Free The Girl in Blue by P.G. Wodehouse Page B

did not bet nowadays, but this could scarcely be described
as a bet, so certain was the outcome.’ Consider the facts. Not only had
Willoughby just given a notable example of brotherly love, but the animal was
owned by a man he had been at school with and was to be ridden by a jockey
whose first name was Bill. What red-blooded punter could have been expected to
ignore a combination of omens so obviously proceeding from heaven?
    And the
seal was set on his confidence when Constable Simms entered, for the surname of
the jockey whose parents had christened him Bill was Copper.’ Really, it seemed
to Crispin, it was hardly worthwhile going through the formality of running the
race. It would be simpler if his turf accountants just mailed him their cheque
right away.
    ‘Come
in, Simms, come in,’ he cried sunnily. ‘You want to see me about something?’
    The
officer gave no outward indication of sharing his exuberance. His aspect was
grave. He looked, as always, as if he had been carved from some durable form of
wood by someone who was taking a correspondence course in sculpture and had
just reached his third lesson.’
    ‘Yes,
sir,’ he replied, and his voice was curt and official. One would have said that
he was anxious to impress on his overlord that this was no mere social visit.’
    ‘It’s
with ref to your butler, sir.
    Crispin’s
cheerfulness diminished sharply. The word seemed to have touched an exposed
nerve. A moment before, he had been glad, glad, glad, like a male Polyanna:
this ebullience no longer prevailed. He looked anxious and wary.’
    ‘My
butler?’ he echoed. ‘What’s he been doing?’
    Ernest
Simms’s manner took on the portentousness which always came into it when he
gave evidence in court.
    ‘It has
been drawn to my attention that he inaugurates games of chance at the Goose and
Gander, contrary to the law. When I warned him that if he persisted in these
practices I should be compelled to take steps, he called me an opprobrious
name.’
    Having
given his audience time to shudder, he resumed, and it seemed to Crispin that
he was changing the subject, for his next words took the form of a statement
that yesterday had been his mother’s birthday.
    ‘She
lives at Hunstanton in Norfolk, and I always send her a telegram on her
birthday.’
    Crispin
continued fogged.’ At the sentiment behind this filial act nobody could cavil,
for a policeman’s best friend is admittedly his mother, but he could think of
nothing to say except possibly that it did him credit.’ He remained silent.’
    ‘I went
into the post office, leaving my bicycle propped up outside, and despatched my
telegram, and when I came out.’.’.’ Here Ernest Simms paused and seemed to
choke, as if, man of chilled steel though he was, his feelings had become too
much for him. ‘And when I came out,’ he repeated, conquering his momentary
malaise, ‘there was that butler giving young Marlene Hibbs a bicycle lesson on my bicycle.’
    This
time Crispin felt obliged to comment, and it is a matter for regret that his
critique should have been so inadequate.’
    ‘He
shouldn’t have done that,’ he said.
    ‘You’re
right he shouldn’t,’ Ernest Simms agreed, speaking with the asperity of a man whose
finest sensibilities have been outraged, ‘and so I told him. I told him that
bicycle was Crown property and when he gave girls rides on it, he was
deliberately insulting Her Majesty the Queen. I said if I caught him doing such
a thing once again, I’d have him locked up so quick it would jar his back
teeth.’
    ‘That
should have impressed him.’
    ‘It
didn’t. He talked about being fed up with police persecution. And he uttered
threats.’
    ‘Threats?’
    ‘Yes,
sir, threats. He said he’d get even with me. He said he’d make me wish I’d
never been born.’
    ‘I don’t
like that.’
    ‘Nobody
would like it, sir, particularly with that Marlene Hibbs standing by and
laughing fit to split.’
    ‘Tut.’
    ‘You
may