7—Without the Option (3)

    'I think it would be judicious to apprise her of the facts yourself, sir, instead of allowing her to hear of them through the medium of a letter from Professor Pringle. That is to say, if you are still anxious to do all in your power to assist Mr Sipperley.'
    'I can't let Sippy down. If you think it's any good—'
    'We can but try it, sir. I have an idea, sir, that we may find Miss Sipperley disposed to look leniently upon Mr Sipperley's misdemeanour.'
    'What makes you think that?'
    'It is just a feeling that I have, sir.'
    'Well, if you think it would be worth trying—How do we get there?'
    'The distance is about a hundred and fifty miles, sir. Our best plan would be to hire a car.'
    'Get it at once,' I said.
    The idea of being a hundred and fifty miles away from Heloise Pringle, not to mention Aunt Jane and Sir Roderick Glossop, sounded about as good to me as anything I had ever heard.
    The Paddock, Beckley-on-the-Moor, was about a couple of parasangs from the village, and I set out for it next morning, after partaking of a hearty breakfast at the local inn, practically without a tremor. I suppose when a fellow has been through it as I had in the last two weeks his system becomes hardened. After all, I felt, whatever this aunt of Sippy's might be like, she wasn't Sir Roderick Glossop, so I was that much on velvet from the start.
    The Paddock was one of those medium-sized houses with a goodish bit of very tidy garden and a carefully rolled gravel drive curving past a shrubbery that looked as if it had just come back from the dry cleaner—the sort of house you take one look at and say to yourself, 'Somebody's aunt lives there.' I pushed on up the drive, and as I turned the bend I observed in the middle distance a woman messing about by a flower-bed with a trowel in her hand. If this wasn't the female I was after, I was very much mistaken, so I halted, cleared the throat and gave tongue.
    'Miss Sipperley?'
    She had had her back to me, and at the sound of my voice she executed a sort of leap or bound, not unlike a barefoot dancer who steps on a tin-tack half-way through the Vision of Salome. She came to earth and goggled at me in a rather goofy manner. A large, stout female with a reddish face.
    'Hope I didn't startle you,' I said.
    'Who are you?'
    'My name's Wooster. I'm a pal of your nephew, Oliver.'
    Her breathing had become more regular.
    'Oh?' she said. 'When I heard your voice I thought you were someone else.'
    'No, that's who I am. I came up here to tell you about Oliver.'
    'What about him?'
    I hesitated. Now that we were approaching what you might call the nub, or crux, of the situation, a good deal of my breezy confidence seemed to have slipped from me.
    'Well, it's rather a painful tale, I must warn you.'
    'Oliver isn't ill? He hasn't had an accident?'
    She spoke anxiously, and I was pleased at this evidence of human feeling. I decided to shoot the works with no more delay.
    'Oh, no, he isn't ill,' I said; 'and as regards having accidents, it depends on what you call an accident. He's in chokey.'
    'In what?'
    'In prison.'
    'In prison!'
    'It was entirely my fault. We were strolling along on Boat-Race Night and I advised him to pinch a policeman's helmet.'
    'I don't understand.'
    'Well, he seemed depressed, don't you know; and rightly or wrongly, I thought it might cheer him up if he stepped across the street and collared a policeman's helmet. He thought it a good idea, too, so he started doing it, and the man made a fuss and Oliver sloshed him.'
    'Sloshed him?'
    'Biffed him—smote him a blow—in the stomach.'
    'My nephew Oliver hit a policeman in the stomach?'
    'Absolutely in the stomach. And next morning the beak sent him to the bastille for thirty days without the option.'
    I was looking at her a bit anxiously all this while to see how she was taking the thing, and at this moment her face seemed suddenly to split in half. For an instant she appeared to be all mouth, and then she was staggering about the grass, shouting with laughter and waving the trowel madly.
    It seemed to me a bit of luck for her that Sir Roderick Glossop wasn't on the spot. He would have been sitting on her head and calling for the strait-waistcoat in the first half-minute.
    'You aren't annoyed?' I said.
    'Annoyed?' She chuckled happily. 'I've never heard such a splendid thing in my life.'
    I was pleased and relieved. I had hoped the news wouldn't upset her too much, but I had never expected it to go with such a roar as this.
    'I'm proud of him,' she said.
    'That's fine.'
    'If every young man in England went about hitting policemen in the stomach, it would be a better country to live in.'
    I couldn't follow her reasoning, but everything seemed to be all right; so after a few more cheery words I said good-bye and legged it.
    'Jeeves,' I said when I got back to the inn, 'everything's fine. But I am far from understanding why.'
    'What actually occurred when you met Miss Sipperley, sir?'
    'I told her Sippy was in the jug for assaulting the police. Upon which she burst into hearty laughter, waved her trowel in a pleased manner and said she was proud of him.'
    'I think I can explain her apparently eccentric behaviour, sir. I am informed that Miss Sipperley has had a good deal of annoyance at the hands of the local constable during the past two weeks. This has doubtless resulted in a prejudice on her part against the force as a whole.'
    'Really? How was that?'
    'The constable has been somewhat over-zealous in the performance of his duties, sir. On no fewer than three occasions in the last ten days he has served summonses upon Miss Sipperley—for exceeding the speed limit in her car; for allowing her dog to appear in public without a collar; and for failing to abate a smoky chimney. Being in the nature of an autocrat, if I may use the term, in the village, Miss Sipperley has been accustomed to do these things in the past with impunity, and the constable's unexpected zeal has made her somewhat ill-disposed to policemen as a class and consequently disposed to look upon such assaults as Mr Sipperley's in a kindly and broadminded spirit.'
    I saw his point.
    'What an amazing bit of luck, Jeeves!'
    'Yes, sir.'
    'Where did you hear all this?'
    'My informant was the constable himself, sir. He is my cousin.'
    I gaped at the man. I saw, so to speak, all.
    'Good Lord, Jeeves! You didn't bribe him?'
    'Oh, no, sir. But it was his birthday last week, and I gave him a little present. I have always been fond of Egbert, sir.'
    'How much?'
    'A matter of five pounds, sir.'
    I felt in my pocket.
    'Here you are,' I said. 'And another fiver for luck.'
    'Thank you very much, sir.'
    'Jeeves,' I said, 'you move in a mysterious way your wonders to perform. You don't mind if I sing a bit, do you?'
    'Not at all, sir,' said Jeeves.