“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.”
“But it is at the Court, sir.”
I clicked the tongue, annoyed.
“Don’t be frivolous, my dear old butler,” I said. “I haven’t ridden nine miles on a push-bike to listen to you trying to be funny. You’ve got it in your trousers pocket.”
“No, sir. I left it with Mr. Jeeves.”
“You did—what?”
“Yes, sir. Before I came away. Mr. Jeeves said that he wished to walk in the garden before retiring for the night. He was to place the key on the kitchen window-sill.”