"I gave him the dog. I knew you wouldn't mind. You see, it was vital
to keep cosseting him. If I'd refused, he would have cut up rough and
all that roly-poly pudding and stuff would have been thrown away. You
see----"
I hung up. The jaw had fallen; the eyes were protruding. I tottered
from the booth and, reeling out of the club, hailed a taxi. I got to
the flat and yelled for Jeeves.
"Jeeves!"
"Sir?"
"Do you know what?"
"No, sir."
"The dog--my aunt Agatha's dog--McIntosh----"
"I have not seen him for some little while, sir. He left me after the
conclusion of luncheon. Possibly he is in your bedroom."
"Yes, and possibly he jolly dashed well isn't. If you want to know
where he is, he's in a suite at the Savoy."
"Sir?"
"Miss Wickham has just told me she gave him to Blumenfeld, Junior."
"Sir?"
"Gave him to Jumenfeld, Blunior, I tell you. As a present. As a gift.
With warm personal regards."
"What was her motive in doing that, sir?"