that night after dinner.
“Jeeves.”
“Sir?”
“Are you busy just now?”
“No, sir.”
“I mean, not doing anything in particular?”
“No, sir. It is my practice at this hour to read some improving book; but, if you desire my services, this can easily be postponed, or, indeed, abandoned altogether.”
“Well, I want your advice. It’s about Mr. Little.”
“Young Mr. Little, sir, or the elder Mr. Little, his uncle, who lives in Pounceby Gardens?”
Jeeves seemed to know everything. Most amazing thing. I’d been pally with Bingo practically all my life, and yet I didn’t remember ever having heard that his uncle lived anywhere in particular.
“How did you know he lived in Pounceby Gardens?” I said.
“I am on