I could have sworn I hadn’t so much as dozed off for even a minute, but apparently I had. For the curtains were drawn back and daylight was coming in through the window, and there was Jeeves standing beside me with a cup of tea on a tray.
“Merry Christmas, sir!”
I reached out a feeble hand for the restoring brew. I swallowed a mouthful or two, and felt a little better. I was aching in every limb and the dome felt like lead, but I was now able to think with a certain amount of clearness, and I fixed the man with a stony eye and prepared to let him have it.
“You think so, do you?” I said. “Much, let me tell you, depends on what you mean by the adjective ‘merry.’ If, moreover, you suppose that it is going to be merry for you, correct that impression. Jeeves,” I said, taking another half- oz. of tea and speaking in a cold, measured voice, “I wish to ask you one question. Did you or did you not know that Sir Roderick Glossop was sleeping in this room last night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You admit it!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you didn’t tell me!”
“No, sir. I thought it would be more judicious not to do so.”
“Jeeves—”
“If you will allow me to explain, sir.”
“Explain!”