the Blighters let him go.
So they cheased it. I knew he had something up
his sleeve like this. Eileen drew a deep breath. It
would be like this forever and ever and ever until
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she died. She bent forward and stared at him, Freddy.
She said, do you love me? There was no reply, Freddie,
do you love me? Am? I a part of you?
If you hadn't me, would it be like trying to
go on living without breathing? The Honorable Freddy raised a
flushed face and gazed at her with an absent eye.
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Eh what he said? Do I? Oh? Yes? Rather, I say.
One of the Blighters has just loosed a rattlesnake into
Gridley Quail's bedroom. Through the transom. Aileen rose from her
seat and left the room softly. The Honorable Freddy read
on unheeding. Ashmarson had not fallen far short of the
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truth in his estimate of the probable effect on mister
Peters of the information that his precious scaub had once
more been removed by alien hands and was now farther
from his grasp than ever. A drawback to success in
life is that failure, when it does come, acquires an
exaggerated importance. Success had made mister Peters, in certain aspects
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of his character, a spoiled child. At the moment when,
ashe broke the news he would have parted with half
his fortune to recover the scarab, its recovery had become
a point of honor. He saw it as the prize
of a contest between his will and that of whatever
malignant powers there might be ranged against him in the
effort to show him that there were limits to what
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could achieve. He felt as he had felt in the
old days when people sneaked up on him in Wall
Street and tried to loosen his grip on a railroad
or a pet stock. He was suffering from that form
of paranoia which makes men multi millionaires. Nobody would be
foolish enough to become a multi millionaire if it were
not for the desire to prove himself irresistible. Mister Peters
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obtained a small relief for his feelings by doubling the
existing reward, and Ash went off in search of Joan,
hoping that this new stimulus acting on their joint brains
might develop inspiration. Have any fresh ideas been vouchsafed to you,
he asked. You may look on me as baffled. Joan
shook her head. Don't give up, she urged, think again,
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try to realize what this means, mister Marson, between us,
we have lost ten thousand dollars in a single night.
I can't afford it. It is like losing a legacy.
I absolutely refused to give in without an effort and
go back to writing Duke and Earl's stories for Home Gossip.
The prospect of tackling Gridley Quail again, why I was
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forgetting that you were a writer of detective stories. You
ought to be able to solve this mystery. In a moment,
ask yourself, what would Gridley Quayle have done? I can
answer that Gridley Quail would have waited helplessly for some
coincidence to happen to help him out, had he no methods.
He was full of methods, but they never let him
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anywhere without the coincidence. However, we might try to figure
it out. What time did you get to the museum
one o'clock and you found the scaub gone? What does
that suggest to you? Nothing? What does it suggest to you?
Absolutely nothing? Let us try again. Whoever took the scareb
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must have had special information that Peters was offering the reward.
Then why hasn't he been to mister Peters and claimed it? True?
That would seem to be a flaw in the reasoning.
Once again, whoever took it must have been an urgent
and immediate need of money. And how are we to
find out who was in urgent and immediate need of
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money exactly? How indeed there was a pause? I should
think your mister Quail must have been a great comfort
to his clients, wasn't he said Joan inductive reasoning, I admit,
seems to have fallen down to a certain extent, said ashe.
We must wait for the coincidence. I have a feeling
that it will come. He paused, I am very fortunate
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in the way of coincidences? Are you? Ash looked about him,
and was relieved to find that they appeared to be
out of earshot of their species. It was not easy
to achieve this position at the castle if you happen
to be there as a domestic servant. The space provided
for the ladies and gentlemen attached to the guests was limited,
and it was rarely that you could enjoy a stroll
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without bumping into a maid, a valet, or a footman.
But now they appeared to be alone. The drive eading
to the back regions of the castle was empty. As
far as the eye could reach. There were no signs
of servants upper or lower. Nevertheless, ashe lowered his voice,
was it not a strange coincidence? He said that you
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should have come into my life at all? Not very,
said Joan, prosaically, it was quite likely that we should
meet sooner or later, as we lived on different floors
of the same house. It was a coincidence that you
should have taken that room. Why, ashe felt damped, Logically,
no doubt she was right, But surely she might have
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helped him out a little in this difficult situation. Surely
her woman's intuition should have told her that a man
who has been speaking in a loud and cheerful voice
does not lower it to a husky whisper without some reason.
The hopelessness of his task began to weigh on him.
Ever since that evening at market Landing's station, when he
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realized that he loved her. He had been trying to
find an opportunity to tell her so, And every time
they had met, the talk had seemed to be drawn
irresistibly into practical and unsentimental channels. And now, when he
was doing his best to reason it out that there
were twin souls who had been brought together by a
destiny it would be foolish to struggle against when he
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was trying to convey the impression that fate had designed
them for each other, she said, why it was hard.
He was about to go deeper into the matter, when
from the direction of the castle he perceived the Honorable
Freddy's valet, mister Judson, approaching that it was this repellent
young man's object to break in on them and rob
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him of his one small chance of inducing Joan to
appreciate as he did the mysterious workings of providence as
they affected herself and him was obvious. There was no
mistaking the valet's desire for conversation. He had the air
of one brimming over with speech. His wonted indolence was
cast aside, and as he drew nearer he positively ran.
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He was talking before he reached them, Miss Simpson, mister Marson,
It's true what I said that night. It's a fact.
Ashe regarded the intruder with a malevolent eye, Never fond
of mister Judson, he looked on him now with positive loathing.
It had not been easy for him to work himself
up to the point where he could discuss with Joan
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the mysterious ways of providence, For there was that about
her which made it hard to achieve sentiment, that indefinable.
Something in Joan Valentine which made for nocturnal raids on
other people's museums, also rendered her a somewhat difficult person
to talk to about twin souls and destiny. The qualities
that ashe loved in her, her strength, her capability, her valiant,
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self sufficingness, were the very qualities which seemed to check
him when he tried to tell her that he loved them.
Mister Judson was still babbling. It's true, there ain't a
doubt of it now. Oh it's been and happened, just
as I said that night. What did you say which night?
Inquired ash? That night at dinner, the first night you
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two came here. Don't you remember me talking about Freddy
and the girl he used to write letters to in London?
The girl, I said, was so like you, miss Simpson.
What was her name again, Joan Valentine? That was it?
The girl at the theater that Freddie used to send
me with letters to pretty nearly every evening. Well, she's
been undone it, same as I told you all that night.
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She was jolly likely to go and do. She's sticking
young Freddie up for his letters, just as he ought
to have known she would do if he hadn't been
a young fat head. They're all alike, these girls, every
one of them. Mister Judson paused, subjected the surrounding scenery
to a cautious scrutiny, and resumed. I took a suit
of Freddy's clothes away to brush. Just now and happening,
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mister Judson paused, and gave a little cough, happening to
glance at the contents of his pockets. I come across
a letter. I took a sort of look at it
before setting it aside, and it was from a fellow
named Jones, and it said that this girl Valentine was
sticking on to young Freddy's letters what he'd written her,
and would see him blot if she parted with them
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under another thousand. And as I made it out, Freddie
had already given her five hundred where he got it
is more than I can understand, but that's what the
letter said. This fellow Jones said he had passed it
to her with his own hands, but she wasn't satisfied,
and if she didn't get the other thousand, she was
going to bring an action for breach. And now Freddy
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has given me a note to take to this Jones,
who was stopping in market Landings. Joan had listened to
this remarkable speech with his stunned amazement. At this point
she made her first comment, but that can't be true.
Saw the letter with my own eyes, Miss Simpson, but
she looked at ash helplessly. Their eyes met hers wide
(27:00):
with perplexity, his bright with the light of comprehension. It shows,
said ashe slowly, that he was in immediate and urgent
need of money. You bet it does, said mister Judson
with relish. It looks to me as though young Freddie
had about reached the end of his tether this time.
My word, there won't half be a kickup if she
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does sue him for breach. I'm off to tell mister
Beech and the rest. They'll jump out of their skins.
His face fell. Oh lord, I was forgetting this note.
He told me to take it at once. I'll take
it for you, said Ash, I'm not doing anything. Mister
Judson's gratitude was effusive. You're a good fellow, Marson, he said,
(27:42):
I'll do as much for you. Another time. I couldn't
hardly bear not to tell a bit of news like
this right away. I should burst or something, and mister
Judson's shining face hurried off to the housekeeper's room. I
simply can't understand it, said Jane at length. My head
is going round. Can't understand it. Why. It's perfectly clear
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this is the coincidence for which, in my capacity of
Gridley Quail, I was waiting. I can now resume inductive reasoning,
weighing the evidence. What do we find that young sweep
Freddy is the man? He has the scarab? But it's
all such a muddle. I'm not holding his letters for
Jane's purposes. You are. Let's get this Jon's element in
(28:25):
the affair straightened out. What do you know of him?
He was an enormously fat man who came to see
me one night and said he had been sent to
get back some letters. I told him I had destroyed
them ages ago, and he went away. Well, that part
of it is clear. Then he is working a simple
but ingenious game on Freddy. It wouldn't succeed with everybody,
(28:47):
I suppose, But from what I have seen and heard
of him, Freddy isn't strong on intellect. He seems to
have accepted the story without a murmur. What does he do?
He has to raise a thousand pounds immediately, and the
ray of the first five hundred has exhausted his credit.
He gets the idea of stealing the scareb But why
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why should he have thought of the scab at all?
That is what I can't understand. He couldn't have meant
to give it to mister Peters and claim the reward.
He couldn't have known that mister Peters was offering a reward.
He couldn't have known that Lord Emsworth had not got
the scab quite properly. He couldn't have known. He couldn't
have known anything. Ash's enthusiasm was a trifle damped. There's
(29:30):
something in that, but I have it. Jones must have
known about the scarab and told him. But how could
he have known? Yes, there's something in that too. How
could Jones have known? He couldn't he had gone by
the time Aileen came that night. I don't quite understand
which night it was, the night of the day I
(29:52):
first met you. I was wondering for a moment whether
he could, by any chance have overheard Aileen telling me
about the scarab and the reward mister Peters was offering
for it. Overheard that word is like a bugle blast
to me. Nine out of ten of Gridley Quail's triumphs
were due to his having overheard something. I think we
are now on the right track. I don't how could
(30:15):
he have overheard us? The door was closed, and he
was in the street by that time. How do you
know he was in the street. Did you see him out? No,
but he went. He might have waited on the stairs.
You remember how dark they are at number seven and
listened why? Ash reflected, why? Why? What a beast of
(30:38):
a word? That is the detective's bugbear. I thought I
had it until you said, grat Scott. I'll tell you why.
I see it all. I have him with the goods.
His object in coming to see you about the letters
was because Freddy wanted them back, owing to his approaching
marriage with Miss Peters. Wasn't it? Yes, you tell him
(30:59):
you have destroyed the letter. He goes off, Am I right? Yes.
Before he is out of the house, miss Peters is
giving her name at the front door. Put yourself in
Jones's place? What does he think? He is suspicious? He
thinks there is some game on. He skips upstairs again,
waits until miss Peters has gone into your room, then
(31:19):
stands outside and listens. How about that? I do believe
you are right. He might quite easily have done that.
He did do exactly that. I know it as though
I had been there. In fact, it is highly probable
I was there. You say all this happened on the
night we first met. I remember coming downstairs that night
(31:39):
I was going out to a vaudeville show and hearing
voices in your room. I remember it distinctly. In all probability,
I nearly ran into Jones. It does all seem to
fit in, doesn't it. It's a clear case. There isn't
a flaw in it. The only question is can I,
on the evidence, go to young Freddy and choked the
(32:00):
scare about of him on the whole? I think I
had better take this note to Jones, as I promised Judson,
and see whether I can't work something through him. Yes,
that's the best plan I'll be starting at once. Perhaps
the greatest hardship in being an invalid is the fact
that people come and see you and keep your spirits up.
(32:20):
The Honorable Freddie Threepwood suffered extremely from this. His was
not a gregarious nature, and it fatigued his limited brain
powers to have to find conversation for his numerous visitors.
All he wanted was to be left alone to read
the Adventures of Gridley Quail, and when tired of doing that,
to lie on his back and look at the ceiling
and think of nothing. It is your dynamic person, your
(32:45):
energetic world's worker who chafed at being laid up with
a sprained ankle. The Honorable Freddie enjoyed it. From boyhood up.
He had loved lying in bed, and now that fate
had allowed him to do this without incurring rebuke, he
objected to having his reverie broken up by officious relations.
He spent his rare intervals of solitude in trying to
(33:06):
decide in his mind which of his cousins, uncles and
aunts was, all things considered the greatest nuisance. Sometimes he
would give the palm to Colonel Horace Mant, who struck
the soldierly note I recollect in a hill campaign in
the winter of the year ninety three, giving my ankle
the deuce of a twist anon. The more spiritual attitude
(33:29):
of the Bishop of Godalming seemed to annoy him more keenly.
Sometimes he would head the list with the name of
his cousin, Percy, Lord Stockheath, who refused to talk of
anything except his late breach of promise case and the
effect of verdict had had on his old governor. Freddie
was in no mood just now to be sympathetic with
others on their breach of promise cases. As he lay
(33:50):
in bed reading on Monday morning. The only flaw in
his enjoyment of this unaccustomed solitude was the thought that
presently the door was bound to open and some kind
inquirer insinuate himself into the room. His apprehensions proved well founded.
Scarcely had he got well into the details of an
ingenious plot on the part of a secret society to
(34:13):
eliminate Gridley Quail by bribing his cook a bad Lot
to sprinkle chopped up horsehair in his chicken frickacy. When
the doorknob turned and Ash Marson came in end of
Chapter eleven, Part one,
Chapter eleven, Part one 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 eleven, Part one,
(00:25):
Blandings Castle dozed in the calm of an English Sunday afternoon,
all was peace. Freddie was in bed, with orders from
the doctor to stay there until further notice. Baxter had
washed his face, Lord Emsworth had returned to his garden fork.
The rest of the house party strolled about the grounds
or sad in them, for the day was one of
(00:46):
those late spring days that are warm with a premature
suggestion of midsummer. Aleen Peters was sitting at the open
window of her bedroom, which commanded an extensive view of
the terraces. A pile of letter lay on the table
beside her, for she had just finished reading her mail.
The postman came late to the castle on Sundays, and
(01:07):
she had not been able to do this until luncheon
was over. Aileen was puzzled. She was conscious of a
fit of depression for which she could in no way account.
She had a feeling that all was not well with
the world, which was the more remarkable, and that she
was usually keenly susceptible to weather conditions, and reveled in
sunshine like a kitten. Yet here was a day nearly
(01:30):
as fine as an American day, and she found no
solace in it. She looked down on the terrace. As
she looked, the figure of George Emerson appeared, walking swiftly,
and at the sight of him, something seemed to tell
her that she had found the key to her gloom.
There are many kinds of walk. George Emerson's was the
(01:51):
walk of mental unrest. His hands were clasped behind his back,
his eyes stared straight in front of him. From beneath
lowering brows, and between his teeth was an unlighted cigar.
No man who is not a professional politician holds an
unlighted cigar in his mouth unless he wishes to irritate
and baffle a ticket chopper in the subway, or because
(02:13):
unpleasant meditations have caused him to forget he has it
there plainly, then all was not well with George Emerson.
Aileen had suspected as much at luncheon, and looking back,
she realized that it was at luncheon, her depression had begun.
The discovery startled her a little. She had not been aware,
or she had refused to admit to herself that George's
(02:35):
troubles bulked so large on her horizon. She had always
told herself that she liked George, that George was a
dear old friend, that George amused and stimulated her. But
she would have denied she was so wrapped up in
George that the sight of him in trouble would be
enough to spoil for her the finest day she had
seen since she left America. There was something not only
(02:57):
startling but shocking in the thought. She was honest enough
with herself to recognize that Freddie, her official loved one,
might have paced the grounds of the castle, chewing an
unlighted cigar by the hour without stirring any emotion in
her at all. And she was to marry Freddy next month.
This was surely a matter that called for thought. She proceeded,
(03:19):
gazing down the while at the perambulating George to give
it thought. Aileen's was not a deep nature. She had
never pretended to herself that she loved the honorable Freddy
in the sense in which the word is used in books.
She liked him, and she liked the idea of being
connected with the peerage. Her father liked the idea, and
she liked her father, and the combination of these likings
(03:42):
had caused her to reply yes when last autumn Freddy,
swelling himself out like an embarrassed frog and gulping, had
uttered that memorable speech beginning I say, you know it's
like this, don't you know? And ending what I mean
is will you marry me? What she had looked forward
to being placidly happy as the Honorable Missus Frederick Threepwood
(04:06):
and then George Emerson had reappeared in her life a
disturbing element. Until today, she would have resented the suggestion
that she was in love with George. She liked to
be with him, partly because he was so easy to
talk to, and partly because it was exciting to be
continually resisting the will power he made no secret of
trying to exercise. But today there was a difference. She
(04:28):
had suspected it at luncheon, and she realized it now
as she looked down at him from behind the curtain
and marked his air of gloom. She could no longer
disguise it from herself. She felt maternal, horribly maternal. George
was in trouble, and she wanted to comfort him. Freddie
too was in trouble. But did she want to comfort Freddie. No.
(04:50):
On the contrary, she was already regretting her promise so
lightly given before luncheon to go and sit with him
that afternoon. A well marked feeling of annoyance that he
should have been so silly as to tumble downstairs and
sprain his ankle was her chief sentiment respecting Freddy. George
Emerson continued to perambulate, and Aileen continued to watch him.
(05:12):
At last, she could endure it no longer. She gathered
up her letters, stacked them in a corner of the
dressing table, and left the room. George had reached the
end of the terrace and turned when she began to
descend the stone steps outside the front door. He quickened
his pace as he caught sight of her. He halted
before her and surveyed her morosely. I have been looking
(05:34):
for you, he said, and here I am. Cheer up, George,
Whatever is the matter? I've been sitting in my room
looking at you, and you have been simply prowling what
has gone wrong? Everything? How do you mean? Everything? Exactly
what I say? I'm done for. Read this. Aileen took
the yellow slip of paper a cable, added, George, I
(05:57):
got it this morning, nailed on from my room in London.
Read it. I'm trying to. It doesn't seem to make sense.
George laughed grimly. It makes sense, all right. I don't
see how you can say that, Meredith elephant kangaroo office
cipher I was forgetting. Elephant means seriously ill and unable
(06:19):
to attend to duty. Meredith is one of the partners
in my firm in New York. Oh, I'm so sorry.
Do you think he is very sick? Are you very
fond of mister Meredith. Meredith is a good fellow, and
I like him. But if it was simply a matter
of his being ill, I'm afraid I could manage to
bear up under the news. Unfortunately, kangaroo means return without
(06:41):
fail by the next boat. You must return by the
next boat. Aileen looked at him in her eyes, a
slow growing comprehension of the situation. Oh, she said at length,
I put it stronger than that, said George. But the
next boat. That means on Wednesday, Wednesday morning, from Southampton,
(07:02):
I shall have to leave here tomorrow. Aileen's eyes were
fixed on the blue hills across the valley, but she
did not see them. There was a mist between. She
was feeling crushed and ill treated and lonely. It was
as though George was already gone, and she left alone
in an alien land. But George, she said, She could
(07:23):
find no other words for her protest against the inevitable.
It's bad luck, said Emerson quietly. But I shouldn't wonder
if it is not the best thing that really could
have happened. It finishes me cleanly, instead of letting me
drag on and make both of us miserable. If this
cable hadn't come, I suppose I should have gone on
bothering you up to the day of your wedding. I
(07:44):
should have fancied to the last moment that there was
a chance for me. But this ends me with one punch.
Even I haven't the nerve to imagine that I can
work a miracle in the few hours before the train
leaves tomorrow. I must just make the best of it
if we ever meet again. And I don't see why
we should you will be married. My particular brand of
(08:04):
mental suggestion doesn't work at long range. I shan't hope
to influence you by telepathy. He leaned on the balustrade
at her side and spoke in a low level voice.
This thing, he said, coming as a shock, coming out
of the blue sky without warning. Meredith is the last
man in the world you would expect to crack up.
(08:25):
He looked as fit as a dray horse the last
time I saw him. Somehow seems to have hammered a
certain amount of sense into me. O. It never struck
me before, But I suppose I have been about the
most pumptuous, conceited fool that ever happened. Why I should
have imagined that there was a sort of irresistible fascination
in me which was bound to make you break off
(08:45):
your engagement and upset the whole universe simply to win
the wonderful reward of marrying me is more than I
can understand. I suppose it takes a shock to make
a fellow see exactly what he really amounts to. I
couldn't think any more of you than I do, But
if I could, the way you have put up with
my mouthing and swaggering and posing as a sort of
superman would make me do it. You have been wonderful.
(09:09):
Aileen could not speak. She felt as though her whole
world had been turned upside down in the last quarter
of an hour. This was a new George Emerson, a
George at whom it was impossible to laugh, but an
insidiously attractive George. Her heart beat quickly. Her mind was
not clear, but dimly she realized that he had pulled
(09:30):
down her chief barrier of defense, and that she was
more open to attack than she had ever been. Obstinacy,
the automatic desire to resist the pressure of a will
that attempted to overcome her own, had kept her cool
and level headed. In the past. With masterfulness, she had
been able to cope. Humility was another thing altogether. Soft
(09:52):
Heartedness was Aileen's weakness. She had never clearly recognized it,
but it had been partly pity that had induced her
to except Freddie. He had seemed so downtrodden and sorry
for himself during those autumn days when they had first met.
Prudence warned her that strange things might happen if once
she allowed herself to pity George Emerson. The silence lengthened.
(10:15):
Aileen could find nothing to say in her present mood.
There was danger in speech. We have known each other
so long, said Emerson, and I have told you so
often that I love you. We have come to make
almost a joke of it, as though we were playing
some game. It just happens that that is our way
to laugh at things. But I am going to say
it once again, even though it has come to be
(10:37):
a sort of catch phrase, I love you. I'm reconciled
to the fact that I am done for out of
the running, and that you are going to marry somebody else.
But I am not going to stop loving you. It
isn't a question of whether I should be happier if
I forgot you. I can't do it. It's just an impossibility,
and that's all there is to it. Whatever I may
(10:57):
be to you, you are part of me, and you
always will be part of me. I might just as
well try to go on living without breathing as living
without loving you. He stopped and straightened himself. That's all.
I don't want to spoil a perfectly good spring afternoon
for you by pulling out the tragic stop I had
to say all that. But it's the last time. It
(11:18):
shan't occur again. There will be no tragedy when I
step into the train tomorrow. Is there any chance that
you might come and see me off? Aileen nodded, you will.
That will be splendid. Now I'll go and pack and
break it to my host that I must leave him.
I expect it will be news to him to learn
that I am here. I doubt if he knows me
(11:40):
by sight. Eileen stood where he had left her, leaning
on the balustrade. In the fullness of time, there came
to her the recollection. She had promised Freddy that shortly
after luncheon she would sit with him. The Honorable Freddy,
draped in purple pajamas and propped up with many pillows,
was lying in bed reading Gridley Quail. Investigator. Aileen's entrance
(12:04):
occurred at a peculiarly poignant moment in the story, and
gave him a feeling of having been brought violently to
Earth from a flight in the clouds. It is not
often an author has the good fortune to grip a reader,
as the author of Gridley Quail gripped Freddy. One of
the results of his absorbed mood was that he greeted
Aileen with a stare of an even glassier quality than usual.
(12:27):
His eyes were by nature a trifle prominent, and to Aileen,
in the overstrung condition in which her talk with George
Emerson had left her, they seemed to bulge at her
like a snail's. A man seldom looks his best in bed,
and to Aileen, seeing him for the first time at
this disadvantage, the honorable Freddy seemed quite repulsive. It was
(12:48):
with a feeling of positive panic that she wondered whether
he would want her to kiss him. Freddie made no
such demand. He was not one of your demonstrative lovers.
He contented himself with rolling over in bed and dropping
his lower jaw, Hello, Eileen. Aileen sat down on the
edge of the bed. Well. Freddie, her betrothed, improved his
(13:10):
appearance a little by hitching up his jaw, as though
feeling that would be too extreme a measure. He did
not close his mouth altogether, but he diminished the abyss.
The honorable Freddie belonged to the class of persons who
moved through life with their mouths always restfully open. It
seemed to Aileen that on this particular afternoon, a strange
(13:32):
dumbness had descended on her. She had been unable to
speak to George, and now she could not think of
anything to say to Freddie. She looked at him, and
he looked at her, and the clock on the mantelpiece
went on ticking. It was that vally cat of Aunt Anne's,
said Freddie, at length, a saying light conversation. It came
legging it up the stairs and I took the most
(13:52):
frightful toss. I hate cats? Do you hate cats? I
knew a fellow in London who couldn't stand cats. Aileen
began to wonder whether there was not something permanently wrong
with her organs of speech. It should have been a
simple matter to develop the cat theme, but she found
herself unable to do so. Her mind was concentrated to
(14:13):
the exclusion of all else, on the repellent nature of
the spectacle provided by her loved one In pajamas. Freddie
resumed the conversation. I was just reading a corking book.
Have you ever read these things? They come out every
month and they're corking. The fellow who writes them must
be a corker. It beats me how he thinks of
(14:34):
these things. They are about a detective, a chap called
Gridly Quail, frightfully exciting an obvious remedy for dumbness, struck Aileen.
Shall I read to you, Freddie? Right, ho, good scheme.
I've got to the top of this page. Aileen took
the paper covered book. Seven guns covered him with deadly precision.
(14:57):
Did you get as far as that? Yes, just beyond.
It's a bit thick, don't you know? This chappy Quail
has been trapped in a lonely house thinking he was
going to see a pal in distress, and instead of
the pal, there pop out a whole squad of masked
blighters with guns. I don't see how he's going to
get out of it myself, but I'll bet he does.
He's a corker. If anybody could have pitied Aileen more
(15:20):
than she pitied herself as she waded through the adventures
of mister Quayle, it would have been Ashmarson. He had
writhed as he wrote the words, and she writhed as
she read them. The Honorable Freddy also rised, but with
tense excitement. What's the matter? Don't stop? He cried, as
Aileen's voice ceased. I'm getting a horse, Freddy. Freddy hesitated
(15:43):
the desire to remain on the trail with Gridley, struggled
with rudimentary politeness. How would it be? Would you mind
if I just took a look at the rest of
it myself? We could talk afterwards, you know, I shan't
be long. Of course, do read it if you want to.
But do you really liked this sort of thing? Freddie?
Me rather, why don't you? I don't know, it seems
(16:06):
a little I don't know. Freddy had become absorbed in
his story. Aileen did not attempt further analysis for her
attitude towards mister Quayle. She relapsed into silence. It was
a silence pregnant with thought. For the first time in
their relations she was trying to visualize to herself exactly
what marriage with this young man would mean hitherto It
(16:30):
struck her she had really seen so little of Freddy
that she had scarcely had a chance of examining him
in the crowded world outside. He had always seemed a
tolerable enough person. Today somehow he was different. Everything was
different to day. This she took it was a fair
sample of what she might expect after marriage. Marriage meant
(16:51):
to come to essentials that two people were very often
and for lengthy periods alone together, dependent on each other
for mutual entertainment. What exactly would it be like being
alone often and for lengthy periods with Freddy? Well, it would,
she assumed, be like this. It's all right, said Freddy,
(17:11):
without looking up. He did get out. He had a
bomb on him, and he threatened to drop it and
blow the place to pieces unless the Blighters let him go.
So they cheased it. I knew he had something up
his sleeve like this. Eileen drew a deep breath. It
would be like this forever and ever and ever until
(17:31):
she died. She bent forward and stared at him, Freddy.
She said, do you love me? There was no reply, Freddie,
do you love me? Am? I a part of you?
If you hadn't me, would it be like trying to
go on living without breathing? The Honorable Freddy raised a
flushed face and gazed at her with an absent eye.
(17:55):
Eh what he said? Do I? Oh? Yes? Rather, I say.
One of the Blighters has just loosed a rattlesnake into
Gridley Quail's bedroom. Through the transom. Aileen rose from her
seat and left the room softly. The Honorable Freddy read
on unheeding. Ashmarson had not fallen far short of the
(18:16):
truth in his estimate of the probable effect on mister
Peters of the information that his precious scaub had once
more been removed by alien hands and was now farther
from his grasp than ever. A drawback to success in
life is that failure, when it does come, acquires an
exaggerated importance. Success had made mister Peters, in certain aspects
(18:38):
of his character, a spoiled child. At the moment when,
ashe broke the news he would have parted with half
his fortune to recover the scarab, its recovery had become
a point of honor. He saw it as the prize
of a contest between his will and that of whatever
malignant powers there might be ranged against him in the
effort to show him that there were limits to what
(19:00):
could achieve. He felt as he had felt in the
old days when people sneaked up on him in Wall
Street and tried to loosen his grip on a railroad
or a pet stock. He was suffering from that form
of paranoia which makes men multi millionaires. Nobody would be
foolish enough to become a multi millionaire if it were
not for the desire to prove himself irresistible. Mister Peters
(19:22):
obtained a small relief for his feelings by doubling the
existing reward, and Ash went off in search of Joan,
hoping that this new stimulus acting on their joint brains
might develop inspiration. Have any fresh ideas been vouchsafed to you,
he asked. You may look on me as baffled. Joan
shook her head. Don't give up, she urged, think again,
(19:46):
try to realize what this means, mister Marson, between us,
we have lost ten thousand dollars in a single night.
I can't afford it. It is like losing a legacy.
I absolutely refused to give in without an effort and
go back to writing Duke and Earl's stories for Home Gossip.
The prospect of tackling Gridley Quail again, why I was
(20:07):
forgetting that you were a writer of detective stories. You
ought to be able to solve this mystery. In a moment,
ask yourself, what would Gridley Quayle have done? I can
answer that Gridley Quail would have waited helplessly for some
coincidence to happen to help him out, had he no methods.
He was full of methods, but they never let him
(20:27):
anywhere without the coincidence. However, we might try to figure
it out. What time did you get to the museum
one o'clock and you found the scaub gone? What does
that suggest to you? Nothing? What does it suggest to you?
Absolutely nothing? Let us try again. Whoever took the scareb
(20:47):
must have had special information that Peters was offering the reward.
Then why hasn't he been to mister Peters and claimed it? True?
That would seem to be a flaw in the reasoning.
Once again, whoever took it must have been an urgent
and immediate need of money. And how are we to
find out who was in urgent and immediate need of
(21:08):
money exactly? How indeed there was a pause? I should
think your mister Quail must have been a great comfort
to his clients, wasn't he said Joan inductive reasoning, I admit,
seems to have fallen down to a certain extent, said ashe.
We must wait for the coincidence. I have a feeling
that it will come. He paused, I am very fortunate
(21:31):
in the way of coincidences? Are you? Ash looked about him,
and was relieved to find that they appeared to be
out of earshot of their species. It was not easy
to achieve this position at the castle if you happen
to be there as a domestic servant. The space provided
for the ladies and gentlemen attached to the guests was limited,
and it was rarely that you could enjoy a stroll
(21:53):
without bumping into a maid, a valet, or a footman.
But now they appeared to be alone. The drive eading
to the back regions of the castle was empty. As
far as the eye could reach. There were no signs
of servants upper or lower. Nevertheless, ashe lowered his voice,
was it not a strange coincidence? He said that you
(22:13):
should have come into my life at all? Not very,
said Joan, prosaically, it was quite likely that we should
meet sooner or later, as we lived on different floors
of the same house. It was a coincidence that you
should have taken that room. Why, ashe felt damped, Logically,
no doubt she was right, But surely she might have
(22:35):
helped him out a little in this difficult situation. Surely
her woman's intuition should have told her that a man
who has been speaking in a loud and cheerful voice
does not lower it to a husky whisper without some reason.
The hopelessness of his task began to weigh on him.
Ever since that evening at market Landing's station, when he
(22:55):
realized that he loved her. He had been trying to
find an opportunity to tell her so, And every time
they had met, the talk had seemed to be drawn
irresistibly into practical and unsentimental channels. And now, when he
was doing his best to reason it out that there
were twin souls who had been brought together by a
destiny it would be foolish to struggle against when he
(23:17):
was trying to convey the impression that fate had designed
them for each other, she said, why it was hard.
He was about to go deeper into the matter, when
from the direction of the castle he perceived the Honorable
Freddy's valet, mister Judson, approaching that it was this repellent
young man's object to break in on them and rob
(23:40):
him of his one small chance of inducing Joan to
appreciate as he did the mysterious workings of providence as
they affected herself and him was obvious. There was no
mistaking the valet's desire for conversation. He had the air
of one brimming over with speech. His wonted indolence was
cast aside, and as he drew nearer he positively ran.
(24:03):
He was talking before he reached them, Miss Simpson, mister Marson,
It's true what I said that night. It's a fact.
Ashe regarded the intruder with a malevolent eye, Never fond
of mister Judson, he looked on him now with positive loathing.
It had not been easy for him to work himself
up to the point where he could discuss with Joan
(24:24):
the mysterious ways of providence, For there was that about
her which made it hard to achieve sentiment, that indefinable.
Something in Joan Valentine which made for nocturnal raids on
other people's museums, also rendered her a somewhat difficult person
to talk to about twin souls and destiny. The qualities
that ashe loved in her, her strength, her capability, her valiant,
(24:48):
self sufficingness, were the very qualities which seemed to check
him when he tried to tell her that he loved them.
Mister Judson was still babbling. It's true, there ain't a
doubt of it now. Oh it's been and happened, just
as I said that night. What did you say which night?
Inquired ash? That night at dinner, the first night you
(25:10):
two came here. Don't you remember me talking about Freddy
and the girl he used to write letters to in London?
The girl, I said, was so like you, miss Simpson.
What was her name again, Joan Valentine? That was it?
The girl at the theater that Freddie used to send
me with letters to pretty nearly every evening. Well, she's
been undone it, same as I told you all that night.
(25:31):
She was jolly likely to go and do. She's sticking
young Freddie up for his letters, just as he ought
to have known she would do if he hadn't been
a young fat head. They're all alike, these girls, every
one of them. Mister Judson paused, subjected the surrounding scenery
to a cautious scrutiny, and resumed. I took a suit
of Freddy's clothes away to brush. Just now and happening,
(25:55):
mister Judson paused, and gave a little cough, happening to
glance at the contents of his pockets. I come across
a letter. I took a sort of look at it
before setting it aside, and it was from a fellow
named Jones, and it said that this girl Valentine was
sticking on to young Freddy's letters what he'd written her,
and would see him blot if she parted with them
(26:16):
under another thousand. And as I made it out, Freddie
had already given her five hundred where he got it
is more than I can understand, but that's what the
letter said. This fellow Jones said he had passed it
to her with his own hands, but she wasn't satisfied,
and if she didn't get the other thousand, she was
going to bring an action for breach. And now Freddy
(26:37):
has given me a note to take to this Jones,
who was stopping in market Landings. Joan had listened to
this remarkable speech with his stunned amazement. At this point
she made her first comment, but that can't be true.
Saw the letter with my own eyes, Miss Simpson, but
she looked at ash helplessly. Their eyes met hers wide
(27:00):
with perplexity, his bright with the light of comprehension. It shows,
said ashe slowly, that he was in immediate and urgent
need of money. You bet it does, said mister Judson
with relish. It looks to me as though young Freddie
had about reached the end of his tether this time.
My word, there won't half be a kickup if she
(27:21):
does sue him for breach. I'm off to tell mister
Beech and the rest. They'll jump out of their skins.
His face fell. Oh lord, I was forgetting this note.
He told me to take it at once. I'll take
it for you, said Ash, I'm not doing anything. Mister
Judson's gratitude was effusive. You're a good fellow, Marson, he said,
(27:42):
I'll do as much for you. Another time. I couldn't
hardly bear not to tell a bit of news like
this right away. I should burst or something, and mister
Judson's shining face hurried off to the housekeeper's room. I
simply can't understand it, said Jane at length. My head
is going round. Can't understand it. Why. It's perfectly clear
(28:03):
this is the coincidence for which, in my capacity of
Gridley Quail, I was waiting. I can now resume inductive reasoning,
weighing the evidence. What do we find that young sweep
Freddy is the man? He has the scarab? But it's
all such a muddle. I'm not holding his letters for
Jane's purposes. You are. Let's get this Jon's element in
(28:25):
the affair straightened out. What do you know of him?
He was an enormously fat man who came to see
me one night and said he had been sent to
get back some letters. I told him I had destroyed
them ages ago, and he went away. Well, that part
of it is clear. Then he is working a simple
but ingenious game on Freddy. It wouldn't succeed with everybody,
(28:47):
I suppose, But from what I have seen and heard
of him, Freddy isn't strong on intellect. He seems to
have accepted the story without a murmur. What does he do?
He has to raise a thousand pounds immediately, and the
ray of the first five hundred has exhausted his credit.
He gets the idea of stealing the scareb But why
(29:07):
why should he have thought of the scab at all?
That is what I can't understand. He couldn't have meant
to give it to mister Peters and claim the reward.
He couldn't have known that mister Peters was offering a reward.
He couldn't have known that Lord Emsworth had not got
the scab quite properly. He couldn't have known. He couldn't
have known anything. Ash's enthusiasm was a trifle damped. There's
(29:30):
something in that, but I have it. Jones must have
known about the scarab and told him. But how could
he have known? Yes, there's something in that too. How
could Jones have known? He couldn't he had gone by
the time Aileen came that night. I don't quite understand
which night it was, the night of the day I
(29:52):
first met you. I was wondering for a moment whether
he could, by any chance have overheard Aileen telling me
about the scarab and the reward mister Peters was offering
for it. Overheard that word is like a bugle blast
to me. Nine out of ten of Gridley Quail's triumphs
were due to his having overheard something. I think we
are now on the right track. I don't how could
(30:15):
he have overheard us? The door was closed, and he
was in the street by that time. How do you
know he was in the street. Did you see him out? No,
but he went. He might have waited on the stairs.
You remember how dark they are at number seven and
listened why? Ash reflected, why? Why? What a beast of
(30:38):
a word? That is the detective's bugbear. I thought I
had it until you said, grat Scott. I'll tell you why.
I see it all. I have him with the goods.
His object in coming to see you about the letters
was because Freddy wanted them back, owing to his approaching
marriage with Miss Peters. Wasn't it? Yes, you tell him
(30:59):
you have destroyed the letter. He goes off, Am I right? Yes.
Before he is out of the house, miss Peters is
giving her name at the front door. Put yourself in
Jones's place? What does he think? He is suspicious? He
thinks there is some game on. He skips upstairs again,
waits until miss Peters has gone into your room, then
(31:19):
stands outside and listens. How about that? I do believe
you are right. He might quite easily have done that.
He did do exactly that. I know it as though
I had been there. In fact, it is highly probable
I was there. You say all this happened on the
night we first met. I remember coming downstairs that night
(31:39):
I was going out to a vaudeville show and hearing
voices in your room. I remember it distinctly. In all probability,
I nearly ran into Jones. It does all seem to
fit in, doesn't it. It's a clear case. There isn't
a flaw in it. The only question is can I,
on the evidence, go to young Freddy and choked the
(32:00):
scare about of him on the whole? I think I
had better take this note to Jones, as I promised Judson,
and see whether I can't work something through him. Yes,
that's the best plan I'll be starting at once. Perhaps
the greatest hardship in being an invalid is the fact
that people come and see you and keep your spirits up.
(32:20):
The Honorable Freddie Threepwood suffered extremely from this. His was
not a gregarious nature, and it fatigued his limited brain
powers to have to find conversation for his numerous visitors.
All he wanted was to be left alone to read
the Adventures of Gridley Quail, and when tired of doing that,
to lie on his back and look at the ceiling
and think of nothing. It is your dynamic person, your
(32:45):
energetic world's worker who chafed at being laid up with
a sprained ankle. The Honorable Freddie enjoyed it. From boyhood up.
He had loved lying in bed, and now that fate
had allowed him to do this without incurring rebuke, he
objected to having his reverie broken up by officious relations.
He spent his rare intervals of solitude in trying to
(33:06):
decide in his mind which of his cousins, uncles and
aunts was, all things considered the greatest nuisance. Sometimes he
would give the palm to Colonel Horace Mant, who struck
the soldierly note I recollect in a hill campaign in
the winter of the year ninety three, giving my ankle
the deuce of a twist anon. The more spiritual attitude
(33:29):
of the Bishop of Godalming seemed to annoy him more keenly.
Sometimes he would head the list with the name of
his cousin, Percy, Lord Stockheath, who refused to talk of
anything except his late breach of promise case and the
effect of verdict had had on his old governor. Freddie
was in no mood just now to be sympathetic with
others on their breach of promise cases. As he lay
(33:50):
in bed reading on Monday morning. The only flaw in
his enjoyment of this unaccustomed solitude was the thought that
presently the door was bound to open and some kind
inquirer insinuate himself into the room. His apprehensions proved well founded.
Scarcely had he got well into the details of an
ingenious plot on the part of a secret society to
(34:13):
eliminate Gridley Quail by bribing his cook a bad Lot
to sprinkle chopped up horsehair in his chicken frickacy. When
the doorknob turned and Ash Marson came in end of
Chapter eleven, Part one,
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