HOT WATER

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21467, 15 April 1933, Page 9 (Supplement)

HOT WATER

Bv P. G. WODEHOUSE x Author of " If I Were You," "A Prefect's Uncle." " The Gold Bat, • "The Head of Kay's," etc., etc.

CHAPTER VII In every chronicle of the rather intricate nature of the one which is here being related there occurs a point where tlio conscientious historian finds it expedient. to hold a sort of parade or inspection of the various actors in the drama which lie iy unfoldcig. It serves to keep the records straight; and is a convenience to a public to whom ho wants to do the square thing—affording as it does a bird's-eye view of the position of (lie affairs to thoso of his readers who, through no fault of their own, are not birds. Here,''then, is where everybody was at the moment of Packv Franklyn's arrival at the Chateaa Blissac. And this is what, being there, they were doing: .Mis. Gedge was in the office of her policit or in London. His operations on her behalf in the matter of evasion of English Income Tax had dissatisfied her, and she was talking pretty straight to him. Lady Beatrice Bracken was in the garden of" her father's seat, Worbles. in Dorsetshire. She was reading for the third time Packy's letter, announcing his departure for St.. Rocqne. Well-knowing that resort to be a hot-bed of gambling and full of the most undesirable characters, notably the Vicomte de Blissac, sho thoroughly disapproved of his choice of destination. As she read, she frowned. As she frowned, she tapped her foot. And as she tapped, she said, "H'm!" And she meant it, too. At lunch that day, her Aunt Gwendolyn had once more expresssed the opinion that Packy was a flippety-gibbet, and Beatrice found herself iu complete agreement with the old fossil. Mr. Gordon Carlisle looking more gentlemanly than ever, in a new hat, new shoes, a new suit, and a gardenia, was standing on the deck of the steampacket Antelope, watching the red roofs of St. Rocque grow more and moro distinct as the vesssel approached them in the afternoon sunlight. The new suitcase which lay beside him, bore a label on which a keen-sighted bystander might have read tho legend " M. le Due de PontlAndemer." Soup Slatterv was at the Casino. His overnight experiences had made his head a little heavy first thing in the morning, but a pick-me-up of his own invention had soon put that right, and he was now feeling fine. He was punting cautiously at one of the chemin-de-fer tables and. if the matter is of any interest, was slightly ahead of the game. The Vicomte de Blissac was not in quite snch good shape. As he lay in bed in his room at the Hotel des Etrangers, staring at the ceiling and starting convulsively whenever a footstep approached his door, he was suffering a good deal of discomfort through the activities of some unseen person who would persist in running white-hot skewers through his eyeballs. This, taken in conjunction with the fact that at any moment he was expecting the door to burst open and the arm of the law to reach in and haul him off to prison on a capital charge, was having rather a depressing effect on the unfortunate young man. Mr. Gedge had returned to the draw-ing-room sofa. He was groaning a little. Senator Opal was taking a brisk walk in the grounds. Blair Eggleston was in the servants quarters of the Chateau, broodingly brushing the spacious seat of the Senator s dress trousers. He was not happy. But then Senator Opal's valets never were. The first-thing a valet in the employment of the Senator had to learn was that life is stern and earnest and that we are not sent into this world merely to enjoy ourselves. . Miss Putman, Mrs. Gedge s social secretary, wa's in the library doing a crossword puzzle, a form of mental exercise to which she was much addicted. The cook was asleep. The butler was writing to his mother. Medway, Mrs. Gedge's maid, was busy about her duties. When these were concluded she proposed to go and relax down by the lake, with the mystery novel which she had been reading on the previous evening. Packy was looking for Jane. And Jane was standing on the rustic path which wound its way along the hillside, on which the Chateau was situated gazing thoughtfully down at the harbour. It was not, as had already been hinted, a big day for larks and snails. Tho fact that the former were on the wing and the latter on the thorn had brought little comfort to Mr. Gedge. Equally small was the solace it conveyed to Jane Opal. As she stood scanning the view beneath her, her heart was troubled. To-day, for tho first time since sudden love had thrown them inta each other's arms, she had found herself beginning to wonder if her Blair was quite tho godlike superman she had supposed. There even flashed through her mind sinister speculation as to whether, when you came right down to it, he wasn't something of a pill. Tho thought did no more than pop out ©f her subconsciousness and back again in an instant, but it had been there and it left her I vaguely uneasy. Its lightning entrance and exit had tarnished the sunshine and taken at least 40 per cent off the entertainment, value of the blue sky end the carolling birds. In these last few days, Blair Eggleston had undoubtedly not been showing himself at his best. Constant association with Senator Opal had induced in him a rather unattractive peevishness. Querulousness and self-pity had marked him for their own. At their stolen meetings, when Jane would have preferred to talk cf love, ho showed a disposition to turn the conversation to the subject of his personal misfortunes and keep it there. And it is trying for a sensitive and romantic girl, when she comes flitting through the laurels in the quiet evenfall to join her lover, to find that all he proposes to discuss is her father's habit of throwing oatmeal at him in the bedloom. All this, however, Jane could have forgiven, had he but come through with a red-hot scheme for retrieving the fateful letter from Mis. Gedge. But if it is true that (ho hour produces the man, it is also true that it remorselessly reveals the Wash-out. As a schemer, Blair Eggleston had proved entirely negligible. He had no constructive policy of any kind to put forward. Ho might just as well have not been there. Reluctantly, Jano came to the conclusion that what she needed in a predicament like this was somebody more on the lines of Packy Franklyn. There she felt, Was a man of action, a. man who could he relied on at least to try to start something instead of just loafing about and wasting his time complaining because somebody had thrown a little oatmeal at him. She thought wistfully of Packy. With a sudden whole-hearted intensity she wished that. lio were here now, and looking up, •saw that lie was. He was at that very moment coining down the path toward her. Quick service, decided .Jane, and jumped perhaps two inches and a quarter in lit r astonishment at this miracle. She felt a liUle as Aladdin might have done if hi had rubbed his lamp by accident. " Vim ' " She li.id said the same word to him on pirviotH occasion. Then it had had something of the effect of a Mills bomb. Now it |,n_,iight to his face a gratified smile. !A connoisseur of " You's! " Packy h;id recognised this one for what it was, a (Welcoming,.even and estatically welcoming ' You! " fhe sort of " you! " it did a fellow pood to hear. What—why—what— 1 ' Packy was pressing her little hand. A purist might nave said that for an enRaged man he was pressing perhaps just Uie slightest shade too fondly. ' It s quite all right." . til a few simple words he explained the situation. Tie related the interview with tlio Vicomte de Rlissac, tho moro recent interview with Mr. Gedge. forestalling ■ possible question as to how, now that J

he was in the Chateau, he proposed to open a locked safe, ho spoke of Mr. Slattery and Mr. Slattery's gratitude, showing that ho had a skilled assistant who would ' do all that sort of thing for him. All that . had to bo done, ho pointed out, was to wait till Mrs. Gedge returned and then leave a handy window open, and Mr. 1 Slattery would do tho rest. 1 " So there you are," said Packy. i Jano Opal breathed deeply. If she had not been an exceptionally pretty pirl, one might have said that sho snorted. There 5 was a light in her eyes which Packy s had not seen there before. It was a light he liked, and onco more ho was aware of a feeling of regret that a girl like this was throwing herself away 011 a man so 3 obviously one of Nature's prunes as Blair Eggleston. " But how splendid of you! "■ " Oh, 110, really." There was 110 necessity for him to have taken her hand again and press it, but he 1 did so. " But why should you bo doing this for me ? " Sho had touched 011 a point which from time to time had a little perplexed Packy himself. It was, of course, absurd to stip- ! poso that any slight physical attraction which this girl might possess could havo » had any influenco on a man who was 5 engaged to Lady Beatrice Bracken, lie tj was compelled to put it down to some 3 innately noble quality in his character. 1 You come across fellows like that occasionally—fine, big-hearted, selfless altruists, ; men who with no motive of personal gain simply raced about the place doing good i to all and sundry. He supposed ho was one of them. ; 100 modest to advance this theory, he waved a deprecating hand. " Well, it struck me that you might 1 be needing a little help. I rather gathered from what you said over the telephone > that evening you weren't expecting very solid results from Eggleston. ' Jane sighed. " Blair's been no good at all." " I feared as much." " Ho can't seem to take his mind off that oatmeal." " What " Well it was like this. It happened the first morning we were here. Father wanted his breakfast in bed. so Blair brought him his breakfast in bed, and naturally the cook, knowing father was American, took ' it for granted that he would want oatmeal, so she fixed oatmeal. And then it turned out that oatmeal was a thing father 1 doesn't like." " Many people don't." " Yes, but he didn't say so. That wouldn't, be father. No! He waited till Blair had put the tray down bv his bed. and then he lifted the cover off the dish I and said ' What is this ? Oatmeal ?' and Blair said, ' Yes, oatmeal,' and father said \ in quite a mild, gentle sort of way 'Ah! L Oatmeal ?' and Blair started to leave the [ room and suddenly something hot and f squashy hit him on the back of the head, t and there was father sitting up in bed. 5 digging the spoon in the oatmeal; and t Blair was just wondering what it was j all about, because the back of his head , was all covered with oatmeal, when father t dug the spoon out again and it was lull i of oatmeal, and father held it at tho j bottom with his left hand and at the top with two fingers, and then 110 let fly rather like one of those old catapults you read about in stories where ancient towns • are besieged, and Blair got it all—in the faco this time." A slight shudder shook Packy's wiry frame. He was recalling that incident of i the hair-cutting and realising the risks , which he, a gay, heedless boy, had so recklessly taken with this oatmeal-jerking , Senator. He shivered to think what Ami brose Opal could have done on that oc- , casion had he had a blanc-mange or a ■ couple of bowls of soup handy. "So there was Blair with oatmeal on the ■ back of his head and oatmeal all ovpr his 1 face, practically a mess of oatmeal, you might say, and then father smiled a quiet, affectionate kind of smile and said, 'I don't like oatmeal.' And the whole thing has rather preyed on Blair's mind. He's a little cross about it, I'm afraid. He says I ought to have warned him what he was ; letting himself in for when lie became father' 3 valet." "I don't see how you could have known." "Well, father did tell me his valets never stayed with him more than a week or so, but he said ho thought it must be duo to this Bolshevist spirit that you see springing up on all sides. It's a great pity, of course, because it has made Blair a little peevish, and I don't think he's , very happy." "I can quite see how he might not be. Personally, I'd sooner be somebody living in Chicago that A 1 Capone didn't much like than your father's valet." He would have gone on to develop this theme, but at this moment there was a puffing noise and round the corner came Senator Opal in person. On seeing Packy the Senator halted abruptly. A look of cone <rn came into his face, tie had been much worried of late, and worry, he knew, breeds hallucinations. Then he saw that this phantasm was holding his daughter's hand and that sho appeared to be aware of his presence, and he felt a little reassured. And when the girl turned to him and said, "Oh, hullo, father. Here's Mr. Franklyn!" his last doubts disappeared and what had been the chill of apprehension turned into righteous wrath. "Only," proceeded Jane, as his colour began gradually to deepen and memories of old hair-cuts lit the flame in his eyes which he was fixing on Packy, "you must remember to call him the Vicomte de Blissac." Nothing, as Shakespeare appreciated, is more tedious than «*i twice-told tale, but in Jane's demeanour as Packy for the second time related tho events had led up to his being at tho Chateau in another's name there was no suggestion of boredom. She stood there with _ sparkling eyes, interjecting an occasional great!" and from time to time a "Get this, father, it's good!" Nor was tho Senator an unemotional audience. Gradually, as ho listened, the purple flush faded from his face and into it came that awed, reverential look which had como a short while before into the face of Mr. Gedgo As the story drew to its conclusion he stood for a while puffing. Then he gave tongue with the air of one who now saw all things clearly. "So this is the fellow." "What, father?" "This is the fellow you were telling me about in London. Fellow you want to marry." A little gasp escaped Jane. The mistake was a natural, even an inevitable one, but this made it none the less disconcerting. She looked at Packy, her faco reddening. In Packv's gaze, also, there was a certain embarrassment. But he winked quickly, a wink that said "Humour him. ft is better so." To explain, he realised, would merely bo to introduce the B air Eggleston motif, and his intuition told him as Jane's had told her on fin earlier occasion, that to do this would not bo wise. . , "Yes sir," ho said, with a faint echo of Mr. Gedge. "That's right. Senator Opal was all genial cordiality. 110 patted Packy's shoulder in tho heartiest possible manner. "You get that letter back, and you won't find any kick coming from mo. Franklyn ? —Franklyn ? —Yon aren't the football Franklyn, aro you ?" "I did play football at Yale." "Played football at Yale! You made the All-American." i( "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. "I'm a Yale man myself. Why, dammit, I know all about you. Somebody left you two or three million a few years ago.' "My undo." Senator Opal regarded his daughter in a manner that suggested that ho was uneasy about her sanity. "*A Yalo man. . . . An All-American half-back ... A fellow with threo million dollars. . . • Why you wanted to

(COPYRIGHT) A PARTICULARLY HUMOROUS STORY

have all this secrecy and hole-in-t.be-corner business is moro than I can imagine. Why couldn't you have told me straight out? " Ho turned to Packy, and the severity of his demeanour softened to„a sort of mellow unction. He looked like a Victorian father about to bestow a blessing. "You're simply exactly the very son-in-law I've always been hoping for. Kiss her!" If there had been a touch of cm harassment in Packy's manner before there was more than a touch now. lie was not a voung man who blushed readily. Indeed, many of his friends looked upon him as one who had forgotten how to blush at tho age of six or thereabouts. Nevertheless, there undoubtedly stole into the healthy tan of his faco at this point a faint pink, turning it to a rather pretty crushed strawberry. "Oh, that's all right, sir," he said, backing a little and averting his gaze from the now incandescent Jane. Senator Opal was. a man who, when he issued instructions, liked to see them obeyed with a snap. He had, moreover, wholesome, old-fashioned views on how young lovers should behave toward one another. The geniality in his face waned. "You hear what I said ? You kiss her." "But. . . "Come 011, como on, corno 011!" It is not easy to bestow a kiss with a warmth sufficient to satisfy a father who likes his kisses emotional and at tho same time to convey to tho party of the second part a suggestion of deep and respectful apology. But Packy did bis best. " Right!" said Senator Opal briskly, apparently passing the salute as adequate. And you can do that as often as you tike. And now about this letter. Do you know where I'm off to?" he asked, staring impressively from beneath his bushy eyebrows. " You aren't going, father?" said Jane, with some concern. " Yes, I am going; and I'll tell you where I'm going. Now that this young man has come, we can get action. And the first thing to do is to find out where that infernal woman will put that letter of mine. She's sure to bring it back with her. Woman are like that. If a man had a thing of that sort, he'd put it in a safedeposit box. But women, poor fools, like to keep their valuables by them, so that they can take them out every two minutes and gloat over them." " Quito true," said Packy. " Of course it's quite true. And that's what this Gedge woman will do. I know that from the way she's always acted about her jewellery. I used to tell her to keep it at the bank, but she never would. Th : s letter is going to be put in a safe, and I'm ready to bet that safo is in her bedroom. I'll go and see. Meet me on the terrace in twenty minutes. He stumped off, and Jane and Packy started to walk back to thtj Chateau. They walked in silence, each a little pensive. Packy was feeling mildly surprised that, considering how deeply in love he was with Beatrice, the recent embrace had not revolted him more. He had not enjoyed it, of course. He could scarcely have been expected to do that. But it had not really revolted him. He was, however, conscious of a feeling of relief that Beatrice had not been an eye-witness of the episode. Jane was thinking rather along the same lines. It would be too much, naturally, to say that sho had derived any pleasure from Packy's kiss. On the other hand, it had not jarred every fibre of her being. But she was glad that Blair had not happened to be looking on at the moment. They came meditatively in view of the house. " How funny these old French Chateaux are," said Jane. " Very funny, said Packy. " All those turrets and things." *' Yes, all those turrets." They began to discuss medieval French architecture in a guarded way. CHAPTER VIII It was some fifteen minutes later that the garden door of the Chateau was flung exuberantly open and Senator Opal came bounding out with quite a juvenile jauntiness in his step. His quest had been completely successful. The briefest of explorations of the Venetian Suite had shown him the safe, let into the wall beside the bed. He was feeling pleased with himself and his manner showed it. During these last days, Senator Opal had been dwelling in the shadows. There aro few less agreeable experiences for a man of proud and autocratic temperament than to find himself tied hand and foot and at the mercy of a woman for whom he has always felt a definite dislike. And what had added to Senator Opal's bitterness was the fact that there was absolutely nobody else to blame. To his carelessness, and to his carelessness alone, the disaster had been due. But now everything was splendid once more. Mrs. Gedge, when she returned to the Chateau, would bring the letter with her. She would put it in the safe. He had located the safe. And that excellent young fellow, Franklyn, of whom be was beginning to approve moro highly every moment, knew a man who could opi?n safes and had promised to open one for him any time he gave the word. Rendered quite lissom with relief, Senator Opal began positively to frisk up and down the terrace. And as he frisked he suddenly became aware of a young woman approaching him. It was Medway, Mrs. Gedge's maid. In one hand she carried a book, in the other a half-smoked cigar. This surprised the Senator. He was far from being an antitobacconist, nor had be any prejudice against the fashionable modern- addiction of women to the weed. But he could not remember ever having seen a woman with a cigar. Medway drew closer. Halting, she fixed him with a respectful eye and extended the cigar-stump between dainty fingers. " Would you be requiring this any further, sir?" " Eh ?" " You left it in moddom's room, and I thought perhaps you would bo needing it." A good deal of Senator Opal's effervescence evaporated. An almost automatic and unconscious smoker, he had forgotten that be had been half-way through a cigar when he embarked on that search of his. A well-defined feeling of constriction in the muscles of his throat caused him to utter a faint sound like tho gurgle of a dying duck. "You weren't there!" " Yes, sir." " i didn't see you." " No, sir." Tho Senator cleared his throat noisily. There were several questions he would havo liked to ask this calm-browed girl, but he felt that the asking would bo injudicious. Tho salient fact, the one that must be dealt with immediately, was that sho had seen him nosing about in the Venetian Suite. Where sho had been concealed was a side issue. " H'r'r'mph!" 110 said awkwardly. Medway awaited his confidence with quiet respect. And yet, tho Senator asked himself as he gazed into it, was that eye of hers quite so respectful as ho had supposed ? A demure girl. Difficult to know just what sho was thinking. " I dare say," 110 said, " it seemed a little strange to you that I should bo in Mrs. Gedge's room ?" Medway did not speak. " The fact is, I am a man with a hobby. I am much interested in antiques." Medway remained quiescent. " An old place like this ... a historic old house like this ... a real old-world Chateau like this, full of interesting objects, is—er—interesting to me. It in terests mo. I am interested in it. Most interested. It—er—interests mo to—ah—potter around. I find it interesting. A fly settled on his snowy hair. Modwav eyed it in silenco. Ife cleared his throat again. .Ho was feeling that he would havo to do a little better than this. (To bo continued on Saturday next)