Nothing Serious (29 page)

“You
can have some port. I’ll have some, too.”

“Shall
I hold the money?”

“No.”

“I
thought you might want to have your hands free while you poured. You’ve been
doing well, it would appear. Business is good?”

“Fine.
Well, mud in your eye.”

“Skin
off your nose,” I replied courteously and we quaffed. He then left me, and I
made for the garden.

Passing
the drawing-room I could hear sounds of mirth and merriment as the multitude
took its pop at the games of chance, putting more cash into Oakshott’s pocket
as it did so, and I was in two minds about pausing to bung a brick through the
window. But this, I saw, though a relief to my feelings, would not further my
business interests, so I let it go. I found the ladder and climbed to the
balcony, and I was just about to get to work with the chisel when the lights in
the room suddenly flashed on, giving me a bit of a jolt.

Speedily
recovering, I shoved my nose against the pane and saw Oakshott. He was standing
by the chest of drawers, still clutching the roll, and one sensed that, finding
me in the pantry, he had decided that this would be a better place to put it.
But before he could make his deposit there came a sudden change in the
character of the sounds proceeding from below, and he stood listening, rigid
like a stag at bay.

My aunt’s
bedroom, I must mention, is just above the drawing-room, and if there are routs
and revels going on in the latter apartment you hears them clearly on the
balcony; and inside the room, of course, they come up through the floor. What
had arrested Oakshott’s attention was the fact that at this juncture there was
an abrupt increase in the volume of the noise, together with a feminine
scream, or two, followed by a significant silence.

Well,
it did not take a man of my experience long to gather what had occurred. I have
participated in raids in my time as a patron, as a waiter, as a washer of
glasses, and once, in America, actually as a member of the squad conducing the
operations, and I know the procedure. What happens is that there is first a
universal yell of consternation and the girls all scream, and then all is
hushed and everyone stands peering bleakly into the future, trying to think of
names and address which will sound reasonably plausible to the gentleman with
the note-book.

Briefly,
old horse, doom had come upon The Cedars, Wimbledon Common. The joint had been
pulled.

V

That Oakshott, also, was
able to put two and two together and form a swift diagnosis was shown by the
promptness with which he now acted. There was a large wardrobe not far from
where he stood, a handsome piece in old walnut, and he dived right into it like
a seal going after a chunk of halibut, taking his roll with him.

And I
popped in through the French windows and turned the key in the wardrobe door.

Why I
did this, I cannot say, except that it seemed a good idea at the time. It was
only some moments later that that extraordinary vision for which I have always
been so remarkable suggested to me that not only clean fun but solid profit
might be derived from the action. Here, it suddenly flashed upon me, was where
I might make a bit.

You
see, I had studied this Oakshott’s psychology, and my researches had left me
with the conviction that he was one of those who, finding themselves locked in
a wardrobe by a policeman during a raid on premises which they have been
employing for illegal purposes, will endeavour to make a dicker with that
policeman. On these occasions, as you are probably aware, while the patrons may
hope to get off with a fine, mine host himself is in line for the jug, and a
butler’s liberty is very dear to him. It seemed to me that I was entitled to
assume that if Oakshott supposed that matters could be settled out of court, he
would not count the cost.

At any
rate, the thing seemed a fair sporting venture, so I approached the wardrobe
and proceeded to address myself in a crisp, cultured voice—the voice of the
younger son of some aristocratic family who, after a year or two at Oxford, has
entered the Force
via
the Hendon Police College.

“What,”
I inquired, “are you doing they-ah, Simmons?”

To
which I replied, this time using the bass clef and adopting a bit of a Ponder’s
End accent—for I pictured this Simmons as just some ordinary flatty who had
graduated from a board school —”I’ve got one of ‘em locked in ‘ere, sir.”

“Oh,
reall-ah?” I said. “Good work, Simmons. Guard him well. I’m off downstairs.”

I then
went to the door, slammed it and paused for a reply.

It did
not come immediately, and for a moment I feared that my knowledge of psychology
might have let me down. But all was well. I can see now that Oakshott was
merely thinking it over and fighting a parsimonious man’s battle between his
love of liberty and the lust to retain his ill-begotten wealth. Presently there
came from within a deprecating, “Er, officer,” followed by a rustling sound,
and there stole out from under the door a flyer.

I
gathered it in, and there for a while the matter rested.

I
suppose Oakshott realized that when you are buying a policeman’s soul you
cannot be niggardly, for a few moments later another flyer came stealing out,
and I pounced on that, too. After this had gone on for some time, with my
current account going up by leaps and bounds, I decided to take my profit and
retire from the game. At any minute a systematic search of the premises might
be instituted—I couldn’t imagine why it hadn’t been done already—and if I were
to be found on them my presence might be hard to explain. The pure heart and
the clean conscience are all very well, but they pay few dividends during a
gambling raid, and it seemed to me that I would be better elsewhere. It would
not, I felt, be beyond the scope of Oakshott’s subtle mind to make the
constabulary believe that it was I who had been master of the revels.

So I
unlocked the door and nipped out of the window and down the ladder. I have
often wondered what Oakshott’s reactions were when he stole out and found the
place entirely free from P.C. Simmonses.

It was
a lovely night, with the stars twinkling away in the firmament, and the garden
was very cool and peaceful. I would gladly have lingered and drunk in its
fragrance, but I could not but feel that this was not the moment. Many people
have complimented me on my nerve of steel, and rightly, but there is a time
for reckless courage and a time for prudence. I don’t mind admitting that at
this particular juncture, with the troops of Midian prowling around, my
emotions were those of a cat in a strange alley, and I was anxious to get away
from it all.

So
marked was this feeling that, as I came abreast of the big water butt outside
the kitchen door and heard a noise somewhere in the neighbourhood, as of
regulation official boots trampling in the night, I halted with beating heart
and raised the lid, intending to get inside. Whereupon, a hand came out and
slid a banknote into my grasp. Seeing that my dugout was already occupied, I
passed on.

This
incident, as you may imagine, made a deep impression on me. It suggested to me
that in following the policy of safety first, and concentrating on the swift
getaway, I might be passing up something good. If there was gold in the water
butt, there might be the same elsewhere. I decided to draw another covert or
two before leaving. And to cut a long story short, at the end of ten minutes my
balance had substantially increased.

Apparently
not all the patrons of The Cedars had been content to remain supinely in the
drawing-room when the gendarmerie came popping up through traps. There were
those who had acted with that mettle and spirit, which one likes to feel is the
birthright of Englishmen, and had hopped out of the window, to distribute
themselves here and there about the grounds. One splendid fellow, who came
across with a tenner, had snuggled into the cucumber frame. You felt it was the
sort of thing Drake or Raleigh would have done.

But now
I was naturally anxious to count the takings. A methodical man always likes to
know where he stands. It seemed to me that the potting shed was far enough away
from the house to be out of the danger zone, so I made for it. And I was
crossing the threshold with a gay,
if sotto voce,
song on my lips, when
there was a sharp squeal from its dark interior, and I knew that here, too,
some poor human waif had found and taken sanctuary.

The
next moment the rays of the torch, of which I had quickly pressed the button,
revealed the well-known features of my Aunt Julia.

VI

There are times in life,
Corky, when the man of iron self-control may be excused for momentarily losing
his phlegm. It is a very unnerving thing to find an aunt whom you know to be in
the south of France nestling in a potting shed in Wimbledon. A sharp “Gor-blimey!”
escaped my lips, and it was at once evident that the ear of love had recognized
the familiar voice.

“Stanley!”
she cried.

Usually
when my aunt says “Stanley!” it is a tone of refined exasperation, the
ejaculation being preliminary to a thorough ticking-off. But now the general
effect was vastly different. Her “Stanley!” on the present occasion was roughly
equivalent to the “Gawain!” or “Galahad!” which a distressed damsel in
difficulties with a dragon would have uttered on beholding her favourite knight
entering the ring with drawn sword.

“Aunt
Julia!” I exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

In
broken accents and in a hushed whisper, starting from time to time at sudden
noises, she told her story. It was after all, quite simple. At Cannes, it
seemed, she had met a friend, a recent arrival on the Riviera, who knew a man
who had told her, the friend, that dark doings were in progress in the old
home. And so arresting was this crony’s report of the big evenings at The
Cedars that my aunt had leaped into the first plane, intent on catching the
miscreant responsible on the hop.

“I
thought at first it must be you, Stanley.”

I drew
myself up with a touch of hauteur. “Indeed?”

“But my
friend said no.”

“I
should hope so.”

“She
said it was the butler.”

“She
was right.”

“And I
trusted him implicitly!”

“A pity
you did not consult me, Aunt Julia. I could have given you the lowdown on the
man’s true character.”

“He
looks so respectable.”

“Many a
man may look respectable, and yet be able to hide at will behind a spiral
staircase.”

“You
saw through him?”

“Like
an X-ray. I suspected that, the moment your back was turned, he would be up to
some kind of hell, and I was correct. I came here to-night in the hope of being
able to protect your interests.”

“You
were gambling?”

I
switched on the torch, switching it off again immediately when she asked, with
a momentary return to her normal brusque manner, if I wanted to bring every
policeman on the premises to the spot.

“If,” I
said, “you were able in that brief instant to get a dekko at my person, Aunt
Julia, you will have seen that I am not dressed. At functions like the one at
which you have been assisting, the soup-and-fish is obligatory. I possess no
soup-and-fish. What happened when you got here?”

“I went
into the drawing-room and was just going to order those people out, when a
policeman came bursting in and told us that we were all under arrest. I
promptly jumped out of the window.”

“Stoutly
done, Aunt Julia. The true Ukridge resource.”

“And I
took refuge here. What am I to do, Stanley? I must not be found. If I am, how
can I convince the police that I am not responsible for the whole thing? The
scandal will ruin me. Think, Stanley, think.”

I felt
that it would be judicious to rub it in a bit.

“It is
an unfortunate state of affairs,” I agreed. “And while it is not for me to
criticize the arrangements which you may see fit to make where your own house
is concerned, I cannot but feel that you have brought this on yourself. If you
had placed me in charge during your absence … However, we can go into that
later. What I propose to do now is to have a look around to see if the coast is
clear. If it is, you will be able to do a quiet sneak over the garden wall.
Wait here until I return. If I do not return, you will know that I have fallen
a victim to a nephew’s devotion.”

Whether
or not she said, “My hero!” I am not certain. It was what she ought to have
said, but she is a woman who is apt to miss her cues at times.

However,
she did clasp my hand in a fevered clutch, and with a brief word bidding her
keep her tail up I went out.

I hadn’t
gone more than fifty yards when I barged slap into a substantial body. It was
coming around a tree, heading east, and I was going around the tree, heading
west. We collided like a couple of mastodons mixing it in a primeval swamp.
Recovering its balance, it flashed a torch on me and a moment later spoke.