7
A Visitor for Bertie

The attitude of fellows towards finding girls in their bedroom after midnight varies. Some like it. Some don’t. I didn’t.

“What—What—What—?”

“It’s all right.”

“All right?”

“Quite all right.”

“Oh?” I said. I stooped to pick up the candle, and the next moment I had uttered a cry.

“Don’t make such a noise!”

“But there’s a corpse on the floor.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is, I tell you. I was looking about for the candle, and my fingers touched something cold and still and wet.”

“Oh, that’s my swimming suit.”

“Your swimming suit?”

“Well, do you think I came ashore by aeroplane?”

“You swam here from the yacht?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You know, Bertie, steps should be taken about you.”

“Eh?”

“You ought to be in some sort of a home.”

“I am,” I replied coldly and rather cleverly. “My own. But what are you doing in it?”

She did not answer.

“Why did you want to kiss me in front of father? I can quite understand now why Sir Roderick told father that you ought to be under restraint.”

“The incident to which you allude is readily explained. I thought he was Chuffy.”

“Thought who was Chuffy?”

“Your father.”

“I don’t see what you mean,” she replied coldly.

I explained.

“The idea was to let Chuffy observe you in my embrace. To force him act speedily.”

“That was very sweet of you.”

“We Woosters are sweet, exceedingly sweet, when a pal’s happiness is spoken about.”

“I can see now why I accepted you that night in New York,” she said meditatively. “If I wasn’t so crazy about Marmaduke, I could easily marry you, Bertie.”

“No, no,” I said, with some alarm. “Don’t dream of it. I mean to say—”

“Oh, it’s all right. I’m not going to. I’m going to marry Marmaduke; that’s why I’m here.”

“And now,” I said, “we’ve come right back to it. You say you swam ashore from the yacht? Why? You came here. Why?”

“Because I wanted somewhere to go till I could get clothes, of course. I can’t go to the Hall in a swimming suit.”

“Oh, you swam ashore to get to Chuffy?”

“Of course. Father was keeping me a prisoner on board the yacht, and this evening Jeeves arrived with an early letter from Marmaduke. Oh! I cried six pints when I read it. It was beautiful. It throbbed with poetry.”

“It did?”

“Yes.”

“This letter?”

“Yes.”

“Chuffy’s letter?”

“Yes. You seem surprised.”

I was a bit.

“I felt I couldn’t wait another day without seeing him,” she continued. “And, talking of Jeeves, what a man!”

“Oh, you confided in Jeeves?^[59]“

“Yes. And told him what I was going to do.”

“And he didn’t try to stop you?”

“Stop me? He was all for it.”

“He was, was he?”

“You should have seen him. Such a kind smile. He said you would be delighted to help me.”

“He did, eh?”

“He spoke most highly of you.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, he thinks a lot of you. I remember his very words. ‘Mr Wooster, miss,’ he said, ‘is, perhaps, mentally somewhat negligible^[60], but he has a heart of gold.’ He was lowering me from the side of the boat by a rope.”

I was chewing the lip in some chagrin.

“What the devil did he mean, ‘mentally negligible’?”

“Oh, you know. Loopy.”

“Tchah!”

“Eh?”

“I said ‘Tchah!’”

“Why?”

“Why? Well, wouldn’t you say ‘Tchah!’ if your late servant was telling people you were mentally negligible?”

“But with a heart of gold.”

“Never mind the heart of gold.”

“Bertie! Are you annoyed?”

“Annoyed!”

“You sound annoyed. And I can’t see why. I thought that you would help me get to the man I love. Having this heart of gold.”

“The point is not whether I have a heart of gold. Many people have hearts of gold and yet they will be upset at finding girls in their bedrooms at night. The girls who come in, in the middle of the night, and coolly take your pyjamas—”

“You didn’t expect me to sleep in a wet swimming suit?”

“—and leap into your bed—”

She uttered an exclamation.

“I know what this reminds me of. I’ve been trying to think ever since you came in. The story of the Three Bears. ‘There’s somebody in my bed…’ Wasn’t that what the Big Bear said?”

I frowned doubtfully.

“As I recollect it, it was something about porridge. ‘Who’s been eating my porridge?’”

“I’m sure there was a bed in it.”

“Bed? Bed? I can’t remember any bed. What will people say when they find you here?”

“But they won’t find me here.”

“You think so? Ha! What about Brinkley?”

“Who’s he?”

“My new man. At nine tomorrow morning he will bring me tea.”

“But wait a minute. You are talking about Brinkley, but there is no Brinkley.”

“There is Brinkley. One Brinkley. And one Brinkley coming into this room at nine o’clock tomorrow morning and finding you in that bed will start a scandal.”

“I mean, he can’t be in the house.”

“Of course he’s in the house.”

“Well, he must be deaf, then. I made big noise getting in.”

“Did you smash the window?”

“I had to, or I couldn’t have got in. It was the window of some sort of bedroom on the ground floor.”

“Why, dash it, that’s Brinkley’s bedroom.”

“Well, he wasn’t in it.”

“Why not?”

But what she would answer, I did not learn. Somebody was knocking on the front door.

8
Police Persecution

We looked at each other with a wild surmise.

“It’s father!” Pauline gargled, and she doused the candle.

“What did you do that for?” I said. The sudden darkness seemed to make things worse.

“So that he shouldn’t see a light in the window, of course. If he thinks you’re asleep he may go away.”

“What a hope!” I retorted, as the knocking started again.

“Well, I suppose you had better go down,” said the girl. “Or”—she seemed to brighten—“shall we pour water on him from the staircase window?”

I started.

“Don’t dream of it!” I whispered urgently.

I mean to say, dry J. Washburn Stoker was bad enough. But wet J. Washburn Stoker was even worse.

“I’ll have to see him,” I said.

“Well, be careful.”

“How do you mean, careful?”

“Oh, just careful. Still, of course, he may not have a gun.”

“Well, dash it,” I said, “I shall have to go down and talk to him. That door will be splitting asunder soon.”

“Don’t get close to him.”

“I won’t.”

“He was a great wrestler when he was a young man.”

“You needn’t tell me any more about your father.”

“Is there anywhere I can hide?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know why not,” I replied. “They don’t build these country cottages with secret rooms and underground passages. When you hear me open the front door, stop breathing.”

“Do you want me to suffocate?”

I did not reply and hurried down the stairs and flung open the front door. Well, when I say “flung”, I opened it a matter of six inches.

“Hallo?” I said. “Yes?”

“Oy!” said a voice. “What’s the matter with you, young man? Deaf or something?”

It wasn’t the voice of J. Washburn Stoker.

“Frightfully sorry,” I said. “I was thinking of this and that. Sort of reverie, if you know what I mean.”

The voice spoke again.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I thought you was the young man Brinkley.”

“Brinkley’s out,” I said, “Who are you?”

“Sergeant Voules, sir.”

I opened the door. It was pretty dark outside, but I could recognize the arm of the Law.

“Ah, Sergeant!” I said. “Anything I can do for you, Sergeant?”

My eyes were getting accustomed to the darkness by this time, and I was enabled to see another policeman. Tall and lean, this one.

“This is my young nephew, sir. Constable Dobson^[61].”

“Ah, Dobson!” I said.

“Are you aware, sir, that there’s a window broke at the back of your residence? My young nephew here saw it and thought best to wake me up and have me investigate. A ground-floor window, sir.”

“Oh, that? Yes, Brinkley did that yesterday. Silly ass!”

“You knew about it, then, sir?”

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Quite all right, Sergeant.”

“Well, you know best if it’s quite all right, sir, but I should say there was a danger of thieves getting through.”

And at this point Dobson said, “I thought I saw a thief getting through, Uncle Ted.”

“What! Then why didn’t you tell me before, you young muttonhead^[62]? And don’t call me Uncle Ted when we’re on duty.”

“No, Uncle Ted.”

“You’d best let us make a search of the house, sir,” said Sergeant Voules.

“Certainly not, Sergeant,” I said. “Quite out of the question^[63].”

“It would be wiser, sir.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it can’t be done.”

He seemed discontented.

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night.”

I shut the door and came back to the bedroom. Pauline was sitting up in bed.

“Who was it?”

“Police.”

“What did they want?”

“Apparently they saw you getting in.”

“What a lot of trouble I’m giving you, Bertie.”

“Oh, no. Only too pleased. Well, I suppose I must go away.”

“Are you going?”

“I shall go to the garage,” I replied.

“Isn’t there a sofa downstairs?”

“There is. Noah’s^[64]. He brought it ashore on Mount Ararat^[65]. I shall be better off in the car.”

“Oh, Bertie, I am giving you a lot of trouble.”

I sighed. Love’s love.

“Don’t you worry. We Woosters are always ready to help poor lovers. You put your little head on the pillow and sleep. I shall be all right.”

And, so saying, I went down the stairs, opened the front door, and out into the scented night. Suddenly a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

“Ouch!” I said.

It was Constable Dobson.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought you were the thief.”

“Quite all right, Constable. Quite all right. Just going for a stroll.”

“I understand, sir. Breath of air.”

“Yes. Exactly. A breath, as you astutely observe, of air.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Well, good night, sir.”

“Good night. Tra-la, Constable.”

I proceeded on my way. I had left the garage door open, and I went to my old car, glad to be alone again. I climbed into the car and.

A light suddenly flashed on the features and a voice instructed me to come out of the car.

“Ah, Sergeant!” I said.

Another awkward meeting.

“Is that you, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to have disturbed you, sir.”

“Not at all. I thought I’d try to get a bit of sleep in the old car, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Such a warm night.”

“Just so, sir.”

His voice was respectful, but there was something in his manner that gave me the idea that he considered Bertram eccentric.

“I often sleep in the car in the summertime.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Good night, Sergeant.”

“Good night, sir.”

I soon saw that all efforts in the direction of the restful night would be fruitless. I went out of the car and decided to sleep on the floor. It was smelling of mice and mould. But at the end of about half an hour a soothing drowsiness had begun to come to me.

And at the end of about thirty-five minutes the door flew open and there was the old, familiar lantern shining in again.

“Ah!” said Sergeant Voules.

And Constable Dobson said the same.

“Yes?” I said. “What is it now?”

“Is that you again, sir?” inquired the sergeant.

“Yes, it is, dash it! What, may I ask, does this mean? Sleep under these conditions becomes impossible.”

“Very sorry, sir. It never occurred to me that it could be you.”

“And why not?”

“Well, sleeping in a shed, sir—”

“You do not dispute the fact that it is my shed?”

“No, sir. But it seems funny.”

“I see nothing funny in it whatsoever. I have a right, have I not, to sleep where I please?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Exactly. It might be the coal cellar^[66]. It might be the front door steps^[67]. It happens to be this shed. I will now thank you, Sergeant, to withdraw.”

“Are you intending to remain here the rest of the night, sir?”

“Certainly. Why not?”

He was at a loss.^[68]

“Well, I suppose there’s no reason why you shouldn’t, if you want to, sir.”

I had had enough of this.

“I hate beds,” I said. “Can’t stand them. Never could.”

“Very good, sir.” He paused a moment. “Quite a warm day today, sir.”

“Quite.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Sergeant.”

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Constable.”

“Good night, sir.”

The door closed softly. And not ten minutes after I had decided that I should never get to sleep again in this world I was off as comfortably as a babe.

It couldn’t last long, of course. The next thing I remember is someone joggling my arm.

I sat up. There was the good old lantern once more.

“Now, listen—” I was beginning, when the words froze on my lips.

The fellow who was joggling my arm was Chuffy.