Right Ho, Jeeves

“Extremely, sir.” I eyed the jug. Uncle Tom’s photograph had fallen into the fender, and it was standing there right out in the open, where Gussie couldn’t have helped seeing it. Mercifully, it was empty now. “It was a most prudent act on your part, if I may say so, sir, to dispose of the orange juice.” I stared at the man. “What? Didn’t you?” “No, sir.” “Jeeves, let us get this clear. Was it not you who threw away that o.j.?” “No, sir. I assumed, when I entered the room and found the pitcher empty, that you had done so.” We looked at each other, awed. Two minds with but a single thought. “I very much fear, sir----” “So do I, Jeeves.” “It would seem almost certain----” “Quite certain. Weigh the facts. Sift the evidence. The jug was standing on the mantelpiece, for all eyes to behold. Gussie had been complaining of thirst. You found him in here, laughing heartily. I think that there can be little doubt, Jeeves, that the entire contents of that jug are at this moment reposing on top of the existing cargo in that already brilliantly lit man’s interior. Disturbing, Jeeves.” “Most disturbing, sir.” “Let us face the position, forcing ourselves to be calm. You inserted in that jug--shall we say a tumblerful of the right stuff?” “Fully a tumblerful, sir.” “And I added of my plenty about the same amount.” “Yes, sir.” “And in two shakes of a duck’s tail Gussie, with all that lapping about inside him, will be distributing the prizes at Market Snodsbury Grammar School before an audience of all that is fairest and most refined in the county.”