anour that led me to think that he
had something to communicate.

Nor was I wrong. He tapped me significantly on the knee and spoke:

"Bertie."

"Hullo?"

"Shall I tell you something?"

"Certainly, old bird," I said cordially. "I was just beginning to feel
that the scene could do with a bit more dialogue."

"This business of Angela and me."

"Yes?"

"I've been putting in a lot of solid thinking about it."

"Oh, yes?"

"I have analysed the situation pitilessly, and one thing stands out as
clear as dammit. There has been dirty work afoot."

"I don't get you."

"All right. Let me review the facts. Up to the time she went to Cannes
Angela loved me. She was all over me. I was the blue-eyed boy in every
sense of the term. You'll admit that?"

"Indisputably."

"And directly she came back we had this bust-up."

"Quite."

"About nothing."

"Oh, dash it, old man, nothing? You were a bit tactless, what, about her
shark."

"I was frank and candid about her shark. And that's my point. Do you
seriously believe that a trifling disagreement about sharks would make a
girl hand a man his hat, if her heart were really his?"

"Certainly."

It beats me why he couldn't see it. But then poor old Tuppy has never
been very hot on the finer shades. He's one of those large, tough,
football-playing blokes who lack the more delicate sensibilities, as I've
heard Jeeves call them. Excellent at blocking a punt or walking across an
opponent's face in cleated boots, but not so good when it comes to
understanding the highly-strung female temperament. It simply wouldn't
occur to him that a girl might be prepared to give up her life's
happiness rather than waive her shark.

"Rot! It was just a pretext."

"What was?"

"This shark business. She wanted to get rid of me, and grabbed at the
first excuse."

"No, no."

"I tell you she did."

"But what on earth would she want to get rid of you for?"

"Exactly. That's the very question I asked myself. And here's the answer:
Because she has fallen in love with somebody else. It sticks out a mile.
There's no other possible solution. She goes to Cannes all for me, she
comes back all off me. Obviously during those two months, she must have
transferred her affections to some foul blister she met out there."

"No, no."

"Don't keep saying 'No, no'. She must have done. Well, I'll tell you one
thing, and you can take this as official. If ever I find this slimy,
slithery snake in t