Right Ho, Jeeves

“Good Lord! Not the old fire-alarm thing?” “Precisely, sir.” “You’re still sticking to that?” “Yes, sir.” It shows how much the ghastly blow I had received had shaken me when I say that, instead of dismissing the proposal with a curt “Tchah!” or anything like that, I found myself speculating as to whether there might not be something in it, after all. When he had first mooted this fire-alarm scheme of his, I had sat upon it, if you remember, with the maximum of promptitude and vigour. “Rotten” was the adjective I had employed to describe it, and you may recall that I mused a bit sadly, considering the idea conclusive proof of the general breakdown of a once fine mind. But now it somehow began to look as if it might have possibilities. The fact of the matter was that I had about reached the stage where I was prepared to try anything once, however goofy. “Just run through that wheeze again, Jeeves,” I said thoughtfully. “I remember thinking it cuckoo, but it may be that I missed some of the finer shades.” “Your criticism of it at the time, sir, was that it was too elaborate, but I do not think it is so in reality. As I see it, sir, the occupants of the house, hearing the fire bell ring, will suppose that a conflagration has broken out.” I nodded. One could follow the train of thought. “Yes, that seems reasonable.” “Whereupon Mr. Glossop will hasten to save Miss Angela, while Mr. Fink-Nottle performs the same office for Miss Bassett.”