“Are they what?”
“Do you think all is well with them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has it ever occurred to you, Bertie,” she said, “that your Uncle George may be a psychic?”
“A psychic?”
“Do you think it is possible that he could see things not visible to the normal eye?”
I don’t know if you’ve ever met my Uncle George. He’s a festive old guy who wanders from club to club continually having a couple with other festive old guys. It was my Uncle George who discovered that alcohol was a food well in advance of modern medical thought.
“Your Uncle George was dining with me last night, and he was quite shaken. He declares that, while on his way from the Devonshire Club to Boodle’s[213] he suddenly saw the phantasm of Eustace.”
“The what of Eustace?”
“The phantasm. The wraith. It was so clear that he thought for an instant that it was Eustace himself. The figure vanished round a corner, and when Uncle George got there nothing was to be seen. It is all very queer and disturbing. It had a marked effect on poor George. All through dinner he touched nothing but barley-water[214], and his manner was quite disturbed. You do think those poor, dear boys are safe, Bertie? They have not met with some horrible accident?”
I said no, I didn’t think they had met with any horrible accident. I thought Eustace was a horrible accident, and Claude about the same, but I didn’t say so. And she went away, still worried.
When the twins came in, I told them all.
“But, my dear old man,” said Claude. “Be reasonable. We can’t hide ourselves.”
“Out of the question,” said Eustace.
“But, damn it—”
“Bertie!” said Eustace reprovingly. “Not before the boy!”
“Of course, in a way I see his point,” said Claude. “I suppose the solution of the problem would be to buy a couple of disguises.”
“My dear old chap!” said Eustace, looking at him with admiration. “The brightest idea! Not your own, surely?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, it was Bertie who put it into my head.”
“Me!”
“You were telling me the other day about old Bingo Little and the beard he bought when he didn’t want his uncle to recognize him.”
“Something in that,” agreed Eustace. “We’ll make it whiskers, then.”
“And false noses,” said Claude.
“And, as you say, false noses. Bertie, old chap, we don’t want to be any trouble to you.”
And, when I went to Jeeves for consolation, all he would say was something about Young Blood. No sympathy.
“Very good, Jeeves,” I said. “I shall go for a walk in the park. Please bring me my spats.”
“Very good, sir.”
A couple of days after that Marion Wardour came in at about the hour of tea. She looked round the room before sitting down.
“Your cousins not at home, Bertie?” she said.
“No, thank goodness!”
“Then I’ll tell you where they are. They’re in my sitting-room, glaring at each other from opposite corners, waiting for me to come in. Bertie, how to stop it?”
Jeeves came in with the tea, but the poor girl was going on with her complaint. She had an absolutely hunted air[215].
“I can’t move a step without seeing one or both of them,” she said. “Generally both. And they just settle down grimly and try to sit each other out[216].”
“I know,” I said sympathetically. “I know.”
“Well, what’s to be done?”
“I don’t know. Couldn’t you tell your maid to say you are not at home?”
She shuddered slightly.
“I tried that once. They sat on the stairs, and I couldn’t get out all the afternoon. And I had a lot of important engagements. I wish you would persuade them to go to South Africa, where they seem to be wanted.”
“You must have made an impression on them.”
“I should say I have. They’ve started giving me presents now. At least Claude has. He insisted on my accepting this cigarette-case last night. He came round to the theatre and wouldn’t go away till I took it. It’s not a bad one, I must say.”
It wasn’t. It was in gold with a diamond stuck in the middle. And the strange thing was that I had a notion I’d seen something very like it before somewhere. How Claude had been able to find the money to buy a thing like that was more than I could imagine.
Next day was a Wednesday, and as the object of their devotion had a matinée, the twins were free. Claude had gone with his whiskers on to Hurst Park[217], and Eustace and I were in the flat, talking. At least, he was talking and I was wishing he would go.
“The love of a good woman, Bertie,” he was saying, “must be a wonderful thing. Sometimes … Good Lord! What’s that?”
The front door had opened, and from out in the hall there came the sound of Aunt Agatha’s voice asking if I was in. There was just about two seconds to clear the way for her, but it was long enough for Eustace to dive under the sofa. His last shoe had just disappeared when she came in.
She had a worried look. It seemed to me about this time that everybody had.
“Bertie,” she said, “what are your plans?”
“What do you mean? I’m dining tonight with—”
“No, no, I don’t mean tonight. Are you busy for the next few days? But, of course you are not,” she went on, not waiting for me to answer. “You never have anything to do. Your whole life is spent in idle—but we can talk about that later. What I came for this afternoon was to tell you that I wish you to go with your poor Uncle George to Harrogate[218] for a few weeks. The sooner you can start, the better.”
I uttered a yelp of protest.
“If you are not entirely heartless, Bertie, you will do as I ask you. Your poor Uncle George has had a severe shock.”
“What, another?”
“He feels that only complete rest and careful medical attendance can restore his nervous system. We do not think he ought to be alone, so I wish you to accompany him.”
“But, I say!”
“Bertie!”
There was a pause in the conversation.
“What shock has he had?” I asked.
“Between ourselves,” said Aunt Agatha, lowering her voice in an impressive manner, “You are one of the family, Bertie, and I can speak freely to you. You know as well as I do that your poor Uncle George has for many years not been a—he has—er—developed a bit of a habit—”
“Drinking?”
“I must confess that he has not been, perhaps, as temperate as he should. Well, the fact is, that he has had a shock.”
“Yes, but what?”
“As far as I could understand, he has been the victim of a burglary.”
“Burglary!”
“He says that a strange man with whiskers and a peculiar nose entered his rooms in Jermyn Street during his absence and stole some of his property. He says that he came back and found the man in his sitting-room. He immediately rushed out of the room and disappeared.”
“Uncle George?”
“No, the man. And, according to your Uncle George, he had stolen a valuable cigarette-case. But, as I say, I am inclined to think that the whole thing was imagination. He has not been himself since the day when he fancied that he saw Eustace in the street. So I should like you, Bertie, to be prepared to start for Harrogate with him not later than Saturday.’
She left and Eustace crawled out from under the sofa. The blighter was strongly moved. So was I, for the matter of that. The idea of several weeks with Uncle George at Harrogate!
“So that’s where he got that cigarette-case, dash him!” said Eustace bitterly. “That fellow ought to be in a jail.”
“He ought to be in South Africa,” I said. “And so ought you.”