“Yes, sir.”

“Gone rushing about, I mean, asking people for help and advice and so forth.”

“Very possibly, sir.”

“But not me, Jeeves.”

“No, sir.”

I left him to brood on it.

Even the thought that I’d got to go to Harrogate with Uncle George couldn’t depress me that Saturday when I gazed about the old flat and realised that Claude and Eustace weren’t in it. They had slunk off stealthily and separately immediately after breakfast, Eustace to catch the boat-train at Waterloo, Claude to go round to the garage where I kept my car. I didn’t want any chance of the two meeting at Waterloo and changing their minds, so I had suggested to Claude that he might find it pleasanter to drive down to Southampton.