I leaped to my feet, causing Augustus to fall to earth I knew not where, as the fellow said. I was a prey to the liveliest apprehensions. My relations with Spode had been for long so consistently strained that I never saw him nowadays without a lurking fear that he was going to sock me in the eye. Obviously I wasn’t to be blamed if he and Madeline had been having trouble, but that wouldn’t stop him blaming me. It was like the story of the chap who was in prison and a friend calls and asks him why and the chap tells him and the friend says But they can’t put you in prison for that and the chap says I know they can’t, but they have. Spode didn’t have to have logical reasons for setting about people he wasn’t fond of, and it might be that he was like Florence and would work off his grouch on the first available innocent bystander. Putting it in a nutshell, my frame of mind was approximately that of the fellows in the hymn who got such a start when they looked over their shoulders and saw the troops of Midian prowling and prowling around.
It was with profound relief, therefore, that I suddenly got on to it that his demeanour was free from hostility. He was looking like somebody who has just seen the horse on which he had put all his savings, plus whatever he had been able to lift from his employer’s till, beaten by a short head. His face, nothing to write home about at the best of times, was drawn and contorted, but with pain rather than the urge to commit mayhem. And while one would always prefer him not to be present, a drawn-and-contorted-with-pain Spode was certainly the next best thing. My greeting, in consequence, had the real ring of cordiality in it.
‘Oh, hullo, Spode, hullo. There you are, what? Splendid.’
‘Can I have a word with you, Wooster?’
‘Of course, of course. Have several.’
He did not speak for a minute or so, filling in the time by subjecting me to a close scrutiny. Then he gave a sigh and shook his head.. ‘I can’t understand it,’ he said. ‘What can’t you understand, Spode old man or rather Lord Sidcup old man?’ I asked in a kind voice, for I was only too willing to help this new and improved Spode solve any little problem that was puzzling him.
‘How Madeline can contemplate marrying a man like you. She has broken our engagement and says that’s what she’s going to do. She was quite definite about it. “All is over”, she said. “Here is your ring”, she said. “I shall marry Bertie Wooster and make him happy”, she said. You can’t want it plainer than that.’
I stiffened from head to f. Even with conditions what they were in this disturbed post-war world I hadn’t been expecting to be turned into a pillar of salt again for some considerable time, but this had done it. I don’t know how many of my public have ever been slapped between the eyes with a wet fish, but those who have will appreciate my emotions as the seventh Earl of Sidcup delivered this devastating bulletin. Everything started to go all wobbly, and through what is known as a murky mist I seemed to be watching a quivering-at-the-edges seventh Earl performing the sort of gyrations travelled friends have told me the Ouled Nail dancers do in Cairo.
I was stunned. It seemed to me incredible that Madeline Bassett should have blown the whistle on their engagement. Then I remembered that at the time when she had plighted her troth Spode was dangling a countess’s coronet before her eyes, and the thing became more understandable. I mean, take away the coronet and what had you got? Just Spode. Not good enough, a girl would naturally feel. He, meanwhile, was going on to explain why he found it so bizarre that Madeline should be contemplating marrying me, and almost immediately I saw that I had been mistaken in supposing that he was not hostile. He spoke from between clenched teeth, and that always tells the story.