It was most infernally hot. As I sat in the old flat one night trying to muster up energy enough to go to bed, I felt I couldn’t stand it much longer: and when Jeeves came in with the tissue-restorers on a tray I put the thing to him squarely.
“Jeeves,” I said, wiping the brow and gasping like a stranded goldfish, “it’s beastly hot.”
“The weather is oppressive, sir.”
“Not all the soda, Jeeves.”
“No, sir.”
“I think we’ve had about enough of the metrop. for the time being, and require a change. Shift-ho, I think, Jeeves, what?”
“Just as you say, sir. There is a letter on the tray, sir.”
“By Jove, Jeeves, that was practically poetry. Rhymed, did you notice?” I opened the letter. “I say, this is rather extraordinary.”
“Sir?”
“You know Twing Hall?”