It may have been some half-hour later that Mr. Wooster came into the stable-yard as I was leaning against the car and enjoying a quiet cigarette.

“No, don’t chuck it away, Jeeves,” he said, as I withdrew the cigarette from my mouth. “As a matter of fact, I’ve come to touch you for a smoke. Got one to spare?”

“Only gaspers, I fear, sir.”

“They’ll do,” responded Mr. Wooster, with no little eagerness. I observed that his manner was a trifle fatigued and his eye somewhat wild. “It’s a rummy thing, Jeeves, I seem to have lost my cigarette-case. Can’t find it anywhere.”

“I am sorry to hear that, sir. It is not in the car.”

“No? Must have dropped it somewhere, then.” He drew at his gasper with relish. “Jolly creatures, small girls, Jeeves,” he remarked, after a pause.