“Yes. The management of the building where I reside has offered me the choice between leaving immediately or ceasing to play the banjolele. I elected to leave. I am going to take a cottage in the country somewhere, and that’s what I meant when I said I wanted to talk to you. Can you let me have a cottage?”

“I can give you your choice of half a dozen.”

“It must be quiet and secluded. I shall be playing the banjolele a lot.”

“There is one. On the edge of the harbour and not a neighbour within a mile except Police Sergeant Voules^[39]. And he plays the harmonium. You could do duets.”

“Fine!”

“And there’s a troupe of negro minstrels down there this year. You could study their technique.”

“Chuffy, it sounds like heaven. And we shall be able to see each other sometimes.”

“By the way, what has Jeeves said about all this? I don’t think he wants to leave London.”

“Jeeves has nothing to say on that or any other subject. We have parted.”

“What!”

“Yes,” I said, “he told me that if I didn’t give up my banjolele he would resign. I accepted his proposal.”

“You’ve really let him go?”

“I have.”

“Well, well, well!”

“These things happen,” I said. “I’m not pretending I’m pleased, of course, but I can live without him. ‘Very good, Jeeves,’ I said to him. ‘So be it. I shall watch your future career with considerable interest.’ And that was that.”

We walked on for a bit in silence.

“So you’ve parted with Jeeves, have you?” said Chuffy. “Well, well, well! Any objection to my looking in and saying good-bye to him?”

“None whatsoever.”

“I’ve always admired his intellect.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll come after lunch.”

“As you wish,” I said.

* * *

I lunched at the Drones and spent the afternoon there. Then I went home. I had much to think of. We Woosters can be honest with ourselves. There never had been anyone like Jeeves.

Abruptly, I went into the sitting-room.

“Jeeves,” I said.” A word.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Jeeves,” I said, “about on our conversation this morning.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Jeeves,” I said, “I have been thinking things over. I have come to the conclusion that we have both been hasty. Let us forget the past. You may stay on.”

“It is very kind of you, sir, but… are you still proposing to continue the study of that instrument?”

“Yes, Jeeves, I am.”

“Then I fear, sir—”

It was enough. I nodded haughtily.

“Very good, Jeeves. That is all. I will, of course, give you an excellent recommendation.”

“Thank you, sir. It will not be necessary. This afternoon I entered the employment of Lord Chuffnell.”

I started.

“Did Chuffy come here this afternoon and steal you?”

“Yes, sir. I go with him to Chuffnell Regis in about a week’s time.”

“You do, do you? Well, it may interest you to know that I am going to Chuffnell Regis tomorrow.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Yes. I have taken a cottage there. We shall meet there, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

3
Meeting the Past

You know, the longer I live, the more I feel that the greatest thing in life is to be sure what you want and be yourself. When I had announced at the Drones, on my last day in the metropolis, that I was going to the country for an indeterminate period, practically everybody had begged me, with tears in their eyes, not to do such a foolish thing.

But I had acted according to my plan, and here I was, on the fifth morning of my visit, absolutely happy. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. And London seemed miles away—which it was, of course. I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that a great peace enveloped the soul.

As I stood there that morning, there was a nice little garden, containing a bush, a tree, a couple of flower beds^[40], a lily pond with a statue of a nude child, and to the right a hedge. Across this hedge, Brinkley^[41], my new servant, was chatting with our neighbour, Police Sergeant Voules.

There was another hedge straight ahead, with the garden gate in it, and over this the placid waters of the harbour. And of all the objects I noted the yacht. It was white in colour, and in size resembling a young liner.

And at this moment the summer stillness was broken by the horn, and I ran to the gate with all possible speed for fear some fiend in human shape was scratching my paint. I found a small boy in the front seat, and was about to give him a good lesson when I recognized Chuffy’s cousin, Seabury.

“Hallo,” he said.

“Hallo,” I replied.

He was a smallish, freckled kid with aeroplane ears. In my Rogues Gallery of repulsive small boys I suppose he would come about third—not quite so bad as my Aunt Agatha’s son, Young Thos., or Mr Blumenfeld’s Junior.

After staring at me for a moment, he spoke.

“You’re to come to lunch.”

“Is Chuffy back, then?”

“Yes.”

Well, of course, if Chuffy had returned, I was at his disposal. I shouted over the hedge to Brinkley that I would be absent from the midday meal and climbed into the car and we rolled off.

“When did he get back?”

“Last night.”

“Shall we be lunching alone?”

“No.”

“Who’s going to be there?”

“Mother and me and some people.”

“A party? I’d better go back and put on another suit.”

“No.”

“You think this one looks all right?”

“No, I don’t. I think it looks rotten. But there isn’t time.”

Then he gave me some local gossip.

“Mother and I are living at the Hall again.”

“What!”

“Yes. There’s a smell at the Dower House.”

“Even though you’ve left it?”

He was not amused.

“You needn’t try to be funny. If you really want to know, I think it’s my mice.”

“Your what?”

“I’ve started breeding mice and puppies. And, of course, they stink a bit. Can you give me five shillings?”

“Five shillings?”

“Five shillings.”

“What do you mean, five shillings?”

“I mean five shillings.”

“But why? We were discussing mice, and you said about five shillings.”

“I want five shillings.”

“Maybe. But why should I give it to you?”

“For protection.”

“What!”

“Protection.”

“What from?”

“Just protection.”

“You don’t get any five shillings out of me.”

“Oh, all right.”

He sat silent.

“Something happens to guys that don’t give me their protection money,” he said dreamily.

And on this note of mystery the conversation concluded, for we were moving up the drive of the Hall and on the steps I perceived Chuffy standing. I went out.

“Hallo, Bertie,” said Chuffy.

“Welcome to Chuffnell Hall,” I replied. I looked round. The kid had vanished. “I say, Chuffy,” I said, “young blighted Seabury. What about him?”

“What about him?”

“Well, if you ask me, he’s just been trying to get five shillings out of me and babbling about protection.”

Chuffy laughed heartily.

“Oh, that. That’s his latest idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been seeing gangster films.”

“He thinks he is a racketeer?”

“Yes. Rather amusing. He goes round collecting protection money from everybody. Makes a good profit. I’d pay up^[42] if I were you. As for me, I gave him some coins.”

I was shocked. Chuffy was exhibiting this attitude of tolerance! Strange. Usually, when you meet him, he is talking about his poor financial situation. I sensed a mystery.

“How is your Aunt Myrtle?”

“She’s fine.”

“Living at the Hall now, I hear.”

“Yes.”

It was enough.

One of the things, I must mention, which have always made poor old Chuffy’s life so hard is his aunt’s attitude towards him. Seabury, you see, was not the son of Chuffy’s late uncle, the fourth Baron: she got him in the course of a former marriage. Consequently, when the fourth Baron died, it was Chuffy who inherited the title and estates. And Chuffy’s aunt would clasp Seabury in her arms and look reproachfully at Chuffy as if he had robbed her and her child. She looked like a woman who had been the victim of a swindler.

So Lady Chuffnell was not one of Chuffy’s best friends. Their relations had always been definitely strained, and when you mention her name, a look of pain comes into Chuffy’s face and he winces a little.

Now he was actually smiling. Even that remark of mine about her living at the Hall had not jarred him. Obviously, there were mysteries here.

“Chuffy,” I said, “what does this mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“This cheeriness. You can’t deceive me. Not old Wooster. What is all the happiness about?”

He hesitated.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“No.”

“Well, it doesn’t much matter, because it’ll be in the Morning Post^[43] in a day or two. Bertie,” said Chuffy, in a hushed voice, “do you know what’s happened? Aunt Myrtle will leave me this season.”

“You mean somebody wants to marry her?”

“I do.”

“Who is this half-wit^[44]?”

“Your old friend, Sir Roderick Glossop.”

I was stupefied.

“What!”

“I was surprised, too.”

“But old Glossop can’t marry!”

“Why not? He’s been a widower more than two years.”

“Well, I’m dashed!”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s one thing, Chuffy, old man. This means that little Seabury will get a devilish stepfather and old Glossop is just the stepson I could have wished him!”

“You know, this Glossop is not very bad, Bertie.”

I could not accept this.

“But would you really say there was good in the old pest? Remember all the stories I’ve told you about him from time to time. They show him in a very dubious light.”

“Well, he’s doing me a bit of good, anyway. Do you know what it was he wanted to see me about so urgently that day in London?”

“What?”

“He’s found an American he thinks he can sell the Hall to.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If all goes well, I shall at last get rid of it and have a bit of money in my pocket. Thanks to Uncle Roderick, as I like to think of him. So Bertie, you must learn to love Uncle Roddie for my sake^[45].”

I shook my head.

“No, Chuffy, I fear I can’t.”

“Well, go to hell, then,” said Chuffy agreeably. “Personally, I regard him as a life-saver.”

“But are you sure this thing is going to be? What would this fellow do with the Hall?”

“Oh, it is simple enough. He’s a great pal of old Glossop’s and the idea is that he will let Glossop run the house as a sort of country club for his nerve patients.”

“Why doesn’t old Glossop simply rent it from you?”

“What sort of state do you suppose the place is in these days? Most of the rooms haven’t been used for forty years. I need at least fifteen thousand to put it in repair. Besides new furniture, fittings and so on.”

“Oh, he’s a millionaire, is he?”

“Yes. All I’m worrying about is getting his signature. Well, he’s coming to lunch today, and it’s going to be a good one too. He will like it.”

“Unless he’s got dyspepsia. Many American millionaires have. This man of yours may be one of those fellows who can’t get outside more than a glass of milk and a dog biscuit^[46].”

Chuffy laughed jovially.

“Not much. Not old Stoker.” He suddenly began to leap about like a lamb in the springtime. “Hallo-hallo-hallo!”

A car had drawn up at the steps. Passenger A was J. Washburn Stoker. Passenger B was his daughter, Pauline. Passenger C was his young son, Dwight^[47]. And Passenger D was Sir Roderick Glossop.