“I say!” I said. “That’s Alice, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s Alice!” thundered Jollyrei. “And you have less than ten minutes to live!”
“What..what…what… what… WHAT? What on earth are you talking about, old bean?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about, you numbskull! Bob Inder found this photograph on his doormat this morning with a note demanding that he hand over his collection of pictures of Alice or else, one by one, those ropes will be replaced with nails! Bob is on his way here at this very moment and he is proposing to shake you by the neck until you reveal where she is!”
My mouth opened in shock. Those paintings were his pride and joy. He’d never give them up willingly.
“But how am I supposed to know where she is?”
“Oh, come on, Bertie! Do you think I am a fool? You practically fell over your tongue last night when you saw her! And that ridiculous cravat! Everybody knows that you have the hots for Alice! I demand to look in your garden!”
I spluttered meaninglessly, at a complete loss as to what to say to this preposterous accusation.
Fortunately for me, there came the sound of the respectful clearing of a throat from behind Jollyrei.
“Please pardon my interruption, your Lordship, but there is only one tree in Mr Wragg’s garden. It is a laburnum, sir. It is currently in flower, and is a fine sight, which you are welcome to admire, but you will search in vain for a forest, nor for any crucified young women.”
Jollyrei opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Once again the doorbell rang, and Jeeves departed. One second later Bob Inder burst through the door and lunged towards me.
“STOP, Bob!” Jollyrei grabbed his arm. “He doesn’t know where she is. There’s no forest in his garden, and he had no clue about any of this until I showed him that photo, I can assure you.”
“No? Well, if he doesn’t, you can bet that foul Uncle of his does! He hasn’t forgiven me for one minute since she gave up scrubbing his scullery floor and came to London!”
I considered this. But Uncle Roderick was no art connoisseur. He’d have no interest in Bob’s paintings. Nor in Alice herself, for that matter - I’d heard that he had replaced Alice almost instantly with a new scullery maid called Veronika, who was currently getting no peace from the old lecher. But, for Bob, I had an unshakable answer to that suggestion.
“If Uncle Roderick’s got her, Bob, my dear fellow, I wouldn’t know anything about that. He hasn’t spoken to me for years. And you know I’m about as welcome at Cruxton Abbey as a rat casserole, don’t you?”
Bob looked at me, and, gradually, his fists unclenched. I breathed a sigh of relief. A fist fight with Bob would have ruined the furniture in my dining room. And I’d have lost – I tried boxing at Eton. It wasn’t a success.
“Damn!” Bob’s frustration was evident. “Damn, damn, damn, and damn!”
I told Bob about Veronika. “I don’t think he’s interested in Alice any more, old chap.”
Bob eyed me narrowly. “If you’re estranged from your Uncle, how come you know the names of his new serving girls?”
“I’m estranged from him, but Jeeves isn’t estranged from Wulf, the butler there.”
“Indeed I am not, sir. If I may say so, the Cruxton Arms is an exceptionally congenial establishment.”
“Thank you, Jeeves,” snapped Bob, “But right now I’m not particularly interested in the Michelin Guide to English Pubs. I need to find Alice, and fast – before she’s nailed to that cross.”
“Do you think she’s at Cruxton Abbey, Jeeves?” asked Jollyrei.
“If you’ll pardon me for the observation, your Lordship, I do not consider it probable that the Countess of Cruxton would sanction such a scheme,”
I allowed myself the faintest of smiles. Jeeves was right. Lady Wragg was a force to be reckoned with. She’d tan the old reprobate’s hide!
“We’re back at square one,” grumbled Bob. “No idea who’s got her. I’d better go and pack up my paintings. If I’ve got Alice, I can paint some more.”
“Don’t be daft, Bob! They’re your life’s work!” I was aghast. This was terrible. For all I knew, he might hand over the paintings, and the cad who has got her would still nail her to her cross, and leave her there to die. She might not know a decent cravat when she saw one, but she didn’t deserve to die on a cross. There was only one thing for it.
“Jeeves! What do we do?”
Jeeves picked up the photograph, and looked at it carefully. Somewhat to my surprise, he seemed as interested in the smell of it as the look of it, as he put it to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“Mr Inder, you should return to your home as quickly as possible.”
“What? Why?”
“I regret to inform you, sir, that your home is very probably being burgled as we speak.”
“But… but.. how? Why?”
“My car! It’s just outside! Let’s go!” Jollyrei, a man of action if ever there was one, leapt towards the door. “We can talk on the way!”
We followed him, and, sure enough, his Rolls Royce was waiting at the kerb. Rolls Royces, as you may be aware, are extremely capacious vehicles, and there was plenty of room for Jollyrei’s driver, himself, Bob, Jeeves, and myself and some left over to spare.
Jollyrei gave the driver Bob’s address, which was about five miles away across central London. “Make it fast!” he ordered. I groaned. It would take hours in the mid-day traffic. But the driver let in the clutch, and I was thrown back against my seat as the car took off like a rocket, then I was forced to hang on for dear life as it squealed around the first corner. For the first time I considered the chauffeur, whom Jollyrei must have recruited from a motor racing team. I was astonished to see a pair of extremely shapely legs working the pedals.
Once again my monocle dropped out. I only knew one person in the world with stunning legs like that.
“Barb!” I exclaimed.
She took her cap off, allowing her raven hair to cascade across her shoulders. She turned and gave me her famous dazzling smile. “Hi Bertie!”
“I say, Barb, do keep your eyes on the road, old girl!”
She swerved around a milk cart, overtook a lorry, and forced a cab to brake and blare its horn as she raced across a junction. Her hands and feet moved on the wheel, the gears, and the pedals like an organist playing a fugue in a cathedral. I felt a mixture of admiration and terror. Even Jeeves looked pale.
The statue of Eros passed in a blur as she shot across Piccadilly Circus leaving swerving cars and blaring horns in her wake, but there wasn’t a scratch on that gleaming car. Jollyrei sat in the front passenger seat looking so relaxed that he appeared to be considering nodding off. Far behind came the sound of a police bell but I knew that they had not got a prayer of catching up with Barb.
Just less than seven minutes after we’d left mine the roller squealed to a stop in front of Bob’s front door.
Which stood wide open.
Bob groaned, and dashed up the steps to his front door. I followed him in, but if it had been burgled it had been a very tidy burglar – everything looked as immaculate as if Bob employed a Jeeves of his own, which I knew he didn’t. But Bob disappeared into the inner recesses of his home, and re-appeared looking ashen.
“They’re gone!” he wailed. “My precious Alice paintings have gone!”
I poured him a whisky and soda, with more emphasis on the whisky and less on the soda, which he accepted gratefully.
I turned to Jeeves. “Jeeves,” I admitted, “I haven’t got the faintest idea what is happening here. How did you know?”
“The photograph, sir, could not possibly have been posed, taken, processed, and delivered this morning.” He passed it to me. “It is taken in a forest, and required full daylight. The photograph is completely dry, and there is no essence of photographic chemistry about it. It is reasonable to conclude that it existed some time before Miss Kiss attended her party last night, and that its deployment upon Mr Inder’s doormat this morning was merely a ruse to cause him to leave his house.”
“You mean – she’s not currently hanging on a cross somewhere?” I felt faintly disappointed. I’d been rather looking forward to discovering her in her forest.
“No, sir. Unless I am very much mistaken she is currently on the boat train to Harwich, in the company of the notorious art thief the Count Ludwig Loxuru of Germania Inferior.”
I goggled at the man “What? Why? How?” I stammered.
Jeeves sighed patiently. “It is common knowledge, sir, that Miss Kiss is engaged to be married to Count Loxuru. Mr Wulf of Cruxton Abbey told me so six weeks ago. He also mentioned that Count Loxuru had swindled the Earl out of a valuable painting of his servant girl Ariel, about which His Lordship currently remains somewhat vexed. I regret to say that the Count’s interest in paintings of the Cruxton servant girls is also widely understood.”
“Noooooo!” howled Bob, his head in his hands, “It wasn’t ‘common knowledge’ to me! I knew it was too good to be true! I gave her the key to my house at the party yesterday evening! And she knows where my studio is – she’s been modelling for me! I’m an idiot!”
“You’re not an idiot, Bob!” Jollyrei was almost as upset as he was. “She had us all fooled! But we have no time to lose! Barb? Can you get us to Harwich before the boat train gets there?”
“Sure, honey!” said Barb, who had outdriven the cream of the Metropolitan Police this very morning. “That would be a piece of cake!”
But once again Jeeves spoke up. “That will not be necessary, sir. I telephoned Inspector Phlebas of Scotland Yard this morning. I am given to understand that he and his men are currently at Harwich awaiting the arrival of the train. I had the pleasure of the company of Mr Hugin and Mr Munin yesterday evening, who are on the Count’s staff, and they let slip that he had made travel arrangements for today.”
I was delighted to have been spared a white-knuckle ride across Essex, but aghast at the treachery of Alice. To think I had lashed out on a costly cravat in her honour! I’d had a lucky escape.
“Jeeves,” I said, “You’re a marvel!”
“Thank you, sir. One endeavours to give satisfaction.”
“Oh, and Jeeves?”
“Sir?”
“That cravat.”
“Sir?”
“Burn it.”
“Thank you sir. I took the liberty of doing so this morning.”
That's all, folks!
And thanks for the cameo!
