‘Yes, sir. When you rang, I was about to see what a little weak brandy and water would do.’
I sped him on his errand of mercy and sat down to brood. You might have supposed that the singular behaviour of Bingley would have occupied my thoughts. I mean, when you hear that a chap of his well-established crookedness has been acting oddly, your natural impulse is to say ‘Ahat ‘ and wonder what his game is. And perhaps for a minute or two I did ponder on this. But I had so many other things to ponder on that Bingley soon got shoved into the discard. If I remember rightly, it was as I mused on Problem (b), the one about restoring the porringer to L. P. Runkle, and again drew a blank, that my reverie was interrupted by the entrance of the old ancestor.
She was wearing the unmistakeable look of an aunt who has just been having the time of her life, and this did not surprise me. Hers since she sold the weekly paper she used to run, the one I did that piece on What The Well-Dressed Man Will Wear for, has been a quiet sort of existence, pleasant enough but lacking in incident and excitement. A really sensational event such as the egg-and-vegetable-throwing get-together she had just been present at must have bucked her up like a week at the seaside.
Her greeting could not have been more cordial. An aunt’s love oozed out from every syllable.
‘Hullo, you revolting object,’ she said. ‘So you’re back.’
‘Just arrived.’
‘Too bad you had that jury job. You missed a gripping experience.’
‘So Jeeves was telling me.’
‘Ginger finally went off his rocker.’
With the inside information which had been placed at my disposal I was able to correct this view.
‘It was no rocker that he went off, aged relative. His actions were motivated by the soundest good sense. He wanted to get Florence out of his hair without actually telling her to look elsewhere for a mate.’
‘Don’t be an ass. He loves her.’
‘No longer. He’s switched to Magnolia Glendennon.’
‘You mean that secretary of his?’
‘That identical secretary.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He told me so himself.’
‘Well, I’ll be blowed. He finally got fed up with Florence’s bossiness, did he?’
‘Yes, I think it must have been coming on for some time without him knowing it, subconsciously as Jeeves would say. Meeting Magnolia brought it to the surface.’
‘She seems a nice girl.’
‘Very nice, according to Ginger.’
‘I must congratulate him.’
‘You’ll have to wait a bit. They’ve gone up to London.’
‘So have Spode and Madeline. And Runkle ought to be leaving soon. It’s like one of those great race movements of the Middle Ages I used to read about at school. Well, this is wonderful. Pretty soon it’ll be safe for Tom to return to the nest. There’s still Florence, of course, but I doubt if she will be staying on. My cup runneth over, young Bertie. I’ve missed Tom sorely. Home’s not home without him messing about the place. Why are you staring at me like a halibut on a fishmonger’s slab?’
I had not been aware that I was conveying this resemblance to the fish she mentioned, but my gaze had certainly been on the intent side, for her opening words had stirred me to my depths.
‘Did you say,’ I – yes, I suppose, vociferated would be the word, ‘that Spode and Madeline Bassett had gone to London?’
‘Left half an hour ago.
‘Together?’
‘Yes, in his car.’
‘But Spode told me she had given him the push.’
‘She did, but everything’s all right again. He’s not going to give up his title and stand for Parliament. Getting hit in the eye with that potato changed his plans completely. It made him feel that if that was the sort of thing you have to go through to get elected to the House of Commons, he preferred to play it safe and stick to the House of Lords. And she, of course, assured that there was going to be no funny business and that she would become the Countess of Sidcup all right, withdrew her objections to marrying him. Now you’re puffing like Tom when he goes upstairs too fast. Why is this?