Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (14 page)

I have always rather prided myself on being a good host,
putting visitors at their ease with debonair smiles and
courteous wisecracks, but I am compelled to admit that at the
sight of these two I didn't come within a mile of doing so, and
the best I could do in the way of wisecracks was a hoarse cry
like that of a Pekingese with laryngitis. It was left to Plank to
get the conversation going.

'We're in luck, Cook,' he said. 'They haven't started yet.
Because if they had,' he added, reasoning closely, 'the bounder
wouldn't be here, would he?'

'You're right,' said Cook. Then, addressing me, 'Where is
my daughter, you scoundrel?'

'Yes, where is she, rat?' said Plank, and I suddenly came over
all calm. From being a Pekingese with throat trouble I turned
in a flash into one of those fellows in historical novels who flick
a speck of dust from the irreproachable mechlin lace at their
wrists preparatory to making the bad guys feel like pieces of
cheese. Because with my quick intelligence I had spotted that
the parties of the second part had got all muddled up and that
I was in a position to score off them as few parties of the
second part had ever been scored off.

'Fill me in on two points, Messrs Plank and Cook, if you
will be so good,' I said, '(a)Why are you taking up space in my
cottage which I require for other purposes, and (b) What the
hell are you talking about? What is all this song and dance
about daughters?'

'Trying to brazen it out,' said Plank. 'I told you he would.
He reminds me of a man I knew in East Africa, who always
tried to brazen things out. If you caught him with his fingers
in your cigar box, he would say he was just tidying the cigars.
Fellow named Abercrombie-Smith, eventually eaten by a
crocodile on the Lower Zambezi. But even he had to give up
when confronted with overwhelming evidence. Confront this
blighter with the overwhelming evidence, Cook.'

'I will,' said Cook, producing an envelope from his pocket.
'I have here a letter from my daughter. Signed "Vanessa".'

'A very important point,' said Plank.

'I will read it to you. "Dear Father. I am going away with the
man I love." '

'Let's see him wriggle out of that,' said Plank.

'Yes,' said Cook. 'What have you to say?'

'Merely this,' I riposted. I was thinking how mistaken Orlo
had been in asserting that girls rambled when writing letters.
Anything more lucid and concise than this one I had never
come across. Possibly, I felt, Vanessa, too, was a contributor to
the
New Statesman.
'Cook,' I said, 'you are labouring under a
what-d'you-call-it.'

'See!' said Plank. 'Didn't I say he would try to brazen it out?'

'That letter does not refer to me.'

'Are you denying that you are the man my daughter loves?'

'That's just what I am denying.'

'In spite of the fact that she is always in and out of this
beastly cottage and is probably at this moment hiding under
the bed in the spare room,' said Plank, continuing to shove his
oar in in the most unnecessary manner. These African
explorers have no tact, no reticence.

'May I explain,' I said. 'The chap you're looking for is Orlo
Porter. They fell for each other when she was in London and
love has been burgeoning ever since, if burgeoning means what
I think it means, until they felt they could bear being separated
no longer. So she pinched your car and they've driven off
together to the registrar's.'

It didn't go well. Cook said I was lying, and Plank said of
course I was, adding that the more he saw of me the more I
reminded him of Abercrombie-Smith, who, he said, would
undoubtedly have done a long stretch in chokey if the crocodile
hadn't taken things into its own hands.

I should have mentioned that in the course of these
exchanges Cook's complexion had been steadily deepening. It
now looked like a Drone Club tie, which is a rich purple.
There was talk at one time of having it crimson with white
spots, but the supporters of that view were outvoted.

'How dare you have the insolence to suppose that I am fool
enough to believe this story of my daughter being in love with
Orlo Porter?' he thundered. 'As if any girl in her senses would
love Orlo Porter.'

'Ridiculous,' said Plank.

'Vanessa would turn from him in disgust.'

'On her heel,' said Plank.

'What she can see in
you
I cannot imagine.'

'Nor can I,' said Plank. 'He's got a beard like one of those
Victorian novelists. Revolting spectacle.'

It was true that I hadn't shaved this morning, but this was
going too far. I don't mind criticism, but I will not endure
vulgar abuse.

'Pfui,' I said. It is an expression I don't often use, but Nero
Wolfe is always saying it with excellent results, and it seemed
to fit in rather well here. 'Enough of this back-chat. Read this,'
I said, handing Cook Orlo's letter.

I must say his reception of what Plank would have called the
overwhelming evidence was all that could be desired. His jaw
fell. He snorted. His face crumpled up like a sheet of carbon
paper.

'Good God!' he gurgled.

'What is it?' asked Plank. 'What's the matter?'

'This is from Porter, saying that he has eloped with
Vanessa.'

'Probably a forgery.'

'No. Porter's writing is unmistakable . . .' He choked. 'Mr
Wooster –'

'Don't call him Mister Wooster as if he were a respectable
member of society,' said Plank. 'He's a desperate criminal who
once came within an ace of stinging me for five pounds. He is
known to the police as Alpine Joe. Address him as that.
Wooster is only a pen name.'

Cook did not seem to have listened – and I didn't blame
him.

'Mr Wooster, I owe you an apology.'

I decided to temper justice with m. No sense in grinding the
poor old buster beneath the iron heel. True, he had been
extremely offensive, but to a man who has lost his daughter
and his cat within a day or two of each other much must be
excused.

'Don't give it another thought, my dear fellow,' I said. 'We
all make mistakes. I forgive you freely. If this little misunderstanding
has taught you not to speak till you are sure of your
facts, it will have been time well spent.'

I had paused, speculating as to whether I wasn't being a bit
too patronizing, when somebody said 'Miaow' in a low voice,
and looking down I saw that the cat had strolled in. And if ever
a cat chose the wrong moment for getting the party spirit and
wanting to mix with the boys, this cat was that cat. I looked at
it with a wild surmise, as silent as those bimbos on the peak in
Darien. With both hands pressed to the top of my head to
prevent it taking to itself the wings of a dove and soaring to the
ceiling, I was asking myself what the harvest would be.

I was speedily informed on this point.

'Ha!' said Cook, scooping up the animal and pressing it to
his bosom. He seemed to have lost all interest in eloping
daughters.

'I told you it must have been Alpine Joe who was the
kidnapper,' said Plank. 'That was why he was hanging about
the stables that day. He was waiting his chance.'

'Biding his time.'

'And he hasn't a word to say for himself.'

He was right. I was unable to utter. I couldn't clear myself
by exposing the aged relative at the bar of world opinion. I
couldn't make them believe that I was going to return the cat.
You might have described me as being trapped in the net of
fate if you had happened to think of the expression, and when
that happens to you, it is no use saying anything. Ask the boys
in Dartmoor or Pentonville. I could only trust that joy at
recovering his lost one might soften Cook's heart and make
him let me off lightly.

Not a hope.

'I shall insist on an exemplary sentence,' he said.

'And meanwhile,' said Plank in that offensively officious
way of his, 'shall I be hitting him on the head with my stick?
The Zulu knob-kerrie would be better, but I left it up at the
house.'

'I was going to ask you to go for a policeman.'

'While you do what?'

'While I take the cat back to Potato Chip.'

'Suppose while we're both gone he does a bunk?'

'You have a point there.'

'When anyone is caught stealing in Bongo on the Congo,
they tie him down on an ant-hill until they can get hold of the
walla-walla, as judges are called in the native dialect. Makes it
awkward for the accused if he isn't fond of ants and the walla-walla
is away for the week-end, but into each life some rain
must fall and he ought to have thought of that before he
started pinching things. We're short of ants, of course, but we
can tie him to the sofa. It only means pulling down a couple of
curtain cords.'

'Then by all means let us do as you suggest.'

'Better gag him. We don't want him yelling for help.'

'My dear Plank, you think of everything.'

I am a great reader of novels of suspense, and I had often
wondered how the heroes of them felt when the heavy tied
them up, as he generally did about half-way through. I was
now in a position to get a rough idea, but of course only a
rough one, for they were pretty nearly always attached to a
barrel of gunpowder with a lighted candle on top of it, which
must have made the whole thing considerably more poignant.

I had been spared this what you might call added attraction,
but even so I was far from being in sunny mood. I think it was
the gag which contributed most to the lowering of my spirits.
Plank had inserted his tobacco pouch between my upper and
lower teeth, and it tasted far too strongly of African explorer to
be agreeable. It was a great relief when I heard a footstep and
realized that Jeeves had returned from revelling with Mrs P. B.
Pigott of Balmoral, Mafeking Road.

'Good morning, sir,' he said.

He expressed no surprise at seeing me tied to a sofa with
curtain cords, just as he would have e. no s. if he had seen me
being eaten by a crocodile like the late Abercrombie-Smith,
though in the latter case he might have heaved a regretful sigh.

Assuming that I would prefer to be without them, he
removed the gag and unfastened my bonds.

'Have you breakfasted, sir?' he asked. I told him I had.

'Perhaps some coffee, sir?'

'A great idea. And make it strong,' I said, hoping that it
would wash the taste of Plank's tobacco pouch away. 'And
when you return, I shall a tale unfold which will make you
jump as if you'd sat on a fretful porpentine.'

I was quite wrong, of course. I doubt if he would do much
more than raise an eyebrow if, when entering his pantry, he
found one of those peculiar fauna from the Book of
Revelations in the sink. When he returned with the steaming
pot and I unfolded my tale, he listened attentively, but gave no
indication that he recognized that what he was listening to was
front page stuff. Only when I told him of the clicking of Orlo
and Vanessa, releasing me from my honourable obligations to
the latter, did a flicker of interest disturb his frozen features. I
think he might have unbent to the extent of offering me
respectful congratulations, had not Plank come bounding in.

He was alone. I could have told him it was hopeless to try
to get hold of the Maiden Eggesford Police Force at that time
of day. There was only one of it and in the morning he does his
rounds on his bicycle.

Seeing Jeeves, he registered astonishment.

'Inspector Witherspoon!' he cried. 'Amazing how you
Scotland Yard fellows always get your man. I suppose you've
been on Alpine Joe's trail for weeks like a stoat and a rabbit.
Little did he know that Inspector Witherspoon, the man who
never sleeps, was watching his every move. Well, you couldn't
have come up with him at a better moment, for in addition to
whatever the police want him for he has stolen a valuable cat
belonging to my friend Cook. We caught him redhanded, or
as redhanded as it is possible to be when stealing cats. But I'm
surprised that you should have untied him from the sofa. I
always thought the one thing the police were fussy about was
the necessity of leaving everything untouched.'

I must say I was what is called at a loss of words, but luckily
Jeeves had plenty.

'I fail to understand you,' he said, his voice and manner so
chilly that Plank must have been wishing he was wearing his
winter woollies. 'And may I ask why you address me as
Inspector Witherspoon? I am not Inspector Witherspoon.'

Plank clicked his tongue impatiently.

'Of course you are,' he said. 'I remember you distinctly.
You'll be telling me next that you didn't arrest this man at my
place in Gloucestershire for trying to obtain five pounds from
me by false pretences.'

Jeeves had no irreproachable mechlin lace at his wrist, or he
would unquestionably have flicked a speck of dust off it. He
increased the coldness of his manner.

'You are mistaken in every respect,' he said. 'Mr Wooster
has ample means. It seems scarcely likely, therefore, that he
would have attempted to obtain a mere five pounds from you.
I can speak with authority as to Mr Wooster's financial
standing, for I am his solicitor and prepare his annual income
tax return.'

'So there you are, Plank,' I said. 'It must be obvious to every
thinking man that you have been having hallucinations,
possibly the result of getting a touch of the sun while making
a pest of yourself to the natives of Equatorial Africa. If I were
you, I'd pop straight back to E. J. Murgatroyd and have him
give you something for it. You don't want that sort of thing to
spread. You'll look silly if it goes too far and we have to bury
you before sundown.'

Plank was plainly shaken. He could not pale beneath his tan
because he had so much tan that it was impossible to pale
beneath it. I'm not sure I have put that exactly right. What I
mean is that he may have paled, but you couldn't see it because
of his sunburn.