Decline and Fall

his feet again. By the way, old boy, I have to congratulate you, haven’t I? You’ve done pretty well for yourself, too.” His eye travelled appreciatively over the glass floor, and the pneumatic rubber furniture, and the porcelain ceiling, and the leather-hung walls. “It’s not everyone’s taste,” he said, “but I think you’ll be comfortable. Funny thing, I never expected to see you when I came down here.”

“What we want to know,” said Peter, “is what brought you down to see Mamma at all.”

“Just good fortune,” said Grimes. “It was like this. After I left Llanabba I was rather at a loose end. I’d borrowed a fiver from Philbrick just before he left, and that got me to London, but for a week or so things were rather thin. I was sitting in a pub one day in Shaftesbury Avenue, feeling my beard rather warm and knowing I only had about five bob left in the world, when I noticed a chap staring at me pretty hard in the other corner of the bar. He came over after a bit and said: ‘Captain Grimes, I think?’ That rather put the wind up me. ‘No, no, old boy,’ I said, ‘quite wrong, rotten shot. Poor old Grimes is dead, drowned. Davy Jones’ locker, old boy!’ And I made to leave. Of course it wasn’t a very sensible thing to say, because, if I hadn’t been Grimes, it was a hundred to one against my knowing Grimes was dead, if you see what I mean. ‘Pity,’ he said, ‘because I heard old Grimes was down on his luck, and I had a job I thought might suit him. Have a drink, anyway.’ Then I realized who he was. He was an awful stout fellow called Bill, who’d been quartered with me in Ireland. ‘Bill,’ I said, ‘I thought you were a bobby.’ ‘That’s all right, old boy,’ said Bill. Well, it appeared that this Bill had gone off to the Argentine after the war and had got taken on as manager of a⁠ ⁠…”⁠—Grimes stopped as though suddenly reminded of something⁠—“a place of entertainment. Sort of night club, you know. Well, he’d done rather well in that job, and had been put in charge of a whole chain of places of entertainment all along the coast. They’re a syndicate owned in England. He’d come back on leave to look for a couple of chaps to go out with him and help. ‘The Dagos are no use at the job,’ he said, ‘not dispassionate enough.’ Had to be chaps who could control themselves where women were concerned. That’s what made him think of me. But it was a pure act of God, our meeting.

“Well, apparently the syndicate was first founded by young Beste-Chetwynde’s grandpapa, and Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde still takes an interest in it, so I was sent down to interview her and see if she agreed to the appointment. It never occurred to me it was the same Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde who came down to the sports the day Prendy got so tight. Only shows how small the world is, doesn’t it?”

“Did Mamma give you the job?” asked Peter.

“She did, and fifty pounds advance on my wages, and some jolly sound advice. It’s been a good day for Grimes. Heard from the old man lately, by the way?”

“Yes,” said Paul, “I got a letter this morning,” and he showed it to Grimes:

Llanabba Castle
North Wales

My Dear Pennyfeather,

Thank you for your letter and for the enclosed cheque! I need hardly tell you that it is a real disappointment to me to hear that you are not returning to us next term. I had looked forward to a long and mutually profitable connection. However, my daughters and I join in wishing you every happiness in your married life. I hope you will use your new influence to keep Peter at the school. He is a boy for whom I have great hopes. I look to him as one of my prefects in the future.

The holidays so far have afforded me little rest. My daughters and I have been much worried by the insistence of a young Irish woman of most disagreeable appearance and bearing who claims to be the widow of poor Captain Grimes. She has got hold of some papers which seem to support her claim. The police, too, are continually here asking impertinent questions about the number of suits of clothes my unfortunate son-in-law possessed.

Besides this, I have had a letter from Mr. Prendergast stating that he too wishes to resign his post. Apparently he has been reading a series of articles by a popular bishop and has discovered that there is a species of person called a “Modern Churchman” who draws the full salary of a beneficed clergyman and need not commit himself to any religious belief. This seems to be a comfort to him, but it adds greatly to my own inconvenience.

Indeed, I hardly think that I have the heart to keep on at Llanabba. I have had an offer from a cinema company, the managing director of which, oddly enough, is called Sir Solomon Philbrick, who wish to buy the Castle. They say that its combination of medieval and Georgian architecture is a unique advantage. My daughter Diana is anxious to start a nursing-home or an hotel. So you see that things are not easy.

Yours sincerely,

Augustus Fagan.

There was another surprise in store for Paul that day. Hardly had Grimes left the house when a tall young man with a black hat and thoughtful eyes presented himself at the front door and asked for Mr. Pennyfeather. It was Potts.

“My dear fellow,” said Paul, “I am glad to see you.”

“I saw your engagement in The Times,” said Potts, “and, as I was in the neighbourhood, I wondered if you’d let me see the house.”

Paul and Peter led him all over it and explained its intricacies. He admired the luminous ceiling in Mrs. Beste-Chetwynde’s study and the india-rubber fungi