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the_elyan3. Steggles’ Practical Joke
I would like to be able to say that the walk was a pleasant one, through bosky woods and through fragrant meadows, but alas such pleasures were denied us. Mountain gave way to marsh, marsh to scrubland, and scrubland to mountain again – I would imagine taking a bus through some of London’s outer suburbs would give you a flavour of it. Steggles, surprisingly, seemed to know the way, and, repellent though he undoubtedly was, I had to admit he was proving useful. Even he seemed to have some interest in the blasted family ring – I can only assume he was hoping to find a pawnshop to cash it in, or possibly a gullible lady of advanced years to sell it to for a vastly inflated sum. I did my best to keep him from it – after all, I had been entrusted with the bally thing, and a Wooster does not shrink from the task that’s closest, no matter how unpleasant.
Jeeves, it must be said, did not warm to Steggles with prolonged exposure. I can’t say I blamed him – Steggles is a dish best taken in exceeding moderation, if at all – but still and all it wasn’t quite showing the spirit I would have hoped for. Indeed, I even suspected I heard Jeeves making opprobrious remarks about our companion, which wasn’t really the done thing at all – I would have spoken sharply to him about it, but our arrival at Minas Morgul rather drove it out of my mind.
There are certain places one knows one will visit again and again. Cannes, Antibes and New York all exert a powerful pull on the Wooster psyche, and if any of them were to suddenly declare itself an independent republic, with a Government hostile to the landed English gentry, I do not know quite what I should do. I have to say, alas, that Minas Morgul is unlikely to join this select band. With no seafront to speak of, and a distinct absence of terraced bars or select casinos, it didn’t strike me as a place I would be choosing when London next became too stifling to be borne. I am sure there are hardy souls who would tell you that the Minas Morgul spa-waters are just the thing for every disease going, and that the local moules Morguliere are the envy of chefs d’hotel the civilised world over, but it would not be enough. Bertram and Minas Morgul would not be crossing one another’s paths again if I had anything to do with it.
Fortunately Steggles had some knowledge of the local tracks, and suggested there was a stair we might take which would allow us to give the place a wide berth. I was only too happy to follow where he led, though Jeeves expressed some reservations
“Mr Steggles is not, perhaps, the most trustworthy gentleman, sir – might I suggest we seek a member of the local diplomatic service to aid us?”
“Rot, Jeeves”, I replied, “Steggles is a man of flesh and blood, like you and I, and he would not lead us astray. In any case, I can’t say the thought of trying to make myself understood here appeals very much”
“As you say, Sir. One wonders whether the British Consulate would have an outpost here – I do not believe the Empire ever stretched to this extent. I have our passports, however, should they be required”
“Good, Jeeves, good. But I think, by the narrowest of heads, I would prefer to entrust myself to Steggles and his tender mercies. Let us climb, Jeeves, let us climb”
“Very good, sir”.
Now, I’m no stranger to strenuous exercise, including the odd stairway when required. Every lift attendant must have his days off, after all, and I have climbed the four flights to the Wooster residence a time or two, and arrived none the worse for the ordeal – or at least, none the worse that a well-mixed tonic of some nature couldn’t remedy. Indeed, I recall Bingo Little once transferring his somewhat fickle affections to a girl who lived in a sixth floor garret, and accompanying him to see her on one occasion – even that did not break the spirit. But the climb that Steggles led us, up the side of an edifice which would not have been blackballed by the Eiger on applying for admission to the Lofty Peaks Club, was almost too much for Bertram’s resolve. Jeeves continued behind me, imperturbable as ever, but I cannot believe he did not yearn for the comfort of hearth and home once or twice. Only Steggles seemed untroubled – I noticed, indeed, that he had started climbing the stairs on all fours, like a hound of some description. Goodness knows what the servants must have made of this at his country seat in Worcestershire – but then, it being Worcestershire, they might not have found it odd.
Somehow we made it to the top, and I collapsed onto a convenient rock, there being no armchair handy. In a twinkling, a travelling flask of a warming negus was at my lips – I have no idea how Jeeves manages to pack for every conceivable eventuality, but it is another of the talents that make him the indispensable man he is. I babbled some sort of thanks in between gasps, and sipped at the brew, which proved to be a whisky of some description. Not perhaps of the top drawer – a surprise, as Jeeves knows my tastes – but welcome nonetheless.
When, after some time, I felt up to going on, we found that Steggles had vanished, like the early morning mist or the ability to pick the last horse after five straight winners. I commented on this, and Jeeves raised an eyebrow a full eighth of an inch – there was admonition and sorrow in it equally weighed, but I took the rebuke like a man.
“Well, we must just push on as best we may, Jeeves. No doubt we will come out somewhere known to the Ordnance Survey sooner or later”
“I fear I find the contingency a remote one, sir. If you will observe the blasted appearance of the rocks all about, and the strong odour of sulphur, you may deduce that the area we are currently traversing is one of volcanic and igneous activity. I am not aware of any such areas within the British Isles, even in its wildest and least explored fringes, sir”
“Then where are we, I wonder, Jeeves?”
“I would not like to speculate, sir”
I thought on this for a moment, weighed up the possibilities and the probabilities, and came at last to a firm and thought-out conclusion.
“Pip pip Jeeves, and onward”
“As you say, Sir”
The sudden disappearance of Steggles did give me cause for unease, I must admit. I couldn’t say that his conversation had been of the most erudite, or his company an unalloyed pleasure, but nonetheless I didn’t much like the idea of him wandering at large. One doesn’t like to speak ill of one’s compatriots, of course – all relicts of the dear old School are one’s brothers, after all – but Steggles was not a man whom one would necessarily entrust the care of one’s grandmother to, especially if there was a bull market in grandmothers in the vicinity. Having him roaming the landscape unchecked did not do anything to buck up the spirit.
As we walked into the corridor which had been hacked through the top of the mountain by person or persons unknown, the smell of sulphur to which Jeeves had alluded was joined by something altogether less savoury. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was unpleasant in the extreme – even the time I had got lost on the way to dinner at Brinkley, and found myself intruding on the laundry room after the annual village rugby match, couldn’t compare to it. Jeeves coughed as discreetly as it was possible to in the circumstances.
“I fancy we may be at an impasse, sir. If you would observe, there appears to be some adhesive membranes placed athwart the exit to the tunnel. I fancy they are similar to cobwebs”
“Well, all I can say is I wouldn’t like to meet whatever made those in my bath of a morning, Jeeves”
“Quite, sir”
I felt, nonetheless, that we could squeeze through between two of the threads, and set about them with my whangee, to create a gap. Jeeves appeared unconvinced, but knew better than to question his master’s ingenuity in a tight spot such as this. It was a somewhat stickier Bertram that emerged a few moments later into what appeared to be a cave of some description, though it was difficult to tell in what limited effulgence was available. Dark is all very well in its place – many of my more exciting escapades would have been rendered impossible by the morning sun, after all – but at this moment, I felt badly in need of some light.
I noticed Jeeves, after making through the gap with the luggage, had stopped to open one of the suitcases.
“I think we can skip dressing for dinner in the circumstances, Jeeves. I mean to say, keeping up standards in foreign climes is a noble aim and all that, but I doubt we’ll be needing the full soup and fish up here”
“I was not attending to your wardrobe in this instance, sir. I merely recalled that the gift presented to you some weeks ago might prove efficacious in dispelling the current gloom”
It took me a moment to fix my somewhat distracted mind on what he was talking about, then comprehension dawned – during the earlier stages of the holiday, and shortly after Fangald had been called away to deal with some unpleasantness “below stairs”, we had visited my Aunt Galadria. Galadria is a brick – daft as a brush, alas, and at the time of visiting on some kind of healthy living experiment which involved residing in trees, but a brick nonetheless. She took us all in, gave us a splendid meal, and sent us on our way next day with some solid advice (which, like most advice, I forgot almost immediately), and various gifts. She bestowed on me some manner of torch, cunningly disguised to look like a small jar of water. No doubt it had only cost a couple of shillings from a novelties shop somewhere, but it’s the thought that counts. I said I was sure it would come in useful, and joined the others in beating a hasty retreat before she started in on how much healthier we’d all look if we started nesting in the upper branches of Hyde Park.
Jeeves handed me the object, and after giving it a vigorous shake, a light began to emanate, pushing back the dark, which was good. What was less good was that it illuminated the source of the threads, and presumably mistress of the local demesne.
Now, never let it be said that Bertram Wilberforce Wooster is a coward. We Woosters have stood our ground against half the armies of Europe, and I have personally told Aunt Agatha that I couldn’t join her for dinner, so she would have to find someone else to make up the party. We have nerves of steel. But the spider that faced me, with malice in every eye, would have caused the stoutest heart to quail. Not even in the rafters of Totleigh Towers, which I once had to traverse in order to abstract a rock crystal from the bedroom of the Lord Lieutenant, for reasons which currently escape me, have I seen a spider to match it. I suspected that a gush from the cold tap in the direction of the plughole would not have been enough – even a rolled-up copy of the Sunday Pictorial would be unlikely to have the desired effect.
“Er, Jeeves?” I called, trying to keep the requisite air of calm detachment, “Would you happen to have anything suitable for spiders in the packing? I seem to have acquired rather a sizeable one”
When Jeeves failed to respond, I realised he was, for once, not at my side. Turning, with an effort, away from the beast before, I found him fighting his own battle, in this case with Steggles, who was attempting to tip Jeeves over the cliff-edge. I realised that this must be the repugnant blemish’s idea of a practical joke, and suddenly had a new insight into how the Drones Committee could have found it in the collective bosom to hand him the mitten – I mean to say, a spider in a matchbox presented to an unsuspecting smoker can give an evening the zip it is sorely lacking, but to confront a sometime compatriot in Stinker McGee’s algebra lessons with a spider the size of a Hansom cab is taking things a little far. I was just about to raise these concerns, and to come to the aid of my besieged valet, when a shadow fell over me, the spider plunged some kind of proboscis into my fleshy parts, and I knew no more.
4. Captured
I awoke in a police cell. I knew it had to be a police cell because, having seen a few, I had come to recognise the décor – a bed which had not kept up its correspondence with feather or mattress, a hint of damp about the extremities, and a lack of keyholes. My head felt as though it was the morning after the Boat Race.
I quickly realised that the constabulary in these parts must be somewhat over-zealous in performance of their duties, as I was dressed in a manner which even Steggles might have found a little revealing. All my clothes had been confiscated, including a rather dashing silver shirt, which had been a gift from another of my eccentric relatives. What was more, the pocket of my tweed jacket contained the ring which had brought me to this pass in the first place. On the whole, I wished them well of it, as it hadn’t brought me much in the way of good fortune, but still and all, a chap has to stand up for his property, wherever he is.
I was about to raise my voice to make a complaint, or at least to see if a trunk call could be placed with the British ambassador, when something below bellowed the sort of curse which would never be heard in the Drones, even if Oofy Prosser had just cleaned out the room at gun rummy again. Employing the lightning thought which has made me the successful man-about-town that I am, I realised that thingummy was the better part of whatsit on this occasion, and went back to sleep.
When I woke again, it was to the heartening sight of Jeeves, and the even more heartening sight of a concoction in a small tooth-glass.
“Another one of your zingers, Jeeves?” I asked, my mouth somewhat dry.
“Indeed, Sir. If you would drink it, I’m sure you will feel more alert shortly”
I downed the glistening brew, and after waiting the customary three and a half seconds, I felt my brain pushed through a mangle and out the other side, and a small quantity of steam exit my right ear. Then vision cleared, and Bertram felt as if he had just rolled out the showroom once more.
“I’m sure explanations for what happened can wait, Jeeves, but there is one thing I must tell you straight off. As you can see from my somewhat underdressed personage, the local boys in blue have taken my garments. And that means they also have the ring which Fangald sent us to be rid of. I hope this isn’t going to put a damper on things, especially if the local police know of this Sauron chappy”
Jeeves coughed in a meaningful way, murmured “I trust you will forgive the liberty, Sir”, and produced the dashed thing from his pocket.
Well, of all the bally nerve! I mean, a gentleman and his personal gentleman have no secrets, and all that, but still one does not expect to have one’s pockets searched through just because one has been rendered immobile by a gigantic spider. Is the feudal spirit to be counted at naught?
I fear I rather saw red at that moment - I do not recall what I said, but I suspect it may have been intemperate. After all, there were Woosters at Agincourt – we do not rouse easily, but when the blood is up, we are not to be trifled with.
The ring safely returned to my keeping, and Jeeves aware once more of his place in the order of things, we were ready to push on. My lack of suitable clothing presented a problem, but Jeeves was equal to it – leading me downstairs, he pointed out several suits of local apparel.
“We should remember, Sir”, he pointed out, “that we do not wish to stand out here. I am to believe that this land is “Sauron’s manor”, as I believe the popular expression has it, and we would therefore be advised to render ourselves undetectable. To that end, Sir, I fear I should leave our luggage here, and select suitable local clothing from what is available”.
I nodded my assent, as the man spoke sense. It would be a considerable wrench to leave the accoutrements of a gentleman behind – there were white patent leather pumps in there that were like brothers to me – but sometimes one must be strong. I pondered perhaps packing just one small bag, but Jeeves would not hear of it, and in the end I acceded to his wishes – after all, there must be a little give and take in any relationship between master and servant, and I wished him to know he should not take my earlier harsh words entirely to heart.
The raiment in which I thus found myself exiting the police station was not anything which I would have felt comfortable wearing to, say, the dining-room at the Ritz. Cloaks, metal helmets and leather trousers have their adherents, I am sure, but I found the combination did not paint a picture of sartorial elegance, even after Jeeves had adjusted the helmet to a more suitable angle, with the nose-piece correctly positioned at the front. Nor, I must say, would a dash of rose-water or pomade have gone amiss – I suspected that the previous occupant had been unwilling to be parted from his garments, even in sleep, and consequently they had acquired a unique and pervasive bouquet.
Despite such deprivations, we were soon on our way, through a landscape with no recognisable features, and a smell like the smoking-room at the Drones the morning after a committee meeting. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I could make out a single mountain, and presumed it must be where I was supposed to be making for – not that I had any idea what to do there. Next to it was a tower, and on top of it, for some strange reason I preferred not to speculate on, was a gigantic eye, which peered myopically at the landscape of its own volition. Westcombe-on-Sea was never like this.
“I fancy Sir, that the distant protuberance is the abode of the Mr Sauron we have been warned against. Indeed, I believe the oracular orb atop it is the gentleman himself”
I tried to think this through, taking into account some of the peculiar coves I had known in my time, but still drew a blank. There was something baleful about that eye, though, especially when its glance turned briefly in our direction, and once again I wondered if its owner had met Aunt Agatha. I could just see them chatting over what a disappointment their offspring were, over a steaming cup of brimstone.
I tried not to think about how long it would take to reach the place – I had a job to do, or at least a task, as I have never quite clicked with the concept of “jobs” – and set out, with Jeeves a respectful pace or two behind, toward the mountain.
Unfortunately, we hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards or so when we were both grabbed, none too gently, from behind by a pair of huge hands, and thrust into a column of marching soldiers, which came as something of a shock.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been suddenly forced to march at double-quick time in the midst of a group of chaps you wouldn’t normally find within five miles of St James? It’s not an experience I can wholeheartedly recommend – quite apart from the kicking, the swearing, and the general chaos of it (anyone familiar with the Wall Game will already have been through all that), there’s the terrible uncertainty as to where you’re going, how long you’ll be marching, and whether there’ll be a decent dinner at the end of it. I couldn’t see our chances were particularly good for a successful conclusion on any of the three points, especially the last. Judging by the constant grumbling of the fellows around me, in which I caught the odd mention of food, it didn’t sound like their camp chefs would be giving Anatole any sleepless nights.
After an interminable length of uncomfortable hotfooting, reminiscent of those tales one hears of johnnies out in the Raj crossing the trackless wastes, we arrived at some manner of bivouac. No-one had yet noticed that the cut of our dash was somewhat above the run of the mill, but it was only a matter of time, and quite frankly, I would rather not have been around when they did. There was something of a scuffle going on around the nose-bag, so I took the opportunity to sidle over to Jeeves, and sit by his side for a bit of a conflab.
“This is all getting a bit thick, Jeeves – what?”
“I agree most heartily, Sir. I do not immediately recall anything I have encountered in your employ which would match the current predicament”
“You don’t think that explaining to them that there’s been an awful mix-up, and we’d better be on our way, would be our clearest course, then?”
“I could not advise it, Sir. I fancy our companions have been alerted to your presence, and are looking for two persons matching our descriptions. I fear that, were you to reveal yourselves to them, some unpleasantness might occur”
“Ah – not one of your master’s hotter wheezes, then?”
“I fear not, Sir”.
I pondered for a moment, but no shaft of sunlight illuminated the passages of thought.
“Well, Jeeves, that may be, as they say, it. Unless you can push the throttle on the old bean, and come up with one of your corkers”
“Well, Sir, the circumstances for cogitation are not overly propitious, but I will give the matter my urgent attention”
I fancy I may have dozed off for a moment, because when I awoke, I was being hauled roughly to my feet, Jeeves by my side. My clothes did not sit easily on the Wooster frame, and I itched all over, in the manner of one who had been liberally dipped in the Whizzer Joke Emporium’s most famous product.
A brutish fellow was coming down the line of us – he looked like Sir Roderick Spode’s uglier brother, if such an idea isn’t an intolerable drain on my readership’s imaginative faculties. Certainly his knees would have had the Great Dictator of Wittringham Parva composing a stirring address on the spot.
“Any idea what this new horror is, Jeeves?”
“I believe we are to be inspected, sir. The results could be … well … interesting”
“Hmmm. Last orders for one of your Plans then, I suppose. Anything in the pipes?”
“Well, sir, I might hazard to venture that our best opportunity may be to commence an altercation, which will draw in the assembled company, giving us opportunity to depart the field of battle in relative secrecy”
I tried to pick my way through the sentence, but with the impending Spode-ish mass and the general tenor of the situation, I was at a loss.
“Er, Jeeves – could you just explain a little more briefly? No criticism of your verbal style, of course, but I’m not sure quite what you want me to do”
“Well, Sir – I would like you to punch me”
“Are you sure, Jeeves? It seems a bit drastic”
“I can punch you if you should prefer, Sir”
“No Jeeves – a kind offer, but I think I am up to the task”
And with that, I summoned up the memories of the Noble Art in the gymnasia of Eton and Oxford, and applied a fist to one of Jeeves’s fleshier parts. I felt a twinge of guilt, of course, but desperate times, and all that. Jeeves gave a suitably blood-curdling yelp – quite beyond what I would have expected of a man of his age and weight – and kicked me in the ankle. I was aware of faces of other chaps pressing in, the swinging of a fist somewhere behind me, and appropriately Spode-like grunting from further down the line. Then things got a bit heated.
“Best we leave these fellows to it, Jeeves? They seem to have a talent for this sort of thing”
“Quite so, Sir”
I would like to be able to say that the walk was a pleasant one, through bosky woods and through fragrant meadows, but alas such pleasures were denied us. Mountain gave way to marsh, marsh to scrubland, and scrubland to mountain again – I would imagine taking a bus through some of London’s outer suburbs would give you a flavour of it. Steggles, surprisingly, seemed to know the way, and, repellent though he undoubtedly was, I had to admit he was proving useful. Even he seemed to have some interest in the blasted family ring – I can only assume he was hoping to find a pawnshop to cash it in, or possibly a gullible lady of advanced years to sell it to for a vastly inflated sum. I did my best to keep him from it – after all, I had been entrusted with the bally thing, and a Wooster does not shrink from the task that’s closest, no matter how unpleasant.
Jeeves, it must be said, did not warm to Steggles with prolonged exposure. I can’t say I blamed him – Steggles is a dish best taken in exceeding moderation, if at all – but still and all it wasn’t quite showing the spirit I would have hoped for. Indeed, I even suspected I heard Jeeves making opprobrious remarks about our companion, which wasn’t really the done thing at all – I would have spoken sharply to him about it, but our arrival at Minas Morgul rather drove it out of my mind.
There are certain places one knows one will visit again and again. Cannes, Antibes and New York all exert a powerful pull on the Wooster psyche, and if any of them were to suddenly declare itself an independent republic, with a Government hostile to the landed English gentry, I do not know quite what I should do. I have to say, alas, that Minas Morgul is unlikely to join this select band. With no seafront to speak of, and a distinct absence of terraced bars or select casinos, it didn’t strike me as a place I would be choosing when London next became too stifling to be borne. I am sure there are hardy souls who would tell you that the Minas Morgul spa-waters are just the thing for every disease going, and that the local moules Morguliere are the envy of chefs d’hotel the civilised world over, but it would not be enough. Bertram and Minas Morgul would not be crossing one another’s paths again if I had anything to do with it.
Fortunately Steggles had some knowledge of the local tracks, and suggested there was a stair we might take which would allow us to give the place a wide berth. I was only too happy to follow where he led, though Jeeves expressed some reservations
“Mr Steggles is not, perhaps, the most trustworthy gentleman, sir – might I suggest we seek a member of the local diplomatic service to aid us?”
“Rot, Jeeves”, I replied, “Steggles is a man of flesh and blood, like you and I, and he would not lead us astray. In any case, I can’t say the thought of trying to make myself understood here appeals very much”
“As you say, Sir. One wonders whether the British Consulate would have an outpost here – I do not believe the Empire ever stretched to this extent. I have our passports, however, should they be required”
“Good, Jeeves, good. But I think, by the narrowest of heads, I would prefer to entrust myself to Steggles and his tender mercies. Let us climb, Jeeves, let us climb”
“Very good, sir”.
Now, I’m no stranger to strenuous exercise, including the odd stairway when required. Every lift attendant must have his days off, after all, and I have climbed the four flights to the Wooster residence a time or two, and arrived none the worse for the ordeal – or at least, none the worse that a well-mixed tonic of some nature couldn’t remedy. Indeed, I recall Bingo Little once transferring his somewhat fickle affections to a girl who lived in a sixth floor garret, and accompanying him to see her on one occasion – even that did not break the spirit. But the climb that Steggles led us, up the side of an edifice which would not have been blackballed by the Eiger on applying for admission to the Lofty Peaks Club, was almost too much for Bertram’s resolve. Jeeves continued behind me, imperturbable as ever, but I cannot believe he did not yearn for the comfort of hearth and home once or twice. Only Steggles seemed untroubled – I noticed, indeed, that he had started climbing the stairs on all fours, like a hound of some description. Goodness knows what the servants must have made of this at his country seat in Worcestershire – but then, it being Worcestershire, they might not have found it odd.
Somehow we made it to the top, and I collapsed onto a convenient rock, there being no armchair handy. In a twinkling, a travelling flask of a warming negus was at my lips – I have no idea how Jeeves manages to pack for every conceivable eventuality, but it is another of the talents that make him the indispensable man he is. I babbled some sort of thanks in between gasps, and sipped at the brew, which proved to be a whisky of some description. Not perhaps of the top drawer – a surprise, as Jeeves knows my tastes – but welcome nonetheless.
When, after some time, I felt up to going on, we found that Steggles had vanished, like the early morning mist or the ability to pick the last horse after five straight winners. I commented on this, and Jeeves raised an eyebrow a full eighth of an inch – there was admonition and sorrow in it equally weighed, but I took the rebuke like a man.
“Well, we must just push on as best we may, Jeeves. No doubt we will come out somewhere known to the Ordnance Survey sooner or later”
“I fear I find the contingency a remote one, sir. If you will observe the blasted appearance of the rocks all about, and the strong odour of sulphur, you may deduce that the area we are currently traversing is one of volcanic and igneous activity. I am not aware of any such areas within the British Isles, even in its wildest and least explored fringes, sir”
“Then where are we, I wonder, Jeeves?”
“I would not like to speculate, sir”
I thought on this for a moment, weighed up the possibilities and the probabilities, and came at last to a firm and thought-out conclusion.
“Pip pip Jeeves, and onward”
“As you say, Sir”
The sudden disappearance of Steggles did give me cause for unease, I must admit. I couldn’t say that his conversation had been of the most erudite, or his company an unalloyed pleasure, but nonetheless I didn’t much like the idea of him wandering at large. One doesn’t like to speak ill of one’s compatriots, of course – all relicts of the dear old School are one’s brothers, after all – but Steggles was not a man whom one would necessarily entrust the care of one’s grandmother to, especially if there was a bull market in grandmothers in the vicinity. Having him roaming the landscape unchecked did not do anything to buck up the spirit.
As we walked into the corridor which had been hacked through the top of the mountain by person or persons unknown, the smell of sulphur to which Jeeves had alluded was joined by something altogether less savoury. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was unpleasant in the extreme – even the time I had got lost on the way to dinner at Brinkley, and found myself intruding on the laundry room after the annual village rugby match, couldn’t compare to it. Jeeves coughed as discreetly as it was possible to in the circumstances.
“I fancy we may be at an impasse, sir. If you would observe, there appears to be some adhesive membranes placed athwart the exit to the tunnel. I fancy they are similar to cobwebs”
“Well, all I can say is I wouldn’t like to meet whatever made those in my bath of a morning, Jeeves”
“Quite, sir”
I felt, nonetheless, that we could squeeze through between two of the threads, and set about them with my whangee, to create a gap. Jeeves appeared unconvinced, but knew better than to question his master’s ingenuity in a tight spot such as this. It was a somewhat stickier Bertram that emerged a few moments later into what appeared to be a cave of some description, though it was difficult to tell in what limited effulgence was available. Dark is all very well in its place – many of my more exciting escapades would have been rendered impossible by the morning sun, after all – but at this moment, I felt badly in need of some light.
I noticed Jeeves, after making through the gap with the luggage, had stopped to open one of the suitcases.
“I think we can skip dressing for dinner in the circumstances, Jeeves. I mean to say, keeping up standards in foreign climes is a noble aim and all that, but I doubt we’ll be needing the full soup and fish up here”
“I was not attending to your wardrobe in this instance, sir. I merely recalled that the gift presented to you some weeks ago might prove efficacious in dispelling the current gloom”
It took me a moment to fix my somewhat distracted mind on what he was talking about, then comprehension dawned – during the earlier stages of the holiday, and shortly after Fangald had been called away to deal with some unpleasantness “below stairs”, we had visited my Aunt Galadria. Galadria is a brick – daft as a brush, alas, and at the time of visiting on some kind of healthy living experiment which involved residing in trees, but a brick nonetheless. She took us all in, gave us a splendid meal, and sent us on our way next day with some solid advice (which, like most advice, I forgot almost immediately), and various gifts. She bestowed on me some manner of torch, cunningly disguised to look like a small jar of water. No doubt it had only cost a couple of shillings from a novelties shop somewhere, but it’s the thought that counts. I said I was sure it would come in useful, and joined the others in beating a hasty retreat before she started in on how much healthier we’d all look if we started nesting in the upper branches of Hyde Park.
Jeeves handed me the object, and after giving it a vigorous shake, a light began to emanate, pushing back the dark, which was good. What was less good was that it illuminated the source of the threads, and presumably mistress of the local demesne.
Now, never let it be said that Bertram Wilberforce Wooster is a coward. We Woosters have stood our ground against half the armies of Europe, and I have personally told Aunt Agatha that I couldn’t join her for dinner, so she would have to find someone else to make up the party. We have nerves of steel. But the spider that faced me, with malice in every eye, would have caused the stoutest heart to quail. Not even in the rafters of Totleigh Towers, which I once had to traverse in order to abstract a rock crystal from the bedroom of the Lord Lieutenant, for reasons which currently escape me, have I seen a spider to match it. I suspected that a gush from the cold tap in the direction of the plughole would not have been enough – even a rolled-up copy of the Sunday Pictorial would be unlikely to have the desired effect.
“Er, Jeeves?” I called, trying to keep the requisite air of calm detachment, “Would you happen to have anything suitable for spiders in the packing? I seem to have acquired rather a sizeable one”
When Jeeves failed to respond, I realised he was, for once, not at my side. Turning, with an effort, away from the beast before, I found him fighting his own battle, in this case with Steggles, who was attempting to tip Jeeves over the cliff-edge. I realised that this must be the repugnant blemish’s idea of a practical joke, and suddenly had a new insight into how the Drones Committee could have found it in the collective bosom to hand him the mitten – I mean to say, a spider in a matchbox presented to an unsuspecting smoker can give an evening the zip it is sorely lacking, but to confront a sometime compatriot in Stinker McGee’s algebra lessons with a spider the size of a Hansom cab is taking things a little far. I was just about to raise these concerns, and to come to the aid of my besieged valet, when a shadow fell over me, the spider plunged some kind of proboscis into my fleshy parts, and I knew no more.
4. Captured
I awoke in a police cell. I knew it had to be a police cell because, having seen a few, I had come to recognise the décor – a bed which had not kept up its correspondence with feather or mattress, a hint of damp about the extremities, and a lack of keyholes. My head felt as though it was the morning after the Boat Race.
I quickly realised that the constabulary in these parts must be somewhat over-zealous in performance of their duties, as I was dressed in a manner which even Steggles might have found a little revealing. All my clothes had been confiscated, including a rather dashing silver shirt, which had been a gift from another of my eccentric relatives. What was more, the pocket of my tweed jacket contained the ring which had brought me to this pass in the first place. On the whole, I wished them well of it, as it hadn’t brought me much in the way of good fortune, but still and all, a chap has to stand up for his property, wherever he is.
I was about to raise my voice to make a complaint, or at least to see if a trunk call could be placed with the British ambassador, when something below bellowed the sort of curse which would never be heard in the Drones, even if Oofy Prosser had just cleaned out the room at gun rummy again. Employing the lightning thought which has made me the successful man-about-town that I am, I realised that thingummy was the better part of whatsit on this occasion, and went back to sleep.
When I woke again, it was to the heartening sight of Jeeves, and the even more heartening sight of a concoction in a small tooth-glass.
“Another one of your zingers, Jeeves?” I asked, my mouth somewhat dry.
“Indeed, Sir. If you would drink it, I’m sure you will feel more alert shortly”
I downed the glistening brew, and after waiting the customary three and a half seconds, I felt my brain pushed through a mangle and out the other side, and a small quantity of steam exit my right ear. Then vision cleared, and Bertram felt as if he had just rolled out the showroom once more.
“I’m sure explanations for what happened can wait, Jeeves, but there is one thing I must tell you straight off. As you can see from my somewhat underdressed personage, the local boys in blue have taken my garments. And that means they also have the ring which Fangald sent us to be rid of. I hope this isn’t going to put a damper on things, especially if the local police know of this Sauron chappy”
Jeeves coughed in a meaningful way, murmured “I trust you will forgive the liberty, Sir”, and produced the dashed thing from his pocket.
Well, of all the bally nerve! I mean, a gentleman and his personal gentleman have no secrets, and all that, but still one does not expect to have one’s pockets searched through just because one has been rendered immobile by a gigantic spider. Is the feudal spirit to be counted at naught?
I fear I rather saw red at that moment - I do not recall what I said, but I suspect it may have been intemperate. After all, there were Woosters at Agincourt – we do not rouse easily, but when the blood is up, we are not to be trifled with.
The ring safely returned to my keeping, and Jeeves aware once more of his place in the order of things, we were ready to push on. My lack of suitable clothing presented a problem, but Jeeves was equal to it – leading me downstairs, he pointed out several suits of local apparel.
“We should remember, Sir”, he pointed out, “that we do not wish to stand out here. I am to believe that this land is “Sauron’s manor”, as I believe the popular expression has it, and we would therefore be advised to render ourselves undetectable. To that end, Sir, I fear I should leave our luggage here, and select suitable local clothing from what is available”.
I nodded my assent, as the man spoke sense. It would be a considerable wrench to leave the accoutrements of a gentleman behind – there were white patent leather pumps in there that were like brothers to me – but sometimes one must be strong. I pondered perhaps packing just one small bag, but Jeeves would not hear of it, and in the end I acceded to his wishes – after all, there must be a little give and take in any relationship between master and servant, and I wished him to know he should not take my earlier harsh words entirely to heart.
The raiment in which I thus found myself exiting the police station was not anything which I would have felt comfortable wearing to, say, the dining-room at the Ritz. Cloaks, metal helmets and leather trousers have their adherents, I am sure, but I found the combination did not paint a picture of sartorial elegance, even after Jeeves had adjusted the helmet to a more suitable angle, with the nose-piece correctly positioned at the front. Nor, I must say, would a dash of rose-water or pomade have gone amiss – I suspected that the previous occupant had been unwilling to be parted from his garments, even in sleep, and consequently they had acquired a unique and pervasive bouquet.
Despite such deprivations, we were soon on our way, through a landscape with no recognisable features, and a smell like the smoking-room at the Drones the morning after a committee meeting. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I could make out a single mountain, and presumed it must be where I was supposed to be making for – not that I had any idea what to do there. Next to it was a tower, and on top of it, for some strange reason I preferred not to speculate on, was a gigantic eye, which peered myopically at the landscape of its own volition. Westcombe-on-Sea was never like this.
“I fancy Sir, that the distant protuberance is the abode of the Mr Sauron we have been warned against. Indeed, I believe the oracular orb atop it is the gentleman himself”
I tried to think this through, taking into account some of the peculiar coves I had known in my time, but still drew a blank. There was something baleful about that eye, though, especially when its glance turned briefly in our direction, and once again I wondered if its owner had met Aunt Agatha. I could just see them chatting over what a disappointment their offspring were, over a steaming cup of brimstone.
I tried not to think about how long it would take to reach the place – I had a job to do, or at least a task, as I have never quite clicked with the concept of “jobs” – and set out, with Jeeves a respectful pace or two behind, toward the mountain.
Unfortunately, we hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards or so when we were both grabbed, none too gently, from behind by a pair of huge hands, and thrust into a column of marching soldiers, which came as something of a shock.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been suddenly forced to march at double-quick time in the midst of a group of chaps you wouldn’t normally find within five miles of St James? It’s not an experience I can wholeheartedly recommend – quite apart from the kicking, the swearing, and the general chaos of it (anyone familiar with the Wall Game will already have been through all that), there’s the terrible uncertainty as to where you’re going, how long you’ll be marching, and whether there’ll be a decent dinner at the end of it. I couldn’t see our chances were particularly good for a successful conclusion on any of the three points, especially the last. Judging by the constant grumbling of the fellows around me, in which I caught the odd mention of food, it didn’t sound like their camp chefs would be giving Anatole any sleepless nights.
After an interminable length of uncomfortable hotfooting, reminiscent of those tales one hears of johnnies out in the Raj crossing the trackless wastes, we arrived at some manner of bivouac. No-one had yet noticed that the cut of our dash was somewhat above the run of the mill, but it was only a matter of time, and quite frankly, I would rather not have been around when they did. There was something of a scuffle going on around the nose-bag, so I took the opportunity to sidle over to Jeeves, and sit by his side for a bit of a conflab.
“This is all getting a bit thick, Jeeves – what?”
“I agree most heartily, Sir. I do not immediately recall anything I have encountered in your employ which would match the current predicament”
“You don’t think that explaining to them that there’s been an awful mix-up, and we’d better be on our way, would be our clearest course, then?”
“I could not advise it, Sir. I fancy our companions have been alerted to your presence, and are looking for two persons matching our descriptions. I fear that, were you to reveal yourselves to them, some unpleasantness might occur”
“Ah – not one of your master’s hotter wheezes, then?”
“I fear not, Sir”.
I pondered for a moment, but no shaft of sunlight illuminated the passages of thought.
“Well, Jeeves, that may be, as they say, it. Unless you can push the throttle on the old bean, and come up with one of your corkers”
“Well, Sir, the circumstances for cogitation are not overly propitious, but I will give the matter my urgent attention”
I fancy I may have dozed off for a moment, because when I awoke, I was being hauled roughly to my feet, Jeeves by my side. My clothes did not sit easily on the Wooster frame, and I itched all over, in the manner of one who had been liberally dipped in the Whizzer Joke Emporium’s most famous product.
A brutish fellow was coming down the line of us – he looked like Sir Roderick Spode’s uglier brother, if such an idea isn’t an intolerable drain on my readership’s imaginative faculties. Certainly his knees would have had the Great Dictator of Wittringham Parva composing a stirring address on the spot.
“Any idea what this new horror is, Jeeves?”
“I believe we are to be inspected, sir. The results could be … well … interesting”
“Hmmm. Last orders for one of your Plans then, I suppose. Anything in the pipes?”
“Well, sir, I might hazard to venture that our best opportunity may be to commence an altercation, which will draw in the assembled company, giving us opportunity to depart the field of battle in relative secrecy”
I tried to pick my way through the sentence, but with the impending Spode-ish mass and the general tenor of the situation, I was at a loss.
“Er, Jeeves – could you just explain a little more briefly? No criticism of your verbal style, of course, but I’m not sure quite what you want me to do”
“Well, Sir – I would like you to punch me”
“Are you sure, Jeeves? It seems a bit drastic”
“I can punch you if you should prefer, Sir”
“No Jeeves – a kind offer, but I think I am up to the task”
And with that, I summoned up the memories of the Noble Art in the gymnasia of Eton and Oxford, and applied a fist to one of Jeeves’s fleshier parts. I felt a twinge of guilt, of course, but desperate times, and all that. Jeeves gave a suitably blood-curdling yelp – quite beyond what I would have expected of a man of his age and weight – and kicked me in the ankle. I was aware of faces of other chaps pressing in, the swinging of a fist somewhere behind me, and appropriately Spode-like grunting from further down the line. Then things got a bit heated.
“Best we leave these fellows to it, Jeeves? They seem to have a talent for this sort of thing”
“Quite so, Sir”
