Old Rowbotham looked at me and then he looked round the room, and I could see he wasn’t particularly braced. There’s nothing of absolutely Oriental luxury about the old flat, but I have managed to make myself fairly comfortable, and I suppose the surroundings jarred him a bit.

“ Mr. Wooster?” said old Rowbotham. “May I say Comrade Wooster?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you of the movement?”

“Well⁠—er⁠—”

“Do you yearn for the Revolution?”

“Well, I don’t know that I exactly yearn. I mean to say, as far as I can make out, the whole hub of the scheme seems to be to massacre coves like me; and I don’t mind owning I’m not frightfully keen on the idea.”