“
As I stood there gaping at the closed door, a vision rose before my eyes, featuring me and an inspector of police, the latter having in his supporting cast an unusually nasty-looking sergeant.
‘Are you coming quietly, Wooster?’ the inspector was saying.
‘Who, me?’ I said, quaking in every limb. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Ha, ha,’ laughed the inspector. ‘That’s good. Eh, Fotheringay?’
‘Very rich, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Makes me chuckle, that does.’
‘Too late to try anything of that sort, my man,’ went on the inspector, becoming grave again. ‘The game is up. We have evidence to prove that you went to this safe and from it abstracted a valuable pearl necklace, the property of Mrs. L.G. Trotter. If that doesn’t mean five years in the jug for you, I miss my bet.’
‘But, honestly, I thought it was Aunt Dahlia’s.’
‘Ha, ha,’ laughed the inspector.
‘Ha, ha,’ chirped the sergeant.
‘A pretty story,’ said the inspector. ‘Tell that to the jury and see what they think of it. Fotheringay, the handcuffs!’
Such was the v. that rose before my e. as I gaped at that c.d., and I wilted like a salted snail. Outside in the garden birds were singing their evensong, and it seemed to me that each individual bird was saying ‘Well, boys, Wooster is for it. We shan’t see much of Wooster for the next few years. Too bad, too bad. A nice chap till he took to crime.
”
”
P.G. Wodehouse (Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (Jeeves, #11))