Right Ho, Jeeves

“Then what?” “This Bassett business.” “What Bassett business?” “Bertie,” said Tuppy, “when you told me last night that you were in love with Madeline Bassett, I gave you the impression that I believed you, but I didn’t. The thing seemed too incredible. However, since then I have made inquiries, and the facts appear to square with your statement. I have now come to apologize for doubting you.” “Made inquiries?” “I asked her if you had proposed to her, and she said, yes, you had.” “Tuppy! You didn’t?” “I did.” “Have you no delicacy, no proper feeling?” “No.” “Oh? Well, right-ho, of course, but I think you ought to have.” “Delicacy be dashed. I wanted to be certain that it was not you who stole Angela from me. I now know it wasn’t.” So long as he knew that, I didn’t so much mind him having no delicacy. “Ah,” I said. “Well, that’s fine. Hold that thought.” “I have found out who it was.” “What?” He stood brooding for a moment. His eyes were smouldering with a dull fire. His jaw stuck out like the back of Jeeves’s head. “Bertie,” he said, “do you remember what I swore I would do to the chap who stole Angela from me?” “As nearly as I recall, you planned to pull him inside out----” “--and make him swallow himself. Correct. The programme still holds good.” “But, Tuppy, I keep assuring you, as a competent eyewitness, that nobody snitched Angela from you during that Cannes trip.”