All language subtitles for jeeves.and.wooster.s01e05.720p.bluray.x264-ingot

I know you're in there, Bertie.
I can hear you whistling.

Er...who is that?

- Who's that?
- It's Jeeves.

Oh. It's Cyril Fotheringay Phipps.

- Barmy?
- Steady on, Jeeves.

Come on in. Quick. Come on. Come on.

The most extraordinary thing - I was
talking to Jeeves a second ago.

- No, it was me.
- But he said he was Jeeves.

No, it was me, pretending to be
Jeeves.

Oh, I see. Jolly good. Why?

Well, I don't want my Aunt Dahlia to know
I'm here. Had a set-to down at her place.

- No, don't answer it.
- I wasn't going to.

No, you see, she'll
be regretting it and

begging me to come back
and sort things out.

No, answer it. Pretend to be Jeeves.

- How?
- Well, just say you're Jeeves.

Right.

Mr Wooster's residence.

Where is Mr Wooster?

He's not at home, sir.

I'm Jeeves.

What do you mean, you think not?

Oh.

- Who was it?
- Jeeves.

Oh. Where was he?

Just round the corner.

Ah, sent as an emissary, no doubt. Well,
no, I'm sorry. One can only do so much.

What's an emissary?

It's something that's sent. So, what
are you doing here, Barmy?

Oh, nothing, really. Just came for a
smoke. Hope you don't mind.

No. Smoke away, Barmy. Smoke away.

Ow!

When you said you'd come in for a
smoke...

I can't smoke at the Drones at the
moment.

It's Oofy Prosser, you see.
We've got a bet

on how long we can
go without smoking.

My doctor said it's better for me,
anyway.

- Good morning, Mr Fotheringay Phipps.
- Morning, Jeeves.

- Mr Wooster.
- Morning, Jeeves.

I'm just making some tea.

Really, sir? Perhaps I could...

No, I may as well do it,
now that I've started.

I've got used to
looking after myself.

It's surprising, is it not, how much
one can assimilate in a day?

Mmm. Now, Jeeves, it says here it's
best to use soft water,

but that after boiling it may again
become hard.

Well, that's ice, isn't it?

And it says here, "One teaspoonful
per person and one for the pot."

I mean, why does the pot get one?

If you'll allow me, sir.

- Cup of tea, Barmy?
- Love one.

- All right, Jeeves. Get on with it.
- Sir?

It is obvious to the meanest
intelligence, Jeeves,

that you have been dispatched here by
my esteemed aunt

to plead with me to come back to
Brinkley.

Same old emotional quagmire down
there, I suppose? Yes.

Tuppy grinding his teeth. Angela
aloof.

Uncle Tom off his feed. Madeline off
her head.

And Fink-Nottle trembling about this
prize-giving.

Well, I'm sorry, but Mrs Travers will
have to sort this out herself this time.

Very good, sir. I was
in fact sent to try to

persuade Monsieur
Anatole to return, sir.

- Anatole the cook, Jeeves?
- Yes, sir.

What, not to persuade
me back to Brinkley to

restore peace and harmony
to the inhabitants?

Mrs Travers made no mention of it,
sir.

Huh. Well, of all the nerve, Jeeves!

And this is what they call gratitude,
is it?

I really couldn't say, sir.

Well, I don't think I'm
going too far, Jeeves, when

I say that this just about
takes the giddy biscuit.

Very good, sir.

Well, I shall return to Brinkley instanter
and give all of them a good talking-to -

starting with that idiot Tuppy.

If you want the Turkish, they're in
the silver box.

Oh, right-o, Bertie.

- Toodle-pip.
- Cheerio.

- Ah.
- Ah. You're not going out, are you?

I am, Oofy. How can I help you?

Well, I wanted to have a smoke.

Ah, say no more, Oofy. My house is
your house.

I've got this bet on with Barmy.

No, no need to explain, Oofy.

If you want to try the Turkish,
they're in the silver box.

Ah...

- Am I not somebody, Mr Jeeves?
- Undoubtedly, Monsieur Anatole.

Then why they are making against me
like bad peoples?

Delicious veloute aux fleurs de
courgette.

Monsieur Anatole himself taught me
to make it,

when he first stayed at our little
hotel.

Ah, but Madame has got the good of
me many times over!

A little more, perhaps, for Mr
Jeeves?

We have a duty to look after our
ladies and gentlemen, Monsieur Anatole.

Look after? Am I the nursie?

Am I the nancy for the kiddies?

Non. This is not kiddies. Non, non,
non.

Kiddies is nice. Kiddies is not
stopping with the eats.

Kiddies is not saying to a chap,

"Puf! We not like you no more.

We not eat your combustibles."

Since time immemorial, Monsieur
Anatole,

it has fallen to the Gallic
races to bring civilisation

to the rude northerly
provinces of their empire.

Mmm, is true.

Anatole is civilian.

Anatole is nice.

It hasn't always been easy. Sometimes
it has seemed impossible. But...

Up to the time she went to Cannes,
Angela loved me. You'll admit that?

Oh, indisputably.

But when she came back, she was just
looking for an excuse to get rid of me.

No, no, no! What would she want to
get rid of you for?

Well, obviously, during those two
months

she's transferred her affections to
some foul blister she's met out there.

No, no, no, no.

Well, I'll tell you one thing.

And you can take this as official.

If ever I find this slimy snake in
the grass,

I propose to take him by his beastly
neck, shake him till he froths,

and then pull him inside out and
make him swallow himself.

All right?

My dear Tuppy...

during those two months on the
Riviera, it so happens

that Angela and I were practically
inseparable.

If there had been somebody nosing around,
I should have spotted it in a second.

I see.

So, no mixed bathing and moonlight
strolls?

No, no, no. Well, only with me.
It was quite a joke at the hotel.

But then, I've always been devoted to
Angela.

- Really?
- Oh, yes, yes.

When we were kids, she used to call
me her "little sweetheart".

Ah! You're back.

You're back.

Welcome, Monsieur Anatole!

We have no more stopping with the
eating, I think!

I get my bagages.

Jeeves, I can never thank you
sufficiently. Never.

You've saved my husband's digestion.

What-ho, Aunt Dahlia!

I didn't know that your master was
back, Jeeves.

Has he no mercy?

Jeeves...

Suppose that you were strolling
through the illimitable jungle,

and you happened to meet a tiger cub.

The contingency is a remote one, sir.

- Well, never mind. Let us suppose it.
- Very good, sir.

Let us now suppose that you biffed
that tiger cub.

And let us further suppose that word
reached its mother that you'd done so.

Now, what would you expect the
attitude of that mother to be?

In the circumstances, I should anticipate
a certain show of disapprobation, sir.

Well, yes. Very good, Jeeves. Very
well put.

Now, let us suppose that
recently there had been

some coolness between the
tiger cub and the tigress.

I don't know. For a day or two, perhaps,
they'd not been on speaking terms.

Now, do you think this would
make any difference to the

vim with which the latter
leaped to the former's aid?

- No, sir.
- No. Well...

Here, then, in brief, is my plan.

I will draw my cousin Angela to one
side, to a secluded spot,

and I shall roast Tuppy properly.

Roast, sir?

Er...disparage, knock, decry,
denounce.

I shall be very terse about Tuppy,

giving it as my opinion that in all
the essentials

he is more akin to...

a warthog, than an ex-member of the
fine old school.

- And what will ensue?
- What indeed, sir?

Er...no, Jeeves. No, that was one of
those...whatsit questions.

- Rhetorical, sir?
- Right, yes.

Now, hearing him attacked, my cousin
Angela's heart will become as sick as mud.

The maternal tigress in her will
awaken.

And no matter what their differences, she
will remember that he is the man she loves,

and she will leap to his defence.

And from there to falling into his
arms is but a step.

So, how do you react to that, Jeeves?

The idea is an ingenious one, sir.

Well, we Woosters are ingenious.
Noted for it.

And if one thing gives
us the pip, it's the

sight of two loving
hearts being estranged.

I can readily appreciate it, sir.

Now, I'm not speaking
without knowledge of the

form book on this. I've
tested this theory.

- Indeed, sir?
- Oh, yes.

And it works.

I was standing on Eden Rock in
Antibes last month,

and a girl I know slightly pointed to
this fellow diving into the water,

and asked me if I didn't think that
his legs

were about the silliest pair of props
ever issued to a human being.

Well, I agreed that, indeed, they
were,

and for perhaps a couple of minutes,

I was extraordinarily witty and
satirical about this bird's underpinnings.

And guess what happened next.

I am agog to learn, sir.

A cyclone is what happened next,
Jeeves.

Emanating from this girl.

She started on my own legs, saying
that they weren't much to write home about.

And then she moved on to dissect my
manners, morals,

intellect, general physique,

and method of eating asparagus.

By the time she'd finished, the best
that could be said about Bertram

was that, so far as was known, he
hadn't actually burnt down an orphanage.

A most illuminating story, sir.

No, no, no, Jeeves, you haven't had
the pay-off yet.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir.

The structure of your
tale deceived me into

thinking for a moment
that it was over.

No, the point is that she was actually
engaged to this fellow with the legs.

They'd had some minor
disagreement the night

before, but there they
were the next night,

dining together, their
differences made up,

and the love light once
more in their eyes.

And I expect much the same results
with my cousin Angela.

I look forward to it with lively
anticipation, sir.

Care for a saunter, Angela, old girl?

- Love to, Bertie, darling.
- Good-o.

Shhh.

Tom's listening to the news.

I have much to say that's not for the
public ear.

Bertie, darling, this grass is
awfully wet. It'll ruin my shoes.

- Well, put your feet on my lap.
- All right.

You can tickle my ankles.

Right.

Now, Angela, what about you and
Tuppy?

Is it true that the wedding bells are
not going to ring out?

- Yes.
- Definitely over, eh?

Definitely.

Well, if you want my opinion, it's a
bit of goose for you, old girl.

It's a mystery to me how you stood
this Glossop for so long.

Is that an animal in the bush over
there, Bertie? It sort of rustled.

It's probably a weasel or something.

No, taken all in all, this
Glossop ranks very low

down among the wines and spirits.
Frightful oik.

I always thought you were such
friends.

What, friends? No, no, no.
Absolutely not. No.

No, one was civil, of course,

but in addition to looking like something
that comes out of hollow trees,

he's universally acknowledged to be a
dumb brick of the first water.

No soul, no conversation, nothing.

- Yes. Yes, you're quite right.
- Eh?

It's so nice to talk to someone who
takes a sensible view about this Glossop.

Well...
He's conceited and opinionated.

He drinks too much, eats too much,

and I don't much like the colour of
his hair.

I'm going in.

- Erm...
- Goodbye, Bertie.

- So!
- Ah, Tuppy, old chap.

- So!
- Er...been here long?

Long enough. And in two
seconds I'm going to

kick your spine through
the top of your head.

Ah...yes.

I think I know what's on your mind,
Tuppy.

Erm...if you were in those bushes
during the conversation with Angela...

- I was.
- You were. Right. Good.

Well, we won't go into the ethics of
the thing.

Eavesdropping, some people might call
it. A bit un-English.

- I'm Scots.
- Really? I didn't know that.

- I'm going to get you...
- Now, look, Tuppy. It was a plan.

- What are you talking about?
- Well, if...

If it wasn't a plan, why would I
knock you to Angela?

Because you're in love with her
yourself.

I rest my case.

- What? No!
- Someone stole her from me in Cannes.

You told me she was with you all the
time and hardly spoke to anybody else.

Now, now, Tuppy. Look, you've got
this all wrong.

And I can...prove it.

During that sojourn in Cannes, my
affections were engaged elsewhere.

What?

My affections. Engaged elsewhere.
During that sojourn.

Who was she?

My dear Tuppy, does one bandy a
woman's name?

One does if one doesn't want one's
ruddy head pulled off.

Well, yes, right. Well, obviously,
this is a special case.

Madeline Bassett.

You're in love with that weird
gawd-help-us Bassett?

Well, I don't think you should call
her a "weird gawd-help-us", Tuppy.

Odd in some of her views, perhaps.

One does not see eye-to-eye with her
in the matter of stars and bunny rabbits.

But not a weird gawd-help-us.

And you stick to it that you're in
love with her?

It is not 24 hours since she turned
me down.

- Turned you down?
- Like a bedspread. In this garden.

So, you'll readily see
that I can't be the chap

- if any - who stole
Angela from you in Cannes.

Because your affections were engaged
elsewhere?

During that sojourn.

Oh, I see.

All right, then.

Sorry to have troubled you.

It wasn't just you.

What about the things Angela said?

Well, she obviously
spotted you in those

bushes and was just
talking to score off you.

She adores you, Tuppy. She worships
the ground you tread on. She...

Bertie...if you should see Mr
Glossop,

perhaps you would give him these.

It's nearly six o'clock, and he
hasn't eaten a morsel since tea.

Oh, I know. I'll put them down here.
They'll be easier for him to reach.

It's like leaving food out for a
little animal, isn't it?

Er...Angela...

How still and peaceful everything is.

Jeeves, I have decided
that Tuppy and Miss Angela

will have to disentangle
their own affairs.

Today is the day for finally clearing
up

the whole Gussie-Miss Bassett
imbroglio.

Indeed, sir?

Where we've been falling down is in not
keeping it to the forefront of our minds

that in Gussie Fink-Nottle what we
are dealing with is a poop.

A sensitive plant might perhaps be a
kinder description, sir.

A poop, Jeeves.

And a poop who drinks nothing
stronger than orange juice.

I was not aware of that, sir.

Oh, yes, Jeeves. I had it from his
own lips.

Whether from some hereditary taint or
because he promised his mother he wouldn't,

Gussie has never pushed so much as the
simplest gin and tonic over the
larynx.

And he expects - this poop expects,
Jeeves, under these conditions -

to propose marriage to the girl he
loves.

Well, one hardly knows whether to
smile or weep, what?

You consider total abstinence
to be a handicap in a

gentleman wishing to make a
proposal of marriage, sir?

Oh, dash it, Jeeves. Use your
intelligence.

Were it not for the juice of the
grape and the grain,

weddings would be a thing of the
past, proposals but a dim memory.

Without it, Jeeves, we babble.

Thank you, Jeeves.

Only active measures, promptly
applied,

can prevent this poor poop Fink-Nottle
from babbling about newts again.

Which is why I intend to secure a
bottle of gin...

..and lace his luncheon orange juice
with it.

Sir?

Well, I can't imagine why you "sir",
Jeeves.

The plan I've put forward seems to me
to be icily logical.

I fail to see why it should attract
any sir-ing.

No, sir.

Let us hear your objections, then,
Jeeves.

A certain amount of risk is inherent
in your stratagem, sir.

It is not always a simple matter to
gauge the effect of alcohol

on a subject previously unexposed to
such stimulants.

It can have distressing results in
the case of parrots.

Parrots?

I am thinking of an incident when I
was in the service of Lord Brancaster,

a gentleman who owned a parrot.

One day it happened that the bird
was lethargic, sir,

and His Lordship offered it a portion
of seedcake, steeped in the '84 port.

Good egg. The bird
bit His Lordship on his thumb

and sang part of a sea shanty.

It then fell to the
bottom of its cage and

remained there for some
considerable time,

with its legs in the air, unable to
move.

I merely mention this, sir.

There's a flaw here, Jeeves. Do you
know what it is?

No, sir.

- Gussie isn't a parrot.
- True, sir, but...

No more discussion, Jeeves. He's a
poop.

Very good, sir.

You notice I said I was going to put
this project through today, Jeeves?

Why do you think I said today?

Because you feel that, if
it were done when 'tis

done, then 'twere well it
were done quickly, sir?

Partly, Jeeves. Yes, partly.

But the chief reason is that
today is the day of the

prize-giving at Market
Snodsbury grammar school.

We shall, by lacing
the juice, not only

embolden him to propose
to Miss Bassett,

but also put him so into
shape, that he will

hold that Market Snodsbury
audience spellbound.

I see, sir.

Ah, Jeeves. Thank you.

Well, he seems to be happy enough,
doesn't he?

Indeed, sir. The engagement appears to
have lifted his spirits quite considerably.

Engagement?

You are not aware that Mr
Fink-Nottle proposed to

Miss Bassett this afternoon
and was accepted, sir?

- Well, well, well, Jeeves!
- Yes, sir.

- You see how right I was?
- Indeed, sir.

Yes, this must be rather
an eye-opener for

you, Jeeves, watching
me handling this case.

Luckily, sir, I found an
opportunity to add half

a bottle of spirit to his
luncheon orange juice.

- Lords, ladies and gentlemen...
- Oh, Jeeves!

So did I, Jeeves.

Now, this year, we are all delighted
to welcome, as our guest for the afternoon,

Mr Fitz-Wattle.

Fink-Nottle!

I should say Fink-Nottle.

Well, of course you should, you
silly ass!

Well, all right. Get on with it.

We are all happy, as I say, to
welcome Mr Fink-Nottle,

who has kindly consented to present
the prizes.

Now, I'm sure Mr Fink-Nottle's name
is familiar to us all...

Well, not to you! You didn't seem to
know it so dashed well, what!

Right-o. Push off. Speech.

Speech?

Boys. Er...I mean ladies and
gentlemen and boys.

It's a beautiful world, boys and
girls,

ladies and gentlemen,

lords and...things.

I mean, the sky is blue. The birds
are singing.

There's optimism everywhere.

And why not, girls and ladies?

I should like you all to be
upstanding

and give three cheers for this
beautiful world.

Up you get.

- Hip-hip!
- Hooray!

- Hip-hip!
- Hooray!

- Hip-hip!
- Hooray!

All right. Sit down. Sit down.

Now, anybody who says this isn't a
beautiful world

doesn't know what they're talking
about.

You see, if there's one thing in the
world I can't stand,

it's a pessimist.

You see, a pessimist is a man...

Why, hello, Bertie!

I didn't know you were here.

Now, there's an instance of what I
mean.

Ladies and...whatsits...

take a good look at that object
sitting there at the back.

Morning coat. Mouldy rose in
buttonhole. You can't miss him.

I despise that man, women and
children.

And shall I tell you why? Eh?
Because he's a...

I think, Mr Fink-Nottle, as time is
getting on,

I think perhaps we ought to commence
with the prizes.

Oh! It's you!

Oh, the prizes? Yes. Right-o.

Might as well be shoving along with
it. What's this one?

Spelling and dictation. PK Purvis.

Spelling and dictation. PK
Purvis!

Forward, PK Purvis.

- Are you PK Purvis?
- Yes, sir.

- It's a beautiful world, PK Purvis.
- Yes, sir.

Ah! You've noticed it, have you?
Good.

- Are you married, by any chance?
- No, sir.

Get married, PK Purvis. It's the
only life.

- Yes, sir.
- Good boy.

Right, Headmaster. What's the next
one?

GG Simmons. Scripture knowledge.

GG Simmons. Scripture
knowledge.

So, you've won the scripture-knowledge
prize, have you, GG Simmons?

- Sir, yes, sir.
- Yes.

You look just the sort of little
tick who would.

And yet how are we to know that you came
by it in an open and above-board manner?

I can assure you, Mr Fink-Nottle,

every care was taken to ensure
correct marking.

Well, if you say so. All right, GG
Simmons. Take your prize.

- Sir, thank you, sir.
- But let me tell you -

there's nothing to
stick on side about in

winning a prize for
scripture knowledge.

Bertie Wooster won a
scripture-knowledge prize.

But of course, Bertie frankly
cheated.

He succeeded in scrounging
that scripture-knowledge

prize over the heads
of better men -

by means of some of the rawest and
most brazen swindling methods!

Even at a school where such things
were the norm.

Madeline?

Madeline?

Madeline? Madeline!

You will not be surprised
to learn, Jeeves,

that Madeline and Gussie
are no longer engaged,

after the fiasco of the prize-giving.

Was there much more after I left?

No, sir. Mr Fink-Nottle's
inflamed cerebral

condition brought about
an early closure.

He returned to the theme of Master GG
Simmons and his scripture-knowledge prize,

hinting at systematic cheating on an
impressive scale.

He even went so far as to suggest that
Master Simmons is well-known to the police.

- Oh, golly!
- Yes, sir.

- Not our finest hour, Jeeves.
- No, sir.

Door, Jeeves.

Yes, sir.

That may be Mr Fink-Nottle now.

Oh, it's not you. Hello, Tuppy.

Mr Glossop.

If you'll excuse me, sir.

You remember what I swore I'd do to
the chap who stole Angela from me?

Well, as nearly as I can recall, you
were going to pull him inside out...

And make him swallow himself.
Correct.

Well, the programme holds good for
the newt bloke.

The newt bloke? Gussie?

The serpent Fink-Nottle.

But Gussie loves Madeline Bassett.

You can't all love this blasted
Bassett!

It astonishes me how anybody could
love her.

No. Fink-Nottle loves Angela, and
she loves him.

Oh, that is absurd.

Absurd, is it?

Well, then, perhaps you'll explain to me
how she happens to be engaged to him.

Engaged?

Tuppy, you could knock me down with
an F. There must be some mistake.

There is. The snake Fink-Nottle's
just made it.

Ah, there you are!

Where are all the staff tonight?

They've gone to the staff dance at
Kingham Manor.

Oh.

So, it appears that you've gone and
got engaged to the Gussie.

Quite right. We're in love.

Oh, come, now, Angela.

Gussie's...Gussie's a splendid chap
in many ways.

If you've got a sick newt on your
hands,

Gussie's just the fella to tell you
what to do until the doctor comes.

But honestly, you could fling bricks
by the half-hour

in England's most densely populated
districts, without hitting one girl

willing to become Mrs Fink-Nottle
without a general anaesthetic.

Well, I thought it would be fun.

Well, I'm surprised at you, young
Angela.

No wonder they say, "Oh, woman,
woman!"

- Who do?
- Well, chaps, mostly.

You know you're potty about Tuppy.

For goodness' sake, Bertie! Go away
and boil your head.

Well, Angela, if you'll permit me to
observe...

No.

Very well, then. I shall say no
more.

Just...

Tinkerty-tonk.

I say, Jeeves, do you know what's
happened?

Mr Fink-Nottle has got himself
engaged to my cousin Angela.

Gentlemen who are discarded
by one young lady

are apt to attach
themselves to another, sir.

It is what is known as a gesture.
My Uncle George...

Oh, never mind your
Uncle George, Jeeves.

Save him for the long
winter evenings, eh?

Just as you say, sir.
We must rescue Gussie.

Go forth and scour the
neighbourhood.

I don't think that will be necessary, sir.
Mr Fink-Nottle is here.

Mr Fink-Nottle, sir?

Gussie?

- Is that door locked?
- Yes, sir.

Let me in, blast you!

Open this door!

It's him!

- What's going on?
- Jeeves! Help!

Are you in there? What do you
think you're doing?

Listen. If you don't open up, I'm
going to jolly well break this door down!

Wooster! Wooster!

Right.

Why was that door locked?

Is one to have no privacy, Glossop?

I instructed Jeeves to shut the door,
because...

I was about to disrobe.

There, you see.

- Thank you, sir.
- Thank you, Jeeves.

But I heard his snaky little voice.

Well, I intend to search this room
from end to end.

And if he is here, you'd better say goodbye
to him quickly and order your lilies.

What's in this cupboard?
Just clothes.

The usual wardrobe of an English
gentleman.

You're lying.

Ha. Ha.

Jeeves...this is all getting a bit
thick.

Yes, sir.

Ah, hello, Aunt Dahlia.

Bertie, give me a drink.

Anything, so long as it's strong.

Approach Bertram along those lines,
Aunt Dahlia, and you catch him at his best.

Attila. That's the name. Attila the
Hun.

I've been trying to think
all through dinner

what it was you reminded me of.

Oh, now, look. After everything I've
done...

Angela tells me she's going to get
engaged to this Spink-Bottle.

Well, temporarily, yes.

So, there it is.

My only daughter, for whom I had
dreamed of a wonderful, golden future,

is going to marry an inebriated
newt-fancier.

Well, aunt of my heart,
yes, I can't but agree that

things aren't too
oojah-cum-spiff at the moment.

- Yes, Jeeves?
- A note for you, sir.

- From whom, Jeeves?
- From Miss Bassett, sir.

What does Madeline Bassett want to
write to me for?

Open the damn thing and see.

Will you stop that?

You don't understand. Madeline
Bassett says she's going to marry me.

Well, I hope it keeps fine for both
of you.

I hope you won't take it
amiss, sir, but I've been

giving some attention to the
amatory entanglements here.

It seems to me that drastic measures
may be called for.

Oh, drastic away, Jeeves.

The prospect of being
united for life with a

woman who talks about
"little baby bunnies"

fills me with an unnamed dread.

Supposing, sir, that in the middle
of the night

the fire-alarm bell were to ring.

Oh, not the fire-alarm thing again,
Jeeves.

Yes, sir. As I see it, sir,
the occupants of the house

would suppose that a
conflagration had broken out.

Possibly, Jeeves. Possibly.

Whereupon, if I'm not mistaken,

Mr Glossop would hasten to save Miss
Angela,

while Mr Fink-Nottle would perform
the same office for Miss Bassett.

Oh? This is based on psychology, is
it, Jeeves?

Yes, sir. It is thought to be the instinct
of everyone upon the alarm of fire

to save the object dearest to them.

There's a grave danger of Tuppy
coming out carrying a steak-and-kidney pie.

But resume, Jeeves.

Well, sir, the relations
between the two couples could

scarcely continue distant
after such an occurrence.

Well, you may be right.

I just feel there's a great
possibility for a slip-up here.

However, I'm not in a position to
cavil at even a 100-1 shot.

At what hour would you suggest
bonging the bell?

Not before midnight, sir.

Shall I bong, or will you?

I think it would be better coming
from you, sir.

- No need to panic.
- I'm not.

I knew I could smell something.

- Well, Jeeves?
- Sir?

Well, it's no good saying "sir". Look
around you. See for yourself.

Your scheme has proved a bust.

Certainly, it would appear
that matters have not

arranged themselves quite
as we anticipated, sir.

We, Jeeves?

As I had anticipated, sir.

I'm not blaming you,
Jeeves, but after this,

well, forgive me if I
hurt your feelings...

Certainly, sir.

Pardon me for interrupting you.
I fancy Mrs Travers

is endeavouring to
attract your attention.

Just step this way a moment, Attila,
dear...

if you don't mind.

What-ho, Auntie.

Well, Bertie, dear.

Here we all are.

- Well, quite.
- It was you, dear child,

who rang the fire-bell, was it not?

Er...I did sort of ring it, yes.

Any particular reason? I mean, did
you want something? Or was it just a whim?

Er...I thought there was a fire.

What gave you that impression,
darling?

Tell Auntie Dahlia.

Well, I thought I saw flames, erm...

The front door's shut. Somebody must have
shut it behind them, and it'slocked.

- Then try another door.
- They're all locked.

We could ring the door bell.

And who would you expect to answer
it, dear?

The servants have all gone to the
dance at Kingham,

and Mr Seppings no doubt took the
key of the back door with him.

We can't stop out here all blasted
night, blast it!

If Seppings has taken the back-door
key,

why doesn't one of us
take one of the cars,

drive over to Kingham
and get it from him?

That's the first sensible suggestion
I've heard all day.

It's locked!

That's locked, too.

Well, that's absolutely wonderful!

They're all locked.

- Did you cough, Jeeves?
- Yes, madam.

Is it influenza, or have you got an
idea?

Well, forgive me, madam, but it did
occur to me

that perhaps one of the gentlemen might
be disposed to bicycle to Kingham Manor

and procure the back-door key from
Mr Seppings.

Jeeves, you are wonderful!

Thank you, madam.

Attila!

- Well, I haven't ridden for years.
- Well, you'll soon get the knack...

once you've taken a toss or two.

- But it's miles to Kingham.
- Nine miles.

- And nine miles back?
- And nine miles back.

But it's dark. What if I barge into
something? I'll come a frightful cropper.

Good.

Very well, Aunt. So be it.

Yes?

Erm...yes. I need to see Mr Seppings.

They're all up at the dance.

Er...yes...it is quite urgent,
actually.

I can try and telephone him...

with the telephone.

Er...er...yes, if you would.

Why, Mr Wooster, sir!

Ah, Seppings, I need the key of the
back door.

Well, bless you, sir, I left it with
Mr Jeeves.

Jeeves?

He said he wanted a walk in the
garden before retiring for the night.

He was going to leave it on the
kitchen windowsill for me.

Mr Wooster?

Happy Times Are Here Again

Oh, look. He's back.

Welcome home, Bertie!

What on earth is going on, Jeeves?

The house seems positively awash with
joy and laughter.

It's gratifying, isn't it, sir?

Oh, come, now, Jeeves.

I've not been entirely frank with
you regarding the fire-bell, sir.

I never anticipated that it would of
itself produce the desired results.

I'd intended it merely as a
preliminary to what I might call

the main business of the evening.

You gibber, Jeeves.

Explain yourself.

It occurred to me that, were you, sir, to
be established as the person responsible

for the ladies and gentlemen being
forced to spend the night in the garden,

everybody would take so strong a dislike
to you that, in this common antipathy,

they would sooner or later come
together.

And such proved to be the case.

After your departure on the bicycle,

the various estranged parties agreed
so heartily in their abuse of you,

that the ice was broken.

And when I informed the ladies and
gentlemen that I had found the key

and it was borne in on them that you
were having that long ride for nothing,

there was a noticeable lessening of
tension.

Oh, there was, was there?

Of course, rain was a bonus.

Of course.

As soon as the storm began,

their animosity vanished completely.

Mr Glossop and Miss Angela are once
more betrothed, sir.

Oh?

And what about Miss Bassett? Do I
still have to marry her?

No, sir. Miss Bassett is once more
safely affianced to Mr Fink-Nottle.

Phew! Well, praise be, Jeeves.

Indeed, sir.

Although, if you'll forgive me for
saying so, your methods are a little rough.

Well, sir...

one cannot make an omelette without
breaking eggs.

I say... An omelette. Erm...
Do you think you could get me one?

Certainly, sir.

Perhaps with a little half-bot of
something.

Undoubtedly, sir.

Right ho, Jeeves.