The bearded bloke passed a hand across his forehead.
“I can assure you, Mr. Fink-Nottle, that every care was taken to ensure a correct marking and that Simmons outdistanced his competitors by a wide margin.”
“Well, if you say so,” said Gussie doubtfully. “All right, G. G. Simmons, take your prize.”
“Sir, thank you, sir.”
“But let me tell you that there’s nothing to stick on side about in winning a prize for Scripture knowledge. Bertie Wooster—”
I don’t know when I’ve had a nastier shock. I had been going on the assumption that, now that they had stopped him making his speech, Gussie’s fangs had been drawn, as you might say. To duck my head down and resume my edging toward the door was with me the work of a moment.
“Bertie Wooster won the Scripture-knowledge prize at a kids’ school we were at together, and you know what he’s like. But, of course, Bertie frankly cheated. He succeeded in scrounging that Scripture-knowledge trophy over the heads of better men by means of some of the rawest and most brazen swindling methods ever witnessed even at a school where such things were common. If that man’s pockets, as he entered the examination-room, were not stuffed to bursting-point with lists of the kings of Judah—”
I heard no more. A moment later I was out in God’s air, fumbling with a fevered foot at the self-starter of the old car.
The engine raced. The clutch slid into position. I tooted and drove off.
My ganglions were still vibrating as I ran the car into the stables of Brinkley Court, and it was a much shaken Bertram who tottered up to his room to change into something loose. Having donned flannels, I lay down on the bed for a bit, and I suppose I must have dozed off, for the next thing I remember is finding Jeeves at my side.
I sat up. “My tea, Jeeves?”
“No, sir. It is nearly dinnertime.”
The mists cleared away.
“I must have been asleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nature taking its toll of the exhausted frame.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And enough to make it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now it’s nearly dinnertime, you say? All right. I am in no mood for dinner, but I suppose you had better lay out the clothes.”
“It will not be necessary, sir. The company will not be dressing tonight. A cold collation has been set out in the dining-room.”
“Why’s that?”
“It was Mrs. Travers’s wish that this should be done in order to minimize the work for the staff, who are attending a dance at Sir Percival Stretchley-Budd’s residence tonight.”
“Of course, yes. I remember. My Cousin Angela told me. Tonight’s the night, what? You going, Jeeves?”
“No, sir. I am not very fond of this form of entertainment in the rural districts, sir.”
“I know what you mean. These country binges are all the same. A piano, one fiddle, and a floor like sandpaper. Is Anatole going? Angela hinted not.”
“Miss Angela was correct, sir. Monsieur Anatole is in bed.”
“Temperamental blighters, these Frenchmen.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause.
“Well, Jeeves,” I said, “it was certainly one of those afternoons, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I cannot recall one more packed with incident. And I left before the finish.”
“Yes, sir. I observed your departure.”
“You couldn’t blame me for withdrawing.”
“No, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle had undoubtedly become embarrassingly personal.”
“Was there much more of it after I went?”
“No, sir. The proceedings terminated very shortly. Mr. Fink-Nottle’s remarks with reference to Master G. G. Simmons brought about an early closure.”
“But he had finished his remarks about G. G. Simmons.”
“Only temporarily, sir. He resumed them immediately after your departure. If you recollect, sir, he had already proclaimed himself suspicious of Master Simmons’s bona fides, and he now proceeded to deliver a violent verbal attack upon the young gentleman, asserting that it was impossible for him to have won the Scripture-knowledge prize without systematic cheating on an impressive scale. He went so far as to suggest that Master Simmons was well known to the police.”
“Golly, Jeeves!”
“Yes, sir. The words did create a considerable sensation. The reaction of those present to this accusation I should describe as mixed. The young students appeared pleased and applauded vigorously, but Master Simmons’s mother rose from her seat and addressed Mr. Fink-Nottle in terms of strong protest.”
“Did Gussie seem taken aback? Did he recede from his position?”
“No, sir. He said that he could see it all now, and hinted at a guilty liaison between Master Simmons’s mother and the head master, accusing the latter of having cooked the marks, as his expression was, in order to gain favour with the former.”
“You don’t mean that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Egad, Jeeves! And then—”
“They sang the national anthem, sir.”
“Surely not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At a moment like that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you were there and you know, of course, but I should have thought the last thing Gussie and this woman would have done in the circs. would have been to start singing duets.”
“You misunderstand me, sir. It was the entire company who sang. The head master turned to the organist and said something to him in a low tone. Upon which the latter began to play the national anthem, and the proceedings terminated.”
“I see. About time, too.”
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Simmons’s attitude had become unquestionably menacing.”
I pondered. What I had heard was, of course, of a nature to excite pity and terror, not to mention alarm and despondency, and it would be paltering with the truth to say that I was pleased about it. On the other hand, it was all over now, and it seemed to me that the thing to do was not to mourn over the past but to fix the mind on the bright future. I mean to say, Gussie might have lowered the existing Worcestershire record for goofiness and definitely forfeited all chance of becoming Market Snodsbury’s favourite son, but you couldn’t get away from the fact that he had proposed to Madeline Bassett, and you had to admit that she had accepted him.
I put this to Jeeves.
“A frightful exhibition,” I said, “and one which will very possibly ring down history’s pages.
