My Man Jeeves - Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (best ereader for pc .TXT) 📗

class="calibre1">“By Jove, he was carrying a parcel. George, old scout, you must

get a move on. You must light out if you want to spend the rest of your

life out of prison. Slugging a Serene Highness is l�se-majest�.

It’s worse than hitting a policeman. You haven’t got a moment to

waste.”

 

“But I haven’t any money. Reggie, old man, lend me a tenner or

something. I must get over the frontier into Italy at once. I’ll wire

my uncle to meet me in–-”

 

“Look out,” I cried; “there’s someone coming!”

 

He dived out of sight just as Voules came up the companion-way,

carrying a letter on a tray.

 

“What’s the matter!” I said. “What do you want?”

 

“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I heard Mr. Lattaker’s voice. A

letter has arrived for him.”

 

“He isn’t here.”

 

“No, sir. Shall I remove the letter?”

 

“No; give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he comes.”

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

“Oh, Voules! Are they all still at breakfast? The gentleman who came to

see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?”

 

“He is at present occupied with a kippered herring, sir.”

 

“Ah! That’s all, Voules.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

He retired. I called to George, and he came out.

 

“Who was it?”

 

“Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They’re all at breakfast

still. The sleuth’s eating kippers.”

 

“That’ll hold him for a bit. Full of bones.” He began to read his

letter. He gave a kind of grunt of surprise at the first paragraph.

 

“Well, I’m hanged!” he said, as he finished.

 

“Reggie, this is a queer thing.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

He handed me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he

had grunted. This is how it ran:

 

“My dear George—I shall be seeing you to-morrow, I hope; but I

think it is better, before we meet, to prepare you for a curious

situation that has arisen in connection with the legacy which

your father inherited from your Aunt Emily, and which you are

expecting me, as trustee, to hand over to you, now that you have

reached your twenty-fifth birthday. You have doubtless heard

your father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was lost or

kidnapped—which, was never ascertained—when you were both

babies. When no news was received of him for so many years, it

was supposed that he was dead. Yesterday, however, I received a

letter purporting that he had been living all this time in Buenos

Ayres as the adopted son of a wealthy South American, and has

only recently discovered his identity. He states that he is on

his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of course, like

other claimants, he may prove to be an impostor, but meanwhile

his intervention will, I fear, cause a certain delay before I can

hand over your money to you. It will be necessary to go into a

thorough examination of credentials, etc., and this will take

some time. But I will go fully into the matter with you when we

meet.—Your affectionate uncle,

 

“AUGUSTUS ARBUTT.”

 

I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I

do sometimes get, though admittedly a chump of the premier class. I

have seldom had such a thoroughly corking brain-wave.

 

“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.”

 

“Lets me out of half the darned money, if that’s what you mean. If this

chap’s not an imposter—and there’s no earthly reason to suppose he is,

though I’ve never heard my father say a word about him—we shall have

to split the money. Aunt Emily’s will left the money to my father, or,

failing him, his ‘offspring.’ I thought that meant me, but apparently

there are a crowd of us. I call it rotten work, springing unexpected

offspring on a fellow at the eleventh hour like this.”

 

“Why, you chump,” I said, “it’s going to save you. This lets you out of

your spectacular dash across the frontier. All you’ve got to do is to

stay here and be your brother Alfred. It came to me in a flash.”

 

He looked at me in a kind of dazed way.

 

“You ought to be in some sort of a home, Reggie.”

 

“Ass!” I cried. “Don’t you understand? Have you ever heard of

twin-brothers who weren’t exactly alike? Who’s to say you aren’t

Alfred if you swear you are? Your uncle will be there to back you

up that you have a brother Alfred.”

 

“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.”

 

“He won’t. It’s not as if you had to keep it up for the rest of your

life. It’s only for an hour or two, till we can get this detective

off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.”

 

At last the thing seemed to sink into him. His face brightened.

 

“Why, I really do believe it would work,” he said.

 

“Of course it would work. If they want proof, show them your mole. I’ll

swear George hadn’t one.”

 

“And as Alfred I should get a chance of talking to Stella and making

things all right for George. Reggie, old top, you’re a genius.”

 

“No, no.”

 

“You are.”

 

“Well, it’s only sometimes. I can’t keep it up.”

 

And just then there was a gentle cough behind us. We spun round.

 

“What the devil are you doing here, Voules,” I said.

 

“I beg your pardon, sir. I have heard all.”

 

I looked at George. George looked at me.

 

“Voules is all right,” I said. “Decent Voules! Voules wouldn’t give us

away, would you, Voules?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You would?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“But, Voules, old man,” I said, “be sensible. What would you gain by

it?”

 

“Financially, sir, nothing.”

 

“Whereas, by keeping quiet”—I tapped him on the chest—“by holding

your tongue, Voules, by saying nothing about it to anybody, Voules, old

fellow, you might gain a considerable sum.”

 

“Am I to understand, sir, that, because you are rich and I am poor, you

think that you can buy my self-respect?”

 

“Oh, come!” I said.

 

“How much?” said Voules.

 

So we switched to terms. You wouldn’t believe the way the man haggled.

You’d have thought a decent, faithful servant would have been delighted

to oblige one in a little matter like that for a fiver. But not Voules.

By no means. It was a hundred down, and the promise of another hundred

when we had got safely away, before he was satisfied. But we fixed it

up at last, and poor old George got down to his state-room and changed

his clothes.

 

He’d hardly gone when the breakfast-party came on deck.

 

“Did you meet him?” I asked.

 

“Meet whom?” said old Marshall.

 

“George’s twin-brother Alfred.”

 

“I didn’t know George had a brother.

 

“Nor did he till yesterday. It’s a long story. He was kidnapped in

infancy, and everyone thought he was dead. George had a letter from his

uncle about him yesterday. I shouldn’t wonder if that’s where George

has gone, to see his uncle and find out about it. In the meantime,

Alfred has arrived. He’s down in George’s state-room now, having a

brush-up. It’ll amaze you, the likeness between them. You’ll think it

is George at first. Look! Here he comes.”

 

And up came George, brushed and clean, in an ordinary yachting suit.

 

They were rattled. There was no doubt about that. They stood looking at

him, as if they thought there was a catch somewhere, but weren’t quite

certain where it was. I introduced him, and still they looked doubtful.

 

“Mr. Pepper tells me my brother is not on board,” said George.

 

“It’s an amazing likeness,” said old Marshall.

 

“Is my brother like me?” asked George amiably.

 

“No one could tell you apart,” I said.

 

“I suppose twins always are alike,” said George. “But if it ever came

to a question of identification, there would be one way of

distinguishing us. Do you know George well, Mr. Pepper?”

 

“He’s a dear old pal of mine.”

 

“You’ve been swimming with him perhaps?”

 

“Every day last August.”

 

“Well, then, you would have noticed it if he had had a mole like this

on the back of his neck, wouldn’t you?” He turned his back and stooped

and showed the mole. His collar hid it at ordinary times. I had seen it

often when we were bathing together.

 

“Has George a mole like that?” he asked.

 

“No,” I said. “Oh, no.”

 

“You would have noticed it if he had?”

 

“Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes.”

 

“I’m glad of that,” said George. “It would be a nuisance not to be able

to prove one’s own identity.”

 

That seemed to satisfy them all. They couldn’t get away from it. It

seemed to me that from now on the thing was a walk-over. And I think

George felt the same, for, when old Marshall asked him if he had had

breakfast, he said he had not, went below, and pitched in as if he

hadn’t a care in the world.

 

Everything went right till lunch-time. George sat in the shade on the

foredeck talking to Stella most of the time. When the gong went and the

rest had started to go below, he drew me back. He was beaming.

 

“It’s all right,” he said. “What did I tell you?”

 

“What did you tell me?”

 

“Why, about Stella. Didn’t I say that Alfred would fix things for

George? I told her she looked worried, and got her to tell me what the

trouble was. And then–-”

 

“You must have shown a flash of speed if you got her to confide in you

after knowing you for about two hours.”

 

“Perhaps I did,” said George modestly, “I had no notion, till I became

him, what a persuasive sort of chap my brother Alfred was. Anyway, she

told me all about it, and I started in to show her that George was a

pretty good sort of fellow on the whole, who oughtn’t to be turned down

for what was evidently merely temporary insanity. She saw my point.”

 

“And it’s all right?”

 

“Absolutely, if only we can produce George. How much longer does that

infernal sleuth intend to stay here? He seems to have taken root.”

 

“I fancy he thinks that you’re bound to come back sooner or later, and

is waiting for you.”

 

“He’s an absolute nuisance,” said George.

 

We were moving towards the companion way, to go below for lunch, when a

boat hailed us. We went to the side and looked over.

 

“It’s my uncle,” said George.

 

A stout man came up the gangway.

 

“Halloa, George!” he said. “Get my letter?”

 

“I think you are mistaking me for my brother,” said George. “My name is

Alfred Lattaker.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I am George’s brother Alfred. Are you my Uncle Augustus?”

 

The stout man stared at him.

 

“You’re very like George,” he said.

 

“So everyone tells me.”

 

“And you’re really Alfred?”

 

“I am.”

 

“I’d like to talk business with you for a moment.”

 

He cocked his eye at me. I sidled off and went below.

 

At the foot of the companion-steps I met Voules,

 

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Voules. “If it would be convenient I

should be glad to have the afternoon off.”

 

I’m bound to say I rather liked his manner. Absolutely