Old Heppenstall was putting on the black cap.

“I do not credit a word of your story, wretched boy! I have warned you before, and now the time has come to act. You cease from this moment to be a member of my choir. Go, miserable child!”

Steggles plucked at my sleeve.

“In that case,” he said, “those bets, you know⁠—I’m afraid you lose your money, dear old boy. It’s a pity you didn’t put it on S.P. I always think S.P. ’s the only safe way.”

I gave him one look. Not a bit of good, of course.

“And they talk about the Purity of the Turf!” I said. And I meant it to sting, by Jove!

Jeeves received the news bravely, but I think the man was a bit rattled beneath the surface.