Jeeves and Wooster s03e06 Episode Script

Now is the time! Repent now! You may not like it, ladies and gentlemen, I may not like it, Your King of England may not like it, but it is coming, ladies and gentlemen, oh, yes.
And do you want to know something? There's not a thing that you or I can do about it.
You can look it up for yourselves when I finish if you don't believe me.
It's a fact proved by science that the worst spreader of disease and pestilence since the brown rat spread the Black Death round Europe in 1492 - is your budgerigar.
- Mr Wooster, surely.
Oh, what ho, Lord Bittlesham! Going strong? Yes, I'm in excellent health, thank you.
And you? In the pink, yes.
Have you seen Bingo lately? - Bingo? - Your nephew.
Oh, Richard.
No.
Since my marriage, a little coolness has sprung up.
Oh.
I'm sorry to hear that.
Lady Bittlesham all right? Excellent, thank you.
Excellent.
I say, you're the owner of Ocean Breeze, aren't you? Yes.
My wife is interested in horse racing, so I now maintain a stable.
I understand that Ocean Breeze is fancied, I believe the expression is, for a race which will take place next week at Goodwood.
The Goodwood Cup.
Rather, yes.
I've got my shillings on it for one.
There's two of them now! Look at them! Drink them in, comrades! There we have two examples of the class which has trodden down the poor.
Idlers.
Non-producers.
Look at the tall thin one with a face like a motor mascot.
Has he ever done an honest day's work in his life? No.
A prowler, a bloodsucker, and I bet he still owes his tailor for those trousers.
A gift for expression, these fellows have.
Very trenchant.
And the fat one, don't miss him.
That's Lord Bittlesham, that's who.
What has he ever done except eat four square meals a day? I'll leave you with that thought.
I don't oppose the right to free speech, but I refuse to listen to vulgar abuse.
Good day to you, Mr Wooster.
Today, comrades, on the verge of the revolution! The hour is nearly on us when we shall turn their own weapons on our capitalist exploiters! Do I know you? - What ho, Bertie! - Bingo! What are you up to, Bingo? I thought your uncle would have a fit.
Look, Bertie.
Isn't she the most wonderful girl you ever saw? Bingo, don't tell me you're in love again.
Yes.
This is the real thing.
Her name's Charlotte Rowbotham.
Her father wants to massacre the bourgeoisie, sack Park Lane and disembowel the aristocracy.
- Can't say fairer than that, can you? - Yes, George, pink gins.
- Where did you meet this woman? - On top of a bus.
I fell in love, got her address and a few days later, bought the beard, and toddled round to meet the family.
- Why the beard? - Well, she told me about her father, and I saw, to get any footing, I'd have to join these Red Dawn blighters.
If I did, I'd have to make speeches in the park, and I might run into people I knew.
It's done a lot of good with Rowbotham.
He thinks I'm a Bolshevist who is in disguise because of the police.
What are you doing this afternoon? - Nothing special.
Why? - You can have us all to tea at your flat.
I had promised to take them to Lyons Popular Cafe after the meeting, but money's a problem these days.
You er know my uncle got married? Yes.
Yes.
Hmm Since he married, he's been spending money on her and economising on me.
Bought a racing stable among other things.
- You're going to Goodwood? - Of course.
Put your last collar stud on Ocean Breeze.
- I'm going to.
- It can't lose.
I'm going to win enough to marry Charlotte.
Oh, by the way, about tea - I hardly think - It'll just be the four of us, Charlotte, myself, old man Rowbotham and Comrade Butt.
Who the devil is Comrade Butt? Small, shrivelled chap.
Looks like a haddock with lung trouble.
He's sort of semi-engaged to Charlotte at the moment.
Till I came along, he was the blue-eyed boy.
Oh, well, must push on.
You don't know how to raise 50 quid somehow, do you? - Work? - Bertie! No, I must think of some way.
I need to put at least 50 quid on Ocean Breeze.
Oh, well, see you later.
- Jeeves, I'm worried.
- Sir? About Mr Little.
I won't tell you now.
He's bringing friends for tea and I want you to form your own opinion.
- Very good, sir.
- I will only say it concerns a young lady.
One had surmised as much, sir, bearing in mind Mr Little's propensities.
I've only seen photographs.
She may have a heart of gold, but the first thing that strikes one is that she has a tooth of gold.
- Very good, sir.
- Jeeves, about tea, get some muffins.
- Yes, sir.
- Also some ham, jam, cakes scrambled eggs and five or six wagon loads of sardines.
- Sardines, sir? - Sardines.
- Don't look at me.
It's not my fault.
- No, sir.
- Oh, and, Jeeves - Yes, sir? These friends of Mr Little's are revolutionaries.
I don't think they'll feel comfortable with me having a manservant.
- I understand, sir.
- If we make out that we are chums, it might just ease the wheels a bit.
Chums, sir.
Yes.
- Aunt Dahlia! What ho, old relation! - Hello, Bertie, revolting young blot.
- I thought you were in the country.
- I am.
Are you sober? - As a judge.
- Then listen attentively.
I am supposed to be staying at Marsham Manor with Cornelia Fothergill, the novelist.
Ever heard of her? - Vaguely.
She's not on my library list.
- She would be if you were a woman.
She specialises in rich goo for the female trade.
I'm trying to persuade her to let me serialise her novel for Milady's Boudoir.
- How is the old mag? - The old mag's losing money as fast as any tasteful magazine for the lady of refinement.
A new serial by Cornelia Fothergill would just about save our bacon, but Cornelia's being no help whatsoever.
She doesn't say no, won't say yes.
That's why you're coming down to Marsham Manor.
- I am? - In person.
- What on earth for? - To help me sway her.
You'll exercise all your charm, give her the old oil.
I don't know.
I'm meant to be going to Goodwood.
Marsham-in-the-Vale is next door.
The starter practically waves his flag out of my bedroom window.
Oh.
That puts a different complexion on things.
Beg pardon, Comrade Wooster, some persons to see you.
Oh, Comrade Wooster, we've heard stories of your exploits in the fight against capitalism.
- Who are these people, Bertie? - Well, Bingo Little you know.
- Do I? - And this, I take it is Mr Rowbotham.
Pleased to make your acquaintance, comrades.
This is my daughter, Comrade Charlotte, and he's Comrade Butt.
But what? Comrade Butt yearns for the revolution just like you do.
Comrade Wooster never yearned for anything except a stone-dead cert at 100-1.
Oh, you will have your little joke, Comrade Dahlia.
- I think I'd better go.
- Right.
Right.
I don't know what you're up to just now, Bertie, but I expect you at Marsham Manor tomorrow.
- There's something I want you to do.
- What sort of something? I'll tell you when you get there.
Something to help Aunty.
You'll enjoy it.
Toodle-oo, comrades.
- Lovely ham, Pop.
- Ham, muffins, eggs all wrung from the bleeding lips of the starving poor.
I say! Please! I wonder the food doesn't turn to ashes in our mouths.
- Another sardine, Comrade Butt? - Very well, but only to express solidarity with our Portuguese brothers.
And why aren't you sitting down, Comrade Jeeves? The history of the revolution is putting food on the plates of the proletariat.
- Well said, Comrade Jeeves! - Never mind about well said.
He's behaving like a servant.
Servant? No, no, no! We take it in turns.
One day, I do the chores, then the next day, Comrade Jeeves.
It's Comrade Jeeves's day, isn't it, old pal? Indeed it is, Comrade sir er old pal, chum.
Why don't you sit down, Comrade Jeeves? - I'll show Comrade Butt how it all works.
- Very good, comrade.
Now, who'd like some more tea? You'll find it needs some more hot water, comrade.
Hot water? Right.
Yes.
From the kettle, Comrade Wooster, of course.
Naturally, Comrade Jeeves.
Right, well no sooner said than whatsit.
I'll send you some literature on the cause, Comrade Jeeves.
- Perhaps we shall see you at a meeting.
- Perhaps indeed, Comrade Rowbotham.
I don't know what you've done to the cooker, Comrade Jeeves, but I can't get the gas lit.
- It's electric, sir.
- Oh.
There's something fishy about your friends, Comrade Little.
You're suspicious of everything, Charlie Butt.
I am not, but look around you.
Is this the dwelling of a worker? Full-blown bourgeois decadence, that's what I call it.
Good grub, though.
Yes, soon have the hot water.
We got a new cooker yesterday.
- I haven't got the hang of it.
- Ahem.
- Electric, you know.
- I can't recall, Comrade Wooster What was it Comrade Stalin said about socialism in that respect? - Comrade? - I think Comrade Butt is referring to Comrade Stalin's report to the Congress of Soviets in December 1920, in which he said socialism was soviet power plus the electrification of the whole country.
Oh Well, Jeeves, you did awfully well.
Where did you learn about the revolution? It is as well to know what tunes the devil is playing, sir.
- What about Charlotte Rowbotham? - I prefer not to express an opinion, sir.
Jeeves, Bingo is in love with that female.
So I gather, sir.
She was slapping him in the corridor.
- Slapping him? - Yes, sir.
Roguishly.
I didn't realise it had quite got that far.
How did Comrade Butt take it? - He struck me as extremely jealous, sir.
- Jeeves, this is a bit thick.
- Very much so, sir.
- Hmm Pip pip.
Why is it that the thought of the little thing Aunt Dahlia wants me to do fills me with foreboding? Experience, sir? You must be Dahlia's nephew, Mr Wooster.
- Yes, absolutely.
- How nice of you to join us.
- I'm Cornelia Fothergill.
- How do you do? I thought we'd put Mr Wooster in the gate room, Denning.
- Very good, Mrs Fothergill.
- My husband is in his studio.
Why don't we introduce you and try to get him to finish for the day? - Well, I'm game.
- Bertie! - Madeline, I didn't know you were here.
- Mrs Fothergill's helping with my poetry.
We're trying to persuade Madeline to give us a reading after dinner one night.
- That's something to look forward to.
- Come along, Mr Wooster.
- You shouldn't have come.
- Oh, well You've got to forget me, Bertie.
Let the past die.
Die Yes right.
Everard's painting Lord Sidcup at the moment.
- Really? What colour? - I don't understand.
- No.
No.
A portrait, eh? - On the occasion of his elevation.
This is Mrs Travers' nephew, Everard.
My husband, Mr Wooster, Everard Fothergill.
- How do you do? - Yes, yes, yes.
Everard's father's a painter too, Mr Wooster.
- You'll meet him at dinner.
- Ah.
- I say, jolly clever painting, that.
- You like it? I know that face, don't I? Ugly devil.
No, no, it looks just like that fellow - Wooster! - Ah! Damn and blast it! - I'm most awfully sorry! - What are you doing here, Wooster? Oh, you know.
This and that.
Hither and yon.
- I say, I like your hat.
- It's a coronet, Mr Wooster.
Mr Spode is now the seventh earl of Sidcup.
- Good lord! - Since the lamented death of my uncle, I'm now touring the country bidding farewell to my legions of the Saviours of Britain.
- You're leaving the Black Shorts? - I'm called to higher government.
Tomorrow, I address the Marsham Parver Gannet Division, which will be a moving occasion.
That's how he came to paint Chelsea Bridge.
My father-in-law's a fine painter.
There's paint in the blood, you see.
Crikey! I trust you'll all be at the rally tomorrow to hear my farewell Gaskill never got his five bob either.
- Not many people know that.
- Really? Ah, you were talking of blood.
My movement is dedicated to founding a new order based on fairness and equality.
My elevation to the peerage because of an accident of blood is grossly unfair.
Did you have a nasty accident, Uncle? We will bring in legislation to ensure every citizen has the same right.
A dustman's son will have a guaranteed and inalienable right to become a dustman.
- What a clever idea! - And so forth.
It would be written into the law of the land.
I trust that you will be able to hear my farewell to the gannet division at Marsham Parver.
Yes, yes, I've got to polish the golf clubs, you know.
- Comrade Butt, is it not? - What? - May I join you? - Oh, yes.
All right.
You're that Jeeves, aren't you, that friend of Comrade Little? - Indeed, Comrade Butt.
- I don't care if you are.
I speak my mind.
I don't trust that Comrade Little.
Indeed, comrade? Indeed.
- Oh, sorry.
- Oh, Bertie - I need someone to turn the pages.
- I'll go and find someone, shall I? Don't be silly, Bertie.
You can do it.
Ah.
Mmm.
Right.
Isn't it beautiful? Well mmm yes.
Don't you think George Sand had a beneficial influence on Chopin's work? Didn't know he knew him.
Oh, Bertie, I'm nearly at the bottom of the page now.
Bertie! My dress is very wet! Wooster! - Get on your feet, you swine! - I Now, look here I have had to talk to you before about pestering Miss Bassett.
I shall not tell you again.
Do you understand? Miss Bassett does not welcome your attentions.
If I catch you, just once more, trying to force yourself on the poor, harmless girl, I shall tear your head off and make you carry it around in a bag.
- Do I make myself clear? - Yes, but No buts, Wooster.
No wells.
You will keep your attentions to yourself.
- Do you understand? - Yes, Spode.
- Lord Sidcup to you! - Lord Spodecup.
Sidcup! Right, yes.
- Bertie - What? - Come with me.
- You didn't tell me Spode was here.
Just be quiet and listen.
Did you notice anything odd about Everard Fothergill at dinner? - Well, he was groaning a lot.
- I'm not surprised.
It's because of this.
Everard's father painted that.
He gave it to Everard as a wedding present.
Ah thus saving money on the customary fish slice.
Shrewd.
- Very shrewd.
- Well, as you can see it's a mess, but being devoted to his father, not wanting to hurt his feelings, Everard can't have put in the cellar, so he's stuck with it.
Has to sit looking at it every time he puts on the nosebag, with what result? - The food turns to ashes in his mouth.
- Exactly.
It drives him potty.
Everard's a real artist.
His stuff's good.
Some of it's even in the Tate.
Look at that.
That's one of Everard's.
- Oh, I like the patina.
- You don't even know what a patina is.
Well, no, but it's generally safe to say that when confronted with a bit of art.
Cornelia wants her father-in-law's terrible picture destroyed.
She'd be so grateful to anyone who accomplishes this, she'd be unable to refuse them anything.
You're going to pinch it for me.
- But - There, I knew you'd want to help.
What a dear, helpful boy he is.
- Oh, he looks lovely, doesn't he? - The bookies are offering 7-2.
- Oh, lovely! - He's a fine animal, Lady Bittlesham.
Do you like our colours, Mr Wooster, yellow and black stripes? As long as he doesn't think his jockey's a wasp.
Ahem.
Beg pardon, my lord.
A person called at the door and asked for this to be delivered to you.
- Who was this person, Watkins? - I couldn't say, m'lady.
A youngish person with a big beard.
- Good God! - What is it, my dear? - A most dastardly, threatening letter.
- Threatening letter? "Unless you leave £50 under the large white stone "at the back of the main stand at Goodwood " you will live to regret it.
" Oh, Mortimer! - Oh, my dear.
- What ho, Uncle! Auntie! - Hello, Bertie.
Jeeves.
- Richard, thank heavens! - Look.
- Good lord! - When did this come? - A few moments ago.
Delivered by a youngish person with a big beard.
Good Lord.
You don't suppose it was the fellow you were telling me about, the one who insulted you at Speakers' Corner? - It could have been, I suppose.
- I thought as much.
- Did you now? - This is political.
Give me the £50, Uncle Mortimer.
I'll deal with this.
- Oughtn't we to go to the police? - No.
They'd hamper my investigations.
Don't worry, Aunty.
Bingo Silly to ask, but you did write that letter, didn't you? One of the best gent's threatening letters I ever wrote.
With a bit of tact, I get what I need to put on Ocean Breeze to finance my marriage to Charlotte.
By the way, what did you think of Charlotte? - Well - I know, old man.
Don't try and find words.
Left you speechless, eh? She has that effect on everybody.
Oh, well, toodle-oo.
I hope Lord Sidcup won't embarrass us with his silly meeting.
The man's an idiot.
His mother was an idiot too.
We won't go into that, thank you, Father-in-law.
Goodwood's always a big day for us, eh, Charlotte? Oh, it is, Pop.
Yes.
I mean, 90%" of them put their money on losers.
Then they see the capitalist system exposed for what it really is.
Capitalist hyena! I wonder if Bingo and that woman are here, Jeeves.
They're in the vicinity.
I saw Comrade Butt in a local alehouse last night.
At 2-1, Ocean Breeze.
2-1, Ocean Breeze.
Ocean Breeze looks the part, don't you think, Jeeves? I must confess I find something disquieting in the gait, Mrs Travers.
- I see nothing wrong.
- I can't put my finger on it.
Perhaps a certain maritime roll.
It brings to mind the old bookmaker's adage, walk like a sailor, run like a walrus.
Oh, apple sauce, Jeeves.
Oh! Hasn't that horse got a sweet little face? The one with the jockey in pink and blue.
I'm going to bet all my money on that one, Romeo Lad.
Has anyone told you you're not safe to be out, Madeline? At 66-1, Romeo Lad.
66-1.
No danger of Comrade Little helping here, I suppose.
- Do give it a rest, Charlie Butt.
- Comrades, comrades, I hope nobody else is holding a rally here today.
Right, I'm just off to put the money on.
Keep your fingers crossed, darling.
If Ocean Breeze wins, it's wedding bells for us.
£50 on Ocean Breeze to win.
I'm deeply troubled by that letter this morning.
- Oh, just some crank, Morty.
- I should never forgive myself It's him! - Who? - The man with the beard.
Ah, have we all got our sixpences on Ocean Breeze? As far as I can see, the race is a formality, a ceremony that has to be gone through before we saunter over with a wheelbarrow to get our winnings.
When I win, I'm going to take a holiday in Tahiti.
- What about you, Madeline, dear? - No.
- I put five shillings on Romeo Lad.
- At 66-1.
It had a sweet little face.
Yes, and as I looked at him, I thought I heard a little fairy voice say his name over and over.
Goodwood Cup.
We hope it's going to be an exciting race.
They're coming up to the line.
They're under starter's orders.
Can you see? And they're off! is in the lead, followed by Happy Dancer and Red Admiral.
Ocean Breeze seems to be left at the start.
Poor old Ocean Breeze seems to be making a little ground now.
Happy Dancer, Red Admiral followed by Tickaflor.
And Romeo Lad really looking the business.
Coming up fast on Happy Dancer.
Red Admiral still hanging on and Ocean Breeze trying desperately to get into the race.
As they come to the final furlong, it's still Happy Dancer, but he's tiring.
Fair Wind goes ahead.
And in the final stretch, Fair Wind still there, but Romeo Lad's making a tremendous run.
And it's Romeo Lad from Fair Wind! Romeo Lad goes past the post, followed by Fair Wind, and Red Admiral, then Silver Fox and Happy Dancer.
And eighth and last, the favourite, poor old Ocean Breeze.
Good Lord! Good Lord! I mean to say, good Lord! Did I win? - Yes, dear, you won.
- Isn't life glorious? This is a sad occasion.
Fate has decreed that I must leave the Saviours of Britain to take up the reins of the ship of state in another place.
Oh, shut it! Other hands will tread the path before you that these eyes have mapped out.
How did we get on? I lost everything.
One of the measures I intend to introduce into the House of Lords will be a bill widening the gauge of the British railway system by eight inches to facilitate the transportation of livestock.
The dismal Jimmys will tell you that we cannot afford to replace the 27,000 miles of track necessary for the task.
They have not looked at it scientifically.
It will be more than paid for by the fact that sheep will be able to stand sideways! - Hail, Spode! - Oxford University will be abolished! - Hail, Spode! - We must have progress! Hail, Spode! Hail, Spode! Oh, well, better get on with the meeting, I suppose.
How can we with him shouting his head off? Let Richard start.
He'll soon see off Spode.
These men have told me that the lobe of the average Englishman is shorter, more clearly defined and better adapted to the work that every lobe has to do than the lobes of any other race! Hail, Spode! Comrades, we stand here united against the forces of Wall Street and the City of London.
In our march towards a new Britain, we will be fearless in the face of the Bolsheviks.
We stand for ownership by the proletariat of all means of production and distribution.
I do not believe You don't suppose there's anything in this fairy voice thing, Jeeves? Possibly, sir, but I received the same information from a spotty stable lad.
Good Lord, Jeeves! Do you mean? Just a small wager, sir, to make the race interesting.
Good afternoon, Lady Bittlesham.
My Lord.
- How much did you drop? - Drop? - On Ocean Breeze.
- I didn't bet on him.
I never bet.
- Never bet? You look rattled.
- That bearded fellow's here.
I'm looking for Richard to get him to apprehend the creature.
We shall rely on the good old English fist! Hail, Spode! Hail, Spode! Hail, Spode! - Hail, Spode! - Go on, Richard, tell them! I tell you, comrades, we have here today at Goodwood a perfect example of another unholy alliance.
I mean the unholy alliance between the plutocratic racehorse owners and the bookies, another alliance against the British working man! The capitalistic owner together with his chums, the bookie and the newspaper magnate would have the honest working man believe that his horse is the real goods, when the reality is that it couldn't even trot the length of the stable yard without crossing its bally legs and sitting down for a rest! My friends, my friends the Bolsheviks might appeal to your lower instincts of greed and envy We've all lost hard-earned money today to the bookies on Ocean Breeze.
Yeah.
But what does Lord Bittlesham care? There he is, comrades.
I tell you, this country won't be a fit place for honest men to live in till the blood of Lord Bittlesham and his kind runs in rivers down the gutters of Park Lane! I know Comrade Little won't mind me intervening, comrades, to tell you that our own movement is also being infiltrated by our enemies.
Even in our own little band, we have the nephew of the very same Lord Bittlesham, whose name you were hooting a moment ago! Richard! Lord Bittlesham's nephew? You! Get off! My friends, is this not typical of the Bolshevik behaviour? Go on! Go on! Hit him! Here, my lord.
You swine! Go on, get him! Get him! Coming through, gentlemen.
Coming through, gentlemen, please.
- Excuse me.
- Oh! You horrible beasts! Stop shilly-shallying, man! Get him! Ha-ha! That's right! Well done! - I'd drink too if I owned a horse like that.
- No, he's been in a Bertie, when we get back to the house, I must talk to you about The Painting.
The painting? You! Get off him! And you! The Garden, by Madeline Bassett.
"In the garden of my heart, The blossoms o'erhang the leaves, "The skylark sings from morn till night High in the sleepy jacaranda tree.
"But the garden of my heart Is watered only by my tears "Under the wise, old, gnarled oak Inter me when my time appears " "And on the mossy stone above, Carve these words without lament "She lived, she loved, She breathed her last - "Here lies one who rests in peace.
" - Now, look here, Spode Even if you cannot remain awake, you could at least refrain from snoring.
- Well, yes, but - You're a philistine, Wooster.
Ow Jeeves? Oh, blast it.
- Oh, there you are, Jeeves.
- I'm sorry, sir.
- I had to go down to the larder.
- What's that? - Brown paper, sir, and treacle.
- Do you know what puzzles me, Jeeves? - No, sir.
- How did Comrade Butt know that Bingo was old Bittlesham's nephew? I fear I may have disclosed Mr Little's identity to Butt in the public house, sir.
Thus scuppering Bingo's romance with Charlotte Rowbotham.
I fear so, sir.
I understand Miss Rowbotham now looks on Mr Little as a traitor.
Poor old Bingo.
Y - Treacle, Jeeves? - Yes, sir.
The approved method is to cut a small square of brown paper equivalent to the pane of glass, smear it in treacle and then - What on earth are you talking about? - The way to break a window silently.
Who wants to break a window silently? Or noisily, if it comes to that? Mrs Travers gave me to understand that you intended to steal a painting.
Oh, well, let me give you to understand this, Jeeves.
I have no intention of stealing any painting with or without treacle.
Very good, sir.
Mrs Travers will be disappointed, sir.
Oh, will she? Well - Are you ready? - No, I am not, Aunt Dahlia.
I am taking no part in your harebrained scheme.
I don't know why you're looking like a stuck pig.
You're always pinching policemen's helmets and things.
Not always.
Only as an occasional treat.
Anyway, pinching a painting is much easier.
- Just cut it out of the frame with a knife.
- I haven't got a knife.
- Yes, you have.
- Oh, now look here Ah! Yes, well Well, I was er Why don't I just pour you a? You all right? - Who on earth is that? - It's Mr Fothergill senior, Aunt Dahlia.
Don't tell me you've messed up.
If I might put him down before I submit to your interrogation? - What does he want? - I think he wanted to ask, not unreasonably, why I was in his dining room at one in the morning - covered in treacle.
- But you didn't tell him? No, Aunt Dahlia, I didn't tell him I was hellbent on stealing his painting in order that his son might be cured of chronic dyspepsia so that his daughter-in-law would allow my aunt to publish said daughter-in-law's latest novel in her magazine for ladies.
For one thing, I didn't think he'd believe me, and for another thing, he'd already fainted.
He's messed it up again, Jeeves.
He's as bad at this as he is at racing tips.
- Well, of all the dashed nerve! - You don't know what this means to me! Well, you don't know what it means to me.
Call me old-fashioned, but I hate bars on the window and tin plates.
You go and get that painting, Bertie Wooster! If you think I'll get involved with treacle again, you've got another think coming.
All right, Bertie, you don't have to use the treacle.
- Does he, Jeeves? - It would lend verisimilitude.
He doesn't have to use the treacle, Jeeves.
He doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to.
You got it! He's out cold.
Give me the scissors.
You hold, I'll cut.
- Right.
Where's Jeeves? - I sent him for whisky.
Ah, what ho, Jeeves! I did it.
Yes, sir.
With soda for you, Mrs Travers? - Just a splash, Jeeves.
- Same for me, Jeeves.
Should I pour some for Mr Fothergill, sir? It might revive him if I were to rub a little onto his lips.
We don't want him revived just yet, Jeeves.
I say, this oil paint burns nicely, doesn't it? Oh, how this brings back memories of the dear old school and our girlish cocoa parties.
Happy days.
Happy days.
Cheers.
Ahem.
Excuse me, madam.
Did you say Mr Fothergill Senior's name was Edward? Edward.
Yes.
You may think of him as Eddie if you wish.
Why? It is merely that the painting we have seems to be signed Everard, madam.
I thought I should mention it.
Looks like Edward to me.
It's Everard.
- It's Edward.
- Everard! Bertie, you curse of the civilised world, if you've burnt the wrong picture, Cornelia will kill me! What do you mean? Why is it always me? It's always me! All right, if you don't believe me, we'll go down and have a look.
But They've both gone! - We can see that, you idiot.
- Someone's taken the other picture.
If you'll pardon me for saying so, sir, I think I may know who that person is.
Hand it over, Sidcup.
What? How dare you burst into my room? - The painting.
- I don't know what you're talking about.
- Why should I take Fothergill's painting? - Ah-ha! - What? - You said, "Fothergill's painting.
" Oh, well I I was just going to borrow it.
Ah, yes.
This is it all right.
Stout females unclothed, one, in conference with doves, one.
- How dare you? - Hold on a minute - Why should Spode steal the painting? - Yes, why did you? But I didn't, and I wouldn't! I I It was nice.
It would seem wiser, Lord Sidcup, to reveal the background to the picture.
But I don't want to! Why should I? You'll only tell everyone! Ooh! It's my mother.
- What is? - Are you trying to be funny? That is the woman in the painting.
Lord Sidcup's mother was, for a time, Mr Edward Fothergill's model, sir.
- Good Lord! - How could I sit in the House of Lords - with that hanging over me? - Well, hanging over the sideboard.
Well, Spode, you've caused us a lot of bother, but you wanted the Venus expunged, Cornelia wanted the Venus expunged - and it shall be expunged.
Voila! - And when she finds that due to your fatheadedness, Everard's valuable painting has also been expunged? - Ah, yes, well, there is that - If I might make a suggestion, madam - Yes, Jeeves? - If the window were broken and both pictures removed, Mrs Fothergill could be persuaded that miscreants had made a burglarious entry and that Mr Wooster had attempted to protect her property.
- She would, one feels, be grateful.
- I see what you mean, Jeeves.
Hold on.
Why should Mrs Fothergill think anything of the sort? The details of the plan demand that you be discovered lying stunned on the floor of the dining room.
Ah, well, far be it for me to be a wet blanket, Jeeves, but there is a flaw.
I am not now, nor ever intend to be lying on the floor of the dining room stunned.
- You mean you won't play ball? - I do Ba-doing! Here.
Put him here.
- Right, Jeeves, take this and get rid of it.
- Very good, Madam.
- Oh, break the window first.
- Let me do it! Let me do it! Ah what a headache Very nice, Roderick.
You'd better get to bed now.
Oh.
All right.
Help! Burglars! Help! Where am I? Mr Wooster's room, sir.
You were taken ill.
That's right, in the dining room.
He ah What's that? A painting, sir.
Painting? What painting? What are you doing with that? Er A gang of international art thieves attempted to make off with it, sir.
Mr Wooster gallantly intervened to save it.
What a damn fool! I hate that picture! It's the worst thing I've ever done.
Oh, throw it on the fire for God's sake.
I fear I may have misjudged you.
You've been positively intrepid, Mr Wooster.
Bertie has always been so brave.
I'll call the police.
Damn shame about Dad's painting, though.
So, if Everard and Cornelia hadn't kept saying how wonderful the painting was, - it could have been cleared up in a trice? - Precisely, sir.
It's often the way with families, but it enables Mrs Travers to purchase Mrs Fothergill's novel for her magazine.
I don't think you're thinking of the readers.
- You have to take the wider view.
- Very good, sir.
If you ask me, art is responsible for most of the trouble in the world.
An interesting theory, sir.
Would you care to expatiate upon it? As a matter of fact, no, Jeeves.
The thought just occurred to me, as thoughts do.
Very good, sir.