A Gentleman of Leisure P. G. Wodehouse (list of ebook readers TXT) 📖

He turned, to see Molly. She wore the costume of a stage milkmaid, and her eyes were round with wonder. Leaving her room a few moments earlier, after dressing for her part, she had almost reached the end of the corridor that led to the landing when she observed his lordship, flashed of face and moving like some restive charger, come curveting out of his bedroom in a dazzling suit of tweeds and make his way upstairs. Ever since their mutual encounter with Sir Thomas before dinner she had been hoping for a chance of seeing him alone. She had not failed to notice his depression during the meal, and her good little heart had been troubled by the thought that she must have been responsible for it. She knew that for some reason what she had said about the letter had brought his lordship into his uncle’s bad books, and she wanted to find him and say she was sorry.

Accordingly, she had followed him. His lordship, still in the warhorse vein, had made the pace upstairs too hot, and had disappeared while she was still halfway up. She had arrived at the top just in time to see him turn down the passage into Sir Thomas’s dressing room. She could not think what his object might be. She knew that Sir Thomas was downstairs, so it could not be with the idea of a chat with him that Spennie was seeking the dressing room.

Faint, yet pursuing, she followed on his trail, and arrived in the doorway just as the pistol-report of the burst lock rang out.

She stood looking at him blankly. He was holding a drawer in one hand. Why, she could not imagine.

“Lord Dreever!” she exclaimed.

The sombre determination of his lordship’s face melted into a twisted but kindly smile.

“Good!” he said, perhaps a trifle thickly. “Good! Glad you’ve come⁠—we’re pals⁠—you said so⁠—on stairs⁠—b’fore dinner. Very glad you’ve come. Won’t you sit down?”

He waved the drawer benevolently, by way of making her free of the room. The movement disturbed one of the banknotes, which fluttered in Molly’s direction and fell at her feet.

She stooped and picked it up. When she saw what it was her bewilderment increased.

“But⁠—but⁠—” she said.

His lordship beamed upon her with a pebble-beached smile of indescribable goodwill.

“Sit down,” he urged. “We’re pals⁠—no quol with you⁠—you’re good friend. Quol⁠—Uncle Thomas.”

“But, Lord Dreever, what are you doing? What was that noise I heard?”

“Opening drawer,” said his lordship affably.

“But⁠—” She looked again at what she had in her hand. “But this is a five pound note.”

“Five pound note,” said his lordship⁠—“quite right. Three more of them in here.”

Still she could not understand.

“But⁠—Were you⁠—stealing them?”

His lordship drew himself up.

“No,” he said. “No! Not stealing. No.”

“Then⁠—”

“Like this: before dinner old boy friendly as you please; couldn’t do enough for me. Touched him for twenty of the best and got away with it. So far all well. Then met you on stairs. You let cat out of bag.”

“But why? Surely⁠—”

His lordship gave the drawer a dignified wave.

“Not blaming you,” he said magnanimously. “Not your fault⁠—misfortune. You didn’t know⁠—about letter.”

“About the letter?” said Molly. “Yes; what was the trouble about the letter? I knew something was wrong directly I had said that I wrote it.”

“Trouble was,” said his lordship, “that old boy thought it was love letter. Didn’t undeceive him.”

“You didn’t tell him? Why?”

His lordship raised his eyebrows.

“Wanted touch him twenty of the best,” he explained simply.

For the life of her Molly could not help laughing.

“Don’t laugh,” protested his lordship, wounded. “No joke⁠—serious⁠—honour at stake.”

He removed the three notes and replaced the drawer.

“Honour of the Dreevers!” he added, pocketing the money.

“But, Lord Dreever!” she cried. “You can’t! You mustn’t! You can’t be going, really, to take that money? It’s stealing! It isn’t yours!”

His lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her.

“That,” he said, “is where you make error. Mine! Old boy gave them to me.”

“Gave them to you! Then why did you break open the drawer?”

“Old boy took them back again, when he found out about letter.”

“Then they don’t belong to you?”

“Yes. Error! They do. Moral right.”

Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever’s type appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man his lordship was a negligible quantity⁠—he did not count; but as a wilful child, to be kept out of trouble, he had a claim on Molly.

She spoke soothingly.

“But, Lord Dreever⁠—” she began.

“Call me Spennie,” he urged. “We’re pals. You said so⁠—on stairs. Everybody calls me Spennie, even Uncle Thomas. I’m going to pull his nose,” he broke off suddenly, as one recollecting a forgotten appointment.

“Spennie, then,” said Molly. “You mustn’t, Spennie. You mustn’t, really. You⁠—”

“You look rippin’ in that dress,” he said irrelevantly.

“Thank you, Spennie, dear. But listen.” She spoke as if she were humouring a rebellious infant. “You really mustn’t take that money. You must put it back. See, I’m putting this note back. Give me the others, and I’ll put them in the drawer too. Then we’ll shut the drawer, and nobody will know.”

She took the notes from him, and replaced them in the drawer. He watched her thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the merits of her arguments.

“No,” he said suddenly. “No⁠—must have them⁠—moral right! Old boy⁠—”

She pushed him gently away.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “I know it’s a shame that you can’t have them; but you mustn’t take them. Don’t you see that he would suspect you the moment he found they were gone? And then you’d get into trouble.”

“Something in that,” admitted his lordship.

“Of course there is, Spennie, dear. I’m so glad you see. There they all are, safe again in the drawer. Now we can go downstairs again, and⁠—”

She stopped. She had closed the door earlier in the proceedings, but her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep in the passage outside.

“Quick!” she whispered, taking his hand and darting to the electric light switch. “Somebody’s coming. We mustn’t be caught here. They’d see the broken