Right Ho, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) 📗

up on some lonely beach and left there at the mercy of the wind and tides.

“What!”

“Yes.”

“You don’t mean that Jeeves isn’t going to⁠—”

“No.”

“But, dash it⁠—”

I was kind, but firm.

“You will be much better off without him. Surely your terrible experiences of that awful night have told you that Jeeves needs a rest. The keenest of thinkers strikes a bad patch occasionally. That is what has happened to Jeeves. I have seen it coming on for some time. He has lost his form. He wants his plugs decarbonized. No doubt this is a shock to you. I suppose you came here this morning to seek his advice?”

“Of course I did.”

“On what point?”

“Madeline Bassett has gone to stay with these people in the country, and I want to know what he thinks I ought to do.”

“Well, as I say, Jeeves is off the case.”

“But, Bertie, dash it⁠—”

“Jeeves,” I said with a certain asperity, “is no longer on the case. I am now in sole charge.”

“But what on earth can you do?”

I curbed my resentment. We Woosters are fair-minded. We can make allowances for men who have been parading London all night in scarlet tights.

“That,” I said quietly, “we shall see. Sit down and let us confer. I am bound to say the thing seems quite simple to me. You say this girl has gone to visit friends in the country. It would appear obvious that you must go there too, and flock round her like a poultice. Elementary.”

“But I can’t plant myself on a lot of perfect strangers.”

“Don’t you know these people?”

“Of course I don’t. I don’t know anybody.”

I pursed the lips. This did seem to complicate matters somewhat.

“All that I know is that their name is Travers, and it’s a place called Brinkley Court down in Worcestershire.”

I unpursed my lips.

“Gussie,” I said, smiling paternally, “it was a lucky day for you when Bertram Wooster interested himself in your affairs. As I foresaw from the start, I can fix everything. This afternoon you shall go to Brinkley Court, an honoured guest.”

He quivered like a mousse. I suppose it must always be rather a thrilling experience for the novice to watch me taking hold.

“But, Bertie, you don’t mean you know these Traverses?”

“They are my Aunt Dahlia.”

“My gosh!”

“You see now,” I pointed out, “how lucky you were to get me behind you. You go to Jeeves, and what does he do? He dresses you up in scarlet tights and one of the foulest false beards of my experience, and sends you off to fancy-dress balls. Result, agony of spirit and no progress. I then take over and put you on the right lines. Could Jeeves have got you into Brinkley Court? Not a chance. Aunt Dahlia isn’t his aunt. I merely mention these things.”

“By Jove, Bertie, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“My dear chap!”

“But, I say.”

“Now what?”

“What do I do when I get there?”

“If you knew Brinkley Court, you would not ask that question. In those romantic surroundings you can’t miss. Great lovers through the ages have fixed up the preliminary formalities at Brinkley. The place is simply ill with atmosphere. You will stroll with the girl in the shady walks. You will sit with her on the shady lawns. You will row on the lake with her. And gradually you will find yourself working up to a point where⁠—”

“By Jove, I believe you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right. I’ve got engaged three times at Brinkley. No business resulted, but the fact remains. And I went there without the foggiest idea of indulging in the tender pash. I hadn’t the slightest intention of proposing to anybody. Yet no sooner had I entered those romantic grounds than I found myself reaching out for the nearest girl in sight and slapping my soul down in front of her. It’s something in the air.”

“I see exactly what you mean. That’s just what I want to be able to do⁠—work up to it. And in London⁠—curse the place⁠—everything’s in such a rush that you don’t get a chance.”

“Quite. You see a girl alone for about five minutes a day, and if you want to ask her to be your wife, you’ve got to charge into it as if you were trying to grab the gold ring on a merry-go-round.”

“That’s right. London rattles one. I shall be a different man altogether in the country. What a bit of luck this Travers woman turning out to be your aunt.”

“I don’t know what you mean, turning out to be my aunt. She has been my aunt all along.”

“I mean, how extraordinary that it should be your aunt that Madeline’s going to stay with.”

“Not at all. She and my Cousin Angela are close friends. At Cannes she was with us all the time.”

“Oh, you met Madeline at Cannes, did you? By Jove, Bertie,” said the poor lizard devoutly, “I wish I could have seen her at Cannes. How wonderful she must have looked in beach pyjamas! Oh, Bertie⁠—”

“Quite,” I said, a little distantly. Even when restored by one of Jeeves’s depth bombs, one doesn’t want this sort of thing after a hard night. I touched the bell and, when Jeeves appeared, requested him to bring me telegraph form and pencil. I then wrote a well-worded communication to Aunt Dahlia, informing her that I was sending my friend, Augustus Fink-Nottle, down to Brinkley today to enjoy her hospitality, and handed it to Gussie.

“Push that in at the first post office you pass,” I said. “She will find it waiting for her on her return.”

Gussie popped along, flapping the telegram and looking like a closeup of Joan Crawford, and I turned to Jeeves and gave him a précis of my operations.

“Simple, you observe, Jeeves. Nothing elaborate.”

“No, sir.”

“Nothing farfetched. Nothing strained or bizarre. Just Nature’s remedy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is the attack as it should have been delivered. What do you call it when two people of opposite sexes are bunged together in close association in a secluded spot, meeting each other every day and seeing a