Man With Two Left Feet

Man With Two Left Feet

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Title: The Man With Two Left Feet And Other Stories
Author: P. G. Wodehouse
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THE MAN WITH TWO LEFT FEET
and Other Stories

by P. G. WODEHOUSE
1917

CONTENTS
BILL THE BLOODHOUND
EXTRICATING YOUNG GUSSIE
WILTON'S HOLIDAY
THE MIXER--I
THE MIXER--II

CROWNED HEADS
AT GEISENHEIMER'S
THE MAKING OF MAC'S
ONE TOUCH OF NATURE
BLACK FOR LUCK
THE ROMANCE OF AN UGLY POLICEMAN
A SEA OF TROUBLES
THE MAN WITH TWO LEFT FEET

BILL THE BLOODHOUND
There's a divinity that shapes out ends. Consider the case of Henry
Pifield Rice, detective.
I must explain Henry early, to avoid disappointment. If I simply said he
was a detective, and let it go at that, I should be obtaining the reader's
interest under false pretences. He was really only a sort of detective, a
species of sleuth. At Stafford's International Investigation Bureau, in
the Strand, where he was employed, they did not require him to solve
mysteries which had baffled the police. He had never measured a
footprint in his life, and what he did not know about bloodstains would
have filled a library. The sort of job they gave Henry was to stand
outside a restaurant in the rain, and note what time someone inside left
it. In short, it is not 'Pifield Rice, Investigator. No. 1.--The Adventure
of the Maharajah's Ruby' that I submit to your notice, but the
unsensational doings of a quite commonplace young man, variously
known to his comrades at the Bureau as 'Fathead', 'That blighter
what's-his-name', and 'Here, you!'
Henry lived in a boarding-house in Guildford Street. One day a new

girl came to the boarding-house, and sat next to Henry at meals. Her
name was Alice Weston. She was small and quiet, and rather pretty.
They got on splendidly. Their conversation, at first confined to the
weather and the moving-pictures, rapidly became more intimate. Henry
was surprised to find that she was on the stage, in the chorus. Previous
chorus-girls at the boarding-house had been of a more pronounced
type--good girls, but noisy, and apt to wear beauty-spots. Alice Weston
was different.
'I'm rehearsing at present,' she said. 'I'm going out on tour next month
in "The Girl From Brighton". What do you do, Mr Rice?'
Henry paused for a moment before replying. He knew how sensational
he was going to be.
'I'm a detective.'
Usually, when he told girls his profession, squeaks of amazed
admiration greeted him. Now he was chagrined to perceive in the
brown eyes that met his distinct disapproval.
'What's the matter?' he said, a little anxiously, for even at this early
stage in their acquaintance he was conscious of a strong desire to win
her approval. 'Don't you like detectives?'
'I don't know. Somehow I shouldn't have thought you were one.'
This restored Henry's equanimity somewhat. Naturally a detective does
not want to look like a detective and give the whole thing away right at
the start.
'I think--you won't be offended?'
'Go on.'
'I've always looked on it as rather a sneaky job.'
'Sneaky!' moaned Henry.

'Well, creeping about, spying on people.'
Henry was appalled. She had defined his own trade to a nicety. There
might be detectives whose work was above this reproach, but he was a
confirmed creeper, and he knew it. It wasn't his fault. The boss told him
to creep, and he crept. If he declined to creep, he would be sacked
instanter.