‘Like a rat?’
‘Yes, like a rat,’ she said with the quiet confidence of a woman who had been shaking rats by the throat since she was a slip of a girl. ‘Five Ormond Crescent, here I come!’
It shows to what an extent happenings in and about Market Snodsbury had affected my mental processes that she had been gone at least ten minutes before the thought of Bastable floated into my mind, and I wished I had been able to give her a word of warning. That zealous employee of Rupert Bingley had been instructed to see to it that no callers were admitted to the presence, and I saw no reason to suppose that he would fail in his duty when the old ancestor showed up. He would not use physical violence — indeed, with a woman of her physique he would be unwise to attempt it — but it would be the work of an instant with him not to ask her to step this way, thus ensuring her departure with what Ma McCorkadale would call a flea in her ear. I could see her returning in, say, about a quarter of an hour a baffled and defeated woman.
I was right. It was some twenty minutes later, as I sat reading the Rex Stout which she had used as a guided missile, that heavy breathing became audible without and shortly afterwards she became visible within, walking with the measured tread of a saint going round St. Paul’s. A far less discerning eye than mine could have spotted that she had been having Bastable trouble.
It would have been kinder, perhaps, not to have spoken, but it was one of those occasions when you feel you have to say something.
‘Any luck?’ I enquired.
She sank on to the chaise longue, simmering gently. She punched a cushion, and I could see she was wishing it could have been Bastable. He was essentially the sort of man who asks, nay clamours, to be treated in this manner.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t get in.’
‘Why was that?’ I asked, wearing the mask.
‘A beefy butler sort of bird slammed the door in my face.’
‘Too bad.’
‘And I was just too late to get my fobt in.’
‘Always necessary to work quick on these occasions. The most precise timing is called for. Odd that he should have admitted me. I suppose my air of quiet distinction was what turned the scale. What did you do? ‘
‘I came away. What else could I have done?’
‘No, I can see how difficult it must have been.’
‘The maddening part of it is that I was all set to try to get that money out of L. P. Runkle this afternoon. I felt that today was the day. But if my luck’s out, as it seems to be, perhaps I had better postpone it.’
‘Not strike while the iron is hot?’
‘It may not be hot enough.’
‘Well, you’re the judge. You know,’ I said, getting back to the main issue, ‘the ambassador to conduct the negotiations with Bingley is really Jeeves. It is he who should have been given the assignment. Where I am speechless in Bingley’s presence and you can’t even get into the house, he would be inside and talking a blue streak before you could say What ho. And he has the added advantage that Bingley seems fond of him. He thinks he’s a cough drop.’
‘What on earth’s a cough drop?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s something Bingley admires. When he spoke of him as one, it was with a genuine ring of enthusiasm in his voice. Did you tell Jeeves about Bingley having the book?’
‘Yes, I told him.’
‘How did he take it?
‘ ‘You know how Jeeves takes things. One of his eyebrows rose a little and he said he was shocked and astounded.’
‘That’s strong stuff for him. “Most disturbing” is as far as he goes usually.’
‘It’s a curious thing,’ said the aged relative thoughtfully. ‘As I was driving off in the car I thought I saw Jeeves coming away from Bingley’s place. Though I couldn’t be sure it was him.’