Comrade Prebble backed the reluctant Mike into a corner, and, like the
Ancient Mariner, held him with a glittering eye. Psmith and Mr Waller,
in the opposite corner, were looking at something with their heads
close together. Mike definitely abandoned all hope of a rescue from
Psmith, and tried to buoy himself up with the reflection that this
could not last for ever.

Hours seemed to pass, and then at last he heard Psmith's voice saying
good-bye to his host.

He sprang to his feet. Comrade Prebble was in the middle of a sentence,
but this was no time for polished courtesy. He felt that he must get
away, and at once. 'I fear,' Psmith was saying, 'that we must tear
ourselves away. We have greatly enjoyed our evening. You must look us
up at our flat one day, and bring Comrade Prebble. If I am not in,
Comrade Jackson is certain to be, and he will be more than delighted to
hear Comrade Prebble speak further on the subject of which he is such a
master.' Comrade Prebble was understood to say that he would certainly
come. Mr Waller beamed. Mr Richards, still steeped in gloom, shook
hands in silence.

Out in the road, with the front door shut behind them, Mike spoke his
mind.

'Look here, Smith,' he said definitely, 'if being your confidential
secretary and adviser is going to let me in for any more of that sort
of thing, you can jolly well accept my resignation.'

'The orgy was not to your taste?' said Psmith sympathetically.