Mr. Outwood had
caught sight of the little pile of soot in the grate. He bent down to
inspect it.
"Dear me," he said, "I must remember to have the chimneys swept. It
should have been done before."
Mr. Downing's eye, rolling in a fine frenzy from heaven to earth, from
earth to heaven, also focused itself on the pile of soot; and a thrill
went through him. Soot in the fireplace! Smith washing his hands! ("You
know my methods, my dear Watson. Apply them.")
Mr. Downing's mind at that moment contained one single thought; and that
thought was, "What ho for the chimney!"
He dived forward with a rush, nearly knocking Mr. Outwood off his feet,
and thrust an arm up into the unknown. An avalanche of soot fell upon
his hand and wrist, but he ignored it, for at the same instant his
fingers had closed upon what he was seeking.
"Ah," he said. "I thought as much. You were not quite clever enough,
after all, Smith."
"No, sir," said Psmith patiently. "We all make mistakes."
"You would have done better, Smith, not to have given me all this
trouble. You have done yourself no good by it."
"It's been great fun, though, sir," argued Psmith.
"Fun!" Mr. Downing laughed grimly.
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