“…a bit strange, I know, but sometimes ol’ Jeeves here likes to fancy he’s a chair, and so I sort of oblige him, what?” I squirmed in my seat and patted the arms. “It’s the preux thing to do.”

Honoria Glossop shot us a look that said she was chuffed to have dodged the bullet engraved ‘Mrs. B. W. Wooster’ and legged it.

I looked over my shoulder.

“That was close, Jeeves! We’ve got to get that diamond-and-emerald necklace back in the safe before anyone notices it’s missing! Be a chap and retrieve it from under me and stick it in your pocket. I’ll cover for you, then shuffle off to buffalo toot sweet.”

“An admirable plan, sir, but I fear another problem has,” Jeeves coughed, “arisen.”

“Great Scott, Jeeves, I don’t think I can take any more! What now?”

“Well, sir, your movements and the resulting,” he coughed again, “friction has left me in a condition.”

“Jeeves, you don’t mean to say that hard thing prodding the Wooster seat isn’t a precious stone?!”

“Lamentably not, sir. I fear there would be great embarrassment for us both if you were to vacate my lap at this moment.”

“Egad! I’m dashed sorry, Jeeves.”

“You couldn’t have foreseen the consequence of your restlessness, sir.”

“True, but we can’t sit here all night, Jeeves!”

“No, sir.”

“And if we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives in chokey, we’ve got to act! I don’t suppose bringing your state to its natural conclusion is the right answer.”

“I think not, sir.”

“Well, you’ve just got to think of something sobering. How ‘bout Aunt Agatha in her bathing dress?”

Jeeves hummed.

“That turquoise-and-silver bolero tie George Caffyn sent me from New Mexico?”

Jeeves closed his eyes and shuddered.

“It’s working, sir. Thank you.”