Money in the Bank by P. G. Wodehouse Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: P. G. Wodehouse
speech. His mind was in a sort of emotional welter, to the surface of which, like an egg shell in a maelstrom, there kept bobbing one coherent thought—to wit, that if this was the sort of girl who frequented the offices of private investigators, he had been mad not to have become a private investigator before.
It was true that almost anybody who did not look like Myrtle Shoesmith would have appealed to him at the moment, and Anne Benedick was supremely unlike Myrtle Shoesmith, but the thing went deeper than that. There was something about this visitor that seemed to touch some hidden chord in his being, setting joy bells ringing and torchlight processions parading through the echoing corridors of his soul. Romeo, he fancied, must have experienced a somewhat similar, though weaker, emotion on first beholding Juliet.
As for Anne, her reactions, if less ecstatic, were distinctly favourable. Halsey Court, and particularly the staircase of Halsey Buildings, had prepared her for something pretty outstandingly bad in the way of investigators—something, indeed, very like the Chimp Twist who might so easily have been there to receive her: and this agreeable, clean-cut young man came as a refreshing surprise. She liked his looks. She had also a curious feeling that she had seen him before somewhere.
"Good afternoon," she said, and Jeff pulled himself together with a strong effort. His fervour was still as pronounced as ever, but the first stunned sensation had begun to wane.
"Good afternoon," he replied. "Do sit down, won't you?" He seized a chair and started mopping it vigorously with his coat sleeve, as Sir Walter Raleigh would have done in his place. He regretted that the lax methods of his predecessor's charwoman should have rendered the action so necessary. "Quite a bit of dust in here, I'm afraid."
"There does seem to be a speck or two."
"One gets called away on an important case, and during one's absence the cleaning staff take it easy."
"I suppose they have heard so much about the importance of leaving everything absolutely untouched."
"It may be so. Still, there are too many rock cakes about, far too many rock cakes. I see no reason for anything like this number of rock cakes."
"You don't think they lend a homey touch?"
"Perhaps you are right. Yes, possibly they do brighten the old place up. There," said Jeff, exhibiting his handiwork, "I think that's better."
"Much better. And now would you mind dusting another. My uncle should be arriving in a moment. I thought he was coming up the stairs behind me, but he must have stopped to sniff at something. He has rather an enquiring mind."
As she spoke, there came from outside the door the slow booming of feet on the stone stairs, as if a circus elephant in sabots were picking its way towards the third floor: and as Jeff finished removing the alluvial deposits from a second of Mr. Twist's chairs, the missing member of the party arrived.
"Come in, angel," said Anne. "We were wondering where you had got to. This is Mr. Adair. My uncle. Lord Uffenham."
The newcomer, as the sound of his footsteps had suggested, was built on generous lines. In shape, he resembled a pear, reasonably narrow at the top but getting wider and wider all the way down and culminating in a pair of boots of the outsize or violin-case type. Above these great, spreading steppes of body there was poised a large and egglike head, the bald dome of which rose like some proud mountain peak from a foothill fringe of straggling hair. His upper lip was very long and straight, his chin pointed. Two huge, unblinking eyes of the palest blue looked out from beneath rugged brows with a strange fixity.
"How do yer do?" he said. "Haryer? I've been having a dashed interesting talk with a policeman, my dear. I noticed that he was the living image of a feller who took me to Vine Street on Boat Race Night of the year 1909, and I stopped him and asked him if he could account for this in any way. And I'm blowed if he
It was true that almost anybody who did not look like Myrtle Shoesmith would have appealed to him at the moment, and Anne Benedick was supremely unlike Myrtle Shoesmith, but the thing went deeper than that. There was something about this visitor that seemed to touch some hidden chord in his being, setting joy bells ringing and torchlight processions parading through the echoing corridors of his soul. Romeo, he fancied, must have experienced a somewhat similar, though weaker, emotion on first beholding Juliet.
As for Anne, her reactions, if less ecstatic, were distinctly favourable. Halsey Court, and particularly the staircase of Halsey Buildings, had prepared her for something pretty outstandingly bad in the way of investigators—something, indeed, very like the Chimp Twist who might so easily have been there to receive her: and this agreeable, clean-cut young man came as a refreshing surprise. She liked his looks. She had also a curious feeling that she had seen him before somewhere.
"Good afternoon," she said, and Jeff pulled himself together with a strong effort. His fervour was still as pronounced as ever, but the first stunned sensation had begun to wane.
"Good afternoon," he replied. "Do sit down, won't you?" He seized a chair and started mopping it vigorously with his coat sleeve, as Sir Walter Raleigh would have done in his place. He regretted that the lax methods of his predecessor's charwoman should have rendered the action so necessary. "Quite a bit of dust in here, I'm afraid."
"There does seem to be a speck or two."
"One gets called away on an important case, and during one's absence the cleaning staff take it easy."
"I suppose they have heard so much about the importance of leaving everything absolutely untouched."
"It may be so. Still, there are too many rock cakes about, far too many rock cakes. I see no reason for anything like this number of rock cakes."
"You don't think they lend a homey touch?"
"Perhaps you are right. Yes, possibly they do brighten the old place up. There," said Jeff, exhibiting his handiwork, "I think that's better."
"Much better. And now would you mind dusting another. My uncle should be arriving in a moment. I thought he was coming up the stairs behind me, but he must have stopped to sniff at something. He has rather an enquiring mind."
As she spoke, there came from outside the door the slow booming of feet on the stone stairs, as if a circus elephant in sabots were picking its way towards the third floor: and as Jeff finished removing the alluvial deposits from a second of Mr. Twist's chairs, the missing member of the party arrived.
"Come in, angel," said Anne. "We were wondering where you had got to. This is Mr. Adair. My uncle. Lord Uffenham."
The newcomer, as the sound of his footsteps had suggested, was built on generous lines. In shape, he resembled a pear, reasonably narrow at the top but getting wider and wider all the way down and culminating in a pair of boots of the outsize or violin-case type. Above these great, spreading steppes of body there was poised a large and egglike head, the bald dome of which rose like some proud mountain peak from a foothill fringe of straggling hair. His upper lip was very long and straight, his chin pointed. Two huge, unblinking eyes of the palest blue looked out from beneath rugged brows with a strange fixity.
"How do yer do?" he said. "Haryer? I've been having a dashed interesting talk with a policeman, my dear. I noticed that he was the living image of a feller who took me to Vine Street on Boat Race Night of the year 1909, and I stopped him and asked him if he could account for this in any way. And I'm blowed if he