Then he came to the drawer where the parcel was.
“This appears to be locked,” he said, rattling the handle.
“Yes; I shouldn’t bother about that one. It—it’s—er—locked, and all that sort of thing.”
“You have not the key?”
A soft, respectful voice spoke behind me.
“I fancy, sir, that this must be the key you require. It was in the pocket of your evening trousers.”
It was Jeeves. He had shimmered in, carrying my evening things, and was standing there holding out the key. I could have massacred the man.
“Thank you,” said my uncle.
“Not at all, sir.”
The next moment Uncle Willoughby had opened the drawer. I shut my eyes.
“No,” said Uncle Willoughby, “there is nothing here. The drawer is empty. Thank you, Bertie. I hope I have not disturbed you. I fancy—er—Berkeley must have taken his case with him after all.”
When he had gone I shut the door carefully. Then I turned to Jeeves. The man was putting my evening things out on a chair.
“Er—Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
“Oh, nothing.”
It was deuced difficult to know how to begin.
“Er—Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
“Did you—Was there—Have you by chance–-“
“I removed the parcel this morning, sir.”
“Oh-ah-why?”
“I considered it more prudent, sir.”
I mused for a while.
“Of course, I suppose all this seems tolerably rummy to you, Jeeves?”
“Not at all, sir. I chanced to overhear you and Lady Florence speaking of the matter the other evening, sir.”
“Did you, by Jove?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well—er—Jeeves, I think that, on the whole, if you were to—as it were—freeze on to that parcel until we get back to London–-“
“Exactly, sir.”
“And then we might—er—so to speak—chuck it away somewhere—what?”
“Precisely, sir.”
“I’ll leave it in your hands.”
“Entirely, sir.”
“You know, Jeeves, you’re by way of being rather a topper.”
“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.”
“One in a million, by Jove!”
“It is very kind of you to say so, sir.”
“Well, that’s about all, then, I think.”
“Very good, sir.”
Florence came back on Monday. I didn’t see her till we were all having tea in the hall. It wasn’t till the crowd had cleared away a bit that we got a chance of having a word together.
“Well, Bertie?” she said.
“It’s all right.”
‘You have destroyed the manuscript?”
“Not exactly; but–-“
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I haven’t absolutely–-“
“Bertie, your manner is furtive!”
