By dinner-time I had almost
forgotten blighted Motty's existence.
I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterward, and it wasn't
till fairly late that I got back to the flat. There were no signs of
Motty, and I took it that he had gone to bed.
It seemed rummy to me, though, that the parcel of nice books was still
there with the string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty, after
seeing mother off at the station, had decided to call it a day.
Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky-and-soda. I could tell by the
chappie's manner that he was still upset.
"Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves?" I asked, with reserved hauteur and
what-not.
"No, sir. His lordship has not yet returned."
"Not returned? What do you mean?"
"His lordship came in shortly after six-thirty, and, having dressed,
went out again."
At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of
scrabbling noise, as if somebody were trying to paw his way through the
woodwork. Then a sort of thud.
"Better go and see what that is, Jeeves."
"Very good, sir."
He went out and came back again.
"If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might be able
to carry him in."
"Carry him in?"
"His lordship is lying on the mat, sir."
I went to the front door. The man was right. There was Motty huddled up
outside on the floor.
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