I am a pretty eloquent chap, when stirred, and I can’t remember leaving out much. Waving away his degrading bribe, I called him names which I had heard second mates use to able-bodied seamen, and others which the able-bodied seamen had used in describing the second mates later on in the privacy of the foc’s’le. Then, turning on my heel, I strode out, pausing at the door to add something which a trimmer had once said to the barman of a Montevideo bar in my presence when the latter had refused to serve him on the ground that he had already had enough. And as I slammed the door, I was filled with a glow of exaltation. It seemed to me that in a difficult situation I had borne myself extremely well.
I don’t know, Corky, if you have ever done the fine, dignified thing, refusing to accept money because it was tainted and there wasn’t enough of it, but I have always noticed on these occasions that there comes a time when the glow of exaltation begins to ebb. Reason returns to its throne, and you find yourself wondering whether in doing the fine, dignified thing you have not behaved like a silly ass.
With me this happened as I was about half-way through a restorative beer at a pub in Jermyn Street. For it was at that moment that the Bottleton East bloke came in and said he had been looking for me everywhere. What he had to tell me was that I must make my decision about that M.C. job within the next twenty-four hours, as the authorities could not hold it open any longer. And the thought that I had deliberately rejected the flyer which would have placed a second-hand suit of dress clothes within my grasp seemed to gash me like a knife.
I assured him that I would let him know next day without fail, and went out, to pace the streets and ponder.
The whole thing was extraordinarily difficult and complex. On the one hand, pride forbade me to crawl back to that inky-souled butler and tell him that I would accept his grimy money after all. And yet, on the other hand …
You see, with old Tuppy out of town I hardly knew where to turn for the ready, and it was imperative that I obtain employment at an early date. And, apart from that, what the bloke had said about watching me standing in the ring in my soup-and-fish had inflamed my imagination. I could see myself dominating that vast audience with upraised hand and, silence secured, informing it that the next item on the programme would be a four-round bout between Porky Jones of Bermondsey and Slugger Smith of the New Cut, or whoever it might be, and I confess that I found the picture intoxicating. The thought of being the cynosure of all eyes, my lightest word greeted with respectful whistles, moved me proudly. Vanity, of course, but is any of us free from it?
That night I set out once more for The Cedars. I was fully alive to the fact that the pride of the Ukridges was going to get one of the worst wallops it had ever sustained, but there are moments when pride has to take the short end.
IV
It was fortunate that I had gone prepared to have my amour propre put through the wringer, for the first thing that happened was that I was refused admittance at the front door because I was not dressed. It was Oakshott himself who inflicted this indignity upon me, bidding me curtly to go round to the back and wait for him in his pantry. He added that he would be glad if I did it quick, as the guests would be arriving shortly. He seemed to think that the sight of what he evidently looked on as a Forgotten Man would distress them.
So I went to the pantry and waited, and presently I could hear cars driving up and merry voices calling to one another and all the other indications of a big night; sounds which, as you may imagine, were like acid to the soul. It must have been nearly an hour before Oakshott condescended to show up, and when he did his manner was curt and forbidding.
“Well?” he said. I tried to think that he had said: “Well, sir?” but I knew he had’t. It was only too plain from the very outset that the butler side of him was in complete abeyance. It was more like being granted an audience by a successful company promoter.
I got down to the res immediately, informing him—for there is never any sense in wasting time on these occasions—that I had been thinking things over and had decided to take that flyer of his. Whereupon he informed me that he had been thinking it over and had decided not to ruddy well let me have it. There was a nasty glint in his eye, as he spoke, which I didn’t like. In the course of a long career I have seen men who wore that indefinable air of not intending to part with flyers, but never one in whom it was so well-marked.
“Your manner this morning was extremely offensive,” he said.
I sank the pride of the Ukridges another notch, and urged him not to allow mere surface manner to influence him. Had he, I asked, never heard of the gruff exterior that covers the heart of gold?
“You called me a—”
“I could not deny it.”
“And a—”
Again I was forced to admit that this was substantially correct. “And just as you were about to leave you turned at the door and called me a — — —”
I saw that something must be done to check this train of thought.
“Did I hurt your feelings, Oakshott?” I said sympathetically. “Did I wound you, Oakshott, old pal? It was quite unintentional. If you had been watching my face, you would have seen a twinkle in my eye. I was kidding you, old friend. These pleasantries are not intended to be taken au pied de la lettre.”
He said he didn’t know what au pied de la lettre meant, and I was supplying a rough diagram when an underling of sorts appeared and told him he was wanted at the front. He left me flat, departing without a backward glance, and I started hunting round for the port. There should be some, I felt, in this pantry. “If butlers come, can port be far behind?” is always a pretty safe rule to go on.
I located it eventually in a cupboard, and took a stimulating swig. It was just what I had been needing. It has frequently happened that a good go in at the port at a critical moment has made all the difference to me as a thinking force. The stuff seems to act directly on the little grey cells, causing them to flex their muscles and chuck their chests out. A stiff whisky and soda sometimes has a similar effect, I have noticed, but port never fails.
It did not fail me now. Quite suddenly, as if I had pressed a button, there rose before me a picture of my aunt’s bedroom, and in the foreground of it was the mantelpiece with its handsome clock, worth, I estimated, fully five quid on the hoof.
My aunt is a woman who likes to surround herself with costly objects of vertu, and who shall blame her? She has the price, earned with her gifted pen, and if that is how she feels like spending it, good luck to her, say I. Everywhere throughout her cultured home you will find rich ornaments, on any one of which the most cautious pawnbroker would be delighted to spring a princely sum.
No, Corky, you are wrong. You choose your expressions carelessly. It was not my intention to pinch this clock. The transaction presented itself to my mind purely in the light of a temporary loan. No actual figures had been talked by the representative of the Bottleton East Mammoth Palace of Pugilism, but I considered that I was justified in assuming that for such a post as announcer and master of ceremonies a very substantial salary might be taken as read. Well, dash it, my predecessor had died of cirrhosis of the liver. It costs money to die of cirrhosis of the liver. It seemed to me that it would be child’s play to save enough out of that substantial salary in the first week to de-pop the clock and restore it to its place.
The whole business deal, in short, would be consummated without my aunt being subjected to any annoyance or inconvenience whatsoever. It shows what a good whack at the port will do, when I say that there was actually a moment, as I raced upstairs, when I told myself that, could she know the facts, she would be the first to approve and applaud.
I had modified this view somewhat by the time I reached the door, but I did not allow this to deter me. I flung myself at the handle and turned it with zip and animation. And you may picture my chagrin, Corky, when not a damn thing happened. Oakshott had locked the door and taken away the key, creating a situation which would have compelled most men to confess themse
lves nonplussed, and one which, I must own, rattled even me for a bit.
Then my knowledge of the terrain stood me in good stead. I had spent a considerable amount of time as an inmate of this house— it rarely happens that my aunt kicks me out before the middle of the second week—and I was familiar with its workings. I knew, for instance, that behind the potting shed down by the kitchen garden there was always kept a small but serviceable ladder. I was also aware that my aunt’s bedroom had French windows opening on a balcony. With the aid of this ladder and a chisel I would be able to laugh at locksmiths.
Butlers always have chisels, so I went back to the pantry and had no difficulty in finding Oakshott’s. There was an electric torch in the same drawer, and I felt that I might need that, too. I had just pocketed these useful objects, when Oakshott came in, and conceive my emotion when I saw that he was carrying a roll the size of a portmanteau. I presumed that he had come to the pantry to bank the stuff. A man in his position, with ready money raining down on him in a steady stream, would naturally wish to cache it from time to time, so as to leave room on his person for more.
The sight of me seemed to give him little or no pleasure. His eyes took on a cold, poached-egg look.
“You still here?”
“Still here,” I assured him.
“It’s no good your waiting,” he said churlishly. “You won’t get a smell of that flyer.”
“I need it sorely.”
“So do I.”
“And how easy it would be to give of your plenty. With a wad like that, you’d never know it was gone.”
“It won’t be gone.”
I sighed. “So be it, Oakshott. You won’t grudge me a drop of port?”
“You can have some port. I’ll have some, too.”
“Shall I hold the money?”
“No.”
“I thought you might want to have your hands free while you poured. You’ve been doing well, it would appear. Business is good?”
“Fine. Well, mud in your eye.”
“Skin off your nose,” I replied courteously and we quaffed. He then left me, and I made for the garden.
Passing the drawing-room I could hear sounds of mirth and merriment as the multitude took its pop at the games of chance, putting more cash into Oakshott’s pocket as it did so, and I was in two minds about pausing to bung a brick through the window. But this, I saw, though a relief to my feelings, would not further my business interests, so I let it go. I found the ladder and climbed to the balcony, and I was just about to get to work with the chisel when the lights in the room suddenly flashed on, giving me a bit of a jolt.
Speedily recovering, I shoved my nose against the pane and saw Oakshott. He was standing by the chest of drawers, still clutching the roll, and one sensed that, finding me in the pantry, he had decided that this would be a better place to put it. But before he could make his deposit there came a sudden change in the character of the sounds proceeding from below, and he stood listening, rigid like a stag at bay.
My aunt’s bedroom, I must mention, is just above the drawing-room, and if there are routs and revels going on in the latter apartment you hears them clearly on the balcony; and inside the room, of course, they come up through the floor. What had arrested Oakshott’s attention was the fact that at this juncture there was an abrupt increase in the volume of the noise, together with a feminine scream, or two, followed by a significant silence.
Well, it did not take a man of my experience long to gather what had occurred. I have participated in raids in my time as a patron, as a waiter, as a washer of glasses, and once, in America, actually as a member of the squad conducing the operations, and I know the procedure. What happens is that there is first a universal yell of consternation and the girls all scream, and then all is hushed and everyone stands peering bleakly into the future, trying to think of names and address which will sound reasonably plausible to the gentleman with the note-book.
Briefly, old horse, doom had come upon The Cedars, Wimbledon Common. The joint had been pulled.
V
That Oakshott, also, was able to put two and two together and form a swift diagnosis was shown by the promptness with which he now acted. There was a large wardrobe not far from where he stood, a handsome piece in old walnut, and he dived right into it like a seal going after a chunk of halibut, taking his roll with him.
And I popped in through the French windows and turned the key in the wardrobe door.
Why I did this, I cannot say, except that it seemed a good idea at the time. It was only some moments later that that extraordinary vision for which I have always been so remarkable suggested to me that not only clean fun but solid profit might be derived from the action. Here, it suddenly flashed upon me, was where I might make a bit.
You see, I had studied this Oakshott’s psychology, and my researches had left me with the conviction that he was one of those who, finding themselves locked in a wardrobe by a policeman during a raid on premises which they have been employing for illegal purposes, will endeavour to make a dicker with that policeman. On these occasions, as you are probably aware, while the patrons may hope to get off with a fine, mine host himself is in line for the jug, and a butler’s liberty is very dear to him. It seemed to me that I was entitled to assume that if Oakshott supposed that matters could be settled out of court, he would not count the cost.
At any rate, the thing seemed a fair sporting venture, so I approached the wardrobe and proceeded to address myself in a crisp, cultured voice—the voice of the younger son of some aristocratic family who, after a year or two at Oxford, has entered the Force via the Hendon Police College.
“What,” I inquired, “are you doing they-ah, Simmons?”
To which I replied, this time using the bass clef and adopting a bit of a Ponder’s End accent—for I pictured this Simmons as just some ordinary flatty who had graduated from a board school —”I’ve got one of ‘em locked in ‘ere, sir.”
“Oh, reall-ah?” I said. “Good work, Simmons. Guard him well. I’m off downstairs.”
I then went to the door, slammed it and paused for a reply.
It did not come immediately, and for a moment I feared that my knowledge of psychology might have let me down. But all was well. I can see now that Oakshott was merely thinking it over and fighting a parsimonious man’s battle between his love of liberty and the lust to retain his ill-begotten wealth. Presently there came from within a deprecating, “Er, officer,” followed by a rustling sound, and there stole out from under the door a flyer.
I gathered it in, and there for a while the matter rested.
I suppose Oakshott realized that when you are buying a policeman’s soul you cannot be niggardly, for a few moments later another flyer came stealing out, and I pounced on that, too. After this had gone on for some time, with my current account going up by leaps and bounds, I decided to take my profit and retire from the game. At any minute a systematic search of the premises might be instituted—I couldn’t imagine why it hadn’t been done already—and if I were to be found on them my presence might be hard to explain. The pure heart and the clean conscience are all very well, but they pay few dividends during a gambling raid, and it seemed to me that I would be better elsewhere. It would not, I felt, be beyond the scope of Oakshott’s subtle mind to make the constabulary believe that it was I who had been master of the revels.
So I unlocked the door and nipped out of the window and down the ladder. I have often wondered what Oakshott’s reactions were when he stole out and found the place entirely free from P.C. Simmonses.
It was a lovely night, with the stars twinkling away in the firmament, and the garden was very cool and peaceful. I would gladly have lingered and drunk in its fragrance, but I could not but feel that this was not the moment. Many people have complimented me on my nerve of steel, and rightly, but there is a time for reckless courage and a time for prudence. I don’t mind admitting that at this particular juncture, with the troops of Midian prowling aroun
d, my emotions were those of a cat in a strange alley, and I was anxious to get away from it all.
So marked was this feeling that, as I came abreast of the big water butt outside the kitchen door and heard a noise somewhere in the neighbourhood, as of regulation official boots trampling in the night, I halted with beating heart and raised the lid, intending to get inside. Whereupon, a hand came out and slid a banknote into my grasp. Seeing that my dugout was already occupied, I passed on.
This incident, as you may imagine, made a deep impression on me. It suggested to me that in following the policy of safety first, and concentrating on the swift getaway, I might be passing up something good. If there was gold in the water butt, there might be the same elsewhere. I decided to draw another covert or two before leaving. And to cut a long story short, at the end of ten minutes my balance had substantially increased.
Apparently not all the patrons of The Cedars had been content to remain supinely in the drawing-room when the gendarmerie came popping up through traps. There were those who had acted with that mettle and spirit, which one likes to feel is the birthright of Englishmen, and had hopped out of the window, to distribute themselves here and there about the grounds. One splendid fellow, who came across with a tenner, had snuggled into the cucumber frame. You felt it was the sort of thing Drake or Raleigh would have done.
But now I was naturally anxious to count the takings. A methodical man always likes to know where he stands. It seemed to me that the potting shed was far enough away from the house to be out of the danger zone, so I made for it. And I was crossing the threshold with a gay, if sotto voce, song on my lips, when there was a sharp squeal from its dark interior, and I knew that here, too, some poor human waif had found and taken sanctuary.