Service with a Smile by P.G. Wodehouse Page A

easily. Like
Bill Bailey.’
    ‘Bill
Bailey?’
    ‘Fellow
I know.’
    ‘There
was a song called “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?” I used to sing it as a
boy.’
    ‘It
must have sounded wonderful. But don’t sing it now. I want to hear all about
your last night’s activities.’
    ‘It was
this morning.’
    ‘Ah,
yes, that was the time I recommended, wasn’t it? With dawn pinking the eastern
sky and the early bird chirping over its early worm. I had a feeling that you
would be in better shape under those romantic conditions. You thoroughly enjoyed
it, no doubt?’
    ‘I was
terrified, Ickenham.’
    ‘Nonsense.
I know you better than that.’
    ‘I was.
I kept thinking what my sister Constance would say, if she found out.’
    ‘She
won’t find out.’
    ‘You
really think so?’
    ‘How
can she?’
    ‘She
does find out things.’
    ‘But
not this one. It will remain one of those great historic mysteries like the Man
in the Iron Mask and the Mary Celeste.’
    ‘Have
you seen Constance?’
    ‘For a
moment.’
    ‘Was
she — er — upset?’
    ‘One
might almost say she split a gusset.’
    ‘I
feared as much.’
    ‘But
that’s nothing for you to worry about. Your name never came up. Suspicion fell
immediately on the boy who cleans the knives and boots. Do you know him?’
    ‘No, we
have never met.’
    ‘Nice
chap, I believe. Percy is his name, and apparently his relations with the
Church Lads have been far from cordial. They tell me he is rather acutely alive
to class distinctions and being on the castle payroll has always looked down on
the Church Lads as social inferiors. This has led to resentment, thrown stones,
the calling of opprobrious names and so forth, so that when the authorities
were apprised of what had happened, he automatically became the logical
suspect. Taken into the squad room and grilled under the lights, however, he
persisted in stout denial and ultimately had to be released for lack of
evidence. That is the thing that is baffling the prosecution, the total lack of
evidence.’
    ‘I’m
glad of that.’
    ‘You
ought to be.’
    ‘But I keep
thinking of Constance.’
    ‘You’re
not afraid of her?’
    ‘Yes, I
am. You have no notion how she goes on about a thing. On and on and on. I
remember coming down to dinner one night when we had a big dinner party with a
brass paper-fastener in my shirt front, because I had unfortunately swallowed
my stud, and she kept harping on it for months.’
    ‘I see.
Well, I’m sure you need have no uneasiness. Why should she suspect you?’
    ‘She
knows I have a grievance against these boys. They knocked off my top hat at the
school treat and teased the Empress with a potato on a string. She may put two
and two together.’
    ‘Not a
chance,’ said Lord Ickenham heartily. ‘I’m sure you’re in the clear. But if she
does start anything, imitate the intrepid Percy and stick to stout denial. You
can’t beat it as a general policy. Keep telling yourself that suspicion won’t
get her anywhere, she must have proof, and she knows perfectly well that there
is none that would have a hope of getting past the Director of Public
Prosecutions. If she pulls you in and wants you to make a statement, just look
her in the eye and keep saying “Is zat so?” and “Sez you”, confident that she
can never pin the rap on you. And if she tries any funny business with a rubber
hose, see your lawyer. And now I must be leaving you. I am long overdue at my
hammock.’
    Left
alone, Lord Emsworth, though considerably cheered by these heartening words,
still did not feel equal to resuming his perusal of Whiffle On the Care Of The
Pig. He sat staring before him, and so absorbed was he in his meditations that
the knock on the door brought him out of his chair, quivering in every limb.
    ‘Come
in,’ he quavered, though reason told him that this could not be his sister
Constance, come to ask him to make a statement, for Connie would not have
knocked.
    It was
Lavender