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Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975

"Death at the Excelsior And Other Stories"


Well, you can't go on straining your brain like that forever without
something breaking loose, and one night, just after I had gone to bed,
I got it. Yes, by gad, absolutely got it. And I was so excited that I
hopped out from under the blankets there and then, and rang up old
Archie on the phone.
"Archie, old scout," I said, "can the misses hear what I'm saying? Well
then, don't say anything to give the show away. Keep on saying, 'Yes?
Halloa?' so that you can tell her it was someone on the wrong wire.
I've got it, my boy. All you've got to do to solve the whole problem is
to tell her you've sold one of your pictures. Make the price as big as
you like. Come and lunch with me tomorrow at the club, and we'll settle
the details."
There was a pause, and then Archie's voice said, "Halloa, halloa?" It
might have been a bit disappointing, only there was a tremble in it
which made me understand how happy I had made the old boy. I went back
to bed and slept like a king.
* * * * *
Next day we lunched together, and fixed the thing up. I have never seen
anyone so supremely braced. We examined the scheme from every angle and
there wasn't a flaw in it. The only difficulty was to hit on a
plausible purchaser.


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