Thank You, Jeeves

Never mind which potting-shed." " No, sir." " Not of the essence." " I quite understand, sir." " Then carry on, Jeeves." He cast a glance of respectful commiseration at old Stoker, who seemed to be having a good deal of trouble with his bronchial tubes. " It appears, m'lord, that Constable Dobson arrested Sir Roderick at an advanced hour last night.

He was then in something of a quandary as to what means to take for his disposal. You must understand, m'lord, that in the conflagration which destroyed Mr. Wooster's cottage that of Sergeant Voules, which is contiguous, was also burned down. And as this cottage of Sergeant Voules's is also the local police station. Constable Dobson was not unnaturally somewhat at a loss to know where to place his prisoner-the more so as Sergeant Voules was not there to advise him, he, in fighting the flames, having sustained an unfortunate injury to his head and having been removed to the house of his aunt. I refer to his Aunt Maud, who resides in Chuffnell Regis, not . . ." I did the square thing again.

" Never mind which aunt, Jeeves." t

" No, sir." " Scarcely germane." " Quite so, sir." "Then carry on, Jeeves." " Very good, sir. So in the end, acting upon his own initiative, the constable arrived at the conclusion that as secure a place as any would be the potting-shed, the larger potting-shed ..." "

We understand, Jeeves. The one with the tiled roof." " Precisely, sir.

He, therefore, placed Sir Roderick in the larger potting-shed, and remained on guard there throughout the remainder of the night. Some little time ago, the gardeners came on duty and the constable, summoning one of them-a young fellow named ..." " All right, Jeeves." " Very good, sir. Summoning this young fellow, he dispatched him to the temporary residence of Sergeant Voules in the hope that the latter would now be sufficiently restored to be able to interest himself in the matter.

Such, it appears, was the case. A night's sleep, acting in conjunction with a naturally robust constitution, had enabled Sergeant Voules to rise at his usual hour and partake of a hearty breakfast." " Breakfast!

" I couldn't help murmuring in spite of my iron self-control. The word had touched an exposed nerve in Bertram. " On receiving the communication. Sergeant Voules hastened to the Hall to interview his lordship."

" Why his lordship ? " " His lordship is a Justice of the Peace, sir." "

Of course, yes." " And, as such, has the power to commit the prisoner to incarceration in a more recognized prison. He is waiting in the library now, m'lord. till your lordship is at leisure to see him." If the word "

breakfast " was, as it were, the key word that had the power to set Bertram Wooster a-quiver, it appeared that " prison " was the one that tickled old Stoker up properly. He uttered a hideous cry. " But how can he be in prison ? What's he got to do with prisons ? Why does this fool of a cop think he ought to be in prison ? " " The charge, I understand, sir, is one of burglary." " Burglary I " " Yes, sir." Old Stoker looked so piteously at me-why me, I don't know, but he did-that I nearly patted him on the head. In fact, I might quite easily have done so, had not my hand been stayed by a sudden noise in my rear like that made by a frightened hen or a rising pheasant. The Dowager Lady Chuffnell had come charging into the room. " Marmaduke I " she cried, and I can give no better indication of her emotion than by saying that as she spoke her eyes rested on my face and it made no impression on her whatsoever. For all the notice she took of it, I might have

been the Great White Chief. " Marmaduke, I have the most terrible news.

Roderick ..." " All right," said Chuffy, a little petulantly, I thought.

" We've had it too. Jeeves is just telling us.'' " But what are we to do ?" " I don't know." " And it is all my fault, all my fault." " Oh, don't say that, Aunt Myrtle," said Chuffy, rattled but still Rreux. " You couldn't have helped it." " I could. I could. I shall never forgive myself. If it had not been for me, he would never have gone out of the house with that black stuff on his face." I was really sorry for poor old Stoker. One thing after another, I mean to say. His eyes came out of his head like a snail's. " Black stuff ? " he gurgled faintly. " He had covered his face with burnt cork to amuse Seabury." Old Stoker tottered to a chair and sank into it. He seemed to be thinking that this was one of those stories you could listen to better sitting down. " You can only remove the horrible stuff with butter . . ." " And petrol, so the cognoscenti tell me," I couldn't help putting in. I like to keep these things straight. " You support me, Jeeves ? Petrol does the trick ? " "

Yes, sir."