"Lester Piggott is riding it."
"That settles it. L. Piggott is the name of the chap stationed in the Trunks, Bags and Suit-cases, as fine a man as ever punched a time-clock. I admit his L stands for Lancelot, but that's a good enough omen for me."
Monica looked across at Mrs.
Spottsworth.
"I suppose you think we're crazy, Rosalinda?"
Mrs. Spottsworth smiled indulgently.
"Of course not, dear. This brings back the old days with Mr. Bessemer. Racing was all he ever thought of. We spent our honeymoon at Sheepshead Bay. It's the Derby, is it, you're so interested in?"
"Just our silly little annual flutter. We don't bet high. Can't afford to. We have to watch the pennies."
"Rigidly," said Rory. He chuckled amusedly, struck by a whimsical idea. "I was just thinking," he went on in explanation of his mirth, "that the smart thing for me to have done would have been to stick to that pendant of yours I picked up last night and go off to London with it and pawn it, thus raising a bit of ... Yes, old man?"
Bill swallowed.
"I didn't speak."
"I thought you did."
"No, just a hiccup."
"To which," Rory conceded, "you were fully entitled. If a man can't hiccup in his own house, in whose house can he hiccup? Well, summing up, Taj Mahal two quid.
Escalator ten bob each way. I'll go and send off my wire." He paused. "But wait.
Is it not rash to commit oneself without consulting Jeeves?"
"Why Jeeves?"
"My dear Moke, what that man doesn't know about form isn't worth knowing. You should have heard him yesterday when I asked him if he had any views on the respective contestants in England's premier classic race. He just stood there rattling off horses and times and records as if he were the Archbishop of Canterbury."
Monica was impressed.
"I didn't know he was as hot as that.
Are there no limits to the powers of this wonder man? We'll go and confer with him at once."
They hurried out, and Bill, having cleared his throat, said "Er".
Mrs. Spottsworth looked up inquiringly.
"Er, Rosie. That pendant of yours. The one Rory was speaking of."
"Yes?"
"I was admiring it last night."
"It's nice, isn't it?"
"Beautiful. You didn't have it at Cannes, did you?"
"No. I hadn't met Mr. Spottsworth then. It was a present from him."
Bill leaped. His worst suspicions had been confirmed.
"A present from Mr. Sp—?" he gasped.
Mrs. Spottsworth laughed.
"It's too funny," she said. "I was talking to Captain Biggar about it last night, and I told him one of my husbands gave it to me, but I couldn't remember which. It was Mr.
Spottsworth, of course. So silly of me to have forgotten."
Bill gulped.
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, quite."
"It ... it wasn't given to you by some fellow on one of those hunting expeditions ... as a ... as a sort of memento?"
Mrs. Spottsworth stared.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I thought ... fellow grateful for kindnesses ... saying good-bye ... might have said "Won't you accept this as a little memento ... and all that sort of thing"."
The suggestion plainly offended Mrs.
Spottsworth.
"Do you imagine that I accept diamond pendants from "fellows", as you call them?"
"Well, I—"
"I wouldn't dream of such a thing. Mr.
Spottsworth bought that pendant when we were in Bombay. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. A funny little shop with a very fat Chinaman behind the counter, and Mr. Spottsworth would insist on trying to speak Chinese. And just as he was bargaining, there was an earthquake. Not a bad one, but everything was all red dust for about ten minutes, and when it cleared, Mr.
Spottsworth said "Let's get out of here!" and paid what the man was asking and grabbed the pendant and we raced out and never stopped running till we had got back to the hotel."
A dull despair had Bill in its grip.
He heaved himself painfully to his feet.
"I wonder if you would excuse me," he said.
"I have to see Jeeves about something."
"Well, ring for Jeeves."
Bill shook his head.
"No, I think, if you don't mind, I'll go and see him in his pantry."
It had occurred to him that in Jeeves's pantry there would be a drop of port, and a drop of port or some similar restorative was what his stricken soul craved.
When Rory and Monica entered Jeeves's pantry, they found its proprietor reading a letter. His fine face, always grave, seemed a little graver than usual, as if the letter's contents had disturbed him.
"Sorry to interrupt you, Jeeves," said Monica.
"Not at all, m'lady."
"Finish your reading."
"I had already done so, m'lady. A communication from Mr. Wooster."
"Oh?" said Rory. "Bertie Wooster, eh?
How is the old bounder? Robust?"
"Mr. Wooster says nothing to indicate the contrary, sir."
"Good. Rosy cheeks, eh? Eating his spinach, no doubt? Capital. Couldn't be better. Still, be that as it may," said Rory, "what do you think of Taj Mahal for this afternoon's beano at Epsom Downs? I thought of slapping my two quid on its nose, with your approval."
"And Moke the Second," said Monica.
"That's my fancy."
Jeeves considered.
"I see no objection to a small wager on the animal you have named sir, nor on yours, m'lady. One must bear in mind, however, that the Derby is always an extremely open race."
"Don't I know it!"
"It would be advisable, therefore, if the funds are sufficient, to endeavour to save your stake by means of a bet each way on some other horse."
"Rory thought of Escalator. I'm hesitating."
Jeeves coughed.
"Has your ladyship considered the Irish horse, Ballymore?"
"Oh, Jeeves, for heaven's sake. None of the nibs even mention it. No, not Ballymore, Jeeves. I'll have to think of something."
"Very good, m'lady. Would there be anything further?"
"Yes," said Rory. "Now that we're all here together, cheek by jowl as it were, a word from our sponsor on a personal matter, Jeeves.
What was all that that Mrs. Dogsbody was saying at lunch about you and her being out on the tiles last night?"
"Sir?"
"Weren't you in the room when she was talking about it?"
"No, m'lady."
"She said you bowled off together in the small hours to the ruined chapel."
"Ah, yes, m'lady. I apprehend Sir Roderick's meaning now. Mrs. Spottsworth did desire me to escort her to the ruined chapel last night. She was hoping to see the wraith of Lady Agatha, she informed me."
"Any luck?"
"No, m'lady."
"She says Bill saw the old girl."
"Yes, m'lady."
Rory uttered the gratified exclamation of one who has solved a mystery.
"So that's why Bill's looking like a piece of cheese today. It must have scared him stiff."
"I believe Lord Rowcester was somewhat moved by the experience, Sir Roderick. But I fancy that if, as you say, there is a resemblance between his lordship and a portion of cheese, it is occasioned more by the circumstance of his lordship's matrimonial plans having been cancelled than by any manifestation from the spirit world."
Monica squeaked excitedly.
"You don't mean Bill's engagement is off?"
"That is what I was endeavouring to convey, m'lady. Miss Wyvern handed me the ring in person, to return to his lordship. "Am I to infer, miss," I ventured to inquire, "that there is a symbolical significance attached to this gesture?"' and Miss Wyvern replied in the affirmative."
"Well, I'll be blowed. Poor old Bill!"
"Yes, m'lady."
"The heart bleeds."
"Yes, Sir Roderick."
It was at this moment that Bill came charging in.