[Brian Allgar]

“Some writer chappie called Faulks wants to call round, Jeeves. Says he’s gathering material for a book, just like the last one - what was the fellow’s name? Treehome, or something of the kind.”

“That would be the late Mr Wodehouse, sir.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Jeeves. Seemed a decent sort, apart from that pestilential pipe of his. Anyway, I’m relying on you to give this new fellow the lowdown on aunts, cow-creamers, and suchlike.”

Jeeves coughed discreetly, and said: “ I fear, sir, that it would not be my place to indulge in the kind of gossip that Mr Faulks will undoubtedly be seeking.”

I sighed. I knew all too well what was causing Jeeves’s frostiness. “About those mauve shirts, Jeeves ... Oh, dash it, you may give them to the poor.”

“Thank you, sir. I have already done so. I shall prepare afternoon tea for Mr Faulks in the kitchen.”