Jeeves Stories · Jeeves and the Impending Doom (3/3)

Well, I could have told that swan it was no use. As swans go, he may have been well up in the ranks of the intelligentsia; but, when it came to pitting his brains against Jeeves, he was simply wasting his time. He might just as well have gone home at once.

Every young man starting life ought to know how to cope with an angry swan, so I will briefly relate the proper procedure. You start by picking up the raincoat which somebody has dropped; and then, judging the distance to a nicety, you simply shove the raincoat over the bird’s head; and, taking the boat-hook which you have prudently brought with you, you insert it underneath the swan and heave. The swan goes into a bush and starts trying to unscramble itself; and you saunter back to your boat, taking with you any friends who may happen at the moment to be sitting on roofs in the vicinity. That was Jeeves’s method, and I cannot see how it could have been improved upon.

The Right Hon. showing a turn of speed of which I would not have believed him capable, we were in the boat in considerably under two ticks.

“You behaved very intelligently, my man,” said the Right Hon. as we pushed away from the shore.

“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.”

The Right Hon. appeared to have said his say for the time being. From that moment he seemed to sort of huddle up and meditate. Dashed absorbed he was. Even when I caught a crab and shot about a pint of water down his neck he didn’t seem to notice it.

It was only when we were landing that he came to life again.

“Mr. Wooster.”

“Oh, ah?”

“I have been thinking of that matter of which I spoke to you some time back⁠—the problem of how my boat can have got adrift.”

I didn’t like this.

“The dickens of a problem,” I said. “Insoluble, I should call it. Better not bother about it any more.”

“On the contrary, I have arrived at a solution, and one which I think is the only feasible solution. I am convinced that my boat was set adrift by the boy Thomas, my hostess’s son.”

“Oh, I say, no! Why?”

“He had a grudge against me. And it is the sort of thing only a boy, or one who is practically an imbecile, would have thought of doing.”

He legged it for the house; and I turned to Jeeves, aghast. Yes, you might say aghast.

“You heard, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s to be done?”

“Perhaps Mr. Filmer, on thinking the matter over, will decide that his suspicions are unjust.”

“But they aren’t unjust.”

“No, sir.”

“Then what’s to be done?”

“I could not say, sir.”

I pushed off rather smartly to the house and reported to Aunt Agatha that the Right Hon. had been salved; and then I toddled upstairs to have a hot bath, being considerably soaked from stem to stern as the result of my rambles. While I was enjoying the grateful warmth, a knock came at the door.

It was Purvis, Aunt Agatha’s butler.

“Mrs. Gregson desires me to say, sir, that she would be glad to see you as soon as you are ready.”

“But she has seen me.”

“I gather that she wishes to see you again, sir.”

“Oh, right-ho.”

I lay beneath the surface for another few minutes; then, having dried the frame, went along the corridor to my room. Jeeves was there, fiddling about with underclothing.

“Oh, Jeeves,” I said, “I’ve just been thinking. Oughtn’t somebody to go and give Mr. Filmer a spot of quinine or something? Errand of mercy, what?”

“I have already done so, sir.”

“Good. I wouldn’t say I liked the man frightfully, but I don’t want him to get a cold in the head.” I shoved on a sock. “Jeeves,” I said, “I suppose you know that we’ve got to think of something pretty quick? I mean to say, you realize the position? Mr. Filmer suspects young Thomas of doing exactly what he did do, and if he brings home the charge Aunt Agatha will undoubtedly fire Mr. Little, and then Mrs. Little will find out what Mr. Little has been up to, and what will be the upshot and outcome, Jeeves? I will tell you. It will mean that Mrs. Little will secure the goods on Mr. Little to an extent to which, though only a bachelor myself, I should say that no wife ought to secure the goods on her husband if the proper give and take of married life⁠—what you might call the essential balance, as it were⁠—is to be preserved. Women bring these things up, Jeeves. They do not forget and forgive.”

“Very true, sir.”

“Then how about it?”

“I have already attended to the matter, sir.”

“You have?”

“Yes, sir. I had scarcely left you when the solution of the affair presented itself to me. It was a remark of Mr. Filmer’s that gave me the idea.”

“Jeeves, you’re a marvel!”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“What was the solution?”

“I conceived the notion of going to Mr. Filmer and saying that it was you who had stolen his boat, sir.”

The man flickered before me. I clutched a sock in a feverish grip.

“Saying⁠—what?”

“At first Mr. Filmer was reluctant to credit my statement. But I pointed out to him that you had certainly known that he was on the island⁠—a fact which he agreed was highly significant. I pointed out, furthermore, that you were a lighthearted young gentleman, sir, who might well do such a thing as a practical joke. I left him quite convinced, and there is now no danger of his attributing the action to Master Thomas.”

I gazed at the blighter spellbound.

“And that’s what you consider a neat solution?” I said.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Little will now retain his position as desired.”

“And what about me?”

“You are also benefited, sir.”

“Oh, I am, am I?”

“Yes, sir. I have ascertained that Mrs. Gregson’s motive in inviting you to this house was that she might present you to Mr. Filmer with a view to your becoming his private secretary.”

“What!”

“Yes, sir. Purvis, the butler, chanced to overhear Mrs. Gregson in conversation with Mr. Filmer on the matter.”

“Secretary to that superfatted bore! Jeeves, I could never have survived it.”

“No, sir. I fancy you would not have found it agreeable. Mr. Filmer is scarcely a congenial companion for you. Yet, had Mrs. Gregson secured the position for you, you might have found it embarrassing to decline to accept it.”

“Embarrassing is right!”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I say, Jeeves, there’s just one point which you seem to have overlooked. Where exactly do I get off?”

“Sir?”

“I mean to say, Aunt Agatha sent word by Purvis just now that she wanted to see me. Probably she’s polishing up her hatchet at this very moment.”

“It might be the most judicious plan not to meet her, sir.”

“But how can I help it?”

“There is a good, stout water pipe running down the wall immediately outside this window, sir. And I could have the two-seater waiting outside the park gates in twenty minutes.”

I eyed him with reverence.

“Jeeves,” I said, “you are always right. You couldn’t make it five, could you?”

“Let us say ten, sir.”

“Ten it is. Lay out some raiment suitable for travel, and leave the rest to me. Where is this water pipe of which you speak so highly?”