Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
and Other Stories
By P. G. Wodehouse
[Transcriber's note: This selection of early Wodehouse stories wasassembled for Project Gutenberg. The original publication date ofeach story is listed in square brackets in the Table of Contents.]
The room was the typical bedroom of the typical boarding-house,furnished, insofar as it could be said to be furnished at all, with asevere simplicity. It contained two beds, a pine chest of drawers, astrip of faded carpet, and a wash basin. But there was that on thefloor which set this room apart from a thousand rooms of the same kind.Flat on his back, with his hands tightly clenched and one leg twistedoddly under him and with his teeth gleaming through his grey beard in ahorrible grin, Captain John Gunner stared up at the ceiling with eyesthat saw nothing.
Until a moment before, he had had the little room all to himself. Butnow two people were standing just inside the door, looking down at him.One was a large policeman, who twisted his helmet nervously in hishands. The other was a tall, gaunt old woman in a rusty black dress,who gazed with pale eyes at the dead man. Her face was quiteexpressionless.
The woman was Mrs. Pickett, owner of the Excelsior Boarding-House. Thepoliceman's name was Grogan. He was a genial giant, a terror to theriotous element of the waterfront, but obviously ill at ease in thepresence of death. He drew in his breath, wiped his forehead, andwhispered: "Look at his eyes, ma'am!"
Mrs. Pickett had not spoken a word since she had brought the policemaninto the room, and she did not do so now. Constable Grogan looked ather quickly. He was afraid of Mother Pickett, as was everybody elsealong the waterfront. Her silence, her pale eyes, and the quietdecisiveness of her personality cowed even the tough old salts whopatronized the Excelsior. She was a formidable influence in that littlecommunity of sailormen.
"That's just how I found him," said Mrs. Pickett. She did not speakloudly, but her voice made the policeman start.
He wiped his forehead again. "It might have been apoplexy," hehazarded.
Mrs. Pickett said nothing. There was a sound of footsteps outside, anda young man entered, carrying a black bag.
"Good morning, Mrs. Pickett. I was told that—Good Lord!" The youngdoctor dropped to his knees beside the body and raised one of the arms.After a moment he lowered it gently to the floor, and shook his head ingrim resignation.
"He's been dead for hours," he announced. "When did you find him?"
"Twenty minutes back," replied the old woman. "I guess he died lastnight. He never would be called in the morning. Said he liked to sleepon. Well, he's got his wish."
"What did he die of, sir?" asked the policeman.
"It's impossible to say without an examination," the doctor answered."It looks lik