'What is?'
' I shall have the fellow severely punished.' 'What fellow?'
‘I shall see Lord Emsworth about it immediately.' 'About what?'
Briefly and with emotion Lord Tilbury told his tale.
' I kept explaining to the man that if he had any doubts as to my social standing your uncle, Sir Gregory Parsloe, who I believe lives in this neighbourhood, would vouch for me...'
Monty, who had been listening with a growing understanding, checking up each point in the narrative with a sagacious nod, felt compelled at this juncture to interrupt.
'My sainted aunt!' he cried. 'You say you offered the porker a spud? And then this chap grabbed you? And then you told him you were a friend of my Uncle Gregory? and now you're going to the Castle to lodge a complaint with Old Man River ? Don't do it!' said Monty urgently, 'don't do it. Don't go anywhere near the Castle, or they'll have you in irons before you can say " Eh, what?" You aren't on to the secret history of this place. There are wheels within wheels. Old Emsworth thinks Uncle Gregory is trying to assassinate his pig. You are caught in the act of giving it potatoes and announce that you are a pal of his. Why, dash it, they'll ship you off to Devil's Island without a trial.'
Lord Tilbury stared, thinking once again how much he disliked this young man.
'What are you drivelling about?'
'Not drivelling. It's quite reasonable. Look at it from their point of view. If this pig drops out of the betting, my uncle's entry will win the silver medal at the show in a canter. Can you blame this fellow Pirbright for looking a bit cross-eyed at a chap who comes creeping in and administering surreptitious potatoes and then gives Uncle Gregory as a reference? He probably thought that potato contained some little-known Asiatic poison.' 'I never heard of anything so absurd.'
'Well, that's Life,' argued Monty. 'And, in any case, you can't get away from it that you're trespassing. Isn't there some law about being allowed to shoot trespassers on sight ? Or is it burglars ? No, I'm a liar. It's stray dogs when you catch them worrying sheep. Still, coming back to it, you are trespassing.'
'I am doing nothing of the kind. I have been paying a call at the Castle.'
The conversation had reached just the point towards which Monty had been hoping to direct it.
'Why ? Now we're on to the thing that's been baffling me. What were you doing in these parts at all? Why have you come here? Always glad to see you, of course,' said Monty courteously.
Lord Tilbury appeared to resent this courtesy. And, indeed, it had smacked a little of the gracious seigneur making some uncouth intruder free of his estates.
' May I ask what you are doing here yourself?'
'Me?'
'If, as you say, Lord Emsworth is on such bad terms with Sir Gregory Parsloe, I should have thought that he would have objected to his nephew walking in his grounds.'
'Ah, but, you see, I'm his secretary.'
'Why should the fact you are your uncle's secretary - ?'
'Not my uncle's. Old Emsworth's. Pronouns arc the devil, aren't they? You start saying "he" and "his" and are breezing Gally along, and you suddenly find you've got everything all mixed up. That's Life, too, if you look at it in the right way. No, I'm not my uncle's secretary. He hasn't got a secretary. I'm old Emsworth's. I secured the post within twenty-four hours of your slinging me out of Tiny Tots. Oh, yes, indeed,' said Monty, with airy nonchalance, 'I very soon managed to get another job. Dear me, yes. A good man isn't long getting snapped up.'
'You are Lord Emsworth's secretary?' Lord Tilbury seemed to have difficulty in assimilating the information. 'You are living at the Castle? You mean that you are actually living - residing at Blandings Castle?'
Monty, thinking swiftly, decided that that airy nonchalance of his had been a mistake. Well meant, but a blunder. The sounder policy here would be manly frankness. He believed in taking at the flood that tide in the affairs of men which, when so taken, leads on to fortune. It was imperative that he secure another situation before Lord Emsworth should apply the boot; and he could scarcely hope to find a more propitious occasion for approaching this particular employer of labour than when he had just released him from a smelly potting-shed.
He replied, accordingly, that for the nonce such was indeed the case.
'But only,' he went on candidly, 'for the nonce. I don't mind telling you that I expect a shake-up shortly. I anticipate that before long I shall find myself once more at liberty. Nothing actually said, mind you, but all the signs pointing that way. So if by any chance you are feeling that we might make a fresh start together - if you are willing to let the dead past bury its dead - if, in a word, you would consider overlooking that little unpleasantness we had and taking me back into the fold, I, on my side, can guarantee quick delivery. I should be able to report for duty almost immediately, with a heart for any fate.'
Upon most men listening to this eloquent appeal there might have crept a certain impatience. Lord Tilbury, however, listened to it as though to some grand sweet song. Like Napoleon, he had had some lucky breaks in his time, but he could not recall one luckier than this - that he should have found in this young man before him a man who at one and the same time was living at Blandings Castle and wanted favours from him. There could have been no more ideal combination.
'So you wish to return to Tilbury House?'
'Definitely.'
'You shall.'
'Good egg!'
'Provided-'
'Oh, golly! Is there a catch ?'
Lord Tilbury had fallen into a frowning silence. Now that the moment had arrived for putting into words the lawless scheme that was in his mind, he found a difficulty in selecting the words into which to put it.
'Provided what?' said Monty. 'If you mean provided I exert the most watchful vigilance to prevent any more dubious matter creeping into the columns of Tiny Tots, have no uneasiness. Since the recent painful episode, I have become a changed man and am now thoroughly attuned to the aims and ideals of Tiny Tots. You can restore my hand to the tiller without a qualm.'
' It has nothing to do with Tiny Tots' Lord Tilbury paused again. 'There is something I wish you to do for me.'
'A pleasure. Give it a name. Even unto half of my kingdom, I mean to say.'
‘I .. . That is . . . well, here is the position in a nutshell. Lord Emsworth's brother, Galahad Threepwood, has written his Reminiscences.'
'I know. I'll bet they're good, too. They would sell like hot cakes. Just the sort of book to fill a long-felt want. Grab it, is my advice.'
'That,' said Lord Tilbury, relieved at the swiftness with which the conversation had arrived at the vital issue, 'is precisely what I want to do.'
'Well, I'll tell you the procedure,' said Monty helpfully. 'You get a contract drawn up, and then you charge in on old Gally with your cheque-book. . .'
'The contract already exists. Mr Threepwood signed it some time ago, giving the Mammoth all rights to his book. He has now changed his mind and refuses to deliver the manuscript.'
'Good Lord! Why?'
'I do not know why.'
'But the silly ass will be losing a packet.'
'No doubt. His decision not to publish means also the loss of a considerable sum of money to myself. And so, I consider that, the contract having been signed, I am legally entitled to the possession of the manuscript, I - er -I intend - well, in short, I intend to take possession of it.'
'You don't mean pinch it?'
'That, crudely, is what I mean.'
‘I say, you do live, don't you? But how?'
'Ah, there I would have to have the assistance of somebody who was actually in the house.'
A bizarre idea occurred to Monty.
'You aren't suggesting that you want me to pinch it?'
'Precisely.'
'Well, lord-love-a-duck!' said Monty. He stared in honest amazement.
'It would be the simplest of tasks,' went on Lord Tilbury insinuatingly. 'The manuscript is in the desk of a small room which I imagine is a sort
of annexe to the library. The drawer in which it is placed is not, unless I am very much mistaken, locked - and even if locked it can readily be opened. You say you are anxious to return to my employment. So . . . well, think it over, my dear boy.'
Monty was plucking feebly at the lapel of his coat. This was new stuff to him. What with being invited to become a sort of Napoleon of Crime and hearing himself addressed as Lord Tilbury's dear boy, his head was swimming.
Lord Tilbury, a judge of men, was aware that there are minds which adjust themselves less readily than others to new ideas. He was well content to allow an interval of time for this to sink in.
'I can assure you that if you come to me with that manuscript, I shall only be too delighted to restore you to your old position at Tilbury House.'
Monty's aspect became a little less like that of a village idiot who has just been struck by a thunderbolt. A certain animation crept into his eye.
'You will?'
'I will.'
'For a year certain?' 'A year?'
'It must be for a year, positively guaranteed. You may remember me speaking about those wheels.'
In spite of his anxiety to enrol this young man as his accomplice and set him to work as soon as possible, Lord Tilbury was conscious of a certain hesitation. Most employers of labour would have felt the same in his position. A year is a long time to have a Monty Bodkin on one's hands, and Lord Tilbury had been consoling himself with the reflection that, once the manuscript was in his possession, he could get rid of him in about a week.
'A year?' he said dubiously.
'Or twelve months,' said Monty, making a concession.
Lord Tilbury sighed. Apparently the thing had to be done. 'Very well.'
'You will take me on for a solid year?' 'If you make that stipulation.'
'You will be prepared to sign a letter - an agreement - a document to that effect, if I draw it up?' ‘Yes.'
'Then it's a deal. Shake hands on it.'
Lord Tilbury preferred to omit this symbolic gesture.
' Kindly put the thing through as soon as possible,' he said coldly. 'I have no wish to remain indefinitely at a rustic inn.'
'Oh, I'll snap into it. What rustic inn, by the way? I ought to have your address.'
'The Emsworth Arms.'
'I know it well. Try their beer with a spot of gin in it. Warms the cockles. All right, then. Expect me there very shortly, with manuscript under arm.'
'Good-bye, then, for the present.'
'Toodle-oo till we meet again,' said Monty cordially.
He watched Lord Tilbury disappear, then resumed his walk, immersed in roseate daydreams.
This, he reflected, was a bit of all right. There were no traces in his mind now of the scruples and timidity which had given him that slightly sandbagged feeling when this proposition had first been sprung upon him. He felt bold and resolute. He intended to secure that manuscript if he had to use a meat-axe.
In the shimmering heat-mist that lay along the grass it seemed to him that he could see the lovely face of Gertrude Butterwick gazing at him with gentle encouragement, as if she were endeavouring to suggest that he could count on her support and approval in this enterprise. Almost he could have fancied that the ripple of a lonely little breeze which had lost its way in the alder bushes was her silvery voice whispering' Go to it!'
Writers are creatures of moods. Too often the merest twiddle of the tap is enough to stop the flow of inspiration. It was so with the Hon. Galahad Threepwood. His recent unpleasant scene with that acquaintance of his youth, the erstwhile Stinker Pyke, had been brief in actual count of time, but it had left him in a frame of mind uncongenial to the resumption of his literary work. He was a kindly man, and it irked him to be disobliging even to the Stinker Pykes of this world.
To send poor Stinker off with a flea in his ear was not, of course, the same as rebuffing, say, dear old Plug Basham or good old Freddie Potts, but it was quite enough to upset a man who always liked to do the decent thing by everyone and hated to say No to the meanest of God's creatures. After Lord Tilbury's departure the Hon. Galahad allowed the manuscript of his lifework to remain in its drawer. With no heart for further polishing and pruning, he heaved a rueful sigh, selected a detective novel from his shelf, and left the room.
Having paused in the hall to ring the bell and instruct Beach, who answered it, to bring him a whisky and soda out on to the lawn, he made his way to his favourite retreat beneath the big cedar.
'Oh, and Beach,' he said when the butler arrived with clinking tray, 'sorry to trouble you, but I wonder if you'd mind leaping up to the small library and fetching me my reading glasses. I forgot them. You'll find them on the desk.'
'No trouble at all, Mr Galahad,' said the butler affably. 'Is there anything else you require?'
' You haven't seen Miss Brown anywhere ?'
'No, Mr Galahad. Miss Brown was taking the air on the terrace shortly after luncheon, but I have not seen her since.'
'All right, then. Just the reading glasses.'
Addressing himself to the task of restoring his ruffled nerves, the Hon. Galahad had swallowed perhaps a third of the contents of the long tumbler when he observed the butler returning.
'What on earth have you got there, Beach?' he asked, for the other seemed heavily laden for a man who had been sent to fetch a pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles. 'That's not my manuscript?'
'Yes, Mr Galahad.'
'Take it back,' said the author, with pardonable peevishness. 'I don't want it. Good Lord, I came out here to forget it.'
He broke off, mystified. A strange, pop-eyed expression had manifested itself on the butler's face, and his swelling waistcoat was beginning to quiver faintly. The Hon. Galahad watched these phenomena with interest and curiosity.
'What are you waggling your tummy at me for, Beach?' 'I am uneasy, Mr Galahad.'
'You shouldn't wear flannel vests, then, in weather like this.'
' Mentally uneasy, sir.' 'What about?'
'The safety of this book of yours, Mr Galahad.' The butler lowered his voice. 'May I inform you, sir, of what occurred a few moments ago, when I proceeded to the small library to find your glasses?'
'What?'
'Just as 1 was about to enter I heard movements within.'
'You did?' The Hon. Galahad clicked his tongue 'I wish to goodness people would keep out of that room. They know I use it as my private study.'
'Precisely, Mr Galahad. Nobody has any business there while you arc in residence at the Castle. That is an understood thing. And it was for that reason that I immediately found myself entertaining suspicions.'
'Eh? Suspicions? How do you mean?'
'That some person was attempting to purloin the material which you have written, sir.' 'What!'
'Yes, Mr Galahad. And I was right. I paused for an instant,' said the butler impressively, 'and then flung the door open sharply and without warning. Sir, there was Mr Pilbeam standing with his hand in the open drawer.'
'Pilbeam?'
'Yes, Mr Galahad.'
'Good gad!'
'Yes, Mr Galahad.'
'What did you say?'
'Nothing, Mr Galahad. I looked.'
'What did he say?'
'Nothing, Mr Galahad. He smiled.'
'Smiled?'
'In a weak, guilty manner.' 'And then?'
'Still without speaking, I proceeded to the desk, secured the 110 written material, and started to leave the room. At the door I paused and gave him a cold glance. I then withdrew.'
'Splendid, Beach!'
'Thank you, Mr Galahad.'
'You're sure he was trying to steal the thing?'
'The papers were actually in his grasp, sir.'
'He couldn't have been just looking for notepaper or something?'
A man of Beach's build could not look like Sherlock Holmes listening to fatuous theories from Doctor Watson, nor could a man of his position, conversing with a social superior, answer as Holmes would have
done. The word 'Tush!' may have trembled on his lips, but it got no farther.
'No, sir,' he said briefly.
'But his motive? What possible motive could this extraordinary little perisher have for wanting to steal my book ?'
A certain embarrassment seemed to grip Beach. He hesitated. ' Might I take the liberty, Mr Galahad ?'
'Don't talk rot, Beach. Liberty? I never heard such nonsense. Why, we've known each other since we were kids of forty.'
'Thank you, Mr Galahad. Then, if I may speak freely, I should like to recapitulate briefly the peculiar circumstances connected with this book. In the first place, may I say that I am aware of its extreme importance as a factor in the affairs of Mr Ronald and Miss Brown?'
The Hon. Galahad gave a little jump. He had always known the butler as a man who kept his eyes open and his ears pricked up and informed himself sooner or later of most things that happened at the Castle, but he had not realized that his secret service system was quite so efficient as this.