“I fear I am somewhat late,” he said. “A slight accident on the road, affecting what my chauffeur termed the⁠—”

And then he saw me lurking on the outskirts, and gave a startled grunt, as if I hurt him a good deal internally.

“This⁠—” began the prof, waving in my direction.

“I am already acquainted with Mr. Wooster.”

“This,” went on the prof, “is Miss Sipperley’s nephew Oliver. You remember Miss Sipperley?”

“What do you mean?” barked Sir Roderick. Having had so much to do with loonies has given him a rather sharp and authoritative manner on occasion. “This is that wretched young man, Bertram Wooster. What is all this nonsense about Olivers and Sipperleys?”