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Page 91
A voice from above, the bishop's voice, said: "I think you have
killed him, Clarence."
Another voice, that of Colonel Horace Mant, said: "Switch on
those dashed lights! Why doesn't somebody? Dash it!"
The whole strength of the company began to demand light.
When the lights came, it was from the other side of the hall.
Six revolver shots, fired at quarter past two in the morning,
will rouse even sleeping domestics. The servants' quarters were
buzzing like a hive. Shrill feminine screams were puncturing the
air. Mr. Beach, the butler, in a suit of pink silk pajamas, of
which no one would have suspected him, was leading a party of men
servants down the stairs--not so much because he wanted to lead
them as because they pushed him.
The passage beyond the green-baize door became congested, and
there were cries for Mr. Beach to open it and look through and
see what was the matter; but Mr. Beach was smarter than that and
wriggled back so that he no longer headed the procession. This
done, he shouted:
"Open that door there! Open that door! Look and see what the
matter is."
Ashe opened the door. Since his escape from the hall he had been
lurking in the neighborhood of the green-baize door and had been
engulfed by the swirling throng. Finding himself with elbowroom
for the first time, he pushed through, swung the door open and
switched on the lights.
They shone on a collection of semi-dressed figures, crowding the
staircase; on a hall littered with china and glass; on a dented
dinner gong; on an edited and improved portrait of the late
Countess of Emsworth; and on the Efficient Baxter, in an overcoat
and rubber-soled shoes, lying beside a cold tongue. At no great
distance lay a number of other objects--a knife, a fork, some
bread, salt, a corkscrew and a bottle of white wine.
Using the word in the sense of saying something coherent, the
Earl of Emsworth was the first to speak. He peered down at his
recumbent secretary and said:
"Baxter! My dear fellow--what the devil?"
The feeling of the company was one of profound disappointment.
They were disgusted at the anticlimax. For an instant, when the
Efficient one did not move, a hope began to stir; but as soon as
it was seen that he was not even injured, gloom reigned. One of
two things would have satisfied them--either a burglar or a
corpse. A burglar would have been welcome, dead or alive; but, if
Baxter proposed to fill the part adequately it was imperative
that he be dead. He had disappointed them deeply by turning out
to be the object of their quest. That he should not have been
even grazed was too much.
There was a cold silence as he slowly raised himself from the
floor. As his eyes fell on the tongue, he started and remained
gazing fixedly at it. Surprise paralyzed him.
Lord Emsworth was also looking at the tongue and he leaped to a
not unreasonable conclusion. He spoke coldly and haughtily; for
he was not only annoyed, like the others, at the anticlimax, but
offended. He knew that he was not one of your energetic hosts who
exert themselves unceasingly to supply their guests with
entertainment; but there was one thing on which, as a host, he
did pride himself--in the material matters of life he did his
guests well; he kept an admirable table.
"My dear Baxter," he said in the tones he usually reserved for
the correction of his son Freddie, "if your hunger is so great
that you are unable to wait for breakfast and have to raid my
larder in the middle of the night, I wish to goodness you would
contrive to make less noise about it. I do not grudge you the
food--help yourself when you please--but do remember that people
who have not such keen appetites as yourself like to sleep during
the night. A far better plan, my dear fellow, would be to have
sandwiches or buns--or whatever you consider most sustaining--
sent up to your bedroom."
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