know. We'd take in the Museum of Art in the morning, and have a bit of
lunch at some good vegetarian place, and then toddle along to a sacred
concert in the afternoon, and home to an early dinner. We usually
played dominoes after dinner. And then the early bed and the refreshing
sleep. We had a great time. I was awfully sorry when he went away to
Boston."

"Oh! Wilmot is in Boston?"

"Yes. I ought to have let you know, but of course we didn't know where
you were. You were dodging all over the place like a snipe--I mean,
don't you know, dodging all over the place, and we couldn't get at you.
Yes, Motty went off to Boston."

"You're sure he went to Boston?"

"Oh, absolutely." I called out to Jeeves, who was now messing about in
the next room with forks and so forth: "Jeeves, Lord Pershore didn't
change his mind about going to Boston, did he?"

"No, sir."

"I thought I was right. Yes, Motty went to Boston."

"Then how do you account, Mr. Wooster, for the fact that when I went
yesterday afternoon to Blackwell's Island prison, to secure material
for my book, I saw poor, dear Wilmot there, dressed in a striped suit,
seated beside a pile of stones with a hammer in his hands?"

I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came. A chappie has