50 pages • 1 hour read
P. G. WodehouseA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Recovering quickly from his shock, Wooster realizes that the suitcase containing the police helmet belongs to Stiffy, who mistakenly thought Wooster’s room would be a safer hiding place than her own. Moments later, Stiffy confirms this when she enters and explains that she thought Wooster, as one of her father’s guests, would be exempt from a search. Seeing how grave a situation she has put Harold in, she pleads with Wooster to take the “rap.” Wooster reminds her that in this case, the “rap” means a stretch in prison. However, he eventually gives in, after Stiffy invokes “the Code of the Woosters,” which is “Never let a pal down” (224). Yodeling “ecstatically,” Stiffy compares him to Charles Dickens’s self-sacrificing Sidney Carton and runs off to tell Harold the good news.
Jeeves proposes that if Wooster simply dropped the helmet out the window, he might be able to retrieve it and hide it later at his leisure. This he does in the nick of time, just before Sir Watkyn and Constable Oates burst into the room. Watkyn says that he expects to find both his stolen cow creamer and Oates’s Helmet in Wooster’s possession; Wooster scoffs at the idea, saying he couldn’t possibly have stolen the creamer since he was with both Jeeves and Roderick Spode at the time. Jeeves goes off to summon Spode as an alibi, and Watkyn allows that he may have been wrong about the creamer; however, he knows “positively” that Wooster has stolen the constable’s helmet. Confidently, Wooster offers his room to be searched. After turning it upside down and finding nothing, Watkyn offers a reluctant apology to Wooster, who berates him with a long, furious “peroration.” However, his harangue is interrupted by Watkyn’s butler, who appears at the door with a “silver salver,” on which sits the very helmet Wooster has just tossed out the window.
Constable Oates grabs the helmet and clasps it to his chest with “visible ecstasy,” while the butler explains that he found it in the flowerbed minutes after glimpsing Wooster drop something from his window. Dahlia leaps to her nephew’s defense, claiming that Watkyn’s butler either must be mistaken about the window of egress or must be the thief himself. Wooster joins in her attempt at blame-shifting, concurring that the butler had a “furtive eye.” However, Sir Watkyn will hear none of it and vows to give Wooster the stiffest possible sentence for the helmet’s theft. The only mercy he offers is to allow Wooster to remain in his room for the night, under house arrest, with Oates standing guard beneath his window. Watkyn, Oates, and Dahlia depart, leaving Wooster all alone in the locked room, facing the prospect of a month in prison—a place he has always, in his previous misadventures, managed to avoid.
Jeeves, who has been unable to locate Spode to obtain an alibi for the theft of the cow creamer, now taps at the door, and Wooster updates him on the latest events. In turn, Jeeves relates that Sir Watkyn has forbidden his niece’s marriage to Harold Pinker, who has been identified as the attacker who kept Oates from catching the creamer thief. Jeeves can offer no solution to Stiffy’s problem or to his own and takes serious exception to Wooster’s plan, which is that Jeeves should knock Oates out with a shovel so that Wooster can escape through the window on knotted sheets. At this point, Sir Watkyn unlocks the door so that Aunt Dahlia can have a word alone with her nephew. She tells him that Watkyn has agreed to drop the charges against Wooster but only on the condition that Anatole, Dahlia’s brilliant chef, leave her employ for Watkyn’s. Wooster demands that she rescind this deal and, as reward for his own self-sacrifice, drafts a long, elaborate menu of fine dishes that he would like Anatole to make for him after his prison stretch. Sir Watkyn responds bitterly to his noble gesture and tries to renege on his offer of house arrest: Wooster, he says, will go to jail immediately. Jeeves, however, has managed to locate Roderick Spode, who stammers out a false confession to Watkyn: It was he, he says, who stole Oates’s helmet—just as he once did in his college days. A stunned Watkyn apologizes to Wooster and reluctantly gives him permission to depart at his leisure.
After some bemusement, Wooster realizes that Jeeves engineered his exoneration by putting the squeeze on Roderick Spode with his knowledge of “Eulalie.” Jeeves now urges Wooster to try a little extortion himself on Sir Watkyn, by threatening to charge him with “wrongful arrest and defamation of character before witnesses” (250) unless he approves both Stiffy’s and Madeline’s engagements. Wooster does so, and he demands back the five pounds that Watkyn fined him for his previous theft of a police helmet. Watkyn agrees and departs, so distracted that he forgets to call off Constable Oates’s guard duty. Lounging in bed, Wooster requests just one more thing of Jeeves to make the evening perfect: The full details of the dark secret of “Eulalie.” Jeeves hesitates to say, since it would be grounds for expulsion from his club, but finally relents on the condition that Wooster agree to the “Round-the-World cruise” that Jeeves has long suggested. Eulalie, he says, is the name of a line of women’s underwear that Spode secretly designs and sells in a fancy boutique on Bond Street. No fascist leader, Wooster concurs, could survive a scandal like that. He agrees to the cruise, and Jeeves informs him that he has already bought the tickets. In his warm bed, Wooster drifts blissfully off to sleep, hearing the miserable coughs of the weary Constable Oates pacing beneath his window.
It’s always darkest just before the dawn—in farce, if not in life. In this novel, after several false dawns, the night of Wooster’s soul has never seemed darker. Both Gussie’s and Stiffy’s engagements have been scuttled, and Wooster’s last-moment defenestration of the stolen helmet is foiled by the butler, who bears it back to him on a silver salver, like John the Baptist’s head. This chapter-ending cliffhanger comes right on the heels of Wooster’s savage condemnation of Sir Watkyn, in which he “surpassed” himself and had never felt better. Now, caught red-handed by his enemies, Wooster is under house arrest, facing a prison stretch, and seemingly has no escape.
However, Aunt Dahlia, whose petty machinations opened this Pandora’s box, agrees to a devil’s bargain with Watkyn to save her nephew. If she gives him her beloved chef, the “best cook” in England, he’ll drop the charges. For her—or Wooster—this is equivalent to selling one’s soul, and her nephew won’t hear of it. English self-sacrifice, it seems, has come a long way since Dickens’s Sidney Carton, who went happily to the guillotine to spare a lady some heartache. Wooster now makes a bargain of his own, dreamily assembling a menu (a sort of reverse “last meal”) for Anatole to prepare for him once he serves his stretch. In the innocent, epicurean world of Wooster, gourmet food always takes precedence over both sex and religion.
Again referencing the theme of Class Satire of Master and Servant, Jeeves, as always, has a better idea, which he carries out behind the scenes. Knowing that plenty of water yet remains in the “Eulalie” well, he wheedles a false confession out of Spode. Watkyn chokes out another apology, and this time, Wooster doesn’t tempt fate with another harangue—which suggests that he may actually have learned something. However, he does follow Jeeves’s motion to squeeze the ex-judge with a threat of legal action, thereby snatching a “happy ending” for all from the jaws of heartache. Gussie, Madeline, Stiffy, Harold, and Aunt Dahlia all get what they want—and Jeeves, too, as he always does: In exchange for the secret of “Eulalie,” Wooster finally caves and agrees to the world cruise.
The novel’s end evokes one of Shakespeare’s sunnier comedies, in that “Jack shall have Jill / Naught shall go ill” (A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 3.2.490-91). In fact, the author and critic Martin Amis compared Wooster’s world to “the suspended green worlds of Arden and Illyria,” in which “loveknots are festively disentangled, parentage mysteries advantageously resolved and fortunes miraculously accumulated, all without pain” (Amis, Martin. “One Wodehouse, Two Hanleys, One Green.” The New York Times, 10 Dec. 1978). Of course, Wodehouse takes a more jaundiced view than Shakespeare: None of the love matches in this novel are heavenly, and several signs indicate that they likely won’t endure long. Wooster even attempts to quote Shakespeare, on “sleep,” in the novel’s last sentence; however, the line isn’t from one of Shakespeare’s frothy comedies but from Macbeth, his darkest tragedy. Nevertheless, for now, all is well—until the next storm arrives, blowing in a flurry of telegrams.
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