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Updated: June 14, 2025
Rupert Baxter, the Earl of Emsworth's indefatigable private secretary, was one of those men whose chief characteristic is a vague suspicion of their fellow human beings. He did not suspect them of this or that definite crime; he simply suspected them. He prowled through life as we are told the hosts of Midian prowled. His powers in this respect were well-known at Blandings Castle.
Peters' collecting, as has been shown, was keen, furious, concentrated; Lord Emsworth's had the amiable dodderingness that marked every branch of his life. In the museum at Blandings Castle you could find every manner of valuable and valueless curio. There was no central motive; the place was simply an amateur junk shop.
Words began to proceed from him, tripping and stumbling over each other. Lord Emsworth's frigid disapproval did not relax. "Pray do not apologize, Baxter. The desire for food is human. It is your boisterous mode of securing and conveying it that I deprecate. Let us all go to bed." "But, Lord Emsworth " "To bed!" repeated his lordship firmly. The company began to stream moodily upstairs.
Lord Emsworth strolled to the window and looked out. The sun still shone brightly on the quiet street. Across the road were trees. Lord Emsworth was fond of trees; he looked at these approvingly. Then round the corner came a vagrom man, wheeling flowers in a barrow. Flowers! Lord Emsworth's mind shot back to Blandings like a homing pigeon. Flowers!
Meantime the young man had closed the museum door and was crossing the hall. He was a wiry-haired, severe-looking young man, with a sharp nose and eyes that gleamed through rimless spectacles none other, in fact than Lord Emsworth's private secretary, the Efficient Baxter. Ashe hailed him: "I say, old man, would you mind telling me how I get to Mr. Peters' room? I've lost my bearings."
Peters is sure to be the principal guest; so your standing will be correspondingly magnificent. You come after the butler, the housekeeper, the groom of the chambers, Lord Emsworth's valet, Lady Ann Warblington's lady's maid " "Who is she?" "Lady Ann? Lord Emsworth's sister. She has lived with him since his wife died. What was I saying? Oh, yes!
It was unlikely he would again become entangled with a man bearing a tongue and the other things he had given up in despair the attempt to unravel the mystery of the tongue; it completely baffled him but it was by no means unlikely that if he spent another night in the gallery looking on the hall he might not again become a target for Lord Emsworth's irresponsible firearm.
Nobody could have foreseen such a calamity. These things happened and one had to accept them. He himself had once suffered in much the same way, the gem of his collection having been removed almost beneath his eyes in the smoothest possible fashion. Altogether, he relieved Lord Emsworth's mind very much; and when he had finished doing so he departed swiftly and rang for Ashe.
He knew Lord Emsworth's power of forgetting and he did not believe his account of the transaction. Scarab maniacs like Mr. Peters did not give away specimens from their collections as presents. But he had not divined the truth of what had happened in London. The conclusion at which he had arrived was that Lord Emsworth had bought the scarab and had forgotten all about it.
Possibly it was the reflection that, whatever his secret troubles, he was at any rate once more in his beloved metropolis that caused Freddie at this point to burst into discordant song. He splashed and warbled simultaneously. Lord Emsworth's frown deepened and he began to tap his fingers together irritably. Then his brow cleared and a pleased smile flickered over his face.
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