Part 40 (1/2)
”Such as what?”
”It's mostly about my shoes. But, dash it, you know all about that. Why, you were with him when he came and looked for them.”
”It is true,” said Psmith, ”that Comrade Downing and I spent a very pleasant half hour together inspecting shoes, but how does he drag you into it?”
”He swears one of the shoes was splashed with paint.”
”Yes. He babbled to some extent on that point when I was entertaining him. But what makes him think that the shoe, if any, was yours?”
”He's certain that somebody in this house got one of his shoes splashed, and is hiding it somewhere. And I'm the only chap in the house who hasn't got a pair of shoes to show, so he thinks it's me. I don't know where the d.i.c.kens my other shoe has gone. Of course I've got two pairs, but one's being soled. So I had to go over to school yesterday in gym shoes. That's how he spotted me.”
Psmith sighed.
”Comrade Jackson,” he said mournfully, ”all this very sad affair shows the folly of acting from the best motives. In my simple zeal, meaning to save you unpleasantness, I have landed you, with a dull, sickening thud, right in the cart. Are you particular about dirtying your hands? If you aren't, just reach up that chimney a bit!”
Mike stared.
”What the d.i.c.kens are you talking about?”
”Go on. Get it over. Be a man, and reach up the chimney.”
”I don't know what the game is,” said Mike, kneeling beside the fender and groping, ”but--_h.e.l.lo_!”
”Ah ha!” said Psmith moodily.
Mike dropped the soot-covered object in the fender, and glared at it.
”It's my shoe!” he said at last.
”It _is_,” said Psmith, ”your shoe. And what is that red stain across the toe? Is it blood? No, 'tis not blood. It is red paint.”
Mike seemed unable to remove his eyes from the shoe.
”How on earth did--By Jove! I remember now. I kicked up against something in the dark when I was putting my bicycle back that night. It must have been the paint pot.”
”Then you were out that night?”
”Rather. That's what makes it so jolly awkward. It's too long to tell you now--”
”Your stories are never too long for me,” said Psmith. ”Say on!”
”Well, it was like this.” And Mike related the events which had led up to his midnight excursion. Psmith listened attentively.
”This,” he said, when Mike had finished, ”confirms my frequently stated opinion that Comrade Jellicoe is one of Nature's blitherers. So that's why he touched us for our hard-earned, was it?”
”Yes. Of course there was no need for him to have the money at all.”
”And the result is that you are in something of a tight place. You're _absolutely_ certain you didn't paint that dog? Didn't do it, by any chance, in a moment of absent-mindedness, and forgot all about it? No?
No, I suppose not. I wonder who did!”