Georgiana then did an odd thing. She locked the door of the library behind her. ‘I don’t want Sir Henry to burst in,’ she said. ‘Bertie, I think you’re in a bit of a pickle. Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘I don’t think so, Georgie. I think I’d really best be off pronto.’
She let me have the full thousand watts of those brown eyes and I felt the old knees buckle a fraction. A smile began to play around her lips, then lit up the entire physog, like a sunrise speeded up by trick photography.
‘Do you often find yourself surprised in the act of theft from country houses where your presence is unannounced?’
There was a bit of a pause while I mulled this one over. ‘Not often,’ I said. I toyed with the idea of evasion, but we Woosters are wedded to the truth. ‘But it’s not the first time. I do have a tendency to get into scrapes.’
‘Is that all you’re going to tell me?’
‘It’s all I can for the time being. Though if you should clap eyes on me at any time in the next few days and there’s someone else there, best pretend you don’t know me.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll explain one day. I promise you.’
‘All right, then. I won’t recognise or acknowledge.’
‘Under any circs.’
‘I’ve got it. Any circs. Now come on. Let’s get you out of here. But you must promise to telephone me.’
‘I … Er, yes, of course.’
‘Then maybe you could come and have dinner.’
‘I’m not sure I’m top of the list of Sir Henry’s desired dinner companions.’
‘Well, write to me anyway. There are three posts a day.’
‘Oh, rather. I’ll be back,’ I said, though the words came out sounding more like a threat than I’d intended.
‘Don’t forget your library books,’ Georgiana said as I was halfway through the window.
She passed out D and B, and I hitched up one under each arm.
‘Run along, Bertie. I’ll keep watch here.’
I had an overwhelming urge to lean through the window and plant a smacker on that lovely face, but discretion being nine-tenths of something or other, I legged it down the terrace, sprinted into the shadow of the cedars and, when I was well out of sight, changed gear into a steady trot that was enough to get me back at Seaview Cottage in less than ten minutes.
It was a pretty relieved Bertram who, mopping the brow, bunged down the weighty vols on the hall table and resumed his seat in the garden, there to catch his breath and take stock of the situation.
I was aware of a discreet rustling behind my deckchair and a moment later a small table was deposited alongside, bearing a trayful of refreshment.
‘I was unsure, sir, whether you would require a cold drink or a cup of tea, so I have brought both.’
‘Then I shall drink both, Jeeves. I’ve had a bit of a triumph, though I say so myself.’
‘I observed the volumes on the hall table, sir. A considerable achievement.’
I brought Jeeves up to date with the Melbury Hall Raid. Those who witnessed it might have felt that in the telling I rather stressed the fleetness of foot and swiftness of thought over the bruised skull and near-flattening of the divine presence, but all the essentials were there and I could see that the blighter was impressed.
‘Most satisfactory, sir. I have already consulted the books in question and it seems that the present Lord Etringham is seventy-eight years old.’
‘Golly, Jeeves. Just as well, what?’
‘Indeed, sir. I have further established—’
But at this moment there came the sound of someone hammering at the front door of Seaview Cottage and Jeeves disappeared to investigate. I toyed with the idea of picking up By Pullman to Peking again, but decided against.
‘Mr Beeching, sir.’
I stood up to see the friend of my infancy coming over the lawn with an anxious look on his face. This in itself didn’t concern me; he would wear that air of startled apprehension even when the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn was announcing that yet again the Mrs Montague Prize for Latin Verses had gone to Beeching, P.
‘What ho, Woody. All well at the Hall?’
Woody let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Yes and no. Or perhaps that should be no and yes. In the sense of the background picture, I suppose one—’
‘Do get to the point, old chap.’
‘Things are looking bleak for Sir Henry. His accountant is coming down from London. He’s in a filthy temper. Amelia won’t speak to me. And Jeeves is coming to dinner.’
‘Yes, I heard you got into a stew and made up some silly name. Who is this Etringham fellow?’
‘I got his name from a friend of mine in chambers. He’s a real person, but he’s a recluse. He lives in Westmorland and studies fossils. He hasn’t left his house for years. This pal of mine always signs himself into the loucher establishments in the West End under the name of Lord Etringham. He says it’s an absolutely bulletproof alias.’