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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
5
“It
is
often
the
way,
sir.”
“Too
true,
Jeeves.
At
any
rate,
for
the
last
five
years
he
has
been
living
at
this
place
of
his
down
in
Lincolnshire,
as
confirmed
a
species-shunning
hermit
as
ever
put
fresh
water
in
the
tank
every
second
day
and
refused
to
see
a
soul.
That’s
why
I
was
so
amazed
when
you
told
me
he
had
suddenly
risen
to
the
surface
like
this.
I
still
can’t
believe
it.
I
am
inclined
to
think
that
there
must
be
some
mistake,
and
that
this
bird
who
has
been
calling
here
is
some
different
variety
of
Fink-Nottle.
The
chap
I
know
wears
horn-rimmed
spectacles
and
has
a
face
like
a
fish.
How
does
that
check
up
with
your
data?”
“The
gentleman
who
came
to
the
flat
wore
horn-rimmed
spectacles,
sir.”
“And
looked
like
something
on
a
slab?”
“Possibly
there
was
a
certain
suggestion
of
the
piscine,
sir.”
“Then
it
must
be
Gussie,
I
suppose.
But
what
on
earth
can
have
brought
him
up
to
London?”
“I
am
in
a
position
to
explain
that,
sir.
Mr.
Fink-Nottle
confided
to
me
his
motive
in
visiting
the
metropolis.
He
came
because
the
young
lady
is
here.”
“Young
lady?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“You
don’t
mean
he’s
in
love?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“Well,
I’m
dashed.
I’m
really
dashed.
I
positively
am
dashed,
Jeeves.”
And
I
was
too.
I
mean
to
say,
a
joke’s
a
joke,
but
there
are
limits.
Then
I
found
my
mind
turning
to
another
aspect
of
this
rummy
affair.
Conceding
the
fact
that
Gussie
Fink-Nottle,
against
all
the
ruling
of
the
form
book,
might
have
fallen
in
love,
why
should
he
have
been
haunting
my
flat
like
this?
No
doubt
the
occasion
was
one
of
those
when
a
fellow
needs
a
friend,
but
I
couldn’t
see
what
had
made
him
pick
on
me.
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