“Very good, sir. The grey cheviot will, I fancy, be suitable. Would it be too much if I asked you to give me a seat in the car, sir? I had thought of going to Wembley myself this afternoon.”

“Eh? Oh, all right.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

I got dressed, and we drove round to Biffy’s flat. Biffy and Sir Roderick got in at the back and Jeeves climbed into the front seat next to me. Biffy looked so ill-attuned to an afternoon’s pleasure that my heart bled for the blighter and I made one last attempt to appeal to Jeeves’s better feelings.

“I must say, Jeeves,” I said, “I’m dashed disappointed in you.”

“I am sorry to hear that, sir.”