[…]

'Man and boy, Jeeves,' I said, breaking a thoughtful silence which had lasted for about eighty-seven miles, 'I have been in some tough spots in my time, but this one wins the mottled oyster.'

We were bowling along in the old two-seater on our way to Totleigh Towers, self at the wheel, Jeeves at my side, the personal effects in the dickey.

The more I thought of what lay before me at these bally Towers, the bowed-downer did the heart become.

'The mottled oyster,' I repeated.

'Sir?'

I frowned. The man was being discreet, and this was no time for discretion.

'Don't pretend you don't know all about it, Jeeves,' I said coldly. 'You were in the next room throughout my interview with Aunt Dahlia, and her remarks must have been audible in Piccadilly.'

He dropped the mask.

'Well, yes, sir, I must confess that I did gather the substance of the conversation.

'Very well, then. You agree with me that the situation is a lulu?'

'Certainly a somewhat sharp crisis in your affairs would appear to have been precipitated, sir.'

I drove on, brooding.

'If I had my life to live again, Jeeves, I would start it as an orphan without any aunts. '

'There is much in what you say, sir.'

'It is no use telling me that there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike.’

'Most disturbing, sir.'

'I wonder how old Bassett will receive me, Jeeves.'

'It will be interesting to observe his reactions, sir.'

'He can't very well throw me out, I suppose, Miss Bassett having invited me?'

'No, sir.'

'On the other hand, he can - and I think he will - look at me over the top of his pince-nez and make rummy sniffing noises. The prospect is not an agreeable one.'

'No, sir.'

'I mean to say, even if this cow-creamer thing had not come up, conditions would be sticky.'

'Yes, sir. Might I venture to inquire if it is your intention to endeavour to carry out Mrs Travers's wishes?'

You can't fling the hands up in a passionate gesture when you are driving a car at fifty miles an hour. Otherwise, I should have done so.

'That is the problem which is torturing me, Jeeves. I can't make up my mind. You remember that fellow you've men­tioned to me once or twice, who let something wait upon something? You know who I mean - the cat chap.'

'Macbeth, sir, a character in a play of that name by the late William Shakespeare. He was described as letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would", like the poor cat i' th' adage.'

'Well, that's how it is with me.’