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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
251
The
orgy
was
taking
place
in
one
of
the
ground-floor
rooms
which
had
French
windows
opening
on
to
the
drive,
and
it
was
to
these
French
windows
that
I
now
made
my
way.
An
orchestra
was
playing
something
with
a
good
deal
of
zip
to
it,
and
under
happier
conditions
I
dare
say
my
feet
would
have
started
twitching
in
time
to
the
melody.
But
I
had
sterner
work
before
me
than
to
stand
hoofing
it
by
myself
on
gravel
drives.
I
wanted
that
back-door
key,
and
I
wanted
it
instanter.
Scanning
the
throng
within,
I
found
it
difficult
for
a
while
to
spot
Seppings.
Presently,
however,
he
hove
in
view,
doing
fearfully
lissom
things
in
mid-floor.
I
“Hi-Seppings!”-ed
a
couple
of
times,
but
his
mind
was
too
much
on
his
job
to
be
diverted,
and
it
was
only
when
the
swirl
of
the
dance
had
brought
him
within
prodding
distance
of
my
forefinger
that
a
quick
one
to
the
lower
ribs
enabled
me
to
claim
his
attention.
The
unexpected
buffet
caused
him
to
trip
over
his
partner’s
feet,
and
it
was
with
marked
austerity
that
he
turned.
As
he
recognized
Bertram,
however,
coldness
melted,
to
be
replaced
by
astonishment.
“Mr.
Wooster!”
I
was
in
no
mood
for
bandying
words.
“Less
of
the
‘Mr.
Wooster’
and
more
back-door
keys,”
I
said
curtly.
“Give
me
the
key
of
the
back
door,
Seppings.”
He
did
not
seem
to
grasp
the
gist.
“The
key
of
the
back
door,
sir?”
“Precisely.
The
Brinkley
Court
back-door
key.”
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