From Jim Halpert’s perspective, the week was a most pleasing one. He had discovered in Lieutenant Schrute a target for the boyish hijinks that he had thought left in the schoolroom before his Oxford days—a constant dupe who thought himself much sharper than Jim believed him to be, and a man whose fuse was short enough to produce enjoyable explosions but long enough that Jim need never fear for his or anyone else’s safety—and he enjoyed prosecuting this discovery to the utmost of his means. He found Ryan’s discomfiture at his being saddled with Miss Kapoor a delight: upon the revelation that she was to be presented at court the day after the ball (an occasion that Ryan’s father would under no circumstances allow him to miss, as the Howard family must have a representative present at all the Queen’s formal gatherings) and that Ryan would thus be forced to acknowledge their incipient connection much more rapidly than he had, perhaps, desired, he was almost in hysterics. In this he was joined by Mark, who found in Ryan’s histrionic declaration of amazement that he was a dashed idiot for making up to the girl the day before such a momentous occasion the exact levity that he thought missing from Jim’s desperate liking for Miss Beesly. This was not to say the Viscount or Mr. Howard allowed their friend Mr. Halpert a moment’s respite from their own mockery of his obvious infatuation, but it was certainly true that Mr. Howard’s situation moved to the forefront of their collective mind.

This was a relief for Jim, because he felt his feelings moving on apace, much faster than he could safely navigate himself. It reminded him of a time in the diplomatic service when, urged to an inevitable folly by the younger son of a Balkan chief, he had stepped into the sea and felt a riptide begin to pull him out to shore. There fortunate chance had placed a navy pinnace in the water not twenty feet away, and the sailors had heard his loud hallooing and pulled him thrashing from the water. Now he was uncertain where assistance might be found—though he was sure it was not in the braying laughter of his supposed friends—and more worryingly found himself equally uncertain whether he would take it if it were offered. He knew it to be pure folly to give in to the depth of feeling he was beginning to sense within himself without some indication that Miss Beesly was likewise interested, or at least that she was no longer engaged to another. But he could no more stop himself from it than he could have breathed underwater, or flown himself to the moon.

As a result he cherished, but felt guilty for cherishing, those moments when fate seemed to throw them together. He was surprised to see her on the high street, trailing behind Kelly Kapoor with a single bag containing who knew what—though from what he had heard about the particular store he saw them exiting, he was simultaneously extremely intrigued and put to the blush to consider the source of his own intrigue—and somewhat less surprised to see her still (or again) with Kelly when the latter contrived to “run into” Ryan Howard and himself riding in the park. He did take discreet advantage of the situation to ensure himself some minutes of private but not impertinent conversation with her while Kelly and Ryan spoke loudly to one side, and he was overjoyed to see her face lighten from its former haggard state when he approached—though he keenly guessed that this might come as much from a moment’s respite from Kelly’s interminable stream of speech as it did from pleasure in his company. He could not doubt however that she did take some pleasure in it, particularly when she allowed him in the churchyard (a completely unlooked for meeting that he made sure to thank God for expressly in the pews afterwards) to discourse at length about his prank on Dwight—an occasion in which she not only hung upon his every word with a bright, eager countenance, but suggested a distinct improvement to his plan by urging him to also fiddle with the height and stickiness of the pedals on the organ so that the good Lieutenant would have even less command of the sounds emitting from it. To hear of this idea was to implement it, and to implement it was to resolve that, come what might, Miss Beesly was to become his co-conspirator in any further pranks, assuming her willingness.

This willingness was asked and given when he saw her next, struggling down Mayfair with a load of packages in her arms. He at first thought these to be her shopping, then (seeing the labels from a series of expensive lady’s shops his mind rebelled at imagining she spent her hard-earned brass in shopping at) some extravagant gift, most likely from Roy, but when he swooped in to give her a welcome hand he discovered that he had erred in both suppositions: they were Michael’s gifts for the Dowager Duchess, which he had peremptorily commanded Pam to acquire, rate, and sort for him so that he could convey them to his lady in a proper and convincing style. Chuckling at this offloading of his romantic duties onto Pam (though sorrowing a bit when he realized that Pam did not even consider the possibility of a similar gesture being directed her way), Jim merrily offered to assist her with the manhandling of such stock, and suggested that once they had delivered it to Michael’s residence and sorted each package into the various objects it contained, they might drop by Lieutenant Schrute’s desk (hard by Michael’s in the study) to examine what they might try as a prank upon him in his place of employment.

Receiving a decided affirmative to this idea, he lifted the packages easily into his arms and set off down the street, leaving a much-lightened Pam to skip on after him with nary a box. Upon their arrival at Colonel Scott’s apartments it was the work of a moment to divide the contents into piles of similar goods, at which point they slipped into the empty study. Jim studiously avoided considering what he would prefer to do alone in a room with Miss Beesly as she scampered over to Dwight’s desk, revealing a Pascaline calculator atop a large book of files.

Jim seized upon the calculator and a slightly larger metal box he found lying in the corner of the room (he believed it had once contained some kind of military hardware, but was now entirely empty). He mimed to Pam the act of filling up the box with the calculator and something else, and followed her silent steps as she inclined her head and led him out the door. They tiptoed through a passageway into the kitchen, where Jim pantomimed the same behavior to the cook, who took one look at the calculator, smiled, and said only “Lieutenant Schrute’s?” At Pam’s nod and Jim’s smile, he turned around, rustled a little, and revealed a gigantic box of gelatin stuffed into a cupboard. Jim helped him lift the box, mix some of the gelatin with water, and pour it all over the poor calculator. Pam smoothed the top of the gelatin so that it sat perfectly within the metal box, and then the two co-conspirators snuck back up into the study, left the box where the calculator had been upon the desk, and returned to the room where they had left the various gifts, giggling all the way. Mr. Halpert took his leave at length from Miss Beesly, and went home, while the latter awaited with both excitement and some trepidation for the Lieutenant to return from whatever errand had removed him from the premises.

It would have warmed Jim Halpert’s heart to have heard the Germanic exclamations that erupted from the study at four o’clock that afternoon—but not nearly as much as it did to receive a simple note addressed to himself the following morning that contained only the words “It worked!” written in a flowery hand. His heart flowed over when he turned the card over and saw on the back a simple cartoon, sketched in pencil, of Dwight Schrute jumping up and down while jiggling a box of gelatinized pascaline.