I put on a raincoat and tucked another under my arm, and was sallying forth, when in the hall I ran into Jeeves.
“Jeeves,” I said, “I fear the worst. Mr. Filmer is missing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am about to scour the grounds in search of him.”
“I can save you the trouble, sir. Mr. Filmer is on the island in the middle of the lake.”
“In this rain? Why doesn’t the chump row back?”
“He has no boat, sir.”
“Then how can he be on the island?”
“He rowed there, sir. But Master Thomas rowed after him and set his boat adrift. He was informing me of the circumstances a moment ago, sir. It appears that Captain Flint was in the habit of marooning people on islands, and Master Thomas felt that he could pursue no more judicious course than to follow his example.”
“But, good Lord, Jeeves! The man must be getting soaked.”
“Yes, sir. Master Thomas commented upon that aspect of the matter.”
It was a time for action.
“Come with me, Jeeves!”
“Very good, sir.”
I buzzed for the boathouse.
My Aunt Agatha’s husband, Spenser Gregson, who is on the Stock Exchange, had recently cleaned up to an amazing extent in Sumatra