It’s perfectly amazing how a fellow will let himself get off his guard and ignore the perils which surround him. I give you my honest word, it had never struck me till this moment that my Aunt Agatha had been scheming to get me in right with Sir Roderick so that I should eventually be received back into the fold, if you see what I mean, and subsequently pushed off on Honoria.
“My God, Jeeves!” I said, paling.
“Precisely, sir.”
“You think there was a risk?”
“I do, sir. A very grave risk.”
A disturbing thought struck me.
“But, Jeeves, on calm reflection, won’t Sir Roderick have gathered by now that my objective was young Tuppy, and that puncturing his hot-water bottle was just one of those things that occur when the Yuletide spirit is abroad—one of those things that have to be overlooked and taken with the indulgent smile and the fatherly shake of the head? I mean to say, Young Blood, and all that sort of thing? What I mean is, he’ll realize that I wasn’t trying to snooter him, and then all the good work will have been wasted.”
“No, sir. I fancy not. That might possibly have been Sir Roderick’s mental reaction, had it not been for the second incident.”
“The second incident?”
“During the night, sir, while Sir Roderick was occupying your bed, somebody entered the room, pierced his hot-water bottle with some sharp instrument, and vanished in the darkness.”
I could make nothing of this.