The Little Nugget by P. G. Wodehouse (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📗

territory beyond the black trousers. He grunted discontentedly and sat up. The handkerchief fell from his face, and he blinked at me, first with the dazed glassiness of the newly awakened, then with a 'Soul's Awakening' expression, which spread over his face until it melted into a friendly smile.

'Hello, young man!'

'Good afternoon. You seem tired.'

He yawned cavernously.

'Lord! What a night!'

'Did Buck drop in?'

'No, but I thought he had every time I heard a board creak. I didn't dare close my eyes for a minute. Have you ever stayed awake all night, waiting for the goblins that get you if you don't watch out? Well, take it from me it's no picnic.'

His face split in another mammoth yawn. He threw his heart into it, as if life held no other tasks for him. Only in alligators have I ever seen its equal.

I waited till the seismic upheaval had spent itself. Then I came to business.

'I'm sorry you had a disturbed night, Mr Fisher. You must make up for it this afternoon. You will find the beds very comfortable.'

'How's that?'

'At the "Feathers". I should go there, if I were you. The charges are quite reasonable, and the food is good. You will like the "Feathers".'

'I don't get you, sonny.'

'I was trying to break it gently to you that you are about to move from this house. Now. At once. Take your last glimpse of the old home, Sam, and out into the hard world.'

He looked at me inquiringly.

'You seem to be talking, young man; words appear to be fluttering from you; but your meaning, if any, escapes me.'

'My meaning is that I am about to turn you out. I am coming back here, and there is not room for both of us. So, if you do not see your way to going quietly, I shall take you by the back of the neck and run you out. Do I make myself fairly clear now?'

He permitted himself a rich chuckle.

'You have gall, young man. Well, I hate to seem unfriendly. I like you, sonny. You amuse me—but there are moments when one wants to be alone. I have a whole heap of arrears of sleep to make up. Trot along, kiddo, and quit disturbing uncle. Tie a string to yourself and disappear. Bye-bye.'

The wicker-work creaked as he settled his stout body. He picked up the handkerchief.

'Mr Fisher,' I said, 'I have no wish to propel your grey hairs at a rapid run down the drive, so I will explain further. I am physically stronger than you. I mean to turn you out. How can you prevent it? Mr Abney is away. You can't appeal to him. The police are at the end of the telephone, but you can't appeal to them. So what can you do, except go? Do you get me now?'

He regarded the situation in thoughtful silence. He allowed no emotion to find expression in his face, but I knew that the significance of my remarks had sunk in. I could almost follow his mind as he tested my position point by point and found it impregnable.

When he spoke it was to accept defeat jauntily.

'You are my jinx, young man. I said it all along. You're really set on my going? Say no more. I'll go. After all, it's quiet at the inn, and what more does a man want at my time of life?'

I went out into the garden to interview Audrey.

She was walking up and down on the tennis-lawn. The Nugget, lounging in a deck-chair, appeared to be asleep.

She caught sight of me as I came out from the belt of trees, and stopped. I had the trying experience of walking across open country under hostile observation.

The routing of Sam had left me alert and self-confident. I felt no embarrassment. I greeted her briskly.

'Good afternoon. I have been talking to Sam Fisher. If you wait, you will see him passing away down the drive. He is leaving the house. I am coming back.'

'Coming back?'

She spoke incredulously, or, rather, as if my words had conveyed no meaning. It was so that Sam had spoken. Her mind, like his, took time to adjust itself to the unexpected.

She seemed to awake to my meaning with a start.

'Coming back?' Her eyes widened. The flush deepened on her cheeks.
'But I told you—'

'I know what you told me. You said you did not trust me. It doesn't matter. I am coming back whether you trust me or not. This house is under martial law, and I am in command. The situation has changed since I spoke to you last night. Last night I was ready to let you have your way. I intended to keep an eye on things from the inn. But it's different now. It is not a case of Sam Fisher any longer. You could have managed Sam. It's Buck MacGinnis now, the man who came that night in the automobile. I saw him in the village after I left you. He's dangerous.'

She looked away, past me, in the direction of the drive. I followed her gaze. A stout figure, carrying a suit-case, was moving slowly down it.

I smiled. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the anger that had been lying at the back of them flash out. Her chin went up with the old defiant tilt. I was sorry I had smiled. It was my old fault, the complacency that would not be hidden.

'I don't believe you!' she cried. 'I don't trust you!'

It is curious how one's motive for embarking on a course of conduct changes or disappears altogether as the action develops. Once started on an enterprise it is as if one proceeded with it automatically, irrespective of one's original motives. I had begun what I might call the second phase of this matter of the Little Nugget, the abandoning of Cynthia's cause in favour of Audrey's, with a clear idea of why I was doing it. I had set myself to resist the various forces which were trying to take Ogden from Audrey, for one simple reason, because I loved Audrey and wished to help her. That motive, if it still existed at all, did so only in the form of abstract chivalry. My personal feelings towards her seemed to have undergone a complete change, dating from our parting in the road the night before. I found myself now meeting hostility with hostility. I looked at her critically and told myself that her spell was broken at last, that, if she disliked me, I was at least indifferent to her.

And yet, despite my altered feelings, my determination to help her never wavered. The guarding of Ogden might be—primarily—no business of mine, but I had adopted it as my business.

'I don't ask you to trust me,' I said. 'We have settled all that. There's no need to go over old ground. Think what you please about this. I've made up my mind.'

'If you mean to stay, I suppose I can't prevent you.'

'Exactly.'

Sam appeared again in a gap in the trees, walking slowly and pensively, as one retreating from his Moscow. Her eyes followed him till he was out of sight.

'If you like,' I said bitterly, 'you may put what I am doing down to professional rivalry. If I am in love with Mrs Ford and am here to steal Ogden for her, it is natural for me to do all I can to prevent Buck MacGinnis getting him. There is no need for you to look on me as an ally because we are working together.'

'We are not working together.'

'We shall be in a very short time. Buck will not let another night go by without doing something.'

'I don't believe that you saw him.'

'Just as you please,' I said, and walked away. What did it matter to me what she believed?

The day dragged on. Towards evening the weather broke suddenly, after the fashion of spring in England. Showers of rain drove me to the study.

It must have been nearly ten o'clock when the telephone rang.

It was Mr Fisher.

'Hello, is that you, sonny?'

'It is. Do you want anything?'

'I want a talk with you. Business. Can I come up?'

'If you wish it.'

'I'll start right away.'

It was some fifteen minutes later that I heard in the distance the engines of an automobile. The headlights gleamed through the trees, and presently the car swept round the bend of the drive and drew up at the front door. A portly figure got down and rang the bell. I observed these things from a window on the first floor, overlooking the front steps; and it was from this window that I spoke.

'Is that you, Mr Fisher?'

He backed away from the door.

'Where are you?'

'Is that your car?'

'It belongs to a friend of mine.'

'I didn't know you meant to bring a party.'

'There's only three of us. Me, the chauffeur, and my friend—MacGinnis.'

The possibility, indeed the probability, of Sam seeking out Buck and forming an alliance had occurred to me, and I was prepared for it. I shifted my grip on the automatic pistol in my hand.

'Mr Fisher.'

'Hello!'

'Ask your friend MacGinnis to be good enough to step into the light of that lamp and drop his gun.'

There was a muttered conversation. I heard Buck's voice rumbling like a train going under a bridge. The request did not appear to find favour with him. Then came an interlude of soothing speech from Mr Fisher. I could not distinguish the words, but I gathered that he was pointing out to him that, on this occasion only, the visit being for the purposes of parley and not of attack, pistols might be looked on as non-essentials. Whatever his arguments, they were successful, for, finally, humped as to the back and muttering, Buck moved into the light.

'Good evening, Mr MacGinnis,' I said. 'I'm glad to see your leg is all right again. I won't detain you a moment. Just feel in your pockets and shed a few of your guns, and then you can come in out of the rain. To prevent any misunderstanding, I may say I have a gun of my own. It is trained on you now.'

'I ain't got no gun.'

'Come along. This is no time for airy persiflage. Out with them.'

A moment's hesitation, and a small black pistol fell to the ground.

'No more?'

'Think I'm a regiment?'

'I don't know what you are. Well, I'll take your word for it. You will come in one by one, with your hands up.'

I went down and opened the door, holding my pistol in readiness against the unexpected.

II

Sam came first. His raised hands gave him a vaguely pontifical air (Bishop Blessing Pilgrims), and the kindly smile he wore heightened the illusion. Mr MacGinnis, who followed, suggested no such idea. He was muttering moodily to himself, and he eyed me askance.

I showed them into the classroom and switched on the light. The air was full of many odours. Disuse seems to bring out the inky-chalky, appley-deal-boardy bouquet of a classroom as the night brings out the scent of flowers. During the term I had never known this classroom smell so exactly like a classroom. I made use of my free hand to secure and light a cigarette.

Sam rose to a point of order.

'Young man,' he said. I should like to remind you that we are here, as it were, under a flag of truce. To pull a gun on us and keep us holding our hands up this way is raw work. I feel sure I speak for my friend Mr MacGinnis.'

He cocked an eye at his friend Mr MacGinnis, who seconded the motion by expectorating into the fireplace. I had observed at a previous interview his peculiar gift for laying bare his soul by this means of mode of expression. A man of silent habit, judged by the more conventional standard of words, he was almost an orator in expectoration.

'Mr MacGinnis agrees with me,' said Sam cheerfully. 'Do we take them down? Have we your permission to assume Position Two of these Swedish exercises? All we came for was a little friendly chat among gentlemen, and we can talk just as well—speaking for myself, better—in a less strained attitude. A little rest, Mr Burns! A little folding of the hands? Thank you.'

He did not wait for permission, nor was