I
The firm and dignified note in which Rupert Baxter had expressed his
considered opinion of the Earl of Emsworth had been written in the
morning room immediately upon the ex-secretary's return to the house
and delivered into Beach's charge with hands still stained with garden
mould. Only when this urgent task had been performed did he start to
go upstairs in quest of the wash and brush-up which he so greatly
needed. He was mounting the stairs to his bedroom and had reached the
first floor when a door opened and his progress was arrested by what
in a lesser woman would have been a yelp. Proceeding, as it did, from
the lips of Lady Constance Keeble, we must call it an exclamation of
surprise.
"Mr. Baxter!"
She was standing in the doorway of her boudoir, and she eyed his
dishevelled form with such open-mouthed astonishment that for an
instant the ex-secretary came near to including her with the head of
the family in the impromptu commination service which was taking shape
in his mind. He was in no mood for wide-eyed looks of wonder.
"May I come in?" he said curtly. He could explain all, but did not wish
to do so on the first-floor landing of a house where almost anybody
might be listening with flapping ears.
"But, Mr. Baxter!" said Lady Constance.
He paused for a moment to grit his teeth, then closed the door.
"What _have_ you been doing, Mr. Baxter?"
"Jumping out of window."
"Jumping out of _win_-dow?"
He gave a brief synopsis of the events which had led up to his spirited
act. Lady Constance drew in her breath with a remorseful hiss.
"Oh, dear!" she said. "How foolish of me. I should have told you."
"I beg your pardon?"
Even though she was in the safe retirement of her boudoir Lady
Constance Keeble looked cautiously over her shoulder. In the stirring
and complicated state into which life had got itself at Blandings
Castle practically everybody in the place, except Lord Emsworth, had
fallen into the habit nowadays of looking cautiously over his or her
shoulder before he or she spoke.
"Sir Gregory Parsloe said in his note," she explained, "that this man
Pilbeam who is coming here this evening is acting for him."
"Acting for him?"
"Yes. Apparently Sir Gregory went to see him yesterday and has promised
him a large sum of money if he will obtain possession of my brother
Galahad's manuscript. That is why he has invited us to dinner to-night,
to get Galahad out of the house. So there was no need for you to have
troubled."
There was silence.
"So there was no need," repeated the Efficient Baxter slowly, wiping
from his eye the remains of a fragment of mould which had been causing
him some inconvenience, "for me to have troubled."
"I am so sorry, Mr. Baxter."
"Pray do not mention it, Lady Constance."
His eye, now that the mould was out of it, was able to work again with
its customary keenness. His spectacles, as he surveyed the remorseful
woman before him, had a cold, steely look.
"I see," he said. "Well, it might perhaps have spared me some little
inconvenience had you informed me of this earlier, Lady Constance.
I have bruised my left shin somewhat severely and, as you see, made
myself rather dirty."
"I am so sorry."
"Furthermore, I gathered from the remark he let fall that the
impression my actions have made upon Lord Emsworth is that I am insane."
"Oh, dear!"
"He even specified the precise degree of insanity. As mad as a coot,
were his words."
He softened a little. He reminded himself that this woman before him,
who was so nearly doing what is described as wringing the hands, had
always been his friend, had always wished him well, had never slackened
her efforts to restore him to the secretarial duties which he had once
enjoyed.
"Well, it cannot be helped," he said. "The thing now is to think of
some way of recovering the lost ground."
"You mean, if you could find the Empress?"
"Exactly."
"Oh, Mr. Baxter, if you only could!"
"I can."
Lady Constance stared at his dark, purposeful, efficient face in dumb
admiration. To another man who had spoken those words she would have
replied "How?" or even "How on earth?" But, as they had proceeded from
Rupert Baxter, she merely waited silently for enlightenment.
"Have you given this matter any consideration, Lady Constance?"
"Yes."
"To what conclusions have you come?"
Lady Constance felt dull and foolish. She felt like Doctor
Watson--almost like a Scotland Yard Bungler.
"I don't think I have come to any," she said, avoiding the spectacles
guiltily. "Of course," she added, "I think it is absurd to suppose that
Sir Gregory----"
Baxter waved aside the notion. It was not even worth a "Tchah!"
"In any matter of this kind," he said, "the first thing to do is to
seek motive. Who is there in Blandings Castle who could have had a
motive for stealing Lord Emsworth's pig?"
Lady Constance would have given a year's income to have been able to
make some reasonably intelligent reply, but all she could do was look
and listen. Baxter was not annoyed. He would not have had it otherwise.
He preferred his audiences dumb and expectant.
"Carmody."
"Mr. Carmody!"
"Precisely. He is Lord Emsworth's secretary, and a most inefficient
secretary, a secretary who stands hourly in danger of losing his
position. He sees me arrive at the Castle, a man who formerly held the
post he holds. He is alarmed. He suspects. He searches wildly about in
his mind for means of consolidating himself in Lord Emsworth's regard.
Then he has an idea, the sort of wild, motion-picture-bred idea which
would come to a man of his stamp. He thinks to himself that if he
removes the pig and conceals it somewhere and then pretends to have
found it and restores it to its owner, Lord Emsworth's gratitude will
be so intense that all danger of his dismissal will be at an end."
He removed his spectacles and wiped them. Lady Constance uttered a low
cry. In anybody else it would have been a squeak. Baxter replaced his
spectacles.
"I have no doubt the pig is somewhere in the grounds at this moment,"
he said.
"But, Mr. Baxter----"
The ex-secretary raised a compelling hand.
"But he would not have undertaken a thing like this single-handed. A
secretary's time is not his own, and it would be necessary to feed the
pig at regular intervals. He would require an accomplice. And I think I
know who that accomplice is--Beach!"
This time not even the chronicler's desire to place Lady Constance's
utterances in the best and most attractive light can hide the truth.
She bleated.
"Bee-ee-ee-ee-ech!"
The spectacles raked her keenly.
"Have you observed Beach closely of late?"
She shook her head. She was not a woman who observed butlers closely.
"He has something on his mind. He is nervous. Guilty. Conscience
stricken. He jumps when you speak to him."
"Does he?"
"Jumps," repeated the Efficient Baxter. "Just now I gave him a--I
happened to address him, and he sprang in the air." He paused. "I have
half a mind to go and question him."
"Oh, Mr. Baxter! Would that be wise?"
Rupert Baxter's intention of interrogating the butler had been merely
a nebulous one, a sort of idle dream, but these words crystallized it
into a resolve. He was not going to have people asking him if things
would be wise.
"A few searching questions should force him to reveal the truth."
"But he'll give notice!"
This interview had been dotted with occasions on which Baxter might
reasonably have said, "Tchah!" but, as we have seen, until this moment
he had refrained. He now said it.
"Tchah!" said the Efficient Baxter. "There are plenty of other butlers."
And with this undeniable truth he stalked from the room. The wash
and brush-up were still as necessary as they had been ten minutes
before, but he was too intent on the chase to think about washes and
brushes-up. He hurried down the stairs. He crossed the hall. He passed
through the green baize door that led to the quarters of the Blandings
Castle staff. And he was making his way along the dim passage to the
pantry where at this hour Beach might be supposed to be when its door
opened abruptly and a vast form emerged.
It was the butler. And from the fact that he was wearing a bowler hat
it was plain that he was seeking the great outdoors.
Baxter stopped in mid-stride and remained on one leg, watching. Then,
as his quarry disappeared in the direction of the back entrance, he
followed quickly.
Out in the open it was almost as dark as it had been in the passage.
That gray, threatening sky had turned black by now. It was a swollen
mass of inky clouds, heavy with the thunder, lightning, and rain which
so often come in the course of an English summer to remind the island
race that they are hardy Nordics and must not be allowed to get their
fibre all sapped by eternal sunshine like the less favoured dwellers in
more southerly climes. It bayed at Baxter like a bloodhound.
But it took more than dirty weather to quell the Efficient Baxter when
duty called. Like the character in Tennyson's poem who followed the
gleam, he followed the butler. There was but one point about Beach
which even remotely resembled a gleam, but it happened to be only one
which at this moment really mattered. He was easy to follow.
The shrubbery swallowed the butler. A few seconds later it had
swallowed the Efficient Baxter.
II
There are those who maintain--and make a nice income by doing so in
the evening papers--that in these degenerate days the old hardy spirit
of the Briton has died out. They represent themselves as seeking
vainly for evidence of the survival of those qualities of toughness
and endurance which once made Englishmen what they were. To such, the
spectacle of Rupert Baxter braving the elements could not have failed
to bring cheer and consolation. They would have been further stimulated
by the conduct of Hugo Carmody.
It had not escaped Hugo's notice, as he left Sue on the terrace and
started out in the wake of Millicent, that the weather was hotting up
for a storm. He saw the clouds. He heard the fast-approaching thunder.
For neither did he give a hoot. Let it rain, was Hugo's verdict. Let it
jolly well rain as much as it dashed well wanted to. As if encouraged,
the sky sent down a fat, wet drop which insinuated itself just between
his neck and collar.
He hardly noticed it. The information confided to him by his friend
Ronald Fish had numbed his senses so thoroughly that water down the
back of the neck was merely an incident. He was feeling as he had not
felt since the evening some years ago when, boxing for his university
in the light-weight division, he had incautiously placed the point of
his jaw in the exact spot at the moment occupied by his opponent's
right fist. When you have done this or--equally--when you have just
been told that the girl you love is definitely betrothed to another,
you begin to understand how anarchists must feel when the bomb goes off
too soon.
In all the black days through which he had been living recently, Hugo
had never really lost hope. It had been dim sometimes, but it had
always been there. It was his opinion that he knew women, just as it
was Sue's idea that she knew men. Like Sue, he had placed his trust
in the thought that true love conquers all obstacles; that coldness
melts; that sundered hearts may at long last be brought together again
by a little judicious pleading and reasoning. Even the fact that
Millicent stared at him when they met, with large, scornful eyes that
went through him like stilettos, unpleasant though it was, had not
caused him to despair. He had looked forward to the moment when he
should contrive to get her alone and do a bit of snappy talking along
the right lines.
But this was final. This was the end. This put the tin hat on it. She
was engaged to Ronnie. Soon she would be married to Ronnie. Like a
gadfly the hideous thought sent Hugo Carmody reeling on through the
gloom.
It was so dark now that he could scarcely see before him. And, looking
about him, he discovered that the reason for this was that he had made
his way into a wood of sorts. The west wood, he deduced dully, taking
into consideration the fact that there was no other in this particular
part of the estate. Well, he might just as well be in the west wood as
anywhere. He trudged on.
The ground beneath his feet was spongy and equipped with low-lying
brambles which pricked through his thin flannels and would have
caused him discomfort if he had been in the frame of mind to notice
brambles. There were trees against which he bumped, and logs over
which he tripped. And ahead of him, in a small clearing, there was a
dilapidated-looking cottage. He noticed this because it seemed the
sort of place where a man, now that a warm, gusty wind had sprung up,
might shelter and light a cigarette. The need for tobacco had become
imperative.
He was surprised to find that it was raining, and had apparently, from
the state of his clothes, been raining for quite some time. It was
also thundering. The storm had broken, and the boom of it seemed to be
all round him. A flash of lightning reminded him that he was in just
the kind of place, among all these trees, where blokes get struck. At
dinner time they are missed, and later on search parties come out with
lanterns. Somebody stumbles over something soft, and the rays of the
lantern fall on a charred and blackened form. Here, quickly, we have
found him! Where? Over here. Is _that_ Hugo Carmody? Well, well! Pick
him up, boys, and bring him along. He was a good chap once. Moody,
though, of late. Some trouble about a girl, wasn't it? She will be
sorry when she hears of this. Drove him to it, you might almost say.
Steady with that stretcher. Now, when I say, "_To me_." Right!
There was something about this picture which quite cheered Hugo up.
Ajax defied the lightning. Hugo Carmody rather encouraged it than
otherwise. He looked approvingly at a more than usually vivid flash
that seemed to dart among the treetops like a snake. All the same, he
was forced to reflect, he was getting dashed wet. No sense, when you
came right down to it, in getting dashed wet. After all, a man could
be struck by lightning just as well in that cottage sort of place over
there. Ho! for the cottage, felt Hugo, and headed for it at a gallop.
He had just reached the door when it was flung open. There was a
noise rather like that made by a rising pheasant, and the next moment
something white had flung itself into his arms and was weeping
emotionally on his chest.
"Hugo! Hugo darling!"
Reason told Hugo it could scarcely be Millicent who was clinging to
him like this and speaking to him like this. And yet Millicent it most
certainly appeared to be. She continued to speak, still in the same
friendly, even chatty strain.
"Hugo! Save me!"
"Right ho!"
"I wur-wur-went in thur-thur-there to shush-shush-shelter from the
rain, and it's all pitch dark."
Hugo squeezed her fondly and with the sort of relief that comes to men
who find themselves squeezing where they had not thought to squeeze.
No need for that snappy bit of talking now. No need for arguments and
explanations, for pleadings and entreaties. No need for anything but a
good biceps.
He was bewildered. But mixed with his bewilderment had come a certain
feeling of complacency. There was no denying that it was enjoyable,
this exhibition of tremulous weakness in one who, if she had had the
shadow of a fault, had always been inclined to matter-of-factness and
the display of that rather hard, bright self-sufficiency which is so
characteristic of the modern girl. If this melting mood was due to
the fact that Millicent, while in the cottage, had seen a ghost, Hugo
wanted to meet that ghost and shake its hand. Every man likes to be in
a position to say, "There, there, little woman!" to the girl of his
heart, particularly if for the last few days she has been treating him
like a more than ordinarily unpleasant worm, and Hugo Carmody felt that
he was in that position now.
"There, there!" he said, not quite feeling up to risking the "little
woman." "It's all right."
"But it tut-tut-tut----"
"It what?" said Hugo, puzzled.
"It tut-tut-tut-tisn't. There's a man in there!"
"A man?"
"Yes. I didn't know there was anyone there, and it was pitch dark, and
I heard something move, and I said, 'Who's that?' and then he suddenly
spoke to me in German."
"In German?"
"Yes."
Hugo released her gently. His face was determined.
"I'm going in to have a look."
"Hugo! Stop! You'll be killed."
She stood there, rigid. The rain lashed about her, but she did not heed
it. The lightning gleamed. She paid it no attention. For the minute
that lasts an hour she waited, straining her ears for sounds of the
death struggle. Then a dim form appeared.
"I say, Millicent."
"Hugo! Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm all right. I say, Millicent, do you know what?"
"No, what?"
A chuckle came to her through the darkness.
"It's the pig."
"It's what?"
"The pig."
"Who's a pig?"
"This is. Your friend in here. It's Empress of Blandings, as large as
life. Come and have a look."
III
Millicent had a look. She came to the door of the cottage and peered
in. Yes, just as he had said, there was the Empress. In the feeble
light of the match that Hugo was holding, the noble animal's attractive
face was peering up at her--questioningly, as if wondering if she
might be the bearer of the evening snack which would be so exceedingly
welcome. The picture was one which would have set Lord Emsworth
screaming with joy. Millicent merely gaped.
"How on earth did she get here?"
"That's what I'm going to find out," said Hugo. "One always knew she
must be cached somewhere, of course. What is this place, anyway?"
"It used to be a gamekeeper's cottage, I believe."
"Well, there seems to be a room up above," said Hugo, striking another
match. "I'm going to go up there and wait. It's quite likely that
somebody will be along soon to feed the animal, and I'm going to see
who it is."
"Yes, that's what we'll do. How clever of you!"
"Not you. You get back home."
"I won't."
There was a pause. A strong man would, no doubt, have asserted himself.
But Hugo, though feeling better than he had done for days, was not
feeling quite so strong as all that.
"Just as you like." He shut the door. "Well, come on. We'd better be
making a move. The fellow may be here at any moment."
They climbed the crazy stairs and lowered themselves cautiously to a
floor which smelled of mice and mildew. Below, all was in darkness,
but there were holes through which it would be possible to look when
the time should come for looking. Millicent could feel one near her
face.
"You don't think this floor will give way?" she asked rather nervously.
"I shouldn't think so. Why?"
"Well, I don't want to break my neck."
"You don't, don't you? Well, I would jolly well like to break mine,"
said Hugo, speaking tensely in the darkness. It had just occurred to
him that now would be a good time for a heart-to-heart talk. "If you
suppose I'm keen on going on living with you and Ronnie doing the
Wedding Glide all over the place you're dashed well mistaken. I take it
you're aware that you've broken my bally heart, what?"
"Oh, Hugo!" said Millicent.
Silence fell. Below, the Empress rustled. Aloft, something scuttered.
"Oo!" cried Millicent. "Was that a rat?"
"I hope so."
"What!"
"Rats gnaw you," explained Hugo. "They cluster round and chew you to
the bone and put an end to your misery."
There was silence again. Then Millicent spoke in a small voice.
"You're being beastly," she said.
Remorse poured over Hugo in a flood.
"I'm frightfully sorry. Yes, I know I am, dash it! But look here, you
know--I mean, all this getting engaged to Ronnie. A bit thick, what?
You don't expect me to give three hearty cheers, do you? Wouldn't want
me to break into a few care-free dance steps?"
"I can't believe it's really happened."
"Well, how did it happen?"
"It sort of happened all of a sudden. I was feeling miserable and very
angry with you and--and all that. And I met Ronnie and he took me for
a stroll and we went down by the lake and started throwing little bits
of stick at the swans, and suddenly Ronnie sort of grunted and said,
'I say!' and I said, 'Hullo?' and he said, 'Will you marry me?' and
I said, 'All right,' and he said 'I ought to warn you, I despise all
women,' and I said, 'And I loathe all men,' and he said 'Right-o, I
think we shall be very happy.'"
"I see."
"I only did it to score off you."
"You succeeded."
A trace of spirit crept into Millicent's voice.
"You never really loved me," she said. "You know jolly well you didn't."
"Is that so?"
"Well, what did you want to go sneaking off to London for, then, and
stuffing that beastly girl of yours with food?"
"She isn't my girl. And she isn't beastly."
"She is."
"Well, you seem to get on with her all right. I saw you chatting on the
terrace together as cosily as dammit."
"What!"
"Miss Schoonmaker."
"I don't know what you're talking about. What's Miss Schoonmaker got to
do with it?"
"Miss Schoonmaker isn't Miss Schoonmaker. She's Sue Brown."
For a moment it seemed to Millicent that the crack in her companion's
heart had spread to his head. Futile though the action was, she stared
in the direction from which his voice had proceeded. Then, suddenly,
his words took on a meaning. She gasped.
"She's followed you down here?"
"She hasn't followed me down here. She's followed Ronnie down
here. Can't you get it into your nut," said Hugo, with justifiable
exasperation, "that you've been making floaters and bloomers and
getting everything mixed up all along? Sue Brown has never cared a
curse for me, and I've never thought anything about her, except that
she's a jolly girl and nice to dance with. That's absolutely and
positively the only reason I went out with her. I hadn't had a dance
for six weeks, and my feet had begun to itch so that I couldn't sleep
at night. So I went to London and took her out, and Ronnie found her
talking to that pestilence Pilbeam and thought he had taken her out,
and she had told him she didn't even know the man, which was quite
true, but Ronnie cut up rough and said he was through with her and came
down here, and she wanted to get a word with him, so she came down
here, pretending to be Miss Schoonmaker, and the moment she gets here
she finds Ronnie is engaged to you. A nice surprise for the poor girl!"
Millicent's head had begun to swim long before the conclusion of this
recital.
"But what is Pilbeam doing down here?"
"Pilbeam?"
"He was on the terrace talking to her."
A low snarl came through the darkness.
"Pilbeam here? Ah! So he came, after all, did he? He's the fellow
Lord Emsworth sent me to about the Empress. He runs the Argus Enquiry
Agency. It was Pilbeam's minions that dogged my steps that night, at
your request. So he's here, is he? Well, let him enjoy himself while he
can. Let him sniff the country air while the sniffing is good. A bitter
reckoning awaits that bloke."
From the disorder of Millicent's mind another point emerged insistently
demanding explanation.
"You said she wasn't pretty!"
"Who?"
"Sue Brown."
"Nor is she."
"You don't call her pretty? She's fascinating."
"Not to me," said Hugo doggedly. "There's only one girl in the world
that I call pretty, and she's going to marry Ronnie." He paused. "If
you haven't realized by this time that I love you and always shall love
you and have never loved anybody else and never shall love anybody
else, you're a fathead. If you brought me Sue Brown or any other girl
in the world on a plate with watercress round her, I wouldn't so much
as touch her hand."
Another rat--unless it was an exceptionally large mouse--had begun to
make its presence felt in the darkness. It seemed to be enjoying an
early dinner off a piece of wood. Millicent did not even notice it.
She had reached out, and her hand had touched Hugo's arm. Her fingers
closed on it desperately.
"Oh, Hugo!" she said.
The arm became animated. It clutched her, drew her along the
mouse-and-mildew scented floor. And time stood still.
Hugo was the first to break the silence.
"And to think that not so long ago I was wishing that a flash of
lightning would strike me amidships!" he said.
The aroma of mouse and mildew had passed away. Violets seemed to be
spreading their fragrance through the cottage. Violets and roses. The
rat, a noisy feeder, had changed into an orchestra of harps, dulcimers,
and sackbuts that played soft music.
And then, jarring upon these sweet strains, there came the sound of the
cottage door opening. And a moment later light shone through the holes
in the floor.
Millicent gave Hugo's arm a warning pinch. They looked down. On the
floor below stood a lantern, and beside it a man of massive build who,
from the golloping noises that floated upward, appeared to be giving
the Empress those calories and proteids which a pig of her dimensions
requires so often and in such large quantities.
This Good Samaritan had been stooping. Now he straightened himself and
looked about him with an apprehensive eye. He raised the lantern, and
its light fell upon his face.
And, as she saw that face, Millicent, forgetting prudence, uttered in a
high, startled voice a single word.
"Beach!" cried Millicent.
Down below, the butler stood congealed. It seemed to him that the Voice
of Conscience had spoken.
IV
Conscience, besides having a musical voice, appeared also to be
equipped with feet. Beach could hear them clattering down the stairs,
and the volume of noise was so great that it seemed as if Conscience
must be a centipede. But he did not stir. It would have required at
that moment a derrick to move him, and there was no derrick in the
gamekeeper's cottage in the west wood. He was still standing like a
statue when Hugo and Millicent arrived. Only when the identity of the
newcomers impressed itself on his numbed senses did his limbs begin
to twitch and show some signs of relaxing. For he looked on Hugo as
a friend. Hugo, he felt, was one of the few people in his world who
finding him in his present questionable position might be expected to
take the broad and sympathetic view.
He nerved himself to speak.
"Good-evening, sir. Good-evening, miss."
"What's all this?" said Hugo.
Years ago, in his hot and reckless youth, Beach had once heard that
question from the lips of a policeman. It had disconcerted him then. It
disconcerted him now.
"Well, sir," he replied.
Millicent was staring at the Empress, who, after one courteous look
of inquiry at the intruders, had given a brief grunt of welcome and
returned to the agenda.
"_You_ stole her, Beach? _You!_"
The butler quivered. He had known this girl since her long hair and
rompers days. She had sported in his pantry. He had cut elephants out
of paper for her and taught her tricks with bits of string. The shocked
note in her voice seared him like vitriol. To her, he felt, niece to
the Earl of Emsworth and trained by his lordship from infancy in the
best traditions of pig worship, the theft of the Empress must seem the
vilest of crimes. He burned to reëstablish himself in her eyes.
There comes in the life of every conspirator a moment when loyalty
to his accomplices wavers before the urge to make things right for
himself. We can advance no more impressive proof of the nobility of
the butler's soul than that he did not obey this impulse. Millicent's
accusing eyes were piercing him, but he remained true to his trust. Mr.
Ronald had sworn him to secrecy, and even to square himself he could
not betray him.
And, as if by way of a direct reward from Providence for this sterling
conduct, inspiration descended upon Beach.
"Yes, miss," he replied.
"Oh, Beach!"
"Yes, miss. It was I who stole the animal. I did it for your sake,
miss."
Hugo eyed him sternly.
"Beach," he said, "this is pure apple sauce."
"Sir?"
"Apple sauce, I repeat. Why endeavour to swing the lead, Beach? What do
you mean, you stole the pig for her sake?"
"Yes," said Millicent. "Why for my sake?"
The butler was calm now. He had constructed his story and he was going
to stick to it.
"In order to remove the obstacles in your path, miss."
"Obstacles?"
"Owing to the fact that you and Mr. Carmody have frequently entrusted
me with your--may I say surreptitious correspondence, I have long been
cognizant of your sentiments toward one another, miss. I am aware that
it is your desire to contract a union with Mr. Carmody, and I knew that
there would be objections raised on the part of certain members of the
family."
"So far," said Hugo critically, "this sounds to me like drivel of the
purest water. But go on."
"Thank you, sir. And then it occurred to me that, were his lordship's
pig to disappear, his lordship would, on recovering the animal, be
extremely grateful to whoever restores it. It was my intention to
apprise you of the animal's whereabouts and suggest that you should
inform his lordship that you had discovered it. In his gratitude, I
fancied, his lordship would consent to the union."
There could never be complete silence in any spot where Empress of
Blandings was partaking of food; but something as near silence as was
possible followed this speech. In the rays of the lantern Hugo's eyes
met Millicent's. In hers, as in his, there was a look of stunned awe.
They had heard of faithful old servitors. They had read about faithful
old servitors. They had seen faithful old servitors on the stage. But
never had they dreamed that faithful old servitors could be as faithful
as this.
"Oh, Beach!" said Millicent.
She had used the words before. But how different this "Oh, Beach!"
was from that other, earlier "Oh, Beach!" On that occasion the
exclamation had been vibrant with reproach, pain, disillusionment. Now
it contained gratitude, admiration, an affection almost too deep for
speech.
And the same may be said of Hugo's "Gosh!"
"Beach," cried Millicent, "you're an angel!"
"Thank you, miss."
"A topper!" agreed Hugo.
"Thank you, sir."
"However did you get such a corking idea?"
"It came to me, miss."
"I'll tell you what it is, Beach," said Hugo earnestly. "When you hand
in your dinner pail in due course of time--and may the moment be long
distant!--you've got to leave your brain to the nation. You've simply
got to. Have it pickled and put in the British Museum, because it's
the outstanding brain of the century. I never heard of anything so
brilliant in my life. Of course the old boy will be all over us."
"He'll do anything for us," said Millicent.
"This is not merely a scheme. It is more. It is an egg. Pray silence
for your chairman. I want to think."
Outside, the storm had passed. Birds were singing. Far away, the
thunder still rumbled. It might have been the sound of Hugo's thoughts,
leaping and jostling one another.
"I've worked it all out," said Hugo at length. "Some people might say,
Rush to the old boy now and tell him we've found his pig. I say, no. In
my opinion we ought to hold this pig for a rising market. The longer we
wait, the more grateful he will be. Give him another forty-eight hours,
I suggest, and he will have reached the stage where he will deny us
nothing."
"But----"
"No! Act precipitately and we are undone. Don't forget that it is not
merely a question of getting your uncle's consent to our union. We've
got to break it to him that you aren't going to marry Ronnie. And the
family have always been pretty keen on your marrying Ronnie. To my
mind, another forty-eight hours at the very least is essential."
"Perhaps you're right."
"I know I'm right."
"Then we'll simply leave the Empress here?"
"No," said Hugo decidedly. "This place doesn't strike me as safe. If
we found her here, anybody might. We require a new safe deposit, and I
know the very one. It's----"
Beach came out of the silence. His manner betrayed agitation.
"If it is all the same to you, sir, I would much prefer not to hear it."
"Eh?"
"It would be a great relief to me, sir, to be able to expunge the
entire matter from my mind. I have been under a considerable mental
strain of late, sir, and I really don't think I could bear any more
of it. Besides, supposing I were questioned, sir. It may be my
imagination, but I have rather fancied from the way he has looked at me
occasionally that Mr. Baxter harbours suspicions."
"Baxter always harbours suspicions about something," said Millicent.
"Yes, miss. But in this case they are well grounded, and if it is all
the same to you and Mr. Carmody I would greatly prefer that he was not
in a position to go on harbouring them."
"All right, Beach," said Hugo. "After what you have done for us, your
lightest wish is law. You can be out of this, if you want to. Though I
was going to suggest that, if you cared to go on feeding the animal----"
"No, sir--really--if you please...."
"Right ho, then. Come along, Millicent. We must be shifting."
"Are you going to take her away now?"
"This very moment. I pass this handkerchief through the handy ring
which you observe in the nose and--Ho! Allez-oop! Good-bye, Beach. It
is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done, I think."
"Good-bye, Beach," said Millicent. "I can't tell you how grateful we
are."
"I am glad to have given satisfaction, miss. I wish you every success
and happiness, sir."
Left alone, the butler drew in his breath till he swelled like a
balloon, then poured it out again in a long, sighing puff. He picked
up the lantern and left the cottage. His walk was the walk of a butler
from whose shoulders a great weight has rolled.
V
It is a fact not generally known, for a nice sense of the dignity of
his position restrained him from exercising it, that Beach possessed a
rather attractive singing voice. It was a mellow baritone, in timbre
not unlike that which might have proceeded from a cask of very old, dry
sherry, had it had vocal chords: and we cannot advance a more striking
proof of the lightness of heart which had now come upon him than by
mentioning that, as he walked home through the wood, he broke his rigid
rule and definitely warbled.
"There's a light in thy bow-er,"
sang Beach,
"A light in thy BOW-er...."
He felt more like a gay young second footman than a butler of years'
standing. He listened to the birds with an uplifted heart. Upon the
rabbits that sported about his path he bestowed a series of indulgent
smiles. The shadow that had darkened his life had passed away. His
conscience was at rest.
So completely was this so that when, on reaching the house, he was
informed by Footman James that Lord Emsworth had been inquiring for
him and desired his immediate presence in the library, he did not even
tremble. A brief hour ago, and what menace this announcement would
have seemed to him to hold. But now it left him calm. It was with some
little difficulty that, as he mounted the stairs, he kept himself from
resuming his song.
"Er--Beach."
"Your lordship?"
The butler now became aware that his employer was not alone. Dripping
in an unpleasant manner on the carpet, for he seemed somehow to have
got himself extremely wet, stood the Efficient Baxter. Beach regarded
him with a placid eye. What was Baxter to him or he to Baxter now?
"Your lordship?" he said again, for Lord Emsworth appeared to be
experiencing some difficulty in continuing the conversation.
"Eh? What? What? Oh, yes."
The ninth earl braced himself with a visible effort.
"Er--Beach."
"Your lordship?"
"I--er--I sent for you, Beach----"
"Yes, your lordship?"
At this moment Lord Emsworth's eye fell on a volume on the desk dealing
with Diseases in Pigs. He seemed to draw strength from it.
"Beach," he said, in quite a crisp, masterful voice, "I sent for you
because Mr. Baxter has made a remarkable charge against you. Most
extraordinary."
"I should be glad to be acquainted with the gravamen of the accusation,
your lordship."
"The what?" asked Lord Emsworth, starting.
"If your lordship would be kind enough to inform me of the substance of
Mr. Baxter's charge?"
"Oh, the substance? Yes. You mean the substance? Precisely. Quite so.
The substance. Yes, to be sure. Quite so. Quite so. Yes. Exactly. No
doubt."
It was plain to the butler that his employer had begun to dodder. Left
to himself this human cuckoo clock would go maundering on like this
indefinitely. Respectfully, but with the necessary firmness, he called
him to order.
"What is it that Mr. Baxter says, your lordship?"
"Eh? Oh, tell him, Baxter. Yes, tell him, dash it."
The Efficient Baxter moved a step closer and began to drip on another
part of the carpet. His spectacles gleamed determinedly. Here was no
stammering, embarrassed peer of the realm, but a man who knew his own
mind and could speak it.
"I followed you to the gamekeeper's cottage in the west wood just now,
Beach."
"Sir?"
"You heard what I said."
"Undoubtedly, sir. But I fancied I must be mistaken. I have not been to
the spot you mention, sir."
"I saw you with my own eyes."
"I can only repeat my asseveration, sir," said the butler with a
saintly meekness.
Lord Emsworth, who had taken another look at Diseases in Pigs, became
brisk again.
"He says he peeped through the window, dash it."
Beach raised a respectful eyebrow. It was as if he had said that it
was not his place to comment on the pastimes of the Castle's guests,
however childish. If Mr. Baxter wished to go out into the woods in the
rain and play solitary games of Peep-bo, that, said the eyebrow, was a
matter that concerned Mr. Baxter alone.
"And you were in there, he says, feeding the Empress."
"Your lordship?"
"And you were in there----Dash it, you heard."
"I beg your pardon, your lordship, but I really fail to comprehend."
"Well, if you want it in a nutshell, Mr. Baxter says it was you who
stole my pig."
There were few things in the world that the butler considered worth
raising both eyebrows at. This was one of the few. He stood for a
moment, exhibiting them to Lord Emsworth: then turned to Baxter, so
that he could see them, too. This done, he lowered them and permitted
about three eighths of a smile to play for a moment about his lips.
"Might I speak frankly, your lordship?"
"Dash it, man, we want you to speak frankly. That's the whole idea.
That's why I sent for you. We want a full confession and the name of
your accomplice and all that sort of thing."
"I hesitate only because what I should like to say may possibly give
offence to Mr. Baxter, your lordship, which would be the last thing I
should desire."
The prospect of offending the Efficient Baxter which caused such
concern to Beach appeared to disturb his lordship not at all.
"Get on. Say what you like."
"Well, then, your lordship, I think it possible that Mr. Baxter, if he
will pardon my saying so, may have been suffering from a hallucination."
"Tchah!" said the Efficient Baxter.
"You mean he's potty?" said Lord Emsworth, struck with the idea. In the
excitement of his late secretary's information, he had overlooked this
simple explanation. Now there came surging back to him all the evidence
that went to support such a theory. Those flower pots--that leap from
the library window. He looked at Baxter keenly. There _was_ a sort of
wild gleam in his eyes. The old coot glitter.
"Really, Lord Emsworth!"
"Oh, I'm not saying you are, my dear fellow. Only----"
"It is quite obvious to me," said Baxter stiffly, "that this man is
lying. Wait!" he continued, raising a hand. "Are you prepared to come
with his lordship and me to the cottage now, at this very moment, and
let his lordship see for himself?"
"No, sir."
"Ha!"
"I should first," said Beach, "wish to go downstairs and get my hat."
"Quite right," agreed Lord Emsworth cordially. "Very sensible. Might
catch a nasty cold in the head. Certainly, get your hat, Beach, and
meet us at the front door."
"Very good, your lordship."
A bystander, observing the little party that was gathered some five
minutes later on the gravel outside the great door of Blandings Castle,
would have noticed about it a touch of chill, a certain restraint. None
of its three members seemed really in the mood for a ramble through
the woods. Beach, though courtly, was not cordial. The face under his
bowler hat was the face of a good man misjudged. Baxter was eying
the sullen sky as though he suspected it of something. As for Lord
Emsworth, he had just become conscious that he was about to accompany
through dark and deserted ways one who, though on this afternoon's
evidence the trend of his tastes seemed to be toward suicide, might
quite possibly become homicidal.
"One moment," said Lord Emsworth.
He scuttled into the house again and came out looking happier. He was
carrying a stout walking stick with an ivory knob on it.