“Splendid!” said Psmith. “Splendid, splendid.”
Lord Emsworth removed his glasses, twiddled them on their cord, and replaced them on his nose.
“He made . . . He—er—the fact is, he made . . . Before he went Baxter made a most remarkable statement . . . a charge . . . Well, in short, he made a very strange statement about you.”
Psmith nodded gravely.
“I had been expecting something of the kind,” he said. “He said, no doubt, that I was not really Ralston McTodd?”
His lordship’s mouth opened feebly.
“Er—yes,” he said.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you about that,” said Psmith amiably. “It is quite true. I am not Ralston McTodd.”
“You—you admit it!”
“I am proud of it.”