Carry On Jeeves Page #5

Carry On, Jeeves is a collection of ten short stories by P. G. Wodehouse. It was first published in the United Kingdom on 9 October 1925 by Herbert Jenkins, London, and in the United States on 7 October 1927 by George H. Doran, New York.

• Short story

								

murdered another cove and hid the body under the dining-room table, and
then had to be the life and soul of a dinner party, with it there all
the time. My guilty secret oppressed me to such an extent that after
a while I couldn't stick it any longer. I lit another cigarette and
started for a stroll in the grounds, by way of cooling off.

It was one of those still evenings you get in the summer, when you can
hear a snail clear its throat a mile away. The sun was sinking over
the hills and the gnats were fooling about all over the place, and
everything smelled rather topping--what with the falling dew and so
on--and I was just beginning to feel a little soothed by the peace of
it all when suddenly I heard my name spoken.

'It's about Bertie.'

It was the loathsome voice of young blighted Edwin! For a moment I
couldn't locate it. Then I realized that it came from the library. My
stroll had taken me within a few yards of the open window.

I had often wondered how those Johnnies in books did it--I mean the
fellows with whom it was the work of a moment to do about a dozen
things that ought to have taken them about ten minutes. But, as a
matter of fact, it was the work of a moment with me to chuck away my
cigarette, swear a bit, leap about ten yards, dive into a bush that
stood near the library window, and stand there with my ears flapping. I
was as certain as I've ever been of anything that all sorts of rotten
things were in the offing.

'About Bertie?' I heard Uncle Willoughby say.

'About Bertie and your parcel. I heard you talking to him just now. I
believe he's got it.'

When I tell you that just as I heard these frightful words a fairly
substantial beetle of sorts dropped from the bush down the back of my
neck, and I couldn't even stir to squash the same, you will understand
that I felt pretty rotten. Everything seemed against me.

'What do you mean, boy? I was discussing the disappearance of my
manuscript with Bertie only a moment back, and he professed himself as
perplexed by the mystery as myself.'

'Well, I was in his room yesterday afternoon, doing him an act of
kindness, and he came in with a parcel. I could see it, though he
tried to keep it behind his back. And then he asked me to go to the
smoking-room and snip some cigars for him; and about two minutes
afterwards he came down--and he wasn't carrying anything. So it must be
in his room.'

I understand they deliberately teach these dashed Boy Scouts to
cultivate their powers of observation and deduction and what-not.
Devilish thoughtless and inconsiderate of them, I call it. Look at the
trouble it causes.

'It sounds incredible,' said Uncle Willoughby, thereby bucking me up a
trifle.

'Shall I go and look in his room?' asked young blighted Edwin. 'I'm
sure the parcel's there.'

'But what could be his motive for perpetrating this extraordinary
theft?'

'Perhaps he's a--what you said just now.'

'A kleptomaniac? Impossible!'

'It might have been Bertie who took all those things from the very
start,' suggested the little brute hopefully. 'He may be like Raffles.'

'Raffles?'

'He's a chap in a book who went about pinching things.'

'I cannot believe that Bertie would--ah--go about pinching things.'

'Well, I'm sure he's got the parcel. I'll tell you what you might do.
You might say that Mr Berkeley wired that he had left something here.
He had Bertie's room, you know. You might say you wanted to look for
it.'

'That would be possible. I--'

I didn't wait to hear any more. Things were getting too hot. I sneaked
softly out of my bush and raced for the front door. I sprinted up to
my room and made for the drawer where I had put the parcel. And then
I found I hadn't the key. It wasn't for the deuce of a time that I
recollected I had shifted it to my evening trousers the night before
and must have forgotten to take it out again.

Where the dickens were my evening things? I had looked all over the
place before I remembered that Jeeves must have taken them away to
brush. To leap at the bell and ring it was, with me, the work of a
moment. I had just rung it when there was a footstep outside, and in
came Uncle Willoughby.

'Oh, Bertie,' he said, without a blush, 'I have--ah--received a
telegram from Berkeley, who occupied this room in your absence, asking
me to forward him his--er--his cigarette-case, which, it would appear,
he inadvertently omitted to take with him when he left the house. I
cannot find it downstairs; and it has, therefore, occurred to me that
he may have left it in this room. I will--er--just take a look round.'

It was one of the most disgusting spectacles I've ever seen--this
white-haired old man, who should have been thinking of the hereafter,
standing there lying like an actor.

'I haven't seen it anywhere,' I said.

'Nevertheless, I will search. I must--ah--spare no effort.'

'I should have seen it if it had been here--what?'

'It may have escaped your notice. It is--er--possibly in one of the
drawers.'

He began to nose about. He pulled out drawer after drawer, pottering
round like an old bloodhound, and babbling from time to time about
Berkeley and his cigarette-case in a way that struck me as perfectly
ghastly. I just stood there, losing weight every moment.

Then he came to the drawer where the parcel was.

'This appears to be locked,' he said, rattling the handle.

'Yes; I shouldn't bother about that one. It--it's--er--locked, and all
that sort of thing.'

'You have not the key?'

A soft, respectful voice spoke behind me.

'I fancy, sir, that this must be the key you require. It was in the
pocket of your evening trousers.'

It was Jeeves. He had shimmered in, carrying my evening things, and was
standing there holding out the key. I could have massacred the man.

'Thank you,' said my uncle.

'Not at all, sir.'

The next moment Uncle Willoughby had opened the drawer. I shut my eyes.

'No,' said Uncle Willoughby, 'there is nothing here. The drawer
is empty. Thank you, Bertie. I hope I have not disturbed you. I
fancy--er--Berkeley must have taken his case with him after all.'

When he had gone I shut the door carefully. Then I turned to Jeeves.
The man was putting my evening things out on a chair.

'Er--Jeeves!'

'Sir?'

'Oh, nothing.'

It was deuced difficult to know how to begin.

'Er--Jeeves!'

'Sir?'

'Did you--Was there--Have you by chance--'

'I removed the parcel this morning, sir.'

'Oh--ah--why?'

'I considered it more prudent, sir.'

I mused for a while.

'Of course, I suppose all this seems tolerably rummy to you, Jeeves?'

'Not at all, sir. I chanced to overhear you and Lady Florence speaking
of the matter the other evening, sir.'

'Did you, by Jove?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well--er--Jeeves, I think that, on the whole, if you were to--as it
were--freeze on to that parcel until we get back to London--'

'Exactly, sir.'

'And then we might--er--so to speak--chuck it away somewhere--what?'

'Precisely, sir.'

'I'll leave it in your hands.'

'Entirely, sir.'

'You know, Jeeves, you're by way of being rather a topper.'
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