leaving on the four o’clock train. I have a dinner engagement tomorrow with a man who’s nibbling at that house of mine in Herefordshire.”
“Oh, are you trying to sell that place? I thought you liked it.”
“I did. But the idea of going on living in that great, lonely barn of a house after what has happened appals me, Bertie. So when Sir Roderick Glossop came along—”
“Sir Roderick Glossop! You don’t mean the loony-doctor?”
“The great nerve specialist, yes. Why, do you know him?”
It was a warm day, but I shivered.
“I was engaged to his daughter for a week or two,” I said, in a hushed voice. The memory of that narrow squeak always made me feel faint.
“Has he a daughter?” said Biffy, absently.
“He has. Let me tell you all about—”
“Not just now, old man,” said Biffy, getting up. “I ought to be going back to my hotel to see about my packing.”
Which, after I had listened to his story, struck me as pretty low-down.
However, the longer you live, the more you realize that the good old sporting spirit of give-and-take has practically died out in our midst.
So I boosted him into a cab and went off to lunch.
It can’t have been more than ten days after this that I received a nasty shock while getting outside my morning tea and toast. The English papers had arrived, and Jeeves was just drifting out of the room after