Right Ho, Jeeves

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.”