‘Blandings Castle?’
A thought had struck the proprietor of the Argus Enquiry Agency. He fumbled in his desk and produced the mysterious telegram. Yes, as he had fancied, it had been handed in at a place called Market Blandings.
‘Do you know anything about this?’ he asked, pushing it across the desk.
Hugo glanced at the document.
‘The old boy must have sent that after I left,’ he said. ‘The absence of signature is, no doubt, due to mental stress. Lord Emsworth is greatly perturbed. A-twitter. Shaken to the core, you might say.’
About this robbery?’
‘Exactly. It has got right in amongst him.’
Pilbeam reached for pen and paper. There was a stern, set, bloodhound sort of look in his eyes.
‘Kindly give me the details.’
Hugo pondered a moment.
‘It was a dark and stormy night . . . No, I’m a liar. The moon was riding serenely in the sky . . .’
‘This big robbery? Tell me about it.’
Hugo raised his eyebrows.
‘Big?’
‘The telegram says “big”.’
‘These telegraph-operators will try to make sense. You can’t stop them editing. The word should be “pig”. Lord Emsworth’s pig has been stolen!’
‘Pig!’ cried Percy Pilbeam.
Hugo looked at him a little anxiously.
‘You know what a pig is, surely? If not, I’m afraid there is a good deal of tedious spade work ahead of us.’
The roseate dreams which the proprietor of the Argus had had of missing jewels broke like bubbles. He was deeply affronted. A man of few ideals, the one deep love of his life was for this Enquiry Agency which he had created and nursed to prosperity through all the dangers and vicissitudes which beset Enquiry Agencies in their infancy. And the thought of being expected to apply its complex machinery to a search for lost pigs cut him, as Millicent had predicted, to the quick.
‘Does Lord Emsworth seriously suppose that I have time to waste looking for stolen pigs?’ he demanded shrilly. ‘I never heard such nonsense in my life.’
Almost the exact words which all the other Hawkshaws used. Finding you not at home,’ explained Hugo, ‘I spent the morning going round to other Agencies. I think I visited six in all, and every one of them took the attitude you do.’
‘I am not surprised.’
‘Nevertheless, it seemed to me that they, like you, lacked vision. This pig, you see, is a prize pig. Don’t picture to yourself something with a kink in its tail sporting idly in the mud. Imagine, rather, a favourite daughter kidnapped from her ancestral home. This is heavy stuff, I assure you. Restore the animal in time for the Agricultural Show, and you may ask of Lord Ems-worth what you will, even unto half his kingdom.’
Percy Pilbeam rose. He had heard enough.
‘I will not trouble Lord Emsworth. The Argus Enquiry Agency . . .’
‘. . . does not detect pigs? I feared as much. Well, well, so be it. And now,’ said Hugo, affably, ‘may I take advantage of the beautiful friendship which has sprung up between us to use your telephone?’
Without waiting for permission – for which, indeed, he would have had to wait some time – he drew the instrument to him and gave a number. He then began to chat again.
‘You seem a knowledgeable sort ofbloke,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can tell me where the village swains go these days when they want to dance upon the green? I have been absent for some little time from the centre of the vortex, and I have become as a child in these matters. What is the best that London has to offer to ayoung man with his blood up and the vine leaves more or less in his hair?’
Pilbeam was a man of business. He had no wish to converse with this client who had disappointed him and wounded his finest feelings, but it so happened that he had recently bought shares in a rising restaurant.
‘Mario’s,’ he replied promptly. ‘It’s the only place.’
Hugo sighed. Once he had dreamed that the answer to a question like that would have been ‘The Hot Spot’. But where was the Hot Spot now? Gone like the flowers that wither in the first frost. The lion and the lizard kept the courts where Jamshyd gloried and – after hours, unfortunately, which had started all the trouble – drank deep. Ah well, life was pretty complex.
A voice from the other end of the wire broke in on his reverie. He recognized it as that of the porter of the block of flats where Sue had her tiny abode.
‘Hullo? Bashford? Mr Carmody speaking. Will you make a long arm and haul Miss Brown to the instrument. Eh? Miss Sue Brown, of course. No other Browns are any use to me whatsoever. Right ho, I’ll wait.’
The astute detective never permits himself to exhibit emotion. Pilbeam turned his start of surprise into a grave, distrait nod, as if he were thinking out deep problems. He took up his pen and drew three crosses and a squiggle on the blotting-paper. He was glad that no gentlemanly instinct had urged him to leave his visitor alone to do his telephoning.
‘Mario’s, eh?’ said Hugo. ‘What’s the band like?’
‘It’s Leopold’s.’
‘Good enough for me,’ said Hugo with enthusiasm. He hummed a bar or two, and slid his feet dreamily about the carpet. ‘I’m shockingly out of practice, dash it. Well, that’s that. Touching this other matter, you’re sure you won’t come to Blandings?’
‘Quite.’
‘Niceplace. Gravel soil, spreading views, well laid-out pleasure grounds, Company’s own water . . . I would strongly advise you to bring your magnifying-glass and spend the summer. However, if you really feel . . . Sue! Hullo-ullo-ullo! This is Hugo. Yes, just up in town for the night on a mission of extraordinary secrecy and delicacy which I am not empowered to reveal. Speaking from the Argus Enquiry Agency, by courtesy of proprietor. I was wondering if you would care to come out and help me restore my lost youth, starting at about eight-thirty. Eh?’
A silence had fallen at the other end of the wire. What was happening was that in the hall of the block of flats Sue’s conscience was fighting a grim battle against heavy odds. Ranged in opposition to it were her loneliness, her love of dancing and her desire once more to see Hugo, who, though he was not a man one could take seriously, always cheered her up and made her laugh. And she had been needing a laugh for days.
Hugo thought he had been cut off.
‘Hullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo!’ he barked peevishly.
‘Don’t yodel like that,’ said Sue. ‘You’ve nearly made me deaf.’
‘Sorry, dear heart. I thought the machine had conked. Well, how do you react? Is it a bet?’
‘I do want to see you again,’ said Sue, hesitatingly.
‘You shall. In person. Clean shirt, white waistcoat, the Carmody studs, and everything.’
‘Well . . .!’
A psychically gifted bystander, standing in the hall of the block of flats, would have heard at this moment a faint moan. It was Sue’s conscience collapsing beneath an unexpected flank attack. She had just remembered that if she went to dine with Hugo she would learn all the latest news about Ronnie. It put the whole thing in an entirely different light. Surely Ronnie himself could have no objection to the proposed feast if he knew that all she was going for was to talk about him? She might dance a little, of course, but purely by the way. Her real motive in accepting the invitation, she now realized quite clearly, was to hear all about Ronnie.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Where?’
‘Mario’s. They tell me it’s the posh spot these days.’
‘Mario’s?’
‘Yes. M for mange, A for asthma, R for rheumatism . . . oh, you’ve got it? All right, then. At eight-thirty.’
Hugo put the receiver back. Once more he allowed his dazzling smile to play upon the Argus’s proprietor.
‘Much obliged for use of instrument,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank, you,’ said Pilbeam.
‘Well, I’ll be pushing along. Ring us up if you change your mind. Market Blandi
ngs 32X. If you don’t take on the job no one will. I suppose there are other sleuths in London besides the bevy I’ve interviewed to-day, but I’m not going to see them. I consider that I have done my bit and am through.’ He looked about him. ‘Make a good thing out of this business?’ he asked, for he was curious on these points and was never restrained by delicacy from seeking information.
‘Quite.’
‘What does the work consist of? I’ve often wondered. Measuring footprints and putting the tips of your fingers together, and all that, I suppose?’
‘We are frequently asked to follow people and report on their movements.’
Hugo laughed amusedly.
‘Well, don’t go following me and reporting on my movements. Much trouble might ensue. Bung-oh.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Percy Pilbeam.
He pressed a bell on the desk, and moved to the door to show his visitor out.
II
Leopold’s justly famous band, its cheeks puffed out and its eyeballs rolling, was playing a popular melody with lots of stomp in it, and for the first time since she had accepted Hugo’s invitation to the dance, Sue, gliding round the floor, was conscious of a spiritual calm. Her conscience, quieted by the moaning of the saxophones, seemed to have retired from business. It realized, no doubt, the futility of trying to pretend that there was anything wrong in a girl enjoying this delightful exercise.
How absurd, she felt, Ronnie’s objections were. It was, considered Sue, becoming analytical, as if she were to make a tremendous fuss because he played tennis and golf with girls. Dancing was just a game like those two pastimes, and it so happened that you had to have a man with you or you couldn’t play it. To get all jealous and throaty just because one went out dancing was simply ridiculous.
On the other hand, placid though her conscience now was, she had to admit that it was a relief to feel that he would never know of this little outing.
Men were such children when they were in love. Sue found herself sighing over the opposite sex’s eccentricities. If they were only sensible, how simple life would be. It amazed her that Ronnie could ever have any possible doubt, however she might spend her leisure hours, that her heart belonged to him alone. She marvelled that he should suppose for a moment that even if she danced all night and every night with every other man in the world it would make any difference to her feelings towards him.
All the same, holding the peculiar views he did, he must undoubtedly be humoured.
‘You won’t breathe a word to Ronnie about our coming here, will you, Hugo?’ she said, repeating an injunction which had been her opening speech on arriving at the restaurant.
‘Not a syllable.’
‘I can trust you?’
‘Implicitly. Telegraphic address, Discretion, Market Bland-ings.’
‘Ronnie’s funny, you see.’
‘One long scream.’
‘I mean, he wouldn’t understand.’
‘No. Great surprise it was to me,’ said Hugo, doing complicated things with his feet, ‘to hear that you and the old hound had decided to team up. You could have knocked me down with a feather. Odd he never confided in his boyhood friend.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t do for it to get about.’
‘Are you suggesting that Hugo Carmody is a babbler?’
‘You do like gossiping. You know you do.’
‘I know nothing of the sort,’ said Hugo with dignity. ‘If I were asked to give my opinion, I should say that I was essentially a strong, silent man.’
He made a complete circle of the floor in that capacity. His taciturnity surprised Sue.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Dudgeon,’ said Hugo.
‘What?’
‘I’m sulking. That remark of yours rankles. That totally unfounded accusation that I cannot keep a secret. It may interest you to know that I, too, am secretly engaged and have never so much as mentioned it to a soul.’
‘Hugo!’
Yes. Betrothed. And so at long last came a day when Love wound his silken fetters about Hugo Carmody.’
‘Who’s the unfortunate girl?’
‘There is no unfortunate girl. The lucky girl . . .Was that your foot?’
Yes.’
‘Sorry. I haven’t got the hang of these new steps yet. The lucky girl, I was saying, is Miss Millicent Threepwood.’
As if stunned by the momentousness of the announcement, the band stopped playing; and, chancing to be immediately opposite their table, the man who never revealed secrets led his partner to her chair. She was gazing at him ecstatically.
You don’t mean that?’
‘I do mean that. What did you think I meant?’
‘I never heard anything so wonderful in my life!’
‘Good news?’
‘I’m simply delighted.’
‘I’m pleased, too,’ said Hugo.
‘I’ve been trying not to admit it to myself, but I was very scared about Millicent. Ronnie told me the family wanted him and her to marry, and you never know what may happen when families throw their weight about. And now it’s all right!’
‘Quite all right.’
The music had started again, but Sue remained in her seat.
‘Not?’ said Hugo, astonished.
‘Not just yet. I want to talk. You don’t realize what this means to me. Besides, your dancing’s gone off, Hugo. You’re not the man you were.’
‘I need practice.’ He lit a cigarette and tapped a philosophical vein of thought, eyeing the gyrating couples meditatively. ‘It’s the way they’re always introducing new steps that bothers the man who has been living out in the woods. I have become a rusty rustic.’
‘I didn’t mean you were bad. Only you used to be such a marvel. Dancing with you was like floating on a pink cloud above an ocean of bliss.’
‘A very accurate description, I should imagine,’ agreed Hugo. ‘But don’t blame me. Blame these Amalgamated Professors of the Dance, or whatever they call themselves – the birds who get together every couple of weeks or so to decide how they can make things more difficult. Amazing thing that they won’t leave well alone.’
‘You must have change.’
‘I disagree with you,’ said Hugo. ‘No other walk in life is afflicted by a gang of thugs who are perpetually altering the rules of the game. When you learn to play golf, the professional doesn’t tell you to bring the club up slowly and keep the head steady and roll the forearms and bend the left knee and raise the left heel and keep your eye on the ball and not sway back and a few more things, and then, after you’ve sweated yourself to the bone learning all that, suddenly add “Of course, you understand that this is merely intended to see you through till about three weeks from next Thursday. After that the Supreme Grand Council of Consolidated Divot-Shifters will scrap these methods and invent an entirely new set!”’
‘Is this more dudgeon?’
‘No. Not dudgeon.’
‘It sounds like dudgeon. I believe your little feelings are hurt because I said your dancing wasn’t as good as it used to be.’
‘Not at all. We welcome criticism.’
‘Well, get your mind off it and tell me all about you and Millicent and . . .’
‘When I was about five,’ resumed Hugo, removing his cigarette from the holder and inserting another, ‘I attended my first dancing-school. I’m a bit shaky on some of the incidents of the days when I was trailing clouds of glory, but I do remember that dancing-school. At great trouble and expense I was taught to throw up a rubber ball with my left hand and catch it with my right, keeping the small of the back rigid and generally behaving in a graceful and attractive manner. It doesn’t sound a likely sort of thing to learn at a dancing-school, but I swear to you that that’s what the curriculum was. Now, the point I am making . . .’
‘Did you fall in love with Millicent right away, or was it gradual?’
‘The point I am making is this. I became very good at throwing and catching tha
t rubber ball. I dislike boasting, but I stood out conspicuously among a pretty hot bunch. People would nudge each other and say “Who is he?” behind their hands. I don’t suppose, when I was feeling right, I missed the rubber ball more than once in twenty goes. But what good does it do me now? Absolutely none. Long before I got a chance of exhibiting my accomplishment in public and having beautiful women fawn on me for my skill, the Society of Amalgamated Professors of the Dance decided that the Rubber-Ball Glide, or whatever it was called, was out of date.’
‘Is she very pretty?’
And what I say is that all this chopping and changing handicaps a chap. I am perfectly prepared at this moment to step out on that floor and heave a rubber ball about, but it simply isn’t being done nowadays. People wouldn’t understand what I was driving at. In other words, all the time and money and trouble that I spent on mastering the Rubber-Ball Shimmy is a dead loss. I tell you, if the Amalgamated Professors want to make people cynics, they’re going the right way to work.’
‘I wish you would tell me all about Millicent.’
‘In a moment. Dancing, they taught me at school, dates back to the early Egyptians, who ascribed the invention to the god Thoth. The Phrygian Corybantes danced in honour of somebody whose name I’ve forgotten, and every time the festival of Rhea Silvia came round the ancient Roman hoofers were there with their hair in a braid. But what was good enough for the god Thoth isn’t good enough for these blighted Amalgamated Professors! Oh no! And it’s been the same all through the ages. I don’t suppose there has been a moment in history when some poor, well-meaning devil, with ambition at one end of him and two left feet at the other, wasn’t getting it in the neck.’
‘And all this,’ said Sue, ‘because you trod on my foot for just one half-second.’
‘Hugo Carmody dislikes to tread on women’s feet, even for half a second. He has his pride. Ever hear of Father Mariana?’