"Yes, sir."
"She wasn't here!"
"No, sir."
"She saw nothing of Tuppy's Waterloo."
"No, sir."
"The whole bally scheme has blown a fuse."
"Yes, sir."
"Come, Jeeves," I said, and those standing by wondered, no doubt,
what had caused that clean-cut face to grow so pale and set. "I have
been subjected to a nervous strain unparalleled since the days of the
early martyrs. I have lost pounds in weight and permanently injured my
entire system. I have gone through an ordeal which will make me wake up
screaming in the night for months to come. And all for nothing. Let us
go."
"If you have no objection, sir, I would like to witness the remainder
of the entertainment."
"Suit yourself, Jeeves," I said moodily. "Personally, my heart is dead
and I am going to look in at the Goat and Grapes for another of their
cyanide specials and then home."
* * * * *
It must have been about half-past ten, and I was in the old sitting
room sombrely sucking down a more or less final restorative, when the
front doorbell rang, and there on the mat was young Tuppy. He looked
like a man who has passed through some great experience and stood face
to face with his soul. He had the beginnings of a black eye.
"Oh, hullo, Bertie," said young Tuppy.
He came in and hovered about the mantelpiece, as if he were looking for
things to fiddle with and break.
"I've just been singing at Beefy Bingham's entertainment," he said
after a pause. "You weren't there, by any chance?"
"Oh, no," I said. "How did you go?"
"Like a breeze," said young Tuppy. "Held them spellbound."
"Knocked 'em, eh?"
"Cold," said young Tuppy. "Not a dry eye."
And this, mark you, a man who had had a good upbringing and had, no
doubt, spent years at his mother's knee being taught to tell the truth.
"I suppose Miss Bellinger is pleased?" I said.
"Oh, yes. Delighted."
"So now everything's all right?"
"Oh, quite." Tuppy paused. "On the other hand, Bertie----"
"Yes?"
"Well, I've been thinking things over. Somehow, I don't believe Miss
Bellinger is the mate for me, after all."
"What!"
"No, I don't."
"What makes you think that?"
"Oh, I don't know. These things sort of flash on you. I respect
Miss Bellinger, Bertie. I admire her. But--er--well, I can't help
feeling now that a sweet, gentle girl--er--like your cousin Angela,
Bertie--would--er--in fact----Well, what I came round for was to ask
if you would phone Angela and find out how she reacts to the idea of
coming out with me to-night to the Berkeley for a bit of supper and a
spot of dancing."
"Go ahead. There's the phone."
"No; I'd rather you asked her, Bertie. What with one thing and another,
if you paved the way----You see, there's just a chance that she may
be--I mean, you know how misunderstandings occur--and----Well, what I'm
driving at, Bertie, old man, is that I'd rather you surged round and
did a bit of paving, if you don't mind."