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diff --git a/old/65172-0.txt b/old/65172-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 861d501..0000000 --- a/old/65172-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9751 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Gentleman of Leisure, by P. G. Wodehouse - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Gentleman of Leisure - -Author: P. G. Wodehouse - -Release Date: April 26, 2021 [eBook #65172] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: D A Alexander, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE *** - - - - - A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE - - - P. G. WODEHOUSE - - - First published by Herbert Jenkins Ltd 1921 - - Copyright 1921 by P. G. Wodehouse - All rights reserved - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. JIMMY MAKES A BET 7 - II. THE NEW PYRAMUS AND THISBE 15 - III. MR. McEACHERN 21 - IV. MOLLY 26 - V. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 30 - VI. AN EXHIBITION PERFORMANCE 36 - VII. GETTING ACQUAINTED 42 - VIII. AT DREEVER 48 - IX. A NEW FRIEND AND AN OLD ONE 53 - X. JIMMY ADOPTS A LAME DOG 60 - XI. AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD 65 - XII. MAKING A START 74 - XIII. SPIKE’S VIEWS 82 - XIV. CHECK, AND A COUNTER MOVE 87 - XV. MR. McEACHERN INTERVENES 95 - XVI. A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED 101 - XVII. JIMMY REMEMBERS SOMETHING, AND HEARS SOMETHING ELSE 110 - XVIII. THE LOCHINVAR METHOD 118 - XIX. ON THE LAKE 124 - XX. A LESSON IN PIQUET 131 - XXI. LOATHSOME GIFTS 138 - XXII. HOW TWO OF A TRADE DID NOT AGREE 141 - XXIII. FAMILY JARS 147 - XXIV. THE TREASURE-SEEKER 157 - XXV. EXPLANATIONS AND AN INTERRUPTION 164 - XXVI. STIRRING TIMES FOR SIR THOMAS 171 - XXVII. A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE 176 - XXVIII. SPENNIE’S HOUR OF CLEAR VISION 185 - XXIX. THE LAST ROUND 190 - XXX. CONCLUSION 198 - - - TO - DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS - WHO - MANY YEARS AGO - PLAYED - “JIMMY” - IN THE DRAMATIZED VERSION - OF THIS NOVEL - - - - - ★ 1 ★ - _Jimmy Makes a Bet_ - - -The main smoking-room of the Strollers’ Club had been filling for the -last half-hour, and was now nearly full. In many ways the Strollers’, -though not the most magnificent, is the pleasantest club in New York. -Its ideals are those of the Savage Club—comfort without pomp—and it is -given over after eleven o’clock at night mainly to the Stage. Everybody -is young, clean-shaven, and full of conversation—and the conversation -strikes a purely professional note. - -Everybody in the room on this July night had come from the theatre. Most -of those present had been acting, but a certain number had been to the -opening performance of the latest better-than-“Raffles” play. There had -been something of a boom that season in dramas whose heroes appealed to -the public more pleasantly across the footlights than they might have -done in real life. In the play which had opened tonight Arthur Mifflin, -an exemplary young man off the stage, had been warmly applauded for a -series of actions which, performed anywhere except in the theatre, would -certainly have debarred him from remaining a member of the Strollers’ or -any other club. In faultless evening dress, with a debonair smile on his -face, he had broken open a safe, stolen bonds and jewellery to a large -amount, and escaped without a blush of shame via the window. He had -foiled a detective through four acts and held up a band of pursuers with -a revolver. A large audience had intimated complete approval throughout. - -“It’s a hit all right,” said somebody through the smoke. - -“These imitation ‘Raffles’ plays always are,” grumbled Willett, who -played bluff fathers in musical comedy. “A few years ago they would have -been scared to death of putting on a show with a criminal hero. Now, it -seems to me, the public doesn’t want anything else. Not that they know -what they do want,” he concluded mournfully. - -_The Belle of Boulogne_, in which Willett sustained the role of Cyrus K. -Higgs, a Chicago millionaire, was slowly fading away on a diet of free -passes, and this possibly prejudiced him. - -Raikes, the character-actor, changed the subject. If Willett once got -started on the wrongs of the ill-fated _Belle_, general conversation -would become impossible. Willett, denouncing the stupidity of the -public, was purely a monologue artiste. - -“I saw Jimmy Pitt at the show,” said Raikes. Everybody displayed -interest. - -“Jimmy Pitt? When did he come back? I thought he was in England?” - -“He came on the _Mauretania_, I suppose. She docked this morning.” - -“Jimmy Pitt?” said Sutton, of the Majestic Theatre. “How long has he -been away? Last I saw of him was at the opening of _The Outsider_, at -the Astor. That’s a couple of months ago.” - -“He’s been travelling in Europe, I believe,” said Raikes. “Lucky beggar -to be able to. I wish I could.” - -Sutton knocked the ash off his cigar. - -“I envy Jimmy,” he said. “I don’t know any one I’d rather be. He’s got -much more money than any man, except a professional plute, has any right -to. He’s as strong as an ox. I shouldn’t say he’d ever had anything -worse than measles in his life. He’s got no relations. And he isn’t -married.” - -Sutton, who had been married three times, spoke with some feeling. - -“He’s a good chap, Jimmy,” said Raikes. “Which considering he’s an -Englishman——” - -“Thanks,” said Mifflin. - -“How’s that? Oh, beg pardon, Arthur; I keep forgetting that you’re one, -too.” - -“I’ll tattoo a Union Jack on my forehead tomorrow.” - -“It’ll improve you,” said Raikes. “But about Jimmy. He’s a good chap, -which—considering he’s an Englishman—is only what you might have -expected. Is that better, Arthur?” - -“Much,” said Mifflin. “Yes, Jimmy is a good chap—one of the best. I’ve -known him for years. I was at school and Cambridge with him. He was -about the most popular man at both. I should say he had put more -deadbeats on their legs again than half the men in New York put -together.” - -“Well,” growled Willett, whom the misfortunes of _The Belle_ had soured, -“what’s there in that? It’s mighty easy to do the philanthropist act -when you’re next door to a millionaire.” - -“Yes,” said Mifflin warmly; “but it’s not so easy when you’re getting -thirty dollars a week on a newspaper. When Jimmy was a reporter on the -_News_ there used to be a whole crowd of fellows just living on him. Not -borrowing an occasional dollar, mind you, but living on him—sleeping on -his sofa and staying to breakfast. It made me mad. I used to ask him why -he stood it. He said there was nowhere else for them to go, and he -thought he could see them through all right. Which he did, though I -don’t see how he managed it on thirty dollars a week.” - -“If a man’s fool enough to be an easy mark——” began Willett. - -“Oh, stop it,” said Raikes. “We don’t want anybody knocking Jimmy here.” - -“All the same,” said Sutton, “it seems to me that it was darned lucky -that he came into that money. You can’t keep open house for ever on -thirty a week. By the way, Arthur, how was that? I heard it was his -uncle.” - -“It wasn’t his uncle,” said Mifflin. “It was by way of being a romance -of sorts, I believe. Fellow who had been in love with Jimmy’s mother -years ago. Went to Australia, made a fortune, and left it to Mrs. Pitt -or her children. She had been dead some time when that happened. Jimmy, -of course, hadn’t a notion of what was coming to him, when suddenly he -got a solicitor’s letter, asking him to call. He rolled round, and found -that there was about five hundred thousand dollars waiting for him to -spend it.” - -Jimmy Pitt had now definitely ousted _Love, the Cracksman_, as a topic -of conversation. Everybody present knew him. Most of them had known him -in his newspaper days; and though every man there would have perished -rather than admit it, they were grateful to Jimmy for being exactly the -same to them now that he could sign a cheque for half a million as he -had been on the old thirty-a-week basis. Inherited wealth, of course, -does not make a young man nobler or more admirable; but the young man -does not always know this. - -“Jimmy’s had a queer life,” said Mifflin. “He’s been pretty nearly -everything in his time. Did you know he was on the stage before he took -up newspaper work? Only in touring companies, I believe. He got tired of -it, and dropped it. That’s always been his trouble. He wouldn’t settle -down to anything. He studied Law at the ’Varsity, but he never kept it -up. After he left the stage he moved all over the States without a cent, -picking up any odd job he could get. He was a waiter once for a couple -of days, but they sacked him for breaking plates. Then he got a job in a -jeweller’s shop. I believe he’s a bit of an expert on jewels. And -another time he made a hundred dollars by staying three rounds against -Kid Brady, when the Kid was touring the country after he got the -championship away from Jimmy Garwin. The Kid was offering a hundred to -anyone who could last three rounds with him. Jimmy did it on his head. -He was the best amateur of his weight I ever saw. The Kid wanted him to -take up scrapping seriously. But Jimmy wouldn’t have stuck to anything -long enough in those days. He’s one of the gipsies of the world. He was -never really happy unless he was on the move, and he doesn’t seem to -have altered since he came into his money.” - -“Well, he can afford to keep on the move now,” said Raikes. “I wish I——” - -“Did you ever hear about Jimmy and——” Mifflin was beginning, when the -Odyssey of Jimmy Pitt was interrupted by the opening of the door and the -entrance of Ulysses in person. - -Jimmy Pitt was a young man of medium height, whose great breadth and -depth of chest made him look shorter than he really was. His jaw was -square and protruded slightly; and this, combined with a certain -athletic jauntiness of carriage and a pair of piercing brown eyes very -much like those of a bull-terrier, gave him an air of aggressiveness -which belied his character. He was not aggressive. He had the good -nature as well as the eyes of a bull-terrier. He also possessed, when -stirred, all the bull-terrier’s dogged determination. - -There were shouts of welcome. - -“Holloa, Jimmy!” - -“When did you get back?” - -“Come and sit down. Plenty of room over here.” - -“Where is my wandering boy to-night?” - -“Waiter! What’s yours, Jimmy?” - -Jimmy dropped into a seat and yawned. - -“Well,” he said, “how goes it? Halloa, Raikes! Weren’t you at _Love, the -Cracksman_? I thought I saw you. Halloa, Arthur! Congratulate you. You -spoke your piece nicely.” - -“Thanks,” said Mifflin. “We were just talking about you, Jimmy. You came -on the _Mauretania_, I suppose?” - -“She didn’t break the record this time,” said Sutton. - -A somewhat pensive look came into Jimmy’s eyes. - -“She came much too quick for me,” he said. “I don’t see why they want to -rip along at that pace,” he went on hurriedly. “I like to have a chance -of enjoying the sea air.” - -“I know that sea air,” murmured Mifflin. - -Jimmy looked up quickly. - -“What are you babbling about, Arthur?” - -“I said nothing,” replied Mifflin suavely. - -“What did you think of the show to-night, Jimmy?” asked Raikes. - -“I liked it. Arthur was fine. I can’t make out, though, why all this -incense is being burned at the feet of the cracksman. To judge by some -of the plays they produce now, you’d think that a man had only to be a -successful burglar to become a national hero. One of these days we shall -have Arthur playing Charles Peace to a cheering house.” - -“It is the tribute,” said Mifflin, “that boneheadedness pays to brains. -It takes brains to be a successful cracksman. Unless the grey matter is -surging about in your cerebrum, as in mine, you can’t hope——” - -Jimmy leaned back in his chair and spoke calmly, but with decision. - -“Any man of ordinary intelligence,” he said, “could break into a house.” - -Mifflin jumped up and began to gesticulate. This was heresy. - -“My dear old son, what absolute——” - -“I could,” said Jimmy, lighting a cigarette. - -There was a roar of laughter and approval. For the past few weeks, -during the rehearsals of _Love, the Cracksman_, Arthur Mifflin had -disturbed the peace at the Strollers’ with his theories on the art of -burglary. This was his first really big part, and he had soaked himself -in it. He had read up the literature of burglary. He had talked with -detectives. He had expounded his views nightly to his brother Strollers, -preaching the delicacy and difficulty of cracking a crib till his -audience had rebelled. It charmed the Strollers to find Jimmy, obviously -of his own initiative, and not to be suspected of having been suborned -to the task by themselves, treading with a firm foot on the expert’s -favourite corn within five minutes of their meeting. - -“You!” said Arthur Mifflin, with scorn. - -“Me—or, rather, I!” - -“You! Why, you couldn’t break into an egg unless it was a poached one.” - -“What’ll you bet?” said Jimmy. - -The Strollers began to sit up and take notice. The magic word “bet”, -when uttered in that room, had rarely failed to add a zest to life. They -looked expectantly to Arthur Mifflin. - -“Go to bed, Jimmy,” said the portrayer of cracksmen. “I’ll come with you -and tuck you in. A nice, strong cup of tea in the morning, and you won’t -know there has ever been anything the matter with you.” - -A howl of disapproval rose from the company. Indignant voices accused -Arthur Mifflin of having a yellow streak. Encouraging voices urged him -not to be a quitter. - -“See! They scorn you!” said Jimmy. “And rightly. Be a man, Arthur. -What’ll you bet?” - -Mr. Mifflin regarded him with pity. - -“You don’t know what you’re taking on, Jimmy,” he said. “You’re half a -century behind the times. You have an idea that all a burglar needs is a -mask, a blue chin, and a dark lantern. I tell you he requires a highly -specialised education. I’ve been talking to these detective fellows, and -I know. Now, take your case, you worm. Have you a thorough knowledge of -chemistry, physics, toxicology——?” - -“Of course I have.” - -“Electricity and microscopy?” - -“You have discovered my secret.” - -“Can you use an oxyacetylene blow-pipe?” - -“I never travel without one.” - -“What do you know about the administration of anaesthetics?” - -“Practically everything. It is one of my favourite hobbies.” - -“Can you make soup?” - -“Soup?” - -“Soup,” said Mr. Mifflin firmly. - -Jimmy raised his eyebrows. - -“Does an architect make bricks?” he said. “I leave the rough, -preliminary work to my corps of assistants. They make my soup.” - -“You mustn’t think Jimmy’s one of your common cracksmen,” said Sutton. -“He’s at the top of his profession. That’s how he made his money. I -never did believe that legacy story.” - -“Jimmy,” said Mr. Mifflin, “couldn’t crack a child’s money-box. Jimmy -couldn’t open a sardine-tin.” Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. - -“What’ll you bet?” he said again. “Come on, Arthur; you’re earning a -very good salary. What’ll you bet?” - -“Make it a dinner for all present,” suggested Raikes, a canny person who -believed in turning the wayside happenings of life, when possible, to -his personal profit. - -The suggestion was well received. - -“All right,” said Mifflin. “How many of us are there? One, two, three, -four. Loser buys a dinner for twelve.” - -“A good dinner,” interpolated Raikes softly. - -“A good dinner,” said Jimmy. “Very well. How long do you give me, -Arthur?” - -“How long do you want?” - -“There ought to be a time limit,” said Raikes. “It seems to me that an -expert like Jimmy ought to be able to manage it at short notice. Why not -to-night? Nice, fine night. If Jimmy doesn’t crack a crib to-night, it’s -up to him. That suit you, Jimmy?” - -“Perfectly.” - -Willett interposed. Willett had been endeavouring to drown his sorrows -all the evening, and the fact was a little noticeable in his speech. - -“See here,” he said; “how’s J-Jimmy going to prove he’s done it?” - -“Personally, I can take his word,” said Mifflin. - -“That be h-hanged for a tale. Wha-what’s to prevent him saying he’s done -it, whether he has or not?” - -The Strollers looked uncomfortable. However, it was Jimmy’s affair. - -“Why, you’d get your dinner in any case,” said Jimmy. “A dinner from any -host would smell as sweet.” - -Willett persisted with muddled obstinacy. - -“Thash—thash not point. It’s principle of thin. Have thish thing square -and ’bove-board, I say. Thash what I say.” - -“And very creditable to you being able to say it,” said Jimmy cordially. -“See if you can manage ‘Truly rural.’” - -“What I say is this. Jimmy’s a fakir. And what I say is, what’s prevent -him saying he’s done it when hasn’t done it?” - -“That’ll be all right,” said Jimmy. “I’m going to bury a brass tube with -the Stars and Stripes in it under the carpet.” - -“Thash quite shfactory,” said Willett, with dignity. - -“Or, a better idea,” said Jimmy, “I’ll carve a big J on the inside of -the front door. Well, I’m off home. Anybody coming my way?” - -“Yes,” said Mifflin. “We’ll walk. First nights always make me as jumpy -as a cat. If I don’t walk my legs off I shan’t get to sleep to-night at -all.” - -“If you think I’m going to help you walk your legs off, my lad, you’re -mistaken. I propose to stroll gently home and go to bed.” - -“Every little helps,” said Mifflin. “Come along.” - -“You want to keep an eye on that man Jimmy, Arthur,” said Sutton. “He’d -sand-bag you and lift your watch as soon as look at you. I believe he’s -Arsène Lupin in disguise.” - - - - - ★ 2 ★ - _The New Pyramus and Thisbe_ - - -The two men turned up the street. They walked in silence. Arthur Mifflin -was going over in his mind such outstanding events of the evening as he -remembered—the nervousness, the relief of finding that he was gripping -his audience, the growing conviction that he had made good—while Jimmy -seemed to be thinking his own private thoughts. They had gone some -distance before either spoke. - -“Who is she, Jimmy?” asked Mifflin. - -Jimmy came out of his thoughts with a start. - -“What’s that?” - -“Who is she?” - -“I don’t know what you mean.” - -“Yes, you do! The sea air. Who is she?” - -“I don’t know,” said Jimmy simply. - -“You don’t know? Well, what’s her name?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Doesn’t the _Mauretania_ still print a passenger list?” - -“She does.” - -“And you couldn’t find out her name in five days?” - -“No.” - -“And that’s the man who thinks he can burgle a house!” said Mifflin -despairingly. - -They had arrived now at the building on the second floor of which was -Jimmy’s flat. - -“Coming in?” said Jimmy. - -“Well, I was rather thinking of pushing on as far as the park. I tell -you, I feel all on wires.” - -“Come in and smoke a cigar. You’ve got all night before you if you want -to do Marathons. I haven’t seen you for a couple of months. I want you -to tell me all the news.” - -“There isn’t any. Nothing happens in New York. The papers say things do, -but they don’t. However, I’ll come in. It seems to me that you’re the -man with the news.” - -Jimmy fumbled with his latch-key. - -“You’re a bright sort of burglar,” said Mifflin disparagingly. “Why -don’t you use your oxyacetylene blow-pipe? Do you realise, my boy, that -you’ve let yourself in for buying a dinner for twelve hungry men next -week? In the cold light of the morning, when Reason returns to her -throne, that’ll come home to you.” - -“I haven’t done anything of the sort,” said Jimmy, unlocking the door. - -“Don’t tell me you really mean to try it.” - -“What else did you think I was going to do?” - -“But you can’t. You would get caught for a certainty. And what are you -going to do then? Say it was all a joke? Suppose they fill you full of -bullet-holes? Nice sort of fool you’ll look appealing to some outraged -householder’s sense of humour, while he pumps you full of lead with a -Colt!” - -“These are the risks of the profession. You ought to know that, Arthur. -Think what you went through to-night.” - -Arthur Mifflin looked at his friend with some uneasiness. He knew how -entirely reckless he could be when he had set his mind on accomplishing -anything. Jimmy, under the stimulus of a challenge, ceased to be a -reasonable being, amenable to argument. And in the present case he knew -that Willett’s words had driven the challenge home. Jimmy was not the -man to sit still under the charge of being a “fakir,” no matter whether -his accuser had been sober or drunk. - -Jimmy, meanwhile, had produced whisky and cigars, and was lying on his -back on the lounge, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. - -“Well?” said Arthur Mifflin at length. - -“Well? What?” - -“What I meant was, is this silence to be permanent, or are you going to -begin shortly to amuse, elevate, and instruct? Something’s happened to -you, Jimmy. There was a time when you were a bright little chap, a -fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Where be your gibes -now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont -to set the table in a roar when you were paying for the dinner? You -remind me more of a deaf-mute celebrating the Fourth of July with -noiseless powder than anything else on earth. Wake up, or I shall go. -Jimmy, we were boys together. Tell me about this girl—the girl you loved -and were idiot enough to lose.” - -Jimmy drew a deep breath. - -“Very well,” said Mifflin complacently; “sigh if you like—it’s better -than nothing.” - -Jimmy sat up. - -“Yes, dozens of times,” said Mifflin. - -“What do you mean?” - -“You were just going to ask me if I had ever been in love, weren’t you?” - -“I wasn’t, because I know you haven’t. You have no soul. You don’t know -what love is.” - -“Have it your own way,” said Mifflin resignedly. - -Jimmy bumped back on to the sofa. - -“I don’t either,” he said. “That’s the trouble.” - -Mifflin looked interested. - -“I know,” he said. “You’ve got that strange premonitory fluttering, when -the heart seems to thrill within you like some baby bird singing its -first song, when——” - -“Oh, shut up!” - -“When you ask yourself timidly, ‘Is it? Can it really be?’ and answer -shyly, ‘No. Yes. I believe it is.’ I’ve been through it dozens of times. -It is a recognised early symptom. Unless prompt measures are taken it -will develop into something acute. In these matters stand on your Uncle -Arthur. He knows.” - -“You make me tired,” said Jimmy briefly. - -“You have our ear,” said Mifflin kindly. “Tell me all.” - -“There’s nothing to tell.” - -“Don’t lie, James.” - -“Well, practically nothing.” - -“That’s better.” - -“It was like this.” - -“Good!” - -Jimmy wriggled himself into a more comfortable position and took a sip -from his glass. - -“I didn’t see her till the second day out.” - -“I know that second day out. Well?” - -“We didn’t really meet at all.” - -“Just happened to be going to the same spot, eh?” - -“As a matter of fact, it was like this. Like a fool, I’d bought a -second-class ticket.” - -“What? Our young Rockerbilt Astergould, the boy millionaire, travelling -second-class! Why?” - -“I had an idea it would be better fun. Everybody’s so much more cheery -in the second cabin. You get to know people so much quicker. Nine trips -out of ten I’d much rather go second.” - -“And this was the tenth?” - -“She was in the first cabin,” said Jimmy. - -Mifflin clutched his forehead. - -“Wait!” he cried. “This reminds me of something—something in -Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet? No. I’ve got it!—Pyramus and Thisbe.” - -“I don’t see the slightest resemblance.” - -“Read your _Midsummer Night’s Dream_. ‘Pyramus and Thisbe,’ says the -story, ‘did talk through the chink of a wall,’” quoted Mifflin. - -“We didn’t.” - -“Don’t be so literal. You talked across a railing.” - -“We didn’t.” - -“Do you mean to say you didn’t talk at all?” - -“We didn’t say a single word.” - -Mifflin shook his head sadly. - -“I give you up,” he said. “I thought you were a man of enterprise. What -did you do?” - -Jimmy sighed softly. - -“I used to stand and smoke against the railing opposite the barber’s -shop, and she used to walk round the deck.” - -“And you used to stare at her?” - -“I would look in her direction sometimes,” corrected Jimmy, with -dignity. - -“Don’t quibble! You stared at her. You behaved like a common -rubber-neck, and you know it. I am no prude, James, but I feel compelled -to say that I consider your conduct that of a libertine. Used she to -walk alone?” - -“Generally.” - -“And now you love her, eh? You went on board that ship happy, careless, -heart-free. You came off it grave and saddened. Thenceforth for you the -world could contain but one woman, and her you had lost.” - -He groaned in a hollow and bereaved manner, and took a sip from his -glass to buoy him up. - -Jimmy moved restlessly on the sofa. - -“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked fatuously. He was in -the mood when a man says things the memory of which makes him wake up -hot all over for nights to come. - -“I don’t see what first sight’s got to do with it,” said Mifflin. -“According to your own statement, you stood and glared at the girl for -five days without stopping for a moment. I can quite imagine that you -might glare yourself into love with anyone by the end of that time.” - -“I can’t see myself settling down,” said Jimmy thoughtfully. “And until -you feel that you want to settle down, I suppose you can’t be really in -love.” - -“I was saying practically that about you at the club just before you -came in. My somewhat neat expression was that you were one of the -gipsies of the world.” - -“By George, you’re quite right!” - -“I always am.” - -“I suppose it’s having nothing to do. When I was on the _News_ I was -never like this.” - -“You weren’t on the _News_ long enough to get tired of it.” - -“I feel now I can’t stay in a place more than a week. It’s having this -money that does it, I suppose.” - -“New York,” said Mifflin, “is full of obliging persons who will be -delighted to relieve you of the incubus. Well, James, I shall leave you. -I feel more like bed now. By the way, I suppose you lost sight of this -girl when you landed?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, there aren’t so many girls in the United States. Only twenty -million. Or is it forty million? Something small. All you’ve got to do -is to search about a bit. Good night.” - -“Good night.” - -Mr. Mifflin clattered down the stairs. A minute later the sound of his -name being called loudly from the street brought Jimmy to the window. -Mifflin was standing on the pavement below, looking up. - -“Jimmy?” - -“What’s the matter now?” - -“I forgot to ask. Was she a blonde?” - -“What?” - -“Was she a blonde?” yelled Mifflin. - -“No,” snapped Jimmy. - -“Dark, eh?” bawled Mifflin, making night hideous. - -“Yes,” said Jimmy, shutting the window. - -“Jimmy! I say, Jimmy!” - -The window went up again. - -“Well?” - -“I prefer blondes myself.” - -“Go to bed!” - -“Very well. Good night.” - -“Good night.” - -Jimmy withdrew his head, and sat down on the chair Mifflin had vacated. -A moment later he rose and switched off the light. It was pleasanter to -sit and think in the dark. His thoughts wandered off in many channels, -but always came back to the girl on the _Mauretania_. It was absurd, of -course. He didn’t wonder that Arthur Mifflin had treated the thing as a -joke. Good old Arthur! Glad he had made a success. But was it a joke? -Who was it said that the point of a joke was like the point of a -needle—so small that it is apt to disappear entirely when directed -straight at oneself? If anybody else had told him such a limping romance -he would have laughed himself. Only when you are the centre of a -romance, however limping, you see it from a different angle. Of course, -told baldly, it was absurd. He could see that. But something right at -the back of his mind told him that it was not altogether absurd. And -yet—— Love didn’t come like that—in a flash. You might just as well -expect a house to spring into being in a moment. Or a ship. Or an -automobile. Or a table. Or a—— He sat up with a jerk. In another instant -he would have been asleep. - -He thought of bed, but bed seemed a long way off—the deuce of a way. -Acres of carpet to be crawled over, and then the dickens of a climb at -the end of it. Besides undressing. Nuisance—undressing. That was a nice -dress that girl had worn on the fourth day out. Tailor-made. He liked -tailor-mades. He liked all her dresses. He liked her. Had she liked him? -So hard to tell if you don’t get a chance of speaking. She was dark. -Arthur liked blondes. Arthur was a fool! Good old Arthur! Glad he had -made a success! Now he could marry if he liked. If he wasn’t so -restless. If he didn’t feel that he couldn’t stop more than a day in any -place. But would the girl have him? If they had never spoken it made it -so hard to—— - -At this point he fell asleep. - - - - - ★ 3 ★ - _Mr. McEachern_ - - -At the time when Jimmy slept in his chair, previous to being aroused -from his slumbers by the invasion of Spike, a certain Mr. John -McEachern, Captain of Police was seated in the parlour of his up-town -villa, reading. He was a man built on a large scale. Everything about -him was large—his hands, his feet, his shoulders, his chest, and -particularly his jaw—which even in his moments of calm was aggressive, -and which stood out, when anything happened to ruffle him, like the ram -of a battleship. In his patrolman days, which had been passed mainly on -the East Side, this jaw of his had acquired a reputation from Park Row -to Fourteenth Street. No gang-fight, however absorbing, could retain the -undivided attention of the young blood of the Bowery when Mr. -McEachern’s jaw hove in sight, with the rest of his massive person in -close attendance. He was a man who knew no fear, and he had gone through -disorderly mobs like an east wind. - -But there was another side to his character. In fact, that other side -was so large that the rest of him, his readiness in combat and his zeal -in breaking up public disturbances, might be said to have been only an -offshoot. For his ambition was as large as his fist and as aggressive as -his jaw. He had entered the Force with the single idea of becoming rich, -and had set about achieving his object with a strenuous vigour that was -as irresistible as his mighty locust-stick. Some policemen are born -grafters, some achieve graft, and some have graft thrust upon them. Mr. -McEachern had begun by being the first, had risen to the second, and for -some years now had been a prominent member of the small and -hugely-prosperous third-class, the class which does not go out seeking -graft, but sits at home and lets graft come to them. - -Though neither his name nor his financial methods suggested it, Mr. -McEachern was by birth an English gentleman. His complete history would -take long to write. Abridged, it may be told as follows. His real name -was John Forrest, and he was the only son of one Eustace Forrest, at one -time a major in the Guards. His only other relative was Edward, -Eustace’s elder brother, a bachelor. When Mrs. Eustace died, four years -after the marriage, the widower, having spent eighteen months at Monte -Carlo working out an infallible system for breaking the bank, to the -great contentment of M. Blanc and the management in general, proceeded -to the gardens, where he shot himself in the orthodox way, leaving many -liabilities, no assets, and one son. - -Edward, by this time a man of substance in Lombard Street, adopted John, -and sent him to a series of schools, beginning with a kindergarten and -ending with Eton. - -Unfortunately, Eton had demanded from John a higher standard of conduct -than he was prepared to supply, and a week after his eighteenth birthday -his career as an Etonian closed prematurely. Edward Forrest thereupon -delivered his ultimatum. John could choose between the smallest of small -posts in his uncle’s business and £100 in bank-notes, coupled with the -usual hand-washing and disowning. John had reached out for that money -almost before the words had left his uncle’s mouth. He left for -Liverpool that day and for New York on the morrow. - -He spent his hundred pounds, tried his hand without success at one or -two odd jobs, and finally fell in with a friendly policeman, who, -observing the young man’s physique, which even then was impressive, -suggested that he should join the Force. The policeman, whose name was -O’Flaherty, having talked the matter over with two other policemen whose -names were O’Rourke and Muldoon, strongly recommended that he should -change his name to something Irish, the better to equip him for his new -profession. Accordingly, John Forrest ceased to be and Patrolman J. -McEachern was born. - -In his search for wealth he had been content to abide his time. He did -not want the trifling sum which every New York policeman acquires. His -object was something bigger, and he was prepared to wait for it. He knew -that small beginnings were an annoying but unavoidable preliminary to -all great fortunes. Probably Captain Kidd had started in a small way. -Certainly Mr. Rockefeller had. He was content to follow in the footsteps -of the masters. - -A patrolman’s opportunities of amassing wealth are not great. Mr. -McEachern had made the best of a bad job. He had not disdained the -dollars which came as single spies rather than in battalions. Until the -time should arrive when he might angle for whales he was prepared to -catch sprats. - -Much may be done, even on a small scale, by perseverance. In those early -days Mr. McEachern’s observant eye had not failed to notice certain -pedlars who obstructed the traffic, divers tradesmen who did the same by -the pavement, and restaurant-keepers not a few with a distaste for -closing at one o’clock in the morning. His researches in this field were -not unprofitable. In a reasonably short space of time he had put by the -$3,000 which were the price of his promotion to detective-sergeant. He -did not like paying $3,000 for promotion, but there must be sinking of -capital if an investment is to prosper. Mr. McEachern “came across”, and -climbed one more step up the ladder. - -As detective-sergeant he found his horizon enlarged. There was more -scope for a man of parts. Things moved more rapidly. The world seemed -full of philanthropists anxious to “dress his front” and do him other -little kindnesses. Mr. McEachern was no churl. He let them dress his -front; he accepted the little kindnesses. Presently he found that he had -$15,000 to spare for any small flutter that might take his fancy. -Singularly enough, this was the precise sum necessary to make him a -captain. - -He became a captain. And it was then that he discovered that El Dorado -was no mere poet’s dream, and that Tom Tiddler’s Ground, where one might -stand picking up gold and silver, was as definite a locality as Brooklyn -or the Bronx. At last, after years of patient waiting, he stood like -Moses on the mountain, looking down into the Promised Land. He had come -to where the big money was. - -The book he was reading now was the little note-book in which he kept a -record of his investments, which were numerous and varied. That the -contents were satisfactory was obvious at a glance. The smile on his -face, and the reposeful position of his jaw were proof enough of that. -There were notes relating to house property, railroad shares, and a -dozen other profitable things. He was a rich man. - -This was a fact which was entirely unsuspected by his neighbours, with -whom he maintained somewhat distant relations, accepting no invitations -and giving none. For Mr. McEachern was playing a big game. Other eminent -buccaneers in his walk of life had been content to be rich men in a -community where moderate means were the rule. But about Mr. McEachern -there was a touch of the Napoleonic. He meant to get back into -society—the society of England. Other people have noted the fact—which -had impressed itself very firmly on the policeman’s mind—that between -England and the United States there are 3,000 miles of deep water. In -the United States he would be a retired police-captain; in England an -American gentleman of large and independent means with a beautiful -daughter. - -That was the ruling impulse in his life—his daughter Molly. Though, if -he had been a bachelor, he would certainly not have been satisfied to -pursue a humble career aloof from graft; on the other hand, if it had -not been for Molly he would not have felt, as he gathered in his -dishonest wealth, that he was conducting a sort of Holy War. Ever since -his wife had died, in his detective-sergeant days, leaving him with a -year-old daughter, his ambitions had been inseparably connected with -Molly. - -All his thoughts were on the future. This New York life was only a -preparation for the splendours to come. He spent not a dollar -unnecessarily. When Molly was home from school they lived together -simply and quietly in the small house which Molly’s taste made so -comfortable. The neighbours, knowing his profession and seeing the -modest scale on which he lived, told each other that here, at any rate, -was a policeman whose hands were clean of graft. They did not know of -the stream that poured week by week and year by year into his bank, to -be diverted at intervals into the most profitable channels. Until the -time should come for the great change, economy was his motto. The -expenses of his home were kept within the bounds of his official salary. -All extras went to swell his savings. - -He closed his book with a contented sigh and lit another cigar. Cigars -were his only personal luxury. He drank nothing, ate the simplest food, -and made a suit of clothes last for quite an unusual length of time; but -no passion for economy could make him deny himself smoke. - -He sat on, thinking. It was very late, but he did not feel ready for -bed. A great moment had arrived in his affairs. For days Wall Street had -been undergoing one of its periodical fits of jumpiness. There had been -rumours and counter-rumours, until finally from the confusion there had -soared up like a rocket the one particular stock in which he was most -largely interested. He had unloaded that morning, and the result had -left him slightly dizzy. The main point to which his mind clung was that -the time had come at last. He could make the great change now at any -moment that suited him. - -He was blowing clouds of smoke and gloating over this fact when the door -opened, admitting a bull-terrier, a bulldog, and in the wake of the -procession a girl in a kimono and red slippers. - - - - - ★ 4 ★ - _Molly_ - - -“Why, Molly,” said the policeman, “what are you doing out of bed? I -thought you were asleep.” - -He placed a huge arm round her and drew her on to his lap. As she sat -there his great bulk made her seem smaller than she really was. With her -hair down, and her little red slippers dangling half a yard from the -floor, she seemed a child. McEachern, looking at her, found it hard to -realise that nineteen years had passed since the moment when the -doctor’s raised eyebrows had reproved him for his monosyllabic reception -of the news that the baby was a girl. - -“Do you know what the time is?” he said. “Two o’clock.” - -“Much too late for you to be sitting here smoking,” said Molly severely. -“How many cigars do you smoke a day? Suppose you had married some one -who wouldn’t let you smoke!” - -“Never stop your husband smoking, my dear. That’s a bit of advice for -you when you’re married.” - -“I’m never going to marry. I’m going to stop at home and darn your -socks.” - -“I wish you could,” he said, drawing her closer to him. “But one of -these days you’re going to marry a prince. And now run back to bed. It’s -much too late——” - -“It’s no good, father dear. I couldn’t get to sleep. I’ve been trying -hard for hours. I’ve counted sheep till I nearly screamed. It’s Rastus’s -fault; he snores so.” - -Mr. McEachern regarded the erring bulldog sternly. - -“Why do you have the brutes in your room?” - -“Why, to keep the boogaboos from getting me of course. Aren’t you afraid -of the boogaboos getting you? But you’re so big, you wouldn’t mind. -You’d just hit them. And they’re not brutes—are you, darlings? You’re -angels, and you nearly burst yourselves with joy because auntie had come -back from England, didn’t you? Father, did they miss me when I was gone? -Did they pine away?” - -“They got like skeletons. We all did.” - -“You?” - -“I should say so.” - -“Then why did you send me away?” - -“I wanted you to see the country. Did you like it?” - -“I hated being away from you.” - -“But you liked the country?” - -“I loved it.” - -McEachern drew a breath of relief. The only possible obstacle to the -great change did not exist. - -“How would you like to go back to England, Molly?” - -“To England. When I’ve just come home?” - -“If I went, too?” - -Molly twisted round so that she could see his face better. - -“There’s something the matter with you, father. You’re trying to say -something, and I want to know what it is. Tell me quick, or I’ll make -Rastus bite you!” - -“It won’t take long, dear. I’ve been lucky in some investments while you -were away, and I’m going to leave the Force, and take you over to -England and find a prince for you to marry—if you think you would like -it.” - -“Father! It’ll be perfectly splendid!” - -She kissed him. - -“What are you looking so thoughtful about, father?” - -“Molly, I want to tell you something I have never told you before. I am -English. I only took the name McEachern because they thought it would -help me in the Force. Our real name is Forrest.” - -“Father! But why haven’t you ever told me before?” - -“I was afraid you might ask questions and find out things.” - -She looked quickly at him. - -“I was sent to America,” he went on, “because I was expelled from school -for stealing.” - -There was a silence. She caught the arm that was round her waist and -gave it a little squeeze. - -“What does it matter what you did when you were only a boy?” she said. - -He did not look at her. There was a dull flush on his cheeks. - -“We’ll go home, Molly,” he said. “I had a place in society over there -till I threw it away, and, by Heaven, I’m going to get it back for you. -You shall have a fair show, whatever I may have done. We shall not take -the old name again. None of the return of the black sheep for me! I -won’t have people looking down on you because your father——” - -“But, father dear, it was so long ago. What does it matter? Who would -remember?” - -“Never mind. I couldn’t risk it. They might say what they pleased about -me, but you’re going to start fair. Who’s to recognise me after all -these years? I’m just John McEachern from America, and if anybody wants -to know anything about me, I’m a man who has made money on Wall -Street—and that’s no lie—and has come over to England to spend it.” -Molly gave his arm another squeeze. Her eyes were wet. - -“Father dear,” she whispered, “I believe you’ve been doing it all for -me. You’ve been slaving away for me ever since I was born, stinting -yourself and saving money just so that I could have a good time later -on.” - -“No, no!” - -“It’s true,” she said. She turned on him with a tremulous laugh. “I -don’t believe you’ve had enough to eat for years. I believe you’re all -skin and bone. Never mind. To-morrow I’ll take you out and buy you the -best dinner you’ve ever had out of my own money. We’ll go to the Ritz, -and you shall start at the top of the menu and go straight down till -you’ve had enough.” - -“That will make up for everything. And now don’t you think you ought to -be going to bed? You’ll be losing all that color you got on the ship.” - -“Soon. Not just yet. I haven’t seen you for such ages.” She pointed at -the bull-terrier. “Look at Tommy, standing there and staring. He can’t -believe I’ve really come back. Father, there was a man on the -_Mauretania_ with eyes exactly like Tommy’s—all brown and bright—and he -used to stand and stare just like Tommy’s doing.” - -“If I had been there,” said her father wrathfully, “I’d have knocked his -head off.” - -“No, you wouldn’t, because I’m sure he was really a very nice young man. -He had a chin rather like yours, father. Besides, you couldn’t have got -at him to knock his head off, because he was travelling second-class.” - -“Second-class? Then you didn’t talk with him?” - -“We couldn’t. You wouldn’t expect him to shout at me across the railing! -Only whenever I walked round the deck he seemed to be there.” - -“Staring?” - -“He may not have been staring at me. Probably he was just looking the -way the ship was going, and thinking of some girl in New York. I don’t -think you can make much of a romance out of it, father.” - -“I don’t want to, my dear. Princes don’t travel in the second cabin.” - -“He may have been a prince in disguise.” - -“More likely a commercial traveller,” grunted Mr. McEachern. - -“Commercial travellers are often quite nice.” - -“Princes are nicer.” - -“Well, I’ll go to bed and dream of the nicest one I can think of. Come -along, dogs. Stop biting my slipper, Tommy. Why can’t you behave like -Rastus? Still, you don’t snore, do you? Aren’t you going to bed soon, -father? I believe you’ve been sitting up late and getting into all sorts -of bad habits while I’ve been away. I’m sure you have been smoking too -much. When you’ve finished that cigar you’re not even to think of -another till to-morrow. Promise!” - -“Not one!” - -“Not one. I’m not going to have my father getting like the people you -read about in the magazine advertisements. You don’t want to feel sudden -shooting pains, do you?” - -“No, my dear.” - -“And have to take some awful medicine?” - -“No.” - -“Then promise.” - -“Very well, my dear. I promise.” - -As the door closed he threw away the stump he was smoking, and remained -for a few moments in thought. - -Then he drew another cigar from his case, lit it, and resumed the study -of the little note-book. - - - - - ★ 5 ★ - _A Thief in the Night_ - - -How long the light had been darting about the room like a -very-much-enlarged firefly Jimmy did not know. It seemed to him like -hours, for it had woven itself into an incoherent waking dream of his; -and for a moment, as the mists of sleep passed away from his brain, he -fancied that he was dreaming still. Then sleep left him, and he realised -that the light, which was now moving slowly across the bookcase, was a -real light. - -That the man behind it could not have been there long was plain, or he -would have seen the chair and its occupant. He seemed to be taking the -room step by step. As Jimmy sat up noiselessly, and gripped the arms of -the chair in readiness for a spring, the light passed from the bookcase -to the table. Another foot or so to the left, and it would have fallen -on Jimmy. - -On it came. From the position of the ray Jimmy could see that the -burglar was approaching on his side of the table. Though, until that -day, he had not been in the room for two months, its geography was -clearly stamped on his mind’s eye. He knew almost to a foot where his -visitor was standing. Consequently when, rising swiftly from the chair -he made a football dive into the darkness, it was no speculative dive. -It had a conscious aim, and it was not restrained by any uncertainty as -to whether the road to the burglar’s knees was clear or not. - -His shoulder bumped into a human leg. His arms closed instantaneously on -it and pulled. There was a yelp of dismay and a crash. The lantern -bounced away across the room and wrecked itself on the roof of the -steam-heater. Its owner collapsed in a heap on top of Jimmy. - -Jimmy, underneath at the fall, speedily put himself uppermost with a -twist of his body. He had every advantage. The burglar was a small man, -and had been taken very much by surprise, and any fight there might have -been in him in normal circumstances had been shaken out of him by the -fall. He lay still, not attempting to struggle. - -Jimmy half rose and, pulling his prisoner by inches to the door, felt up -the wall till he found the electric-light button. - -The yellow glow which flooded the room disclosed a short, stocky youth -of obviously Bowery extraction. A shock of vivid red hair was the first -thing about him that caught the eye. A poet would have described it as -Titian. Its proprietor’s friends and acquaintances probably called it -“carrots”. Looking up at Jimmy from under this wealth of crimson was a -not unpleasing face. It was not handsome certainly, but there were -suggestions of a latent good-humour. The nose had been broken at one -period of its career, and one of the ears was undeniably of the -cauliflower type; but these are little accidents which may happen to any -high-spirited young gentleman. In costume the visitor had evidently been -guided rather by individual taste than by the dictates of fashion. His -coat was of rusty-black, his trousers of grey, picked out with stains of -various colours. Beneath the coat was a faded red-and-white sweater. A -hat of soft felt lay on the floor by the table. - -The cut of the coat was poor, and the sit of it spoiled by a bulge in -one of the pockets. Diagnosing this bulge correctly, Jimmy inserted his -hand and drew out a dingy revolver. - -“Well?” he said, rising. - -Like most people, he had often wondered what he should do if he were to -meet a burglar; and he had always come to the conclusion that curiosity -would be his chief emotion. His anticipations had proved perfectly -correct. Now that he had abstracted his visitor’s gun he had no wish to -do anything but engage him in conversation. A burglar’s life was -something so entirely outside his experience. He wanted to learn the -burglar’s point of view. Incidentally, he reflected with amusement, as -he recalled his wager, he might pick up a few useful hints. - -The man on the floor sat up and rubbed the back of his head ruefully. - -“Gee!” he muttered. “I t’ought some guy had t’rown de building at me.” - -“It was only little me,” said Jimmy. “Sorry if I hurt you at all. You -really want a mat for that sort of thing.” - -The man’s hand went furtively to his pocket. Then his eye caught sight -of the revolver, which Jimmy had placed on the table. With a sudden dash -he seized it. - -“Now den, boss!” he said, between his teeth. - -Jimmy extended his hand towards him and unclasped it. Six cartridges lay -in the palm. - -“Why worry?” he said. “Sit down and let us talk of life.” - -“It’s a fair cop, boss,” said the man resignedly. - -“Away with melancholy,” said Jimmy. “I’m not going to call the police. -You can go whenever you like.” - -The man stared. - -“I mean it,” said Jimmy. “What’s the trouble? I’ve no grievance. I wish, -though, if you haven’t any important engagement, you would stop and talk -awhile first.” - -A broad grin spread itself across the other’s face. There was something -singularly engaging about him when he grinned. - -“Gee! If youse ain’t goin’ to call de cops, I’ll talk till de chickens -roost again.” - -“Talking, however,” said Jimmy, “is dry work. Are you a teetotaller?” - -“What’s dat? Me? On your way, boss!” - -“Then you’ll find a pretty decent whisky in that decanter. Help -yourself. I think you’ll like it.” - -A musical gurgling, followed by a contented sigh, showed that the -statement had been tested and proved correct. - -“Cigar?” asked Jimmy. - -“Me fer dat,” assented his visitor. - -“Take a handful.” - -“I eats dem alive,” said the marauder jovially, gathering in the spoils. - -Jimmy crossed his legs. - -“By the way,” he said, “let there be no secrets between us. What’s your -name? Mine is Pitt—James Willoughby Pitt.” - -“Mullins is my monaker, boss. Spike, dey calls me.” - -“And you make a living at this sort of thing?” - -“Not so bad.” - -“How did you get in here?” - -Spike Mullins grinned. - -“Gee! Ain’t de window open?” - -“If it hadn’t been?” - -“I’d a’ busted it.” - -Jimmy eyed him fixedly. - -“Can you use an oxyacetylene blow-pipe?” he demanded. - -Spike was on the point of drinking. He lowered his glass and gaped. - -“What’s dat?” he said. - -“An oxyacetylene blow-pipe.” - -“Search me,” said Spike blankly. “Dat gets past me.” - -Jimmy’s manner grew more severe. - -“Can you make soup?” - -“Soup, boss?” - -“He doesn’t know what soup is,” said Jimmy despairingly. “My good man, -I’m afraid you have missed your vocation. You have no business to be -trying to burgle. You don’t know the first thing about the game.” - -Spike was regarding him with furtive disquiet over his glass. Till now -the red-haired one had been very well satisfied with his methods, but -criticism was beginning to sap his nerve. He had heard tales of masters -of his craft who made use of fearsome implements such as Jimmy had -mentioned; burglars who had an airy acquaintanceship, bordering on -insolent familiarity, with the marvels of science; men to whom the -latest inventions were as familiar as his own jemmy was to himself. -Could this be one of that select band? Jimmy began to take on a new -aspect in his eyes. - -“Spike,” said Jimmy. - -“Huh!” - -“Have you a thorough knowledge of chemistry, physics——” - -“On your way, boss!” - -“Toxicology——” - -“Search me!” - -“Electricity and microscopy?” - -“Nine, ten. Dat’s de finish. I’m down and out.” - -Jimmy shook his head sadly. - -“Give up burglary,” he said. “It’s not in your line. Better try -poultry-farming.” - -Spike twiddled his glass, abashed. - -“Now I,” said Jimmy airily, “am thinking of breaking into a house -to-night.” - -“Gee!” exclaimed Spike, his suspicions confirmed at last. “I t’ought -youse was in de game, boss. Sure, you’re de guy dat’s onto all de -curves. I t’ought so all along.” - -“I should like to hear,” said Jimmy amusedly, as one who draws out an -intelligent child, “how you would set about burgling one of those -up-town villas. My own work has been on a somewhat larger scale and on -the other side of the Atlantic.” - -“De odder side?” - -“I have done as much in London as anywhere else,” said Jimmy. “A great -town, London. Full of opportunities for the fine worker. Did you hear of -the cracking of the new Asiatic Bank in Lombard Street?” - -“No, boss,” whispered Spike. “Was dat you?” - -“The police would like an answer to the same question,” he said -self-consciously. “Perhaps you heard nothing of the disappearance of the -Duchess of Havent’s diamonds?” - -“Was dat——?” - -“The thief,” said Jimmy, flicking a speck of dust from his coat-sleeve, -“was discovered to have used an oxyacetylene blow-pipe.” - -The rapturous intake of Spike’s breath was the only sound that broke the -silence. Through the smoke his eyes could be seen slowly widening. - -“But about this villa,” said Jimmy. “I am always interested even in the -humblest sides of the profession. Now, tell me, supposing you were going -to break into a villa, what time of night would you do it?” - -“I always t’inks it’s best either late like dis or when de folks is in -at supper,” said Spike respectfully. - -Jimmy smiled a faint, patronizing smile, and nodded. - -“Well, and what would you do?” - -“I’d rubber around some to see isn’t dere a window open somewheres,” -said Spike diffidently. - -“And if there wasn’t?” - -“I’d climb up de porch and into one of de bedrooms,” said Spike, almost -blushing. He felt like a boy reading his first attempts at original -poetry to an established critic. What would this master cracksman, this -polished wielder of the oxyacetylene blow-pipe, this expert in -toxicology, microscopy, and physics, think of his callow outpourings? - -“How would you get into the bedroom?” - -Spike hung his head. - -“Bust de catch wit me jemmy,” he whispered shamefacedly. - -“Burst the catch with your jemmy?” - -“It’s de only way I ever learned,” pleaded Spike. - -The expert was silent. He seemed to be thinking. The other watched his -face humbly. - -“How would youse do it, boss?” he ventured timidly, at last. - -“Eh?” - -“How would youse do it?” - -“Why, I’m not sure,” said the master graciously, “whether your way might -not do in a case like that. It’s crude, of course, but with a few -changes it would do.” - -“Gee, boss! Is dat right?” queried the astonished disciple. - -“It would do,” said the master, frowning thoughtfully. “It would do -quite well—quite well.” - -Spike drew a deep breath of joy and astonishment. That his methods -should meet with approval from such a mind! - -“Gee!” he whispered. As who should say, “I am Napoleon.” - - - - - ★ 6 ★ - _An Exhibition Performance_ - - -Cold reason may disapprove of wagers, but without a doubt there is -something joyous and lovable in the type of mind which rushes at the -least provocation into the making of them, something smacking of the -spacious days of the Regency. Nowadays the spirit seems to have deserted -England. When Mr. Lloyd George became Premier of Great Britain no -earnest forms were to be observed rolling pea-nuts along the Strand with -a toothpick. When Mr. George is dethroned it is improbable that any -Briton will allow his beard to remain unshaved until his pet party -returns to office. It is in the United States that the wager has found a -home. It is characteristic of some minds to dash into a wager with the -fearlessness of a soldier in a forlorn hope, and, once in, to regard it -almost as a sacred trust. Some men never grow up out of the schoolboy -spirit of “daring”. - -To this class Jimmy Pitt belonged. He was of the same type as the man in -the comic opera who proposed to the lady because somebody bet him he -wouldn’t. There had never been a time when a challenge, a “dare”, had -not acted as a spur to him. In his newspaper days life had been one long -series of challenges. They had been the essence of the business. A story -had not been worth getting unless the getting were difficult. - -With the conclusion of his newspaper life came a certain flatness into -the scheme of things. There were times, many times, when Jimmy was -bored. He hungered for excitement, and life appeared to have so little -to offer. The path of the rich man was so smooth, and it seemed to lead -nowhere. This task of burgling a house was like an unexpected treat to a -child. With an intensity of purpose which should have touched his sense -of humour, but which, as a matter of fact, did not appeal to him as -ludicrous in any way, he addressed himself to the work. The truth was -that Jimmy was one of those men who are charged to the brim with force. -Somehow the force had to find an outlet. If he had undertaken to collect -birds’ eggs, he would have set about it with the same tense energy. - -Spike was sitting on the edge of his chair, dazed but happy, his head -still buzzing from the unhoped-for praise. Jimmy looked at his watch. It -was nearly three o’clock. A sudden idea struck him. The gods had -provided gifts—why not take them? - -“Spike!” - -“Huh?” - -“Would you care to come and crack a crib with me now?” - -“Gee, boss!” - -“Would you?” - -“Surest t’ing you know, boss.” - -“Or, rather,” proceeded Jimmy, “would you care to crack a crib while I -come along with you? Strictly speaking, I am here on vacation, but a -trifle like this isn’t real work. It’s this way,” he explained. “I’ve -taken a fancy to you, Spike, and I don’t like to see you wasting your -time on coarse work. You have the root of the matter in you, and with a -little coaching I could put a polish on you. I wouldn’t do this for -every one, but I hate to see a man bungling who might do better! I want -to see you at work. Come right along and we’ll go up-town and you shall -start in. Don’t get nervous. Just work as you would if I were not there. -I shall not expect too much. Rome was not built in a day. When we are -through I will criticise a few of your mistakes. How does that suit -you?” - -“Gee, boss! Great! And say, I knows just de places. A friend of mine -puts me wise to it. Leastways, I didn’t know he was me friend, but I -falls for him now. It’s a——” - -“Very well, then. One moment, though.” - -He went to the telephone. Before he had left New York on his travels, -Arthur Mifflin had been living at an hotel near Washington Square. It -was probable that he was still there. He called up the number. The -night-clerk was an old acquaintance of his. - -“Hullo, Dixon!” said Jimmy, “is that you? I’m Pitt. Pitt. Yes. I’m back. -How did you guess? Yes, very pleasant, thanks. Has Mr. Mifflin come in -yet? Gone to bed? Never mind, ring him up, will you? Thanks.” Presently -the sleepy and outraged voice of Mr. Mifflin spoke at the other end of -the line. - -“What’s wrong? Who the devil’s that?” - -“My dear Arthur! Where you pick up such expressions I can’t think. Not -from me.” - -“Is that you, Jimmy? What in the name of——” - -“Heavens! what are you kicking about? The night’s yet young. Arthur, -touching that little arrangement we made—cracking that crib, you know. -Are you listening? Have you any objection to my taking an assistant -along with me? I don’t want to do anything contrary to our agreement, -but there’s a young fellow here who’s anxious that I should let him come -along and pick up a few hints. He’s a professional all right. Not in our -class, of course, but quite a fair rough workman. He——Arthur! Arthur! -These are harsh words! Then am I to understand you have no objection? -Very well. Only don’t say later on that I didn’t play fair. Good night.” - -He hung up the receiver and turned to Spike. - -“Ready?” - -“Ain’t youse goin’ to put on your gum-shoes, boss?” - -Jimmy frowned reflectively, as if there was something in what this -novice suggested. He went into the bedroom, and returned wearing a pair -of thin patent leather shoes. - -Spike coughed tentatively. - -“Won’t youse need your gun?” he hazarded. - -Jimmy gave a short laugh. - -“I work with my brains, not guns,” he said. “Let us be going.” - -There was a taxi-cab near by, as there always is in New York. Jimmy -pushed Spike in. - -The luxury of riding in a taxi-cab kept Spike dumb for several miles. At -One Hundred and Fiftieth Street Jimmy stopped the cab and paid the -driver, who took the money with that magnificently aloof air which -characterizes the taxi-chauffeur. A lesser man might have displayed some -curiosity about the ill-matched pair. The chauffeur, having lit a -cigarette, drove off without any display of interest whatsoever. It -might have been part of his ordinary duties to drive gentlemen in -evening clothes and shock-headed youths in parti-coloured sweaters about -the city at three o’clock in the morning. - -“We will now,” said Jimmy, “stroll on and prospect. It might excite -comment if we drove up to the door. It is up to you, Spike. Lead me to -this house you mentioned.” - -They walked on, striking eastward out of Broadway. It caused Jimmy some -surprise to find that much-enduring thoroughfare extended as far as -this. It had never occurred to him before to ascertain what Broadway did -with itself beyond Times Square. He had spent much of his time abroad, -in cities where a street changes its name every hundred yards or so -without any apparent reason. - -It was darker now that they had moved from the centre of things, but it -was still far too light for Jimmy’s tastes. He was content, however, to -leave matters entirely in his companion’s charge. Spike probably had his -method for evading publicity on these occasions. - -Spike, meanwhile, plodded steadily onwards. Block after block he passed, -until finally the houses began to be more scattered. - -At length he stopped outside a fair-sized detached house. As he did so a -single rain-drop descended with a splash on the nape of Jimmy’s neck. In -another moment the shower had begun—jerkily at first, then, as if -warming to its work, with the quiet persistence of a shower-bath. - -“Dis is de place, boss,” said Spike. - -From a burglar’s point of view it was an admirable house. It had no -porch, but there was a handy window only a few feet from the ground. -Spike pulled from his pocket a small bottle and a piece of coarse paper. - -“What’s that?” inquired Jimmy. - -“Treacle, boss,” said Spike deferentially. - -He poured the contents of the bottle on to the paper, which he pressed -firmly against the window-pane. Then, drawing out a short steel -instrument, he gave the paper a sharp tap. The glass beneath broke, -though the sound was almost inaudible. The paper came away with the -glass attached, then Spike inserting his hand in the opening, shot back -the catch and softly pushed up the window. - -“Elementary,” said Jimmy; “elementary, but quite neat.” - -There was now a shutter to be negotiated. This took longer, but in the -end Spike’s persuasive methods prevailed. - -Jimmy became quite cordial. - -“You have been well grounded, Spike,” he said. “And, after all, that is -half the battle. The advice I give to every novice is, ‘Learn to walk -before you try to run.’ Master the A B C of the craft first. With a -little careful coaching you will do. Just so. Pop in.” - -Spike climbed cautiously over the sill, followed by Jimmy. The latter -struck a match and found the electric light switch. They were in a -parlour furnished and decorated with surprising taste. Jimmy had -expected the usual hideousness, but here everything, from the wall-paper -to the smallest ornaments, was wonderfully well selected. - -Business, however, was business. This was no time to stand admiring -artistic efforts in room-furnishing. There was that big J to be carved -on the front door. If ’twere done, then ’twere well ’twere done quickly. - -He was just moving to the door, when from some distant part of the house -came the bark of a dog. Another joined in. The solo became a duet. The -air was filled with their clamour. - -“Gee!” cried Spike. - -The remark seemed more or less to sum up the situation. - -“’Tis sweet,” says Byron, “to hear the watch-dog’s honest bark.” Jimmy -and Spike found two watch-dogs’ honest barks cloying. Spike intimated -this by making a feverish dash for the open window. Unfortunately for -the success of this manoeuvre, the floor of the room was covered, not -with a carpet, but with tastefully scattered rugs, and underneath these -rugs it was very highly polished. Spike, treading on one of these -islands, was instantly undone. No power of will or muscle can save a man -in such a case. Spike skidded. His feet flew from under him. There was a -momentary flash of red hair, as of a passing meteor. The next moment he -had fallen on his back with a thud which shook the house, and probably -the rest of Manhattan Island as well. Even in that crisis the thought -flashed across Jimmy’s mind that this was not Spike’s lucky night. - -Upstairs the efforts of the canine choir had begun to resemble the “A -che la morte” duet in _Il Trovatore_. Particularly good work was being -done by the baritone dog. - -Spike sat up, groaning. Equipped though he was by nature with a skull of -the purest and most solid ivory, the fall had disconcerted him. His -eyes, like those of Shakespeare’s poet, rolling a fine frenzy, did -glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. He passed his fingers -tenderly through his vermilion hair. - -Heavy footsteps were descending the stairs. In the distance the soprano -dog had reached A in alto and was holding it, while his fellow-artiste -executed runs in the lower register. - -“Get up!” hissed Jimmy. “There’s somebody coming! Get up, you idiot, -can’t you?” - -It was characteristic of Jimmy that it never even occurred to him to -desert the fallen one and depart alone. There was once an Italian -convict who, in planning a jail-breaking, assigned to his brother felons -such duties as shooting the governor and strangling the warders, -reserving for himself the task of making “da gran’ escape”. Jimmy was -the exact opposite of this strategist. Spike was his brother-in-arms. He -would as soon have thought of deserting him as a sea-captain would have -abandoned his ship. - -Consequently, as Spike, despite all exhortations, continued to remain on -the floor, rubbing his head and uttering “Gee!” at intervals in a -melancholy voice, Jimmy resigned himself to fate, and stood where he -was, waiting for the door to open. - -It opened the next moment as if a cyclone had been behind it. - - - - - ★ 7 ★ - _Getting Acquainted_ - - -A cyclone entering the room is apt to alter the position of things. This -one shifted a footstool, a small chair, a rug, and Spike. The chair -struck by a massive boot, whirled against the wall. The footstool rolled -away. The rug crumpled up and slid. Spike, with a yell, leaped to his -feet, slipped again, fell, and finally compromised on an all-fours -position, in which attitude he remained, blinking. - -While these stirring acts were in progress there was the sound of a door -opening upstairs, followed by a scuttering of feet and an appalling -increase in the canine contribution to the current noises. The duet had -now taken on quite a Wagnerian effect. - -There raced into the room first a white bull-terrier, he of the soprano -voice, and—a bad second—his fellow-artiste, the baritone, a massive -bulldog, bearing a striking resemblance to the big man with the -revolver. - -And then, in theatrical parlance, the entire company “held the picture”. -Up-stage, with his hand still on the door, stood the large householder; -down-stage Jimmy. Centre, Spike and the bulldog, their noses, a couple -of inches apart, inspected each other with mutual disfavour. On the -extreme O.P. side the bull-terrier, who had fallen foul of a wickerwork -table, was crouching with extended tongue and rolling eyes, waiting for -the next move. - -The householder looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked at the householder. Spike -and the bulldog looked at each other. The bull-terrier distributed his -gaze impartially around the company. - -“A typical scene of quiet American home-life,” murmured Jimmy. - -The man with the pistol glowered. - -“Hands up, you devils!” he roared, pointing a mammoth revolver. - -The two marauders humoured his whim. - -“Let me explain,” said Jimmy pacifically, shuffling warily round in -order to face the bull-terrier, who was now strolling in his direction -with an ill-assumed carelessness. - -“Keep still, you blackguard!” - -Jimmy kept still. The bull-terrier, with the same abstracted air, was -beginning a casual inspection of his right trouser-leg. - -Relations between Spike and the bulldog, meanwhile, had become more -strained. The sudden flinging up of the former’s arms had had the worst -effect on the animal’s nerves. Spike, the croucher on all-fours, he -might have tolerated; but Spike, the semaphore, inspired him with -thoughts of battle. He was growling in a moody, reflective manner. His -eye was full of purpose. - -It was probably this that caused Spike to look at the householder. Till -then he had been too busy to gaze elsewhere, but now the bulldog’s eye -had become so unpleasant that he cast a pathetic glance up at the man by -the door. - -“Gee!” he cried, as he did so. “It’s de boss! Say, boss, call off de -dawg. It’s sure goin’ to nip de old head of me.” - -The other lowered his revolver in surprise. - -“So it’s you, is it, you limb of Satan?” he remarked. “I thought I had -seen that damned red head of yours before. What are you doing in my -house?” - -Spike uttered a moan of self-pity. - -“Boss,” he cried, “I’ve had a raw deal. Dere’s bin coarse work goin’ on. -Listen! It’s dis way. Honest, I didn’t know dis was where you lived. A -fat Swede—Ole Larsen his monaker is—tells me dis house belongs to a -widder-loidy what lives here all alone, and has all kinds of silver and -all dat, and she’s down Sout’ visiting, so dat de house is empty. Gee, -I’m onto his curves now. I’m wise. Listen, boss. Him and me starts a -scrappin’ last week over somet’in, and I t’inks he’s got it in bad for -me, because I puts it all over him. But t’ree days ago up he comes and -says, ‘Let’s be fren’s,’ and puts me wise on dis joint. I’ll soak it to -dat Swede! Dis was what he was woikin’ for. He knows you lives here, and -he t’inks to put me in bad wit youse. It’s a raw deal, boss!” - -The big man listened to this sad tale of Grecian gifts in silence. Not -so the bulldog, which growled ominously from start to finish. Spike -glanced nervously in its direction. - -“De dawg,” he persisted uneasily. “Won’t you call on de dawg, boss?” - -The big man stooped and grasped the animal’s collar, jerking him away. - -“The same treatment,” suggested Jimmy, with approval, “would also do a -world of good to this playful and affectionate animal—unless he is a -vegetarian, in which case don’t bother.” - -The householder glowered at him. - -“Who are you?” he demanded. - -“My name,” began Jimmy, “is——” - -“Say,” said Spike, “he’s a champion burglar, boss——” - -“Eh!” he said. - -“He’s a champion burglar from de odder side. He sure is. From Lunnon. -Gee, he’s de guy! Tell him about the bank you opened, and de jools you -swiped from de duchess, and de what-d’ye-call-it blow-pipe.” - -It seemed to Jimmy that Spike was showing a certain want of tact. When -you are discovered by a house-holder—with revolver—in his parlour at -half-past three in the morning, it is surely an injudicious move to lay -stress on your proficiency as a burglar. The householder may be supposed -to take it for granted. The side of your character which should be -advertised in such a crisis is the non-burglarious. Allusion should be -made to the fact that as a child you attended Sunday-school regularly, -and to what the curate said when you took the Divinity prize. The idea -should be conveyed to the householder’s mind that, if let off with a -caution, your innate goodness of heart will lead you to reform and avoid -such scenes in future. - -With some astonishment, therefore, Jimmy found that these revelations, -so far from prejudicing the man with the revolver against him, had -apparently told in his favour. The man behind the gun was regarding him -rather with interest than disapproval. - -“So you’re a crook from London, are you?” - -Jimmy did not hesitate. If being a crook from London was a passport into -citizens’ parlours in the small hours, and, more particularly, if it -carried with it also a safe-conduct out of them, Jimmy was not the man -to refuse the _role_. He bowed. - -“Well, you’ll have to come across now you’re in New York. Understand -that. And come across good.” - -“Sure, he will,” said Spike, charmed that the tension had been relieved -and matters placed upon a pleasant and business-like footing. “He’ll be -good. He’s next to de game, sure.” - -“Sure,” echoed Jimmy courteously. He did not understand; but things -seemed to be taking a turn for the better, so why disturb the harmony? - -“Dis gent,” said Spike respectfully, “is boss of de cops. A -police-captain,” he corrected himself. - -A light broke upon Jimmy’s darkness. He wondered he had not understood -before. He had not been a newspaper-man in New York for a year without -finding out something of the inner workings of the police force. He saw -now why the other’s manner had changed. - -“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “We must have a talk together one of -these days.” - -“We must,” said the police-captain significantly. - -“Of course, I don’t know your methods on this side, but anything that’s -usual——” - -“I’ll see you at my office. Spike Mullins will show you where it is.” - -“Very well. You must forgive this preliminary informal call. We came in -more to shelter from the rain than anything.” - -“You did, did you?” - -Jimmy felt that it behoved him to stand on his dignity. The situation -demanded it. - -“Why,” he said, with some hauteur, “in the ordinary course of business I -should hardly waste time over a small crib like——” - -“It’s banks for his,” murmured Spike rapturously. “He eats dem alive. -And jools from duchesses.” - -“I admit a partiality for jewels and duchesses,” said Jimmy. “And now, -as it’s a little late, perhaps we had better—— Ready, Spike? Good night, -then. Pleased to have met you.” - -“I’ll see you at my office.” - -“I may possibly look in. I shall be doing very little work in New York, -I fancy. I am here merely on a vacation.” - -“If you do any work at all,” said the policeman coldly, “you’ll look in -at my office, or you’ll wish you had when it’s too late.” - -“Of course, of course. I shouldn’t dream of omitting any formality that -may be usual. But I don’t fancy I shall break my vacation. By the way, -one little thing. Have you any objection to my carving a ‘J’ on your -front door?” - -The policeman stared. - -“On the inside. It won’t show. It’s just a whim of mine. If you have no -objection.” - -“I don’t want any of your——” began the policeman. - -“You misunderstand me. It’s only that it means paying for a dinner. I -wouldn’t for the world——” - -The policeman pointed to the window. - -“Out you get,” he said abruptly. “I’ve had enough of you. And don’t you -forget to come to my office.” - -Spike, still deeply mistrustful of the bulldog Rastus, jumped at the -invitation. He was through the window and out of sight in the friendly -darkness almost before the policeman had finished speaking. Jimmy -remained. - -“I shall be delighted——” he had begun, when he stopped. In the doorway -was standing a girl—a girl whom he recognized. Her startled look told -him that she too had recognized him. - -Now for the first time since he had set out from his flat that night in -Spike’s company Jimmy was conscious of a sense of the unreality of -things. It was all so exactly as it would have happened in a dream. He -had gone to sleep thinking of this girl, and here she was. But a glance -at McEachern brought him back to earth. There was nothing of the -dream-world about the police-captain. - -The policeman, whose back was towards the door, had not observed the -addition to the company. Molly had turned the handle quietly and her -slippered feet made no sound. It was the amazed expression on Jimmy’s -face that caused him to look towards the door. - -“Molly!” - -She smiled, though her face was still white. Jimmy’s evening clothes had -reassured her. She did not understand how he came to be there, but -evidently there was nothing wrong. She had interrupted a conversation, -not a conflict. - -“I heard the noise and you going downstairs, and I sent the dogs down to -help you, father,” she said. “And then, after a little while, I came -down to see if you were all right.” - -Mr. McEachern was perplexed. Molly’s arrival had put him in an awkward -position. To denounce him as a cracksman was impossible. Jimmy knew too -much about him. The only real fear of the policeman’s life was that some -word of his moneymaking methods might come to his daughter’s ears. - -Quite a brilliant idea came to him. - -“A man broke in, my dear,” he said. “This gentleman was passing and saw -him.” - -“Distinctly,” said Jimmy. “An ugly-looking customer!” - -“But he slipped out of the window and got away,” concluded the -policeman. - -“He was very quick,” said Jimmy. “I think he may have been a -professional acrobat.” - -“He didn’t hurt you, father?” - -“No, no, my dear.” - -“Perhaps I frightened him,” said Jimmy airily. - -Mr. McEachern scowled furtively at him. - -“We mustn’t detain you, Mr.——” - -“Pitt,” said Jimmy. “My name is Pitt.” He turned to Molly. “I hope you -enjoyed the voyage.” - -The policeman started. - -“You know my daughter?” - -“By sight only, I’m afraid. We were fellow-passengers on the -_Mauretania_. Unfortunately I was in the second cabin. I used to see -your daughter walking the deck sometimes.” - -Molly smiled. - -“I remember seeing you—sometimes.” - -McEachern burst out: - -“Then you——” - -He stopped and looked at Molly. Molly was bending over Rastus, tickling -him under the ear. - -“Let me show you the way out, Mr. Pitt,” said the policeman shortly. His -manner was abrupt, but when one is speaking to a man whom one would -dearly love to throw out of the window abruptness is almost unavoidable. - -“Perhaps I should be going,” said Jimmy. - -“Good night, Mr. Pitt,” said Molly. - -“I hope we shall meet again,” said Jimmy. - -“This way, Mr. Pitt,” growled McEachern, holding the door. - -“Please don’t trouble,” said Jimmy. He went to the window, and, flinging -his leg over the sill, dropped noiselessly to the ground. - -He turned and put his head in at the window again. - -“I did that rather well,” he said pleasantly. “I think I must take up -this sort of thing as a profession. Good night.” - - - - - ★ 8 ★ - _At Dreever_ - - -In the days before the Welshman began to expend his surplus energy in -playing Rugby football he was accustomed, whenever the monotony of his -everyday life began to oppress him, to collect a few friends and make -raids across the border into England, to the huge discomfort of the -dwellers on the other side. It was to cope with this habit that Dreever -Castle, in Shropshire, came into existence. It met a long-felt want. In -time of trouble it became a haven of refuge. From all sides people -poured into it, emerging cautiously when the marauders had disappeared. -In the whole history of the castle there is but one instance recorded of -a bandit attempting to take the place by storm, and the attack was an -emphatic failure. On receipt of a ladleful of molten lead, aimed to a -nicety by one John, the Chaplain—evidently one of those sporting -parsons—this warrior retired, done to a turn, to his mountain -fastnesses, and is never heard of again. He would seem, however, to have -passed the word round among his friends, for subsequent raiding parties -studiously avoided the castle, and a peasant who had succeeded in -crossing its threshold was for the future considered to be “home” and -out of the game. - -Such was Dreever in the olden times. To-day the Welshman having calmed -down considerably, it had lost its militant character. The old walls -still stood, grey, menacing, and unchanged, but they were the only link -with the past. The castle was now a very comfortable country-house, -nominally ruled over by Hildebrand Spencer Poyns de Burgh John Hannasyde -Coombe-Crombie, twelfth Earl of Dreever (“Spennie” to his relatives and -intimates), but in reality the possession of his uncle and aunt, Sir -Thomas and Lady Julia Blunt. - -Spennie’s position was one of some embarrassment. At no point in their -history had the Dreevers been what one might call a parsimonious family. -If a chance presented itself of losing money in a particularly wild and -futile manner, the Dreever of the period had invariably sprung at it -with the vim of an energetic bloodhound. The South Sea Bubble absorbed -£200,000 of good Dreever money, and the remainder of the family fortune -was squandered to the ultimate farthing by the sportive gentleman who -had held the title in the days of the Regency, when Watier’s and the -Cocoa Tree were in their prime, and fortunes had a habit of disappearing -in a single evening. When Spennie became Earl of Dreever there was about -eighteenpence in the old oak chest. - -This is the point at which Sir Thomas Blunt breaks into Dreever history. -Sir Thomas was a small, pink, fussy, obstinate man, with a genius for -trade and the ambition of a Napoleon, probably one of the finest and -most complete specimens of the -came-over-Waterloo-Bridge-with-half-a-crown-in-my-pocket-and-now-look-at-me -class of millionaire in existence. He had started almost literally with -nothing. By carefully excluding from his mind every thought except that -of making money, he had risen in the world with a gruesome persistence -which nothing could check. At the age of fifty-one he was chairman of -Blunt’s Stores, Ltd., a member of Parliament, silent as a wax figure, -but a great comfort to the party by virtue of liberal contributions to -its funds, and a knight. This was good, but he aimed still higher; and, -meeting Spennie’s aunt, Lady Julia Coombe-Crombie, just at the moment -when, financially, the Dreevers were at their lowest ebb, he had -effected a very satisfactory deal by marrying her, thereby becoming as -one might say, the chairman of Dreever, Ltd. Until Spennie should marry -money, an act on which his chairman vehemently insisted, Sir Thomas held -the purse, and, except in minor matters ordered by his wife, of whom he -stood in uneasy awe, had things entirely his own way. - -One afternoon, a year after the events recorded in the preceding -chapter, he was in his private room, looking out of the window. The view -from that window was very beautiful. The castle stood on a hill, the -lower portion of which, between the house and the lake, had been cut -into broad terraces. The lake itself, with its island with the little -boathouse in the centre, was a glimpse of Fairyland. - -But it was not altogether the beauty of the view that had drawn Sir -Thomas to the window. He was looking at it more because the position -enabled him to avoid his wife’s eye; and, just at the moment, he was -rather anxious to avoid his wife’s eye. A somewhat stormy board meeting -was in progress, and Lady Julia, who constituted the board of directors, -had been heckling the chairman. The point under discussion was one of -etiquette, and in matters of etiquette Sir Thomas felt himself at a -disadvantage. - -“I tell you, my dear,” he said to the window, “I am not easy in my -mind.” - -“Nonsense!” snapped Lady Julia. “Absurd! Ridiculous!” - -Lady Julia Blunt, when conversing, resembled a Maxim gun more than -anything else. - -“But your diamonds, my dear?” - -“I can take care of them.” - -“But why should you have the trouble? Now, if we——” - -“It’s no trouble.” - -“When we were married there was a detective——” - -“Don’t be childish, Thomas. Detectives at weddings are quite customary.” - -“But——” - -“Bah——” - -“I paid twenty thousand pounds for that rope of pearls,” said Sir Thomas -obstinately. Switch things on to a cash basis and he was more himself. - -“May I ask if you suspect any of our guests of being criminals?” -inquired Lady Julia, frostily. - -Sir Thomas looked out of the window. At the moment the sternest censor -could have found nothing to cavil at in the movements of such of the -house-party as were in sight. Some were playing tennis, some clock golf, -and others were smoking. - -“Why not,” he began. - -“Of course. Absurd! Quite absurd!” - -“But the servants. We have engaged a number of new servants lately.” - -“With excellent recommendations.” - -Sir Thomas was on the point of suggesting that the recommendations might -be forged, but his courage failed him. Julia was sometimes so abrupt in -these little discussions. She did not enter into his point of view. He -was always a trifle inclined to treat the castle as a branch of Blunt’s -Stores. As proprietor of the stores he had made a point of suspecting -everybody, and the results had been excellent. In Blunt’s Stores you -could hardly move in any direction without bumping into a gentlemanly -detective efficiently disguised. For the life of him Sir Thomas could -not see why the same principle should not obtain at Dreever. Guests at a -country house do not as a rule steal their host’s possessions, but then -it is only an occasional customer at a store who goes in for shop -lifting. It was the principle of the thing, he thought. Be prepared -against every emergency. With Sir Thomas Blunt suspiciousness was almost -a mania. He was forced to admit that the chances were against any of his -guests exhibiting larcenous tendencies, but, as for the servants, he -thoroughly mistrusted them all except Saunders, the butler. It had -seemed to him the merest prudence that a detective from a private -inquiry agency should be installed at the castle while the house was -full. Somewhat rashly he had mentioned this to his wife, and Lady -Julia’s critique of the scheme had been terse and unflattering. - -“I suppose,” said Lady Julia sarcastically, “you will jump to the -conclusion that this man whom Spennie is bringing down with him to-day -is a criminal of some sort?” - -“Eh? Is Spennie bringing a friend?” - -There was not a great deal of enthusiasm in Sir Thomas’s voice. His -nephew was not a young man whom he respected very highly. Spennie -regarded his uncle with nervous apprehension, as one who would deal with -his shortcomings with vigour and severity. Sir Thomas, for his part, -looked on Spennie as a youth who would get into mischief unless he had -an eye fixed on him. So he proceeded to fix that eye. - -“I had a wire from him just now.” - -“Who is his friend?” - -“He doesn’t say. He just says he’s a man he met in London.” - -“H’m!” - -“And what does ‘H’m!’ mean?” demanded Lady Julia. - -“A man can pick up strange people in London,” said Sir Thomas -judicially. - -“Nonsense.” - -“Just as you say, my dear.” - -Lady Julia rose. - -“As for what you suggest about the detective, it is, of course, -absolutely absurd.” - -“Quite so, my dear.” - -“You mustn’t think of it.” - -“Just as you say, my dear.” - -Lady Julia left the room. - -What followed may afford some slight clue to the secret of Sir Thomas -Blunt’s rise in the world. It certainly suggests singleness of purpose, -which is one of the essentials of success. - -No sooner had the door closed behind Lady Julia than he went to his -writing-table, took pen and paper, and wrote the following letter: - -“To the Manager, Wragge’s Detective Agency, Holborn Bars, London, E.C. - -“Sir,—With reference to my last of the 28th ult., I should be glad if -you would send down immediately one of your best men. Am making -arrangements to receive him. Kindly instruct him to present himself at -Dreever Castle as applicant for position of valet to myself. I will see -and engage him on his arrival, and further instruct him in his -duties.—Yours faithfully, Thos. Blunt. - -“P.S.—I shall expect him to-morrow evening. There is a good train -leaving Paddington at 2.15.” - -He read it over and put in a couple of commas, then placed it in an -envelope, and lit a cigar with the air of one who can be checked—yes, -but vanquished, never. - - - - - ★ 9 ★ - _A New Friend and an Old One_ - - -On the night of the day on which Sir Thomas Blunt wrote his letter to -Wragge’s, Jimmy Pitt was supping at the Savoy. - -If you have the money and the clothes, and do not object to being turned -out into the night just as you are beginning to enjoy yourself, there -are few things pleasanter than supper at the Savoy Hotel, London. But as -Jimmy sat there, eyeing the multitude through the smoke of his -cigarette, he felt, despite all the brightness and glitter, that this -was a flat world and that he was very much alone in it. - -A little over a year had passed since the merry evening at -Police-Captain McEachern’s. During that time he had covered a good deal -of new ground. His restlessness had reasserted itself. Somebody had -mentioned Morocco in his hearing, and a fortnight later he was in Fez. - -Of the principals in that night’s drama he had seen nothing more. It was -only when walking home on air, rejoicing over the strange chance which -had led to his finding and having speech with the lady of the -_Mauretania_—he had reached Fifty-Ninth Street—that he realised that he -had also lost her. It suddenly came home to him that not only did he not -know her address, but was also ignorant of her name. Spike had called -the man with the revolver “boss” throughout—only that and nothing more. -Except that he was a police captain, Jimmy knew as little about him as -he had done before their meeting. And Spike, who held the key to the -mystery, had vanished. His acquaintances of that night had passed out of -his life like figures in a waking dream. As far as the big man with the -pistol was concerned, this did not distress him. He had only known that -massive person for about a quarter of an hour, but to his thinking that -was ample. Spike he would have liked to have met again, but he bore the -separation with fortitude. There remained the girl of the ship, and she -had haunted him with unfailing persistence during every one of the three -hundred and eighty-four days which had passed since their meeting. - -It was the thought of her that had made New York seem cramped. For weeks -he had patrolled the more likely streets, the Park, and Riverside Drive -in the hope of meeting her. He had gone to the theatres and restaurants, -but with no success. Sometimes he had wandered through the Bowery on the -chance of meeting Spike. He had seen red heads in profusion, but none -that belonged to his young disciple in the art of burglary. In the end -he had wearied of the search, and, to the disgust of Arthur Mifflin and -his other friends of the Strollers’, had gone out again on his -wanderings. He was greatly missed, especially by that large section of -his circle which was in a perpetual state of wanting a little to see it -through till Saturday. For years Jimmy had been to these unfortunates a -human bank on which they could draw at will. It offended them that one -of those rare natures which are always good for two dollars at any hour -of the day should be allowed to waste itself on places like Morocco and -Spain—especially Morocco, where, by all accounts, there were brigands -with almost a New York sense of touch. - -They argued earnestly with Jimmy. They spoke of Raisuli and Kaid -Maclean. But Jimmy was not to be stopped. The gadfly was vexing him, and -he had to move. - -For a year he had wandered, realising every day the truth of Horace’s -philosophy for those who travel—that a man cannot change his feelings -with his climate, until finally he had found himself, as every wanderer -does, at Charing Cross. - -At this point he had tried to rally. This running away, he told himself, -was futile. He would stand still and fight the fever in him. - -He had been fighting it now for a matter of two weeks, and already he -was contemplating retreat. A man at lunch had been talking about Japan—— - -Watching the crowd, Jimmy had found his attention attracted chiefly by a -party of three a few tables away. The party consisted of a girl, rather -pretty; a lady of middle-age and stately demeanour, plainly her mother; -and a light-haired, weedy young man in the twenties. It had been the -almost incessant prattle of this youth and the peculiarly high-pitched, -gurgling laugh which shot from him at short intervals which had drawn -Jimmy’s notice upon them. And it was the curious cessation of both -prattle and laugh which now made him look again in their direction. - -The young man faced Jimmy; and Jimmy, looking at him, could see that all -was not well. He was pale. He talked at random. - -Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it. - -Given the time and the place, there were only two things which could -have caused that look. Either the light-haired young man had seen a -ghost, or he had suddenly realised that he had not enough money to pay -the bill. - -Jimmy’s heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from his case, -scribbled the words, “Can I help?” on it, and gave it to a waiter to -take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on collapse. - -The next moment the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a -feverish whisper. - -“I say,” he said, “it’s frightfully good of you, old chap; it’s -frightfully awkward. I’ve come out with too little money. I hardly like -to——. You’ve never seen me before——” - -“Don’t rub in my misfortunes,” pleaded Jimmy. “It wasn’t my fault.” - -He placed a £5 note on the table. - -“Say when,” he said, producing another. - -“I say, thanks fearfully,” the young man said. “I don’t know what I’d -have done.” He grabbed at the note. “I’ll let you have it back -to-morrow. Here’s my card. Is your address on your card? I can’t -remember. Oh, by Jove, I’ve got it in my hand all the time.” The -gurgling laugh came into action again, freshened and strengthened by its -rest. “Savoy Mansions, eh? I’ll come round to-morrow. Thanks frightfully -again, old chap. I don’t know what I should have done.” - -“It’s been a treat,” said Jimmy deprecatingly. - -The young man flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil. Jimmy looked -at the card he had left. “Lord Dreever,” it read, and in the corner the -name of a well-known club. The name Dreever was familiar to Jimmy. Every -one knew of Dreever Castle, partly because it was one of the oldest -houses in England, but principally because for centuries it had been -advertised by a particularly gruesome ghost-story. Every one had heard -of the secret of Dreever, which was known only to the Earl and the -family lawyer, and confided to the heir at midnight on his twenty-first -birthday. Jimmy had come across the story in corners of the papers all -over the States, from New York to Onehorseville, Iowa. He looked with -interest at the light-haired young man—the latest depository of the -awful secret. It was popularly supposed that the heir, after hearing it, -never smiled again: but it did not seem to have affected the present -Lord Dreever to any great extent. His gurgling laugh was drowning the -orchestra. Probably, Jimmy thought, when the family lawyer had told the -light-haired young man the secret, the latter’s comment had been, “No, -really? By Jove, I say, you know!” - -Jimmy paid his bill and got up to go. - -It was a perfect summer night—too perfect for bed. Jimmy strolled on to -the Embankment, and stood leaning over the balustrade, looking across -the river at the vague, mysterious mass of buildings on the Surrey side. - -He must have been standing there for some time, his thoughts far away, -when a voice spoke at his elbow. - -“I say. Excuse me, have you—Halloa!” - -It was his light-haired lordship of Dreever. - -“I say, by Jove! Why, we’re always meeting!” - -A tramp on the bench close by stirred uneasily in his sleep as the -gurgling laughter ripped the air. - -“Been looking at the water?” inquired Lord Dreever. “I have. I often do. -Don’t you think it sort of makes a chap feel—oh, you know. Sort of—I -don’t know how to put it.” - -“Mushy?” said Jimmy. - -“I was going to say poetical. Suppose there’s a girl——” - -He paused and looked down at the water. Jimmy was with him there. There -was a girl. - -“I saw my party off in a taxi,” continued Lord Dreever, “and came down -here for a smoke. Only I hadn’t a match. Have you?” - -Jimmy handed over his match-box. Lord Dreever lit a cigar, and fixed his -gaze once more on the river. - -“Ripping it looks,” he said. - -Jimmy nodded. - -“Funny thing,” said Lord Dreever. “In the daytime the water here looks -all muddy and beastly. Damn depressing, I call it. But at night——” He -paused. “I say,” he went on, after a moment, “did you see the girl I was -with at the Savoy?” - -“Yes,” said Jimmy. - -“She’s a ripper,” said Lord Dreever devoutly. - -On the Thames Embankment, in the small hours of a summer morning, there -is no such thing as a stranger. The man you talk with is a friend, and -if he will listen—as, by the etiquette of the place, he must—you may -pour out your heart to him without restraint. It is expected of you. - -“I’m fearfully in love with her,” said his lordship. - -“She looked a charming girl,” said Jimmy. - -They examined the water in silence. From somewhere out in the night came -the sound of oars, where the police-boat moved on its patrol. - -“Does she make you want to go to Japan?” asked Jimmy suddenly. - -“Eh?” said Lord Dreever, startled. “Japan?” - -Jimmy adroitly abandoned the position of confidant and seized that of -confider. - -“I met a girl a year ago. Only really met her once, and even then—oh, -well. Anyway, it’s made me so restless that I haven’t been able to stay -in one place for more than a month on end. I tried Morocco, and had to -quit. I tried Spain, and that wasn’t any good either. The other day I -heard a fellow say that Japan was a pretty interesting sort of country. -I was wondering whether I wouldn’t give it a trial.” - -Lord Dreever regarded this travelled man with interest. - -“It beats me,” he said wonderingly. “What do you want to leg it about -the world like that for? What’s the trouble? Why don’t you stay where -the girl is?” - -“I don’t know where she is.” - -“Don’t know?” - -“She disappeared.” - -“Where did you see her last?” asked his lordship, as if Molly were a -mislaid penknife. - -“New York.” - -“But how do you mean, disappeared? Don’t you know her address?” - -“I don’t even know her name.” - -“But dash it all, I say, I mean! Have you ever spoken to her?” - -“Only once. It’s rather a complicated story. At any rate, she’s gone.” - -Lord Dreever said that it was a rum business. Jimmy conceded the point. - -“Seems to me,” said his lordship, “we’re both in the cart.” - -“What’s your trouble?” - -“Oh, well, it’s only that I want to marry one girl, and my uncle’s dead -set on my marrying another.” - -“Are you afraid of hurting your uncle’s feelings?” - -“It’s not so much hurting his feelings. It’s—oh, well, it’s too long to -tell now. I think I’ll be getting home. I’m staying at our place in -Eaton Square.” - -“How are you going? If you’ll walk I’ll come some of the way with you.” - -“Right you are. Let’s be pushing along, shall we?” - -They turned up into the Strand, and through Trafalgar Square into -Piccadilly. Piccadilly has a restful aspect in the small hours. Some men -were cleaning the road with water from a long hose. The swishing of the -torrent on the parched wood was musical. - -Just beyond the gate of Hyde Park, to the right of the road, stands a -cabman’s shelter. Conversation and emotion had made Lord Dreever -thirsty. He suggested coffee as a suitable conclusion to the night’s -revels. - -“I often go in here when I’m up in town,” he said. “The cabbies don’t -mind. They’re sportsmen.” - -The shelter was nearly full when they opened the door. It was very warm -inside. A cabman gets so much fresh air in the exercise of his -professional duties that he is apt to avoid it in private life. The air -was heavy with conflicting scents. Fried onions seemed to be having the -best of the struggle for the moment, though plug tobacco competed -gallantly. A keenly analytical nose might also have detected the -presence of steak and coffee. - -A dispute seemed to be in progress as they entered. - -“You don’t wish you was in Russher,” said a voice. - -“Yus, I do wish I was in Russher,” retorted a shrivelled mummy of a -cabman who was blowing patiently at a saucerful of coffee. - -“Why do you wish you was in Russher?” asked the interlocutor, -introducing a Massa Bones and Massa Johnsing touch into the dialogue. - -“Because you can wade over yer knees in bla-a-ad there,” said the mummy. - -“In wot?” - -“In bla-a-ad—ruddy bla-a-ad. That’s why I wish I wos in Russher.” - -“Cheery cove that,” said Lord Dreever. “I say, can you give us some -coffee?” - -“I might try Russia after Japan,” said Jimmy meditatively. - -The lethal liquid was brought. Conversation began again. Other experts -gave their views on the internal affairs of Russia. Jimmy would have -enjoyed it more if he had been less sleepy. His back was wedged -comfortably against the wall of the shelter, and the heat of the room -stole into his brain. The voices of the disputants grew fainter and -fainter. - -He had almost dozed off when a new voice cut through the murmur and woke -him. It was a voice he knew, and the accent was a familiar accent. - -“Gents, excuse me.” - -He looked up. The mists of sleep shredded away. A ragged youth with a -crop of fiery red hair was standing in the doorway, regarding the -occupants of the shelter with a grin, half whimsical, half defiant. - -Jimmy recognized him. It was Spike Mullins. - -“Excuse me,” said Spike Mullins, “is dere any gent in dis bunch of -professional beauts wants to give a poor orphan dat suffers from a -painful toist something to drink? Gents is courteously requested not to -speak all in a crowd.” - -“Shet that blanky door,” said the mummy cabman sourly. - -“And ’op it,” added his late opponent. “We don’t want none of your sort -’ere.” - -“Den you ain’t my long-lost brudders, after all,” said the newcomer -regretfully. “I t’ought youse didn’t look handsome enough for dat. Good -night to youse, gents.” - -“Shet that door, can’t yer, when I’m tellin’ yer!” said the mummy, with -increased asperity. - -Spike was reluctantly withdrawing when Jimmy rose. - -“One moment,” he said. - -Never in his life had Jimmy failed to stand by a friend in need. Spike -was not, perhaps, exactly a friend, but even an acquaintance could rely -on Jimmy when down in the world. And Spike was manifestly in that -condition. - -A look of surprise came into the Bowery boy’s face, followed by one of -stolid woodenness. He took the sovereign which Jimmy held out to him -with a muttered word of thanks, and shuffled out of the room. - -“Can’t see what you wanted to give him anything for,” said Lord Dreever. -“Chap’ll only spend it getting tight.” - -“Oh, he reminded me of a man I used to know.” - -“Did he? Barnum’s what-is-it, I should think,” said his lordship. “Shall -we be moving?” - - - - - ★ 10 ★ - _Jimmy Adopts a Lame Dog_ - - -A black figure detached itself from the blacker shadows and shuffled -stealthily to where Jimmy stood on the doorstep. - -“That you, Spike?” asked Jimmy, in a low voice. - -“Dat’s right, boss.” - -“Come on in.” - -He led the way up to his rooms, switched on the electric light, and shut -the door. Spike stood blinking at the sudden glare. He twirled his -battered hat in his hands. His red hair shone fiercely. - -Jimmy inspected him out of the corner of his eye, and came to the -conclusion that the Mullins finances must be at a low ebb. Spike’s -costume differed in several important details from that of the ordinary -well-groomed man about town. There was nothing of the _flâneur_ about -the Bowery boy. His hat was of the soft black felt fashionable on the -East Side of New York. It was in poor condition, and looked as if it had -been up too late the night before. A black tail-coat, burst at the -elbows and stained with mud, was tightly buttoned across his chest, this -evidently with the idea of concealing the fact that he wore no shirt—an -attempt which was not wholly successful. A pair of grey flannel trousers -and boots, out of which two toes peeped coyly, completed the picture. - -Even Spike himself seemed to be aware that there were points in his -appearance which would have distressed the editor of the _Tailor and -Cutter_. - -“’Scuse these duds,” he said. “Me man’s bin an’ mislaid de trunk wit me -best suit in. Dis is me number two.” - -“Don’t mention it, Spike,” said Jimmy. “You look a perfect _matinee_ -idol. Have a drink?” - -Spike’s eyes gleamed as he reached for the decanter. He took a seat. - -“Cigar, Spike?” - -“Sure. T’anks, boss.” - -Jimmy lit his pipe. Spike, after a few genteel sips, threw off his -restraint and finished the rest of his glass at a gulp. - -“Try another?” suggested Jimmy. - -Spike’s grin showed that the idea had been well received. - -Jimmy sat and smoked in silence for a while. He was thinking the thing -over. He felt like a detective who has found a clue. At last he would be -able to discover the name of the _Mauretania_ girl. The discovery would -not take him very far, certainly, but it would be something. Possibly -Spike might even be able to fix the position of the house they had -broken into that night. - -Spike was looking at him over his glass with silent admiration. This -flat, which Jimmy had rented for a year, in the hope that the possession -of a fixed abode might help to tie him down to one spot, was handsomely, -even luxuriously, furnished. To Spike every chair and table in the room -had a romance of its own as having been purchased out of the proceeds of -that New Asiatic Bank robbery, or from the revenue accruing from the -Duchess of Havent’s jewels. He was dumb with reverence for one who could -make burglary pay to this extent. In his own case the profession had -rarely provided anything more than bread and butter and an occasional -trip to Coney Island. - -Jimmy caught his eye, and spoke. - -“Well, Spike,” he said. “Curious that we should meet like this?” - -“De limit,” agreed Spike. - -“I can’t imagine you three thousand miles from New York. How do you know -the cars still run both ways on Broadway?” - -A wistful look came into Spike’s eyes. - -“I t’ought it was time I give old Lunnon a call. T’ings was getting too -fierce in Noo York. De cops was layin’ for me. Dey didn’t seem like as -if they had any use for me. So I beat it.” - -“Bad luck,” said Jimmy. - -“Fierce,” agreed Spike. - -“Do you know, Spike,” said Jimmy, “I spent a great deal of time before I -left New York looking for you.” - -“Gee, I wish you’d found me. And did youse want me to help on some lay, -boss?” - -“Well, no, not that. Do you remember that night we broke into that house -up-town—the police-captain’s house?” - -“Sure.” - -“What was his name?” - -“What, de cop’s? Why, McEachern, boss.” - -“Mac what? How do you spell it?” - -“Search me,” said Spike, simply. - -“Say it again. Fill your lungs and enunciate slowly and clearly. Be -bell-like. Now.” - -“McEachern.” - -“Ah! And where was the house? Can you remember that?” - -Spike’s forehead wrinkled. - -“It’s gone,” he said at last. “It was somewheres up some street up de -town.” - -“That’s a lot of help,” said Jimmy. “Try again.” - -“It’ll come back some time, boss, sure.” - -“Then I’m going to keep an eye on you till it does. Just for the moment -you’re the most important man in the world to me. Where are you living?” - -“Me? Why, in de Park. Dat’s right. One of dem swell detached benches wit -a southern exposure.” - -“Well, unless you prefer it, you needn’t sleep in the Park any more. You -can pitch your moving tent with me.” - -“What, here, boss?” - -“Unless we move.” - -“Me fer dis,” said Spike, rolling luxuriously in his chair. - -“You’ll want some clothes,” said Jimmy. “We’ll get those to-morrow. -You’re the sort of figure they can fit off the peg. You’re not too tall, -which is a good thing.” - -“Bad t’ing for me, boss. If I’d bin taller I’d have stood for being a -cop, and bin buying a brown-stone house on Fifth Avenue by this. It’s de -cops makes de big money in little old Manhattan, dat’s who it is.” - -“The man who knows!” said Jimmy. “Tell me more, Spike. I suppose a good -many of the New York force do get rich by graft?” - -“Sure. Look at old man McEachern.” - -“I wish I could. Tell me about him, Spike. You seemed to know him pretty -well.” - -“Me? Sure. Dere wasn’t a worse grafter dan him in de bunch. He was out -for the dough all the time. But, say, did youse ever see his girl?” - -“What’s that?” said Jimmy sharply. - -“I seen her once.” Spike became almost lyrical in his enthusiasm. “Gee, -she was a bird. A peach for fair. I’d have left me happy home for her. -Molly was her monaker. She——” - -Jimmy was glaring at him. - -“Drop it!” he cried. - -“What’s dat, boss?” said Spike. - -“Cut it out!” said Jimmy savagely. - -Spike looked at him amazed. - -“Sure,” he said, puzzled, but realising that his words had not pleased -the great man. - -Jimmy chewed the stem of his pipe irritably, while Spike, full of -excellent intentions, sat on the edge of his chair drawing sorrowfully -at his cigar and wondering what he had done to give offence. - -“Boss?” said Spike. - -“Halloa!” - -“Boss, what’s doin’ here? Put me next to de game. Is it de old lay? -Banks and jools from duchesses! You’ll be able to let me sit in on de -game, won’t you?” - -“I’d quite forgotten I hadn’t told you about myself, Spike. I’ve -retired.” - -The horrid truth sank slowly into the other’s mind. - -“Say! What’s dat, boss? You’re cuttin’ it out?” - -“That’s it. Absolutely.” - -“Ain’t youse swiping no more jools?” - -“Not me.” - -“Nor usin’ de what’s-its-name blow-pipe?” - -“I have sold my oxyacetylene blow-pipe, given away my anaesthetics, and -am going to turn over a new leaf and settle down as a respectable -citizen.” - -Spike gasped. His world had fallen about his ears. His excursion with -Jimmy, the master cracksman, in New York had been the highest and -proudest memory of his life, and now that he had met him again in -London, he had looked forward to a long and prosperous partnership in -crime. He was content that his own share in the partnership should be -humble. It was enough for him to be connected, however humbly, with such -a master. He had looked upon the richness of London, and he had said -with Blucher, “What a city to loot!” - -And here was his idol shattering his visions with a word. - -“Have another drink, Spike,” said the Lost Leader sympathetically. “It’s -a shock to you, I expect.” - -“I t’ought, boss——” - -“I know, I know. These are life’s tragedies. I’m very sorry for you; but -it can’t be helped.” - -Spike sat silent, with a long face. Jimmy slapped him on the shoulder. - -“Cheer up,” he said. “How do you know that living honestly may not be -splendid fun? Numbers of people do it, you know, and enjoy themselves -tremendously. You must give it a trial, Spike.” - -“Me, boss? What, me too?” - -“Rather. You’re my link with——I don’t want to have you remembering that -address in the second month of a ten-year spell at Dartmoor. I’m going -to look after you, Spike, my son, like a lynx. We’ll go out together and -see life. Buck up, Spike! Be cheerful! Grin!” - -After a moment’s reflection the other grinned, howbeit faintly. - -“That’s right,” said Jimmy. “We’ll go into society, Spike, hand in hand. -You’ll be a terrific success in society. All you have to do is to look -cheerful, brush your hair, and keep your hands off the spoons, for in -the best circles they invariably count them after the departure of the -last guest.” - -“Sure,” said Spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensible -precaution. - -“And now,” said Jimmy, “we’ll be turning in. Can you manage sleeping on -the sofa one night? Some fellows would give their bed up to you. -However, I’ll have a bed made up for you to-morrow.” - -“Me!” said Spike. “Gee! I’ve been sleepin’ in de Park all de last week. -Dis is to de good, boss.” - - - - - ★ 11 ★ - _At the Turn of the Road_ - - -On the morning after the meeting at the Savoy when Jimmy, having sent -Spike off to the tailor’s, was dealing with a combination of breakfast -and lunch at his flat, Lord Dreever called. - -“Thought I should find you in,” observed his lordship. “Well, laddie, -how goes it? Having breakfast? Eggs _and_ bacon! Great Scot, I couldn’t -touch a thing!” - -The statement was borne out by his looks. The son of a hundred earls was -pale, and his eyes were markedly fish-like. - -“A fellow I’ve got stopping with me—taking him down to Dreever with me -to-day—man I met at the club—fellow named Hargate. Don’t know if you -know him? No? Well, he was still up when I got back last night, and we -stayed up playing pills—he’s rotten at pills; something frightful; I -give him thirty—till five this morning. I feel frightfully cheap. -Wouldn’t have got up at all, only I’m due to catch the two-fifteen down -to Dreever. It’s the only good train.” - -He dropped into a chair. - -“Sorry you don’t feel up to breakfast,” said Jimmy, helping himself to -marmalade. “I am generally to be found among those lining up when the -gong goes. I’ve breakfasted on a glass of water and a bag of bird-seed -in my time. That sort of thing makes you ready to take whatever you can -get. Seen the papers?” - -“Thanks.” - -Jimmy finished his breakfast and lit a pipe. Lord Dreever laid down the -paper. - -“I say,” he said, “what I came round about was this. What have you got -on just now?” - -Jimmy had imagined that his friend had dropped in to return the -five-pound note he had borrowed, but his lordship maintained a complete -reserve on the subject. Jimmy was to discover later that this weakness -of memory where financial obligations were concerned was a leading trait -in Lord Dreever’s character. - -“To-day, do you mean?” said Jimmy. - -“Well, in the near future. What I mean is, why not put off that Japan -trip you spoke about and come down to Dreever with me?” - -Jimmy reflected. After all, Japan or Dreever, it made very little -difference. And it would be interesting seeing a place about which he -had read so much. - -“That’s very good of you,” he said. “You’re sure it will be all right? -It won’t be upsetting your arrangements?” - -“Not a bit. The more the merrier. Can’t you catch the two-fifteen? It’s -fearfully short notice.” - -“Heavens, yes. I can pack in ten minutes. Thanks very much.” - -“Stout fellow. There’ll be shooting and all that sort of rot. Oh! by the -way, are you any good at acting? I mean, I believe there are going to be -private theatricals of sorts. A man called Charteris is getting them up. -Cambridge man; belongs to the Footlights. Always getting up theatricals. -Rot, I call it; but you can’t stop him. Do you do anything in that -line?” - -“Put me down for what you like, from Emperor of Morocco to Confused -Noise Without. I was on the stage once. I’m particularly good at -shifting scenery.” - -“Good for you. Well, so long. Two-fifteen from Paddington, remember. -I’ll meet you there. I’ve got to go and see a fellow now.” - -“I’ll look out for you.” - -A sudden thought occurred to Jimmy. Spike! He had forgotten Spike for -the moment. It was vital that the Bowery boy should not be lost sight of -again. He was the one link with the little house somewhere beyond One -Hundred and Fiftieth Street. He could not leave the Bowery boy at the -flat. A vision rose in his mind of Spike alone in London with Savoy -Mansions as a base for his operations. No; Spike must be transplanted to -the country. He could not seem to see Spike in the country. His boredom -would probably be pathetic. But it was the only way. - -Lord Dreever facilitated matters. - -“By the way, Pitt,” he said, “you’ve got a man of sorts, of course? One -of those frightful fellows who forget to pack your collars! Bring him -along, of course.” - -“Thanks,” said Jimmy. “I will.” - -The matter had scarcely been settled when the door opened and revealed -the subject of discussion. Wearing a broad grin of mingled pride and -bashfulness, and looking very stiff and awkward in one of the brightest -tweed suits ever seen off the stage, Spike stood for a moment in the -doorway to let his appearance sink into the spectator; then advanced -into the room. - -“How do dese strike you, boss?” he inquired genially, as Lord Dreever -gaped in astonishment at this bright being. - -“Pretty nearly blind, Spike,” said Jimmy. “What made you get those? We -use electric light here.” - -Spike was full of news. - -“Say, boss, dat clothing-store’s a willy wonder, sure. De old mug what -showed me round give me de frozen face when I came in foist. ‘What’s -doin’?’ he says. ‘To de woods wit you! git de hook!’ But I hands out de -plunks you give me, an’ tells him how I’m here to get a dude suit, an’ -gee! if he don’t haul out suits by de mile. Give me a toist, it did, -watching him. ‘It’s up to youse,’ says de mug. ‘Choose somet’ing. You -pays de money, an’ we does de rest.’ So I says dis is de one, and I put -down de plunks, an’ here I am, boss.” - -“I noticed that, Spike,” said Jimmy. “I could see you in the dark.” - -“Don’t you like de duds, boss?” inquired Spike anxiously. - -“They’re the last word,” said Jimmy. “You’d make Solomon in all his -glory look like a tramp cyclist.” - -“Dat’s right,” agreed Spike. “Dey’se de limit.” - -And, apparently oblivious to the presence of Lord Dreever, who had been -watching him in blank silence since his entrance, the Bowery boy -proceeded to execute a mysterious shuffling dance on the carpet. - -This was too much for the overwrought brain of his lordship. - -“Good-bye, Pitt,” he said; “I’m off. Got to see a man.” - -Jimmy saw him to the door. - -Outside, Lord Dreever placed the palm of his right hand on his forehead. - -“I say, Pitt,” he said. - -“Halloa!” - -“Who the devil’s that?” - -“Who? Spike? Oh, that’s my man.” - -“Your man! Is he always like that?—I mean going on like a frightful -music-hall comedian, dancing, you know? And, I say, what on earth -language was that he was talking? I couldn’t understand one word in -ten.” - -“Oh, that’s American—the Bowery variety.” - -“Oh! Well, I suppose it’s all right if you understand it. I can’t. By -Gad!” he broke off, with a chuckle, “I’d give something to see him -talking to old Saunders, our butler at home. He’s got the manners of a -duke.” - -“Spike should revise those,” said Jimmy. - -“What do you call him?” - -“Spike.” - -“Rummy name, isn’t it?” - -“Fashionable in the States; short for Algernon.” - -“He seemed pretty chummy.” - -“That’s his independent bringing-up. They’re all like that in America.” - -“Jolly country.” - -“You’d love it.” - -“Well, so long.” - -“So long.” - -On the bottom step Lord Dreever halted. - -“I say, I’ve got it!” - -“Good for you; got what?” - -“Why, I knew I’d seen that chap’s face somewhere before, only I couldn’t -place him. I’ve got him now. He’s the Johnny who came into the shelter -last night—chap you gave a quid to.” - -Spike’s was one of those faces which, without being essentially -beautiful, stamp themselves on the memory. - -“You’re quite right,” said Jimmy. “I was wondering if you would -recognise him. Would you prefer a cigar or a cocoanut? The fact is, he’s -a man I once employed over in New York, and when I came across him over -here he was so evidently wanting a bit of help that I took him on again. -As a matter of fact I needed somebody to look after my things, and Spike -can do it as well as anybody else.” - -“I see. Not bad my spotting him, was it? Well, I must be off. Good-bye. -Two-fifteen at Paddington. Meet you there. Book for Dreever if you’re -there before me.” - -“Right. Good-bye.” - -Jimmy returned to the dining-room. Spike, who was examining as much as -he could of himself in the glass, turned round with his wonted grin. - -“Say, who’s de gazebo, boss? Ain’t he de mug youse was wit last night?” - -“That’s the man. We’re going down with him to the country to-day, Spike, -so be ready.” - -“On your way, boss. What’s dat?” - -“He has invited us to his country house, and we’re going.” - -“What? Bote of us?” - -“Yes. I told him you were my servant. I hope you aren’t offended.” - -“Nit. What’s dere to be offended at, boss?” - -“That’s all right. Well, we’d better be packing. We have to be at the -station at a quarter to two.” - -“Sure.” - -“And, Spike.” - -“Yes, boss?” - -“Did you get any other clothes besides what you’ve got on?” - -“Nit. What do I want wit more dan one dude suit?” - -“I approve of your rugged simplicity,” said Jimmy, “but what you’re -wearing is a town suit, excellent for the Park or the Marchioness’s -Thursday crush, but essentially metropolitan. You must get something -else for the country, something dark and quiet. I’ll come and help you -choose it, now.” - -“Why, won’t dis go in de country?” - -“Not on your life, Spike. It would unsettle the rustic mind. They’re -fearfully particular about that sort of thing in England.” - -“Dey’s to de bad,” said the baffled disciple of Beau Brummell, with deep -discontent. - -“And there’s just one thing more, Spike. I know you’ll excuse me -mentioning it. When we’re at Dreever Castle you will find yourself -within reach of a good deal of silver and other things. Would it be too -much to ask you to forget your professional instincts? I mentioned this -before in a general sort of way, but this is a particular case.” - -“Ain’t I to get busy at all, den?” queried Spike. - -“Not so much as a salt-spoon,” said Jimmy firmly. “Now we’ll whistle a -cab and go and choose you some more clothes.” - -Accompanied by Spike, who came within an ace of looking almost -respectable in new blue serge (“small gent’s”—off the peg), Jimmy -arrived at Paddington with a quarter of an hour to spare. Lord Dreever -appeared ten minutes later, accompanied by a man of about Jimmy’s age. -He was tall and thin, with cold eyes and tight, thin lips. His clothes -fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man in a thousand. They were -the best part of him. His general appearance gave one the idea that his -meals did him little good, and his meditations rather less. He had -practically no conversation. - -This was Lord Dreever’s friend Hargate—the Hon. Louis Hargate. Lord -Dreever made the two acquainted; but even as they shook hands Jimmy had -an impression that he had seen the man before, but where or in what -circumstances he could not remember. Hargate appeared to have no -recollection of him, so he did not mention the matter. A man who has led -a wandering life often sees faces which come back to him later on, -absolutely detached from their context. He might merely have passed Lord -Dreever’s friend in the street. But Jimmy had an idea that the other had -figured in some episode which at the moment had had an importance. - -What that episode was had escaped him. He dismissed the thing from his -mind. It was not worth harrying his memory about. - -Judicious tipping had secured them a compartment to themselves. Hargate, -having read the evening paper, went to sleep in the far corner. Jimmy -and Lord Dreever, who sat opposite one another, fell into a desultory -conversation. - -At Reading Lord Dreever’s remarks took a somewhat intimate turn. Jimmy -was one of those men whose manner invites confidences. His lordship -began to unburden his soul of certain facts relating to the family. - -“Have you ever met my Uncle Thomas?” he inquired. “You know Blunt’s -Stores? Well, he’s Blunt. It’s a company now, but he still runs it. He -married my aunt. You’ll meet him at Dreever.” - -Jimmy said he would be delighted. - -“I bet you won’t,” said the last of the Dreevers, with candour. “He’s a -frightful man—the limit. Always fussing round like a hen. Gives me a -fearful time, I can tell you. Look here, I don’t mind telling you—we’re -pals—he’s dead set on my marrying a rich girl.” - -“Well, that sounds all right. There are worse hobbies. Any particular -rich girl?” - -“There’s always one. He sticks me on to one after another. Quite nice -girls, you know, some of them, only I want to marry somebody else—that -girl you saw me with at the Savoy.” - -“Why don’t you tell your uncle?” - -“He’d have a fit. She hasn’t a penny. Nor have I, except what I get from -him. Of course, this is strictly between ourselves.” - -“Of course.” - -“I know everybody thinks there’s money attached to the title; but there -isn’t—not a penny. When my Aunt Julia married Sir Thomas the whole -frightful show was pretty well in pawn. So you see how it is.” - -“Ever think of work?” asked Jimmy. - -“Work?” said Lord Dreever reflectively. “Well, you know, I shouldn’t -mind work, only I’m dashed if I can see what I could do. I shouldn’t -know how. Nowadays you want a fearful specialised education, and so on. -Tell you what, though, I shouldn’t mind the Diplomatic Service. One of -these days I shall have a dash at asking my uncle to put up the money. I -believe I shouldn’t be half bad at that. I’m rather a quick sort of chap -at times you know. Lots of fellows have said so.” - -He cleared his throat modestly, and proceeded. - -“It isn’t only my Uncle Thomas,” he said; “there’s Aunt Julia too. She’s -about as much the limit as he is. I remember when I was a kid she was -always sitting on me. She does still. Wait till you see her. Sort of -woman who makes you feel that your hands are the colour of tomatoes and -the size of legs of mutton, if you know what I mean. And talks as if she -were biting at you. Frightful!” - -Having unburdened himself of which criticism, he yawned, leaned back, -and was presently asleep. - -It was about an hour later that the train, which had been taking itself -less seriously for some time, stopping at all stations of quite minor -importance, and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted again. A -board with the legend “Dreever” in large letters showed that they had -reached their destination. - -The station-master informed Lord Dreever that her ladyship had come to -meet the train in the motor car, and was now waiting in the road -outside. - -Lord Dreever’s jaw fell. - -“Oh, Lord!” he said. “She’s probably motored in to get the afternoon -letters. That means she’s come in the runabout, and there’s only room -for two of us in that. I forgot to write that you were coming, Pitt. I -only wired about Hargate. Dash it, I shall have to walk.” - -His fears proved correct. The car at the station-door was small. It was -obviously designed to seat four only. - -Lord Dreever introduced Hargate and Jimmy to the statuesque lady in the -tonneau, and then there was an awkward silence. - -At this point Spike came up, chuckling amiably, with a magazine in his -hand. - -“Gee!” said Spike. “Say, boss, de mug what wrote dis piece must have bin -livin’ out in de woods. Say, dere’s a gazebo who wants to swipe de -heroine’s jools what’s locked in a drawer. So dis mug—what do you t’ink -he does?” Spike laughed shortly, in professional scorn. “Why——” - -“Is this gentleman a friend of yours, Spennie?” inquired Lady Julia -politely, eyeing the red-haired speaker coldly. - -“It’s——” - -He looked appealingly at Jimmy. - -“It’s my man,” said Jimmy. “Spike,” he added, in an undertone, “to the -woods. Chase yourself. Fade away.” - -“Sure,” said the abashed Spike. “Dat’s right. It ain’t up to me to come -buttin’ in. Sorry, boss. Sorry, gents. Sorry, loidy. Me for the tall -grass.” - -“There’s a luggage cart of sorts,” said Lord Dreever, pointing. - -“Sure,” said Spike, affably. He trotted away. - -“Jump in, Pitt,” said Lord Dreever. “I’m going to walk.” - -“No, I’ll walk,” said Jimmy. “I’d rather. I want a bit of exercise. -Which way do I go?” - -“Frightfully good of you, old chap,” said Lord Dreever. “Sure you don’t -mind? I do bar walking. Right-O! You keep straight on.” - -Jimmy watched them out of sight and started to follow at a leisurely -pace. It certainly was an ideal afternoon for a country walk. The sun -was just hesitating whether to treat the time as afternoon or evening. -Eventually it decided that it was evening and moderated its beams. After -London the country was deliciously fresh and cool. Jimmy felt an -unwonted content. It seemed to him just then that the only thing worth -doing in the world was to settle down somewhere with three acres and a -cow and become pastoral. - -There was a marked lack of traffic on the road. Once he met a cart and -once a flock of sheep with a friendly dog. Sometimes a rabbit would dash -out into the road, stop to listen, and dart into the opposite hedge, all -hind-legs and white scut. But except for these he was alone in the -world. - -And gradually there began to be borne in upon him the conviction that he -had lost his way. - -It is difficult to judge distance when one is walking but it certainly -seemed to Jimmy that he must have covered five miles by this time. He -must have mistaken the way. He had certainly come straight; he could not -have come straighter. On the other hand, it would be quite in keeping -with the cheap substitute which served the Earl of Dreever in place of a -mind that he should have forgotten to mention some important turning. -Jimmy sat down by the roadside. - -As he sat there came to him from down the road the sound of a horse’s -feet trotting. He got up. Here was somebody at last who would direct -him. - -“Halloa!” he said. “Accident? And, by Jove, a side-saddle!” - -Jimmy stopped the horse, and led it back the way it had come. As he -turned the bend in the road he saw a girl in a riding-habit running -towards him. She stopped running when she caught sight of him, and -slowed down to walk. - -“Thank you ever so much,” she said, taking the reins from him. “Dandy, -you naughty old thing!” - -Jimmy looked at her flushed, smiling face, and stood staring. It was -Molly McEachern. - - - - - ★ 12 ★ - _Making a Start_ - - -Self-possession was one of Jimmy’s leading characteristics, but for the -moment he found himself speechless. This girl had been occupying his -thoughts for so long that—in his mind—he had grown very intimate with -her. It was something of a shock to come suddenly out of his dreams and -face the fact that she was in reality practically a stranger. He felt as -one might with a friend whose memory has been wiped out. It went against -the grain to have to begin again from the beginning after all the time -they had been together. - -A curious constraint fell upon him. - -“Why, how do you do, Mr. Pitt?” she said, holding out her hand. - -Jimmy began to feel better. It was something that she remembered his -name. - -“It’s like meeting somebody out of a dream,” said Molly. “I have -sometimes wondered if you were real. Everything that happened that night -was so like a dream.” - -Jimmy found his tongue. - -“You haven’t altered,” he said; “you look just the same.” - -“Well,” she laughed, “after all, it’s not so long ago, is it?” - -He was conscious of a dull hurt. To him it had seemed years. But he was -nothing to her—just an acquaintance, one of a hundred. But what more, he -asked himself, could he have expected? And with the thought came -consolation. The painful sense of having lost ground left him. He saw he -had been allowing things to get out of proportion. He had not lost -ground. He had gained it. He had met her again and she remembered him. -What more had he any right to ask? - -“I’ve crammed a good deal into the time,” he explained. “I’ve been -travelling about a bit since we met.” - -“Do you live in Shropshire?” asked Molly. - -“No. I’m on a visit—at least, I’m supposed to be; but I’ve lost the way -to the place, and I am beginning to doubt if I shall ever get there. I -was told to go straight on. I’ve gone straight on, and here I am, lost -in the snow. Do you happen to know whereabouts Dreever Castle is?” - -She laughed. - -“Why,” she said, “I’m staying at Dreever Castle myself.” - -“What?” - -“So the first person you meet turns out to be an experienced guide. -You’re lucky, Mr. Pitt.” - -“You’re right,” said Jimmy slowly; “I am.” - -“Did you come down with Lord Dreever? He passed me in the car just as I -was starting out. He was with another man and Lady Julia Blunt. Surely -he didn’t make you walk?” - -“I offered to walk. Somebody had to. Apparently he had forgotten to let -them know he was bringing me.” - -“And then he misdirected you! He’s very casual, I’m afraid.” - -“Inclined that way, perhaps.” - -“Have you known Lord Dreever long?” - -“Since a quarter-past twelve last night.” - -“Last night!” - -“We met at the Savoy, and later on the Embankment. We looked at the -river together and told each other the painful stories of our lives, and -this morning he called and invited me down here.” - -Molly looked at him with frank amusement. - -“You must be a very restless sort of person,” she said. “You seem to do -a great deal of moving about.” - -“I do,” said Jimmy. “I can’t keep still. I’ve got the go-fever, like the -man in Kipling’s book.” - -“But he was in love.” - -“Yes,” said Jimmy; “he was. That’s the bacillus, you know.” - -She shot a quick glance at him. He became suddenly interesting to her. -She was at the age of dreams and speculations. From being merely an -ordinary young man with rather more ease of manner than the majority of -the young men she had met, he developed in an instant into something -worthy of closer attention. He took on a certain mystery and romance. -She wondered what sort of a girl it was that he loved. Examining him in -the light of this new discovery, she found him attractive. Something -seemed to have happened to put her in sympathy with him. She noticed for -the first time a latent forcefulness behind the pleasantness of his -manner. His self-possession was the self-possession of the man who had -been tried and has found himself. - -At the bottom of her consciousness, too, there was a faint stirring of -some emotion, which she could not analyse, not unlike pain. It was -vaguely reminiscent of the agony of loneliness which she had experienced -as a small child on the rare occasions when her father had been busy and -distrait and had shown her by his manner that she was outside his -thoughts. This was but a pale suggestion of that misery, but -nevertheless there was a resemblance. It was a rather desolate, shut-out -sensation, half resentful. - -It was gone in a moment. But it had been there. It had passed over her -heart as the shadow of a cloud moves across a meadow in the summer-time. - -For some moments she stood without speaking. Jimmy did not break the -silence. He was looking at her with an appeal in his eyes. Why could she -not understand? She must understand. - -But the eyes that met his were those of a child. - -As they stood there the horse, which had been cropping in a perfunctory -manner at the short grass by the roadside, raised his head and neighed -impatiently. There was something so human about the performance that -Jimmy and the girl laughed simultaneously. The utter materialism of the -neigh broke the spell. It was a noisy demand for food. - -“Poor Dandy!” said Molly. “He knows he’s near home, and he knows it’s -his dinner-time.” - -“Are we near the castle, then?” - -“It’s a long way round by the road, but we can cut across the fields. -Aren’t these English fields and hedges just perfect? I love them! Of -course I loved America, but——” - -“Have you left New York long?” asked Jimmy. - -“We came over here about a month after you were at our house.” - -“You didn’t spend much time there, then?” - -“Father had just made a good deal of money in Wall Street. He must have -been making it when I was on the _Mauretania_. He wanted to leave New -York, so we didn’t wait. We were in London all the winter. Then we went -over to Paris. It was there we met Sir Thomas Blunt and Lady Julia. Have -you met them? They are Lord Dreever’s uncle and aunt.” - -“I’ve met Lady Julia.” - -“Do you like her?” - -Jimmy hesitated. - -“Well, you see——” - -“I know. She’s your hostess, but you haven’t started your visit yet, so -you’ve just got time to say what you really think of her before you have -to pretend she’s perfect.” - -“Well——” - -“I detest her,” said Molly crisply. “I think she’s hard and hateful.” - -“Well, I can’t say she struck me as a sort of female Cheeryble Brother. -Lord Dreever introduced me to her at the station. She seemed to bear it -pluckily, but with some difficulty.” - -“She’s hateful,” repeated Molly. “So is he—Sir Thomas, I mean. He’s one -of those fussy, bullying little men. They both bully poor Lord Dreever -till I wonder he doesn’t rebel. They treat him like a schoolboy. It -makes me wild. It’s such a shame. He’s so nice and good-natured. I am so -sorry for him.” - -Jimmy listened to this outburst with mixed feelings. It was sweet of her -to be so sympathetic; but was it merely sympathy? There had been a ring -in her voice and a flush on her cheek which had suggested to Jimmy’s -sensitive mind a personal interest in the down-trodden peer. Reason told -him that it was foolish to be jealous of Lord Dreever. A good fellow, of -course, but not to be taken seriously. The primitive man in him, on the -other hand, made him hate all Molly’s male friends with an unreasoning -hatred. Not that he hated Lord Dreever. He liked him. But he doubted if -he could go on liking him for long if Molly were to continue in this -sympathetic strain. - -His affection for the absent one was not put to the test. Molly’s next -remark had to do with Sir Thomas. - -“The worst of it is,” she said, “father and Sir Thomas are such friends. -In Paris they were always together. Father did him a very good turn.” - -“How was that?” - -“It was one afternoon just after we arrived. A man got into Lady Julia’s -room while we were all out except father. Father saw him go into the -room, and suspecting something was wrong, went in after him. The man was -trying to steal Lady Julia’s jewels. He had opened the box where they -were kept, and was actually holding her rope of diamonds in his hand -when father found him. It’s the most magnificent thing I ever saw. Sir -Thomas told father he gave a hundred thousand dollars for it.” - -“But surely,” said Jimmy, “hadn’t the management of the hotel a safe for -valuables?” - -“Of course they had; but you don’t know Sir Thomas. He wasn’t going to -trust any hotel safe. He’s the sort of man who insists on doing -everything in his own way, and who always imagines he can do things -better for himself than anyone else can do them for him. He had had this -special box made, and would never keep the diamonds anywhere else. -Naturally the thief opened it in a minute. A clever thief would have no -difficulty with a thing like that.” - -“What happened?” - -“Oh, the man saw father and dropped the jewels, and ran off down the -corridor. Father chased him a little way, but, of course, it was no -good; so he went back and shouted and rang every bell he could see and -gave the alarm, but the man was never found. Still, he left the -diamonds. That was the great thing, after all. You must look at them -to-night at dinner. They really are wonderful. Are you a judge of -precious stones at all?” - -“I am, rather,” said Jimmy; “in fact, a jeweller I once knew told me I -had a natural gift in that direction. And so, of course, Sir Thomas was -pretty grateful to your father?” - -“He simply gushed. He couldn’t do enough for him. You see, if the -diamonds had been stolen I’m sure Lady Julia would have made Sir Thomas -buy her another rope just as good. He’s terrified of her, I’m certain. -He tries not to show it; but he is. And besides having to pay another -hundred thousand dollars, he would never have heard the last of it. It -would have ruined his reputation for being infallible and doing -everything better than anybody else.” - -“But didn’t the mere fact that the thief got the jewels and was only -stopped by a fluke from getting away with them do that?” - -Molly bubbled with laughter. - -“She never knew. Sir Thomas got back to the hotel an hour before she -did. I’ve never seen such a busy hour. He had the manager up and -harangued him, and swore him to secrecy—which the poor manager was only -too glad to agree to, because it wouldn’t have done the hotel any good -to have it known. And the manager harangued the servants, and the -servants harangued each other, and everybody talked at the same time, -and father and I promised not to tell a soul; so Lady Julia doesn’t know -a word about it to this day. And I don’t see why she ever should; though -one of these days I’ve a good mind to tell Lord Dreever! Think what a -hold he would have over them! They’d never be able to bully him again.” - -“I shouldn’t,” said Jimmy, trying to keep a touch of coldness out of his -voice. This championship of Lord Dreever, however sweet and admirable, -was a little distressing. - -She looked up quickly. - -“You don’t think I really meant to, do you?” - -“No, no,” said Jimmy hastily. “Of course not.” - -“Well, I should think so!” said Molly indignantly. “After I promised not -to tell a soul about it.” - -Jimmy chuckled. - -“It’s nothing,” he said, in answer to her look of inquiry. - -“You laughed at something.” - -“Well,” said Jimmy apologetically, “it’s only—it’s nothing really—only -what I meant is, you have just told one soul a good deal about it, -haven’t you?” - -Molly turned pink. Then she smiled. - -“I don’t know how I came to do it,” she declared. “It rushed out of its -own accord. I suppose it is because I know I can trust you.” - -Jimmy flushed with pleasure. He turned to her and half halted, but she -continued to walk on. - -“You can,” he said; “but how do you know you can?” - -“Why,” she said—she stopped for a moment, and then went on hurriedly, -with a touch of embarrassment—“why, how absurd! Of course I know. Can’t -you read faces? I can. Look,” she said, pointing, “now you can see the -castle. How do you like it?” - -They had reached a point where the fields sloped sharply downward. A few -hundred yards away, backed by woods, stood the grey mass of stone which -proved such a kill-joy of old to the Welsh sportsman during the peasant -season. Even now it had a certain air of defiance. The setting sun lit -up the waters of the lake. No figures were to be seen moving in the -grounds. The place resembled a palace of sleep. - -“Well!” said Molly. - -“It’s wonderful!” - -“Isn’t it? I’m so glad it strikes you like that. I always feel as if I -had invented everything round here. It hurts me if people don’t -appreciate it.” - -They went down the hill. - -“By the way,” said Jimmy, “are you acting in these theatricals they are -getting up?” - -“Yes. Are you the other man they were going to get? That’s why Lord -Dreever went up to London, to see if he couldn’t find somebody. The man -who was going to play one of the parts had to go back to London on -business.” - -“Poor brute!” said Jimmy. It seemed to him at that moment that there was -only one place in the world where a man might be even reasonably happy. -“What sort of part is it? Lord Dreever said I should be wanted to act. -What do I do?” - -“If you’re Lord Herbert, which is the part they wanted a man for, you -talk to me most of the time.” - -Jimmy decided that the piece had been well cast. - -The dressing-gong sounded just as they entered the hall. From a door on -the left there emerged two men—a big one and a little one—in friendly -conversation. The big man’s back struck Jimmy as familiar. - -“Oh, father!” Molly called. And Jimmy knew where he had seen the back -before. - -“Sir Thomas,” said Molly, “this is Mr. Pitt.” - -The little man gave Jimmy a rapid glance—possibly with the object of -detecting his more immediately obvious criminal points; then, as if -satisfied as to his honesty, became genial. - -“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Pitt—very glad,” he said. “We have been -expecting you for some time.” - -Jimmy explained that he had lost his way. - -“Exactly. It was ridiculous that you should be compelled to -walk—perfectly ridiculous. It was gross carelessness of my nephew not to -let us know that you were coming. My wife told him so in the car.” - -“I bet she did,” said Jimmy to himself. “Really,” he said aloud, by way -of lending a helping hand to a friend in trouble, “I preferred to walk. -I have not been on a country road since I landed in England.” He turned -to the big man and held out his hand. “I don’t suppose you remember me, -Mr. McEachern. We met in New York.” - -“You remember the night Mr. Pitt scared away our burglar, father?” said -Molly. - -Mr. McEachern was momentarily silent. On his native asphalt there are -few situations capable of throwing the New York policeman off his -balance. In that favoured clime _savoir-faire_ is represented by a -shrewd blow of the fist, and a masterful stroke with the truncheon -amounts to a satisfactory repartee. Thus shall you never take a -policeman of Manhattan without his answer. In other surroundings Mr. -McEachern would have known how to deal with the young man whom with such -good reason he believed to be an expert criminal. But another plan of -action was needed here. First and foremost of all the hints on etiquette -which he had imbibed since he entered this more reposeful life came this -maxim, “Never make a scene.” Scenes, he had gathered, were of all things -what polite society most resolutely abhorred. The natural man in him -must be bound in chains. The sturdy blow must give way to the honeyed -word. A cold “Really!” was the most vigorous retort that the best -circles would countenance. - -It had cost Mr. McEachern some pains to learn this lesson, but he had -done it. - -He shook hands and gruffly acknowledged the acquaintanceship. - -“Really, really!” chirped Sir Thomas amiably. “So you find yourself -among old friends, Mr. Pitt.” - -“Old friends,” echoed Jimmy, painfully conscious of the ex-policeman’s -eyes, which were boring holes in him. - -“Excellent, excellent! Let me take you to your room. It is just opposite -my own. This way.” - -They parted from Mr. McEachern on the first landing, but Jimmy could -still feel those eyes. The policeman’s stare had been of the sort which -turns corners, goes upstairs, and pierces walls. - - - - - ★ 13 ★ - _Spike’s Views_ - - -Nevertheless, it was in a very exalted frame of mind that he dressed for -dinner. It seemed to him that he had awakened from a sort of stupor. -Life, so grey yesterday, now appeared full of colour and possibilities. -Most men who, either from choice or necessity, have knocked about the -world for any length of time are more or less fatalists. Jimmy was an -optimistic fatalist. He had always looked on fate not as a blind -dispenser at random of gifts good and bad, but rather as a benevolent -being with a pleasing bias in his favour. He had almost a Napoleonic -faith in his star. At various periods of his life—notably at the time -when, as he had told Lord Dreever, he had breakfasted on birdseed—he had -been in uncommonly tight corners, but his luck had always extricated -him. It struck him that it would be an unthinkable piece of bad -sportsmanship on Fate’s part to see him through so much and then to -abandon him just as he had arrived in sight of what was by far the -biggest thing of his life. Of course, his view of what constituted the -biggest thing in life had changed with the years. Every ridge of the -Hill of Supreme Moments in turn had been mistaken by him for the summit; -but this last, he felt instinctively, was genuine. For good or bad, -Molly was woven into the texture of his life. In the stormy period of -the early twenties he had thought the same of other girls, who were now -mere memories as dim as those of figures in a half-forgotten play. In -their case his convalescence had been temporarily painful, but brief. -Force of will and an active life had worked the cure. He had merely -braced himself up and firmly ejected them from his mind. A week or two -of aching emptiness, and his heart had been once more in readiness—all -nicely swept and done up—for the next lodger. - -But in the case of Molly it was different. He had passed the age of -instantaneous susceptibility. Like a landlord who had been cheated by -previous tenants, he had become wary. He mistrusted his powers of -recuperation in case of disaster. The will in these matters, just like -the mundane “bouncer”, gets past his work. For some years now Jimmy had -had a feeling that the next arrival would come to stay, and he had -adopted, in consequence, a gently defensive attitude towards the other -sex. Molly had broken through this, and he saw that his estimate of his -willpower had been just. Methods which had proved excellent in the past -were useless now. There was no trace here of that dimly-consoling -feeling of earlier years that there were other girls in the world. He -did not try to deceive himself. He knew that he had passed the age when -a man can fall in love with any one of a number of types. - -This was the finish, one way or the other. There was no second throw. -She had him. However it might end, he belonged to her. - -There are few moments in a man’s day when his brain is more -contemplative than during that brief space when he is lathering his face -preparatory to shaving. Flying the brush, Jimmy reviewed the situation. -He was perhaps a little too optimistic. Not unnaturally he was inclined -to look upon his luck as a sort of special train which would convey him -without effort to Paradise. Fate had behaved so exceedingly handsomely -up till now. By a series of the most workmanlike miracles it had brought -him to the point of being Molly’s fellow-guest at a country-house. This, -as Reason coldly pointed out a few moments later, was merely the -beginning; but to Jimmy, thoughtfully lathering, it seemed the end. It -was only when he had finished shaving and was arranging his tie that he -began to perceive that there were obstacles in his way—and sufficiently -big obstacles at that. - -In the first place, Molly did not love him. And, he was bound to admit, -there was no earthly reason why she ever should. A man in love is seldom -vain about his personal attractions. Also, her father firmly believed -him to be a master-burglar. - -“Otherwise,” said Jimmy, scowling at his reflection in the glass, -“everything’s splendid.” - -He brushed his hair sadly. - -There was a furtive rap at the door. - -“Halloa?” said Jimmy. “Yes?” - -The door opened slowly. A grin, surmounted by a mop of red hair, -appeared round the edge of it. - -“Halloa, Spike! Come in. What’s the matter?” - -The rest of Mr. Mullins entered the room. - -“Gee, boss, I wasn’t sure dis was your room. Say, who do you t’ink I -nearly bumped me coco against out in de corridor downstairs? Why, old -man McEachern, de cop. Dat’s right!” - -“Yes?” - -“Sure. Say, what’s he doin’ on dis beat? I pretty near went down and out -when I seen him. Dat’s right. Me breath ain’t got back home yet.” - -“Did he recognise you?” - -“Did he! He starts like an actor on top de stoige when he sees he’s up -against de plot to ruin him, an’ he gives me de fierce eye.” - -“Well?” - -“I was wondering was I on Third Avenue, or was I standing on me coco, or -what was I doin’ anyhow. Den I slips off and chases meself up here. Say, -boss, what’s de game? What’s old man McEachern doin’ stunts dis side -for?” - -“It’s all right, Spike. Keep calm. I can explain. He has retired—like -me. He’s one of the handsome guests here.” - -“On your way, boss! What’s dat?” - -“He left the Force just after that merry meeting of ours when you -frolicked with the bulldog. He came over here and butted into society. -So here we are again, all gathered together under the same roof, like a -jolly little family party.” - -Spike’s open mouth bore witness to his amazement. - -“Den——” he stammered. - -“Yes?” - -“Den what’s he goin’ to do?” - -“I couldn’t say. I’m expecting to hear shortly. But we needn’t worry -ourselves. The next move’s with him. If he wants to comment on the -situation he won’t be backward. He’ll come and do it.” - -“Sure. It’s up to him,” agreed Spike. - -“I’m quite comfortable. Speaking for myself, I’m having a good time. How -are you getting along downstairs?” - -“De limit, boss. Honest, it’s to de velvet. Dere’s old gazebo, de -butler, Saunders his name is, dat’s de best ever at handing out long -woids. I sits and listens. Dey calls me Mr. Mullins down dere,” said -Spike with pride. - -“Good. I’m glad you’re all right. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t -have an excellent time here. I don’t think that Mr. McEachern will try -to have us turned out, after he’s heard one or two little things I have -to say to him—just a few reminiscences of the past which may interest -him. I have the greatest affection for Mr. McEachern—I wish it was -mutual—but nothing he can say is going to make me stir from here.” - -“Not on your life,” agreed Spike. “Say, boss, he must have got a lot of -plunks to be able to butt in here. And I know how he got dem, too. Dat’s -right. I comes from little old New York meself.” - -“Hush, Spike; this is scandal!” - -“Sure!” said the Bowery boy, doggedly, safely started now on his -favourite subject. “I knows, and youse knows, boss. Gee! I wish I’d bin -a cop. But I wasn’t tall enough. Dey’s de fellers wit de big bank-rolls! -Look at dis old McEachern. Money to boin a wet dog wit he’s got, and -never a bit of woik for it from de start to de finish. An’ look at me, -boss.” - -“I do, Spike; I do.” - -“Look at me. Getting busy all de year round, woiking to beat de band——” - -“In prisons oft,” said Jimmy. - -“Sure t’ing. And chased all roun’ de town. And den what? Why, to de bad -at de end of it all. Say, it’s enough to make a feller——” - -“Turn honest!” said Jimmy. “That’s it, Spike—reform. You’ll be glad some -day.” - -Spike seemed to be doubtful. He was silent for a moment; then, as if -following up a train of thought, he said: - -“Boss, dis is a fine big house.” - -“I’ve seen worse.” - -“Say, couldn’t we——?” - -“Spike!” said Jimmy warningly. - -“Well, couldn’t we?” said Spike doggedly. “It ain’t often youse butts -into a dead easy proposition like dis one. We shouldn’t have to do a -t’ing excep’ git busy. De stuff’s just lying about, boss.” - -“I shouldn’t wonder.” - -“Aw, it’s a waste to leave it.” - -“Spike,” said Jimmy. “I warned you of this. I begged you to be on your -guard, to fight against your professional instincts. Be a man! Crush -them. Try to occupy your mind. Collect butterflies.” - -Spike shuffled in gloomy silence. - -“’Member dose jools you swiped from de Duchess?” he said, musingly. - -“The dear Duchess!” murmured Jimmy. “Ah, me!” - -“And de bank you busted?” - -“Those were happy days, Spike.” - -“Gee!” said the Bowery boy. - -He paused. “Dat was to de good,” he said wistfully. - -Jimmy arranged his tie at the mirror. - -“Dere’s a loidy here,” continued Spike, addressing the chest of drawers, -“dat’s got a necklace of jools what’s worth a hundred t’ousand plunks. -Honest, boss—a hundred t’ousand plunks. Saunders told me that—de old -gazebo dat hands out de long woids. I says to him ‘Gee!’ and he says, -‘Surest t’ing you know.’ A hundred t’ousand plunks!” - -“So I understand,” said Jimmy. - -“Shall I rubber around and find out where is dey kept, boss?” - -“Spike,” said Jimmy, “ask me no more. All this is in direct -contravention of our treaty respecting keeping our fingers off the -spoons. You pain me. Desist.” - -“Sorry, boss. But dey’ll be willy-wonders, dem jools. A hundred t’ousand -plunks! Dat’s going some, ain’t it? What’s dat dis side?” - -“Twenty thousand pounds.” - -“Gee! Can I help you wit de duds, boss?” - -“No, thanks, Spike. I’m through now. You might just give me a brush -down, though. No, not that. That’s a hair-brush. Try the big black one.” - -“Dis is a boid of a dude suit,” observed Spike, pausing in his labours. - -“Glad you like it, Spike. Rather _chic_, I think.” - -“It’s de limit. Excuse me, how much did it set you back, boss?” - -“Something like twelve guineas, I believe. I could look up the bill and -let you know.” - -“What’s dat—guineas? Is that more dan a pound?” - -“A shilling more. Why these higher mathematics?” - -Spike resumed his brushing. - -“What a lot of dude suits youse could get,” he observed meditatively, -“if you had dem jools.” He became suddenly animated. He waved the -clothes-brush. “Oh, you boss!” he cried. “What’s eatin’ you? Aw, it’s a -shame not to. Come along, you boss. Say, what’s doin’? Why ain’t you -sittin’ in at de game? Oh, you boss!” - -Whatever reply Jimmy might have made to this impassioned appeal was -checked by a sudden bang on the door. Almost immediately the handle -turned. - -“Gee!” cried Spike. “It’s de cop.” - -Jimmy smiled pleasantly. - -“Come in, Mr. McEachern,” he said, “come in. Journeys end in lovers -meeting. You know my friend Mr. Mullins, I think? Shut the door and sit -down, and let’s talk of many things.” - - - - - ★ 14 ★ - _Check, and a Counter Move_ - - -Mr. McEachern stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. As the result of -a long connection with evildoers, the ex-policeman was somewhat prone to -harbour suspicions of those round about him, and at the present moment -his mind was aflame. Indeed, a more trusting man might have been excused -for feeling a little doubtful as to the intentions of Jimmy and Spike. -When McEachern had heard that Lord Dreever had brought home a casual -London acquaintance, he had suspected as a possible drawback to the -visit the existence of hidden motives on the part of the unknown. Lord -Dreever, he had felt, was precisely the sort of youth to whom the -professional bunco-steerer would attach himself with shouts of joy. -Never, he had assured himself, had there been a softer proposition than -his lordship since bunco-steering became a profession. - -When he found that the strange visitor was Jimmy Pitt, his suspicions -had increased a thousandfold. - -And when, going to his room to get ready for dinner, he had nearly run -into Spike Mullins in the corridor, his frame of mind had been that of a -man to whom a sudden ray of light reveals the fact that he is on the -brink of a black precipice. Jimmy and Spike had burgled his house -together in New York; and here they were, together again, at Dreever -Castle. To say that the thing struck McEachern as sinister is to put the -matter badly. There was once a gentleman who remarked that he smelt a -rat and saw it floating in the air. Ex-Constable McEachern smelt a -regiment of rats, and the air seemed to him positively congested with -them. - -His first impulse had been to rush to Jimmy’s room there and then; but -he had learned society’s lessons well. Though the heavens might fall, he -must not be late for dinner, so he went and dressed, and an obstinate -tie put the finishing touches to his wrath. - -Jimmy regarded him coolly, without moving from the chair in which he had -seated himself. Spike, on the other hand, seemed embarrassed; he stood -first on one leg and then on the other, as if he were testing the -respective merits of each and would make a definite choice later on. - -“You scoundrels!” growled McEachern. - -Spike, who had been standing for a few moments on his right leg, and -seemed at last to have come to a decision, hastily changed to the left, -and grinned feebly. - -“Say, youse won’t want me any more, boss?” he whispered. - -“No; you can go, Spike.” - -“You stay where you are, you red-headed devil!” said McEachern tartly. - -“Run along, Spike,” said Jimmy. - -The Bowery boy looked doubtfully at the huge form of the ex-policeman, -which blocked access to the door. - -“Would you mind letting my man pass?” said Jimmy. - -“You stay——” began McEachern. - -Jimmy got up and walked round him to the door, which he opened. Spike -shot out like a rabbit released from a trap. He was not lacking in -courage, but he disliked embarrassing interviews, and it struck him that -Jimmy was the man to handle a situation of this kind. He felt that he -himself would only be in the way. - -“Now we can talk comfortably,” said Jimmy, going back to his chair. - -McEachern’s deep-set eyes gleamed and his forehead grew red, but he -mastered his feelings. - -“And now——” he said. - -He stopped. - -“Yes?” asked Jimmy. - -“What are you doing here?” - -“Nothing at the moment.” - -“You know what I mean. Why are you here—you and that red-headed devil, -Spike Mullins?” - -He jerked his head in the direction of the door. - -“I am here because I was very kindly invited to come by Lord Dreever.” - -“I know you.” - -“You have that privilege. Seeing we only met once, it’s very good of you -to remember me.” - -“What’s your game? What do you mean to do?” - -“To do? Well, I shall potter about the garden, you know, and shoot a -bit, perhaps, and look at the horses, and think of life, and feed the -chickens— I suppose there are chickens somewhere about—and possibly go -for an occasional row on the lake. Nothing more. Oh, yes, I believe they -want me to act in some theatricals.” - -“You’ll miss those theatricals. You’ll leave here to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow? But I’ve only just arrived, dear heart.” - -“I don’t care about that. Out you go to-morrow. I’ll give you till -to-morrow.” - -“I congratulate you,” said Jimmy. “One of the oldest houses in England.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I gathered from what you said that you had bought the castle. Isn’t -that so? If it still belongs to Lord Dreever, don’t you think you ought -to consult him before revising his list of guests?” - -McEachern looked at him steadily. His manner became quieter. - -“Oh! you take that tone, do you?” - -“I don’t know what you mean by ‘that tone’. What tone would you take if -a comparative stranger ordered you to leave another man’s house?” - -McEachern’s massive jaw protruded truculently in the manner which had -scared good behaviour into brawling East Siders. - -“I know your sort,” he said. “I’ll call your bluff. And you won’t get -till to-morrow, either—it’ll be now.” - -“‘Why should we wait for the morrow? You are queen of my heart -to-night,’” murmured Jimmy encouragingly. - -“I’ll expose you before them all. I’ll tell them everything.” - -Jimmy shook his head. - -“Too melodramatic,” he said. “Sort of ‘I call on Heaven to judge between -this man and me’ kind of thing. I shouldn’t. What do you propose to -tell, anyway?” - -“Will you deny that you were a crook in New York?” - -“I will. I was nothing of the kind.” - -“What?” - -“If you’ll listen, I can explain.” - -“Explain!” The other’s voice rose again. “You talk about explaining, you -scum, when I caught you in my own parlour at three in the morning, -you——” - -The smile faded from Jimmy’s face. - -“Half a minute,” he said. - -It might be that the ideal course would be to let the storm expend -itself and then to explain quietly the whole matter of Arthur Mifflin -and the bet which had led to his one excursion into burglary. But he -doubted it. Things—including his temper—had got beyond the stage of -quiet explanations. McEachern would most certainly disbelieve his story. -What would happen after that he did not know. A scene, probably—a -melodramatic denunciation, at the worst, before the other guests; at the -best, before Sir Thomas alone. He saw nothing but chaos beyond that. His -story was thin to a degree, unless backed by witnesses, and his -witnesses were three thousand miles away. Worse, he had not been alone -in the policeman’s parlour. A man who is burgling a house for a bet does -not usually do it in the company of a professional burglar well known to -the police. - -No; quiet explanations must be postponed. They could do no good, and -would probably lead to his spending the night and the next few nights at -the local police-station. And even if he were spared that fate, it was -certain that he would have to leave the castle. - -Leave the castle and Molly! He jumped up. The thought had stung him. - -“One moment,” he said. - -McEachern stopped. - -“Well?” - -“You’re going to tell them that?” asked Jimmy. - -“I am.” - -“Are you also going to tell them why you didn’t have me arrested that -night?” he said. - -McEachern started. Jimmy planted himself in front of him and glared up -into his face. It would have been hard to say which of the two was the -angrier. The policeman was flushed, and the veins stood out on his -forehead. Jimmy was in a white heat of rage. He had turned very pale, -and his muscles were quivering. Jimmy in this mood had once cleared a -Los Angeles bar-room with the leg of a chair in the space of two and a -quarter minutes by the clock. - -“Are you?” he demanded. “Are you?” - -McEachern’s hand, hanging at his side, lifted itself hesitatingly. The -fingers brushed against Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy’s lips twitched. - -“Yes,” he said, “do it! Do it, and see what happens! By God! if you put -a hand on me I’ll finish you. Do you think you can bully me? Do you -think I care for your size?” - -McEachern dropped his hand. For the first time in his life he had met a -man who, instinct told him, was his match and more. He stepped back a -pace. - -Jimmy put his hands in his pockets and turned away. He walked to the -mantelpiece and leaned his back against it. - -“You haven’t answered my question,” he said. “Perhaps you can’t!” - -McEachern was wiping his forehead and breathing quickly. - -“If you like,” said Jimmy, “we’ll go down to the drawing-room now, and -you shall tell your story and I’ll tell mine. I wonder which they will -think the more interesting? Damn you!” he went on, his anger rising once -more, “what do you mean by it? You come into my room and bluster and -talk big about exposing crooks. What do you call yourself, I wonder? Do -you realise what you are? Why, poor Spike’s an angel compared with you! -He did take chances. He wasn’t in a position of trust. You——” - -He stopped. - -“Hadn’t you better get out of here, don’t you think?” he said curtly. - -Without a word McEachern walked to the door and went out. - -Jimmy dropped into a chair with a deep breath. He took up his -cigarette-case, but before he could light a match the gong sounded from -the distance. - -He rose and laughed rather shakily. He felt limp. “As an effort to -conciliating papa,” he said, “I’m afraid that wasn’t much of a success.” - -It was not often that Mr. McEachern was visited by ideas—he ran rather -to muscle than to brain—but he had one that evening during dinner. His -interview with Jimmy had left him furious, but baffled. He knew that his -hands were tied. Frontal attack was useless; to drive Jimmy from the -castle would be out of the question. All that could be done was to watch -him while he was there, for he had never been more convinced of anything -in his life than that Jimmy had wormed his way into the house-party with -felonious intent. The appearance of Lady Julia at dinner wearing the -famous rope of diamonds supplied an obvious motive. The necklace had an -international reputation. Probably there was not a prominent thief in -England or on the Continent who had not marked it down as a possible -prey. It had already been tried for once. It was big game—just the sort -of lure which would draw the type of criminal he imagined Jimmy to be. - -From his seat at the farther end of the table he looked at the jewels as -they gleamed on their wearer’s neck. They were almost too ostentatious -for what was, after all, an informal dinner. It was not a rope of -diamonds—it was a collar. There was something Oriental and barbaric in -the overwhelming display of jewellery. It was a prize for which a thief -would risk much. - -The conversation becoming general with the fish, was not of a kind to -remove from his mind the impression made by the sight of the gems. It -turned on burglary. Lord Dreever began it. - -“Oh, I say,” he said. “I forgot to tell you, Aunt Julia; No. 6 was -burgled the other night.” - -No. 6A Eaton Square was the family’s London house. - -“Burgled!” said Sir Thomas. - -“Well, broken into,” said his lordship, gratified to find that he had -got the ear of his entire audience. Even Lady Julia was silent and -attentive. “Chap got through the scullery window about one o’clock in -the morning.” - -“And what did you do?” inquired Sir Thomas. - -“Oh, I—er— I was out at the time,” said Lord Dreever. “But something -frightened the feller,” he went on hurriedly, “and he made a bolt for it -without taking anything.” - -“Burglary,” said a young man whom Jimmy subsequently discovered to be -the drama-loving Charteris, leaning back and taking advantage of a -pause, “is the hobby of the sportsman and the life-work of the -avaricious.” - -He took a little pencil from his waistcoat pocket and made a rapid note -on his cuff. - -Everybody seemed to have something to say on the subject. One young lady -gave it as her opinion that she would not like to find a burglar under -her bed. Somebody also had heard of a fellow whose father had fired at -the butler under the impression that he was a house-breaker, and had -broken a valuable bust of Socrates. Lord Dreever had known a man at -college whose brother wrote lyrics for musical comedy, and had done one -about a burglar’s best friend being his mother. - -“Life,” said Charteris, who had had time for reflection, “is a house -which we all burgle. We enter it uninvited, take all that we can lay -hands on, and go out again.” - -He scribbled “Life—house—burgle” on his cuff and replaced the pencil. - -“This man’s brother I was telling you about,” said Lord Dreever, “says -there’s only one rhyme in the English language to ‘burglar,’ and that’s -‘gurgler’—unless you count ‘pergola.’ He says——” - -“Personally,” said Jimmy, with a glance at McEachern, “I have rather a -sympathy for burglars. After all, they are one of the hardest-working -classes in existence. They toil while everybody else is asleep. Besides, -a burglar is only a practical Socialist. People talk a lot about the -redistribution of wealth. The burglar goes out and does it. I have found -burglars some of the decentest criminals I have ever met.” - -“I despise burglars!” ejaculated Lady Julia, with a suddenness which -stopped Jimmy’s eloquence as if a tap had been turned off. “If I found -one coming after my jewels and I had a pistol I’d shoot him.” - -Jimmy met McEachern’s eye, and smiled kindly at him. The ex-policeman -was looking at him with the gaze of a baffled but malignant basilisk. - -“I take very good care no one gets a chance at your diamonds, my dear,” -said Sir Thomas, without a blush. “I have had a steel box made for me,” -he added to the company in general, “with a special lock—a very -ingenious arrangement, quite unbreakable, I imagine.” - -Jimmy, with Molly’s story fresh in his mind, could not check a rapid -smile. Mr. McEachern, watching him intently, saw it. To him it was fresh -evidence, if any had been wanted, of Jimmy’s intentions, and of his -confidence of success. McEachern’s brow darkened. During the rest of the -meal tense thought rendered him more silent even than was his wont at -the dinner-table. The difficulty of his position was, he saw, great. -Jimmy, to be foiled, must be watched, and how could he watch him? - -It was not until the coffee arrived that he found an answer to the -question. With his first cigarette came the idea. That night, in his -room, before going to bed, he wrote a letter. It was an unusual letter, -but singularly enough, almost identical with one Sir Thomas Blunt had -written that very morning. - -It was addressed to the Manager of Dodson’s Private Inquiry Agency, of -Bishopsgate Street, E.C., and ran as follows: - -“Sir,— On receipt of this, kindly send down one of your smartest men. -Instruct him to stay at the village inn in the character of American -seeing sights of England and anxious to inspect Dreever Castle. I will -meet him in the village and recognise him as old New York friend, and -will then give him further instructions.— Yours faithfully, J. -McEachern. - -“P.S.— Kindly not send a rube, but a really smart man.” - -This brief but pregnant letter cost him some pains in its composition. -He was not a ready writer, but he completed it at last to his -satisfaction. There was a crisp purity in the style which pleased him. -He sealed up the envelope and slipped it into his pocket. He felt more -at ease now. Such was the friendship that had sprung up between Sir -Thomas Blunt and himself as the result of the jewel episode in Paris -that he could count with certainty on the successful working of his -scheme. The grateful knight would not be likely to allow any old New -York friend of his preserver to languish at the village inn. The -sleuth-hound would at once be installed at the castle, where, -unsuspected by Jimmy, he would keep an eye on the course of events. Any -looking after that Mr. James Pitt might require might safely be left in -the hands of this expert. - -With considerable fervour Mr. McEachern congratulated himself on his -astuteness. With Jimmy above stairs and Spike below, the sleuth-hound -would have his hands full. - - - - - ★ 15 ★ - _Mr. McEachern Intervenes_ - - -Life at the castle during the first few days of his visit filled Jimmy -with a curious blend of emotions, mainly unpleasant. Fate, in its -pro-Jimmy capacity, seemed to be taking a rest. In the first place, the -part allotted to him was not that of Lord Herbert, the character who -talked to Molly most of the time. The instant Charteris learned from -Lord Dreever that Jimmy had at one time actually been on the stage -professionally, he decided that Lord Herbert offered too little scope -for the new man’s talents. - -“Absolutely no good to you, my dear chap,” he said. “It’s just a small -dude part. He’s simply got to be a silly ass.” - -Jimmy pleaded that he could be a sillier ass than anybody living; but -Charteris was firm. - -“No,” he said. “You must be Captain Browne—true acting part, the biggest -in the piece, full of fat lines. Spennie was to have played it, and we -were in for the worst frost in the history of the stage. Now you’ve come -it’s all right. Spennie’s the ideal of Lord Herbert. He’s simply got to -be himself. We’ve got a success now, my boy. Rehearsal after lunch. -Don’t be late.” - -And he had gone off to beat up the rest of the company. - -From that moment Jimmy’s troubles began. Charteris was a young man in -whom a passion for the stage was ineradicably implanted. It mattered -nothing to him during these days that the sun shone, that it was -pleasant on the lake, and that Jimmy would have given five pounds a -minute to be allowed to get Molly to himself for half an hour every -afternoon. All he knew or cared about was that the local nobility and -gentry were due to arrive at the castle a week from that day, and that -very few of the company even knew their lines. Having hustled Jimmy into -the part of Captain Browne, he gave his energy free play. He conducted -rehearsals with a vigour which occasionally almost welded the rabble he -was coaching into something approaching coherency. He painted scenery -and left it about—wet—and people sat on it; he nailed up horseshoes for -luck, and they fell on people. But nothing daunted him; he never rested. - -“Mr. Charteris,” said Lady Julia rather frigidly, after one energetic -rehearsal, “is indefatigable. He whirled me about!” - -It was, perhaps, his greatest triumph, properly considered, that he had -induced Lady Julia to take a part in his piece; but to the born -organiser of amateur theatricals no miracle of this kind is impossible, -and Charteris was one of the most inveterate organisers in the country. -There had been some talk—late at night in the billiard-room—of his being -about to write in a comic footman _role_ for Sir Thomas, but it had -fallen through; not, it was felt, because Charteris could not have -hypnotised him into undertaking it, but rather because Sir Thomas was -histrionically unfit. - -Mainly as a result of the producer’s energy Jimmy found himself one of a -crowd, and disliked the sensation. He had not experienced much -difficulty in mastering the scenes in which he appeared; but -unfortunately those who appeared with him had. It occurred to Jimmy -daily, after he had finished “running through the lines” with a series -of agitated amateurs, male and female, that for all practical purposes -he might just as well have gone to Japan. In this confused welter of -rehearsers his opportunities of talking with Molly were infinitesimal. -And worse, she did not appear to mind. She was cheerful, and apparently -quite content to be engulfed in a crowd. Probably, he thought with some -melancholy, if she met his eye, and noted in it a distracted gleam, she -put it down to the same cause which made other eyes in the company gleam -distractedly during that week. - -Jimmy began to take a thoroughly jaundiced view of amateur theatricals, -and of these amateur theatricals in particular. He felt that in the -electric flame department of the infernal regions there should be a -special gridiron, reserved exclusively for the man who invented these -performances, so diametrically opposed to the true spirit of -civilisation. At the close of each day he cursed Charteris with -unfailing regularity. - -There was another thing that disturbed him. That he should be unable to -talk with Molly was an evil, but a negative evil. It was supplemented by -one that was positive. Even in the midst of the chaos of rehearsals he -could not help noticing that Molly and Lord Dreever were very much -together. Also—and this was even more sinister—he observed that both Sir -Thomas Blunt and Mr. McEachern were making determined efforts to foster -this state of affairs. - -Of this he had sufficient proof one evening when, after scheming and -plotting in a way that had made the great efforts of Machiavelli and -Richelieu seem like the work of raw novices, he had cut Molly out from -the throng and carried her off for the alleged purpose of helping him -feed the chickens. There were, as he had suspected, chickens attached to -the castle. They lived in a little world of noise and smells at the back -of the stables. Bearing an iron pot full of a poisonous-looking mash, -and accompanied by Molly, he had felt, for perhaps a minute and a half, -like a successful general. It is difficult to be romantic when you are -laden with chicken-feed in an unwieldy iron pot, but he had resolved -that that portion of the proceedings should be brief—the birds should -dine that evening on the quick-lunch principle—then to the more fitting -surroundings of the rose-garden. There was plenty of time before the -hour of the sounding of the dressing-gong. Perhaps even a row on the -lake—— - -“What-ho!” said a voice. - -Behind them, with a propitiatory smile on his face, stood his lordship -of Dreever. - -“My uncle told me I should find you out here. What have you got there, -Pitt? Is this what you feed them on? I say, you know, queer coves, hens! -I wouldn’t touch the stuff for a fortune. What? Looks to me poisonous.” - -He met Jimmy’s eye and stopped. There was that in Jimmy’s eye that would -have stopped an avalanche. His lordship twiddled his fingers in pink -embarrassment. - -“Oh, look!” said Molly. “There’s a poor little chicken out there in the -cold. It hasn’t had a morsel. Give me the spoon, Mr. Pitt. Here, chick, -chick! Don’t be silly, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve brought you your -dinner.” - -She moved off in pursuit of the solitary fowl, which had edged nervously -away. Lord Dreever bent towards Jimmy. - -“Frightfully sorry, Pitt, old man,” he whispered feverishly. “Didn’t -want to come. Couldn’t help it. He sent me out.” He half looked over his -shoulder. “And,” he added rapidly, as Molly came back, “the old boy’s at -his bedroom window now, watching us through his opera-glasses!” - -The return journey to the house was performed in silence—on Jimmy’s part -in thoughtful silence. He thought hard, and had been thinking ever -since. - -He had material for thought. That Lord Dreever was as clay in his -uncle’s hands he was aware. He had not known his lordship long, but he -had known him long enough to realise that a backbone had been carelessly -omitted from his composition. What his uncle directed that would he do. -The situation looked bad to Jimmy. The order, he knew, had gone out that -Lord Dreever was to marry money, and Molly was an heiress. He did not -know how much Mr. McEachern had amassed in his dealings with New York -crime, but it could not but be something considerable. Things looked -black. - -Then he had a reaction. He was taking too much for granted. Lord Dreever -might be hounded into proposing to Molly, but what earthly reason was -there for supposing that Molly would accept him? He declined even for an -instant to look upon Spennie’s title in the light of a lure. Molly was -not the girl to marry for a title. He endeavoured to examine impartially -his lordship’s other claims. He was a pleasant fellow, with—to judge on -short acquaintanceship—an undeniably amiable disposition. That much must -be conceded. But against this must be placed the equally undeniable fact -that he was also, as he would have put it himself, a most frightful ass. -He was weak. He had no character. Altogether, the examination made Jimmy -more cheerful. He could not see the light-haired one, even with Sir -Thomas Blunt shoving behind, as it were, accomplishing the knight’s -ends. Shove he never so wisely, Sir Thomas could never make a Romeo out -of Spennie Dreever. - -It was while sitting in the billiard-room one night after dinner, -watching his rival play a hundred up with the silent Hargate, that Jimmy -came definitely to this conclusion. He had stopped to watch more because -he wished to study his man at close range than because the game was -anything out of the common as an exposition of billiards. As a matter of -fact, it would have been hard to imagine a worse game. Lord Dreever, who -was conceding twenty, was poor, and his opponent an obvious beginner. -Again, as he looked on, Jimmy was possessed of an idea that he had met -Hargate before. But once more he searched his memory and drew blank. He -did not give the thing much thought, being intent on his diagnosis of -Lord Dreever, who, by a fluky series of cannons, had wobbled into the -forties, and was now a few points ahead of his opponent. - -Presently, having summed his lordship up to his satisfaction, and grown -bored with the game, Jimmy strolled out of the room. He paused outside -the door for a moment, wondering what to do. There was bridge in the -smoking-room, but he did not feel inclined for bridge. From the -drawing-room there came sounds of music. He turned in that direction, -then stopped again. He came to the conclusion that he did not feel -sociable. He wanted to think. A cigar on the terrace would meet his -needs. - -He went up to his room for his cigar-case. The window was open. He -leaned out. There was almost a full moon, and it was very light out of -doors. His eye was caught by a movement at the farther end of the -terrace, where the shadow was. A girl came out of the shadow, walking -slowly.... - -Not since early boyhood had Jimmy descended stairs with such a rare -burst of speed. He negotiated the nasty turn at the end of the first -flight at quite a suicidal pace. Fate, however, had apparently wakened -up again and resumed business, for he did not break his neck. A few -moments later he was out on the terrace, bearing a cloak which he had -snatched up _en route_ in the hall. - -“I thought you might be cold,” he said, breathing quickly. - -“Oh, thank you,” said Molly. “How kind of you!” He put it round her -shoulders. “Have you been running?” - -“I came downstairs rather fast.” - -“Were you afraid the boogaboos would get you?” she laughed. “I was -thinking of when I was a small child. I was always afraid of them. I -used to race downstairs when I had to go to my room in the dark, unless -I could persuade some one to hold my hand all the way there and back.” - -Her spirits had risen with Jimmy’s arrival. Things had been happening -that worried her. She had gone out onto the terrace to be alone. When -she heard his footsteps she had dreaded the advent of some garrulous -fellow-guest, full of small talk. Jimmy, somehow, was a comfort—he did -not disturb the atmosphere. Little as they had seen of each other, -something in him—she could not say what—had drawn her to him. He was a -man, she felt instinctively, she could trust. - -They walked on in silence. Words were pouring into Jimmy’s mind, but he -could not frame them. He seemed to have lost the power of coherent -thought. - -Molly said nothing. It was not a night for conversation. The moon had -turned terrace and garden into a fairyland of black and silver. It was a -night to look and listen and think. - -They walked slowly up and down. As they turned for the second time -Molly’s thoughts formed themselves into a question. Twice she was on the -point of asking it, but each time she checked herself. It was an -impossible question. She had no right to put it, and he had no right to -answer. Yet something was driving her on to ask it. - -It came out suddenly, without warning. - -“Mr. Pitt, what do you think of Lord Dreever?” - -Jimmy started. No question could have chimed in more aptly with his -thoughts. Even as she spoke he was struggling to keep himself from -asking her the same thing. - -“Oh, I know I ought not to ask,” she went on. “He’s your host and you’re -his friend, I know. But——” - -Her voice trailed off. The muscles of Jimmy’s back tightened and -quivered, but he could find no words. - -“I wouldn’t ask any one else. But you’re—different somehow. I don’t know -what I mean—we hardly know each other—but——” - -She stopped again, and still he was dumb. - -“I feel so alone,” she said very quietly, almost to herself. Something -seemed to break in Jimmy’s head. His brain suddenly cleared. He took a -step forward. - -A huge shadow blackened the white grass. Jimmy wheeled round. It was -McEachern. - -“I have been looking for you, Molly, my dear. I thought you must have -gone to bed.” - -He turned to Jimmy and addressed him for the first time since their -meeting in the bedroom. - -“Will you excuse us, Mr. Pitt?” - -Jimmy bowed and walked rapidly towards the house. At the door he stopped -and looked back. The two were standing where he had left them. - - - - - ★ 16 ★ - _A Marriage has been Arranged_ - - -Neither Molly nor her father had moved or spoken while Jimmy was -covering the short strip of turf that ended at the stone steps of the -house. McEachern stood looking down at her in grim silence. His great -body against the dark mass of the castle wall seemed larger than ever in -the uncertain light. To Molly there was something sinister and menacing -in his attitude. She found herself longing that Jimmy would come back. -She was frightened. Why, she could not have said. It was as if some -instinct told her that a crisis in her affairs had been reached, and -that she needed him. For the first time in her life she felt nervous in -her father’s company. Ever since she was a child she had been accustomed -to look upon him as her protector, but now she was afraid. - -“Father!” she cried. - -“What are you doing out here?” - -His voice was tense and strained. - -“I came out because I wanted to think, father dear.” - -She thought she knew his moods, but this was one that she had never -seen. It frightened her. - -“Why did he come out here?” - -“Mr. Pitt? He brought me a wrap.” - -“What was he saying to you?” - -The rain of questions gave Molly a sensation of being battered. She felt -dazed and a little mutinous. What had she done that she should be -assailed like this? - -“He was saying nothing,” she said, rather shortly. - -“Nothing! What do you mean? What was he saying? Tell me!” - -Molly’s voice shook as she replied. - -“He was saying nothing,” she repeated. “Do you think I’m not telling you -the truth, father? He had not spoken a word for ever so long. We just -walked up and down. I was thinking, and I suppose he was, too. At any -rate, he said nothing. I—I think you might believe me.” - -She began to cry quietly. Her father had never been like this before. It -hurt her. - -McEachern’s manner changed in a flash. In the shock of finding Jimmy and -Molly together on the terrace he had forgotten himself. He had had -reason to be suspicious. Sir Thomas Blunt, from whom he had just parted, -had told him a certain piece of news which had disturbed him. The -discovery of Jimmy with Molly had lent an added significance to that -piece of news. He saw that he had been rough. In a moment he was by her -side, his great arm round her shoulder, petting and comforting her as he -had done when she was a child. He believed her word without question, -and his relief made him very tender. Gradually the sobs ceased. She -leaned against his arm. - -“I’m tired, father,” she whispered. - -“Poor little girl. We’ll sit down.” - -There was a seat at the end of the terrace. He picked her up as if she -had been a baby and carried her to it. She gave a little cry. - -“I didn’t mean I was too tired to walk,” she said, laughing tremulously. -“How strong you are, father! If I were naughty you could take me up and -shake me till I was good, couldn’t you?” - -“Of course; and send you to bed, too, so you be careful, young woman.” - -He lowered her to the seat. Molly drew the cloak closer round her and -shivered. - -“Cold, dear?” - -“No.” - -“You shivered.” - -“It was nothing; yes, it was,” she went on quickly. - -“It was. Father, will you promise me something?” - -“Of course. What?” - -“Don’t ever, ever be angry with me like that again, will you? I couldn’t -bear it—really I couldn’t. I know it’s stupid of me, but it hurt. You -don’t know how it hurt.” - -“But my dear——” - -“Oh, I know it’s stupid. But——” - -“But, my darling, it wasn’t so. I was angry, but it wasn’t with you.” - -“With——. Were you angry with Mr. Pitt?” - -McEachern saw that he had travelled too far. He had intended that -Jimmy’s existence should be forgotten for the time being—he had other -things to discuss; but it was too late now. He must go forward. - -“I didn’t like to see you out here alone with Mr. Pitt, dear,” he said. -“I was afraid——” - -He saw that he must go still farther forward. It was more than awkward. -He wished to hint at the undesirability of an entanglement with Jimmy -without admitting the possibility of it. Not being a man of nimble -brain, he found this somewhat beyond his powers. - -“I don’t like him,” he said briefly. “He’s crooked.” - -Molly’s eyes opened wide. The colour had gone from her face. - -“Crooked, father?” - -McEachern perceived that he had travelled very much too far, almost to -disaster. He longed to denounce Jimmy, but he was gagged. If Molly were -to ask the question that Jimmy had asked in the bedroom—that fatal, -unanswerable question! The price was too great to pay. - -He spoke cautiously, vaguely, feeling his way. - -“I couldn’t explain to you, my dear—you wouldn’t understand. You must -remember, my dear, that out in New York I was in a position to know a -great many queer characters—crooks, Molly. I was working among them.” - -“But, father, that night at our house you didn’t know Mr. Pitt. He had -to tell you his name.” - -“I didn’t know him—then,” said her father slowly; “but—but——” He paused. -“But I made inquiries,” he concluded, with a rush, “and found out -things.” - -He permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. He saw his way -now. - -“Inquiries?” said Molly. “Why?” - -“Why?” - -“Why did you suspect him?” - -A moment earlier the question might have confused McEachern, but not -now. He was equal to it. He took it in his stride. - -“It’s hard to say, my dear. A man who has had as much to do with crooks -as I have recognises them when he sees them.” - -“Did you think Mr. Pitt looked—looked like that?” Her voice was very -small. There was a drawn pinched expression on her face. She was paler -than ever. - -He could not divine her thoughts. He could not know what his words had -done—how they had shown her in a flash what Jimmy was to her, and lit up -her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hidden there. She knew now. -The feeling of comradeship, the instinctive trust, the sense of -dependence—they no longer perplexed her. They were signs which she could -read. - -And he was crooked! - -McEachern proceeded. Relief made him buoyant. - -“I did, my dear. I can read him like a book. I’ve met scores of his -sort. Broadway is full of them. Good clothes and a pleasant manner don’t -make an honest man. I’ve run up against a mighty high-toned bunch of -crooks in my day. It’s a long time since I gave up thinking that it was -only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick ears that needed -watching. It’s the innocent Willies who look as if all they could do was -to lead the cotillon. This man Pitt’s one of them. I’m not guessing, -mind you—I know. I know his line, and all about him. I’m watching him. -He’s here on some game. How did he get here? Why, he scraped -acquaintance with Lord Dreever in a London restaurant. It’s the -commonest trick on the list. If I hadn’t happened to be here when he -came I suppose he’d have made his haul by now. Why, he came all prepared -for it! Have you seen an ugly, grinning, red-headed scoundrel hanging -about the place? His valet, so he says. Valet! Do you know who that is? -That’s one of the most notorious Yegg-men on the other side. There isn’t -a policeman in New York who doesn’t know Spike Mullins. Even if I knew -nothing of this Pitt that would be enough. What’s an innocent man going -round the country with Spike Mullins for, unless they are standing in -together at some game? That’s who Mr. Pitt is, my dear, and that’s why, -maybe, I seemed a little put out when I came upon you and him out here -alone together. See as little of him as you can. In a large party like -this it won’t be difficult to avoid him.” - -Molly sat staring out across the garden. At first every word had been a -stab. Several times she had been on the point of crying out that she -could bear it no longer, but gradually a numbness succeeded the pain. -She found herself listening apathetically. - -McEachern talked on. He left the subject of Jimmy, comfortably conscious -that, even if there had ever existed in Molly’s heart any budding -feeling of the kind he had suspected, it must now be dead. He steered -the conversation away until it ran easily among commonplaces. He talked -of New York, of the preparations for the theatricals. Molly answered -composedly. She was still pale, and a certain listlessness in her manner -might have been noticed by a more observant man than Mr. McEachern. -Beyond that there was nothing to show that her heart had been born and -killed but a few minutes before. Women have the Red Indian instinct; and -Molly had grown to womanhood in those few minutes. - -Presently Lord Dreever’s name came up. - -It caused a momentary pause, and McEachern took advantage of it. It was -the cue for which he had been waiting. - -He hesitated for a moment, for the conversation was about to enter upon -a difficult phase, and he was not quite sure of himself. - -Then he took the plunge. - -“I have just been talking to Sir Thomas, my dear,” he said. He tried to -speak casually, and as a natural result infused so much meaning into his -voice that Molly looked at him in surprise. McEachern coughed -confusedly. Diplomacy, he concluded, was not his forte. He abandoned it -in favour of directness. - -“He was telling me that you had refused Lord Dreever this evening.” - -“Yes, I did,” said Molly. “How did Sir Thomas know?” - -“Lord Dreever told him.” - -Molly raised her eyebrows. - -“I shouldn’t have thought it was the sort of thing he would talk about,” -she said. - -“Sir Thomas is his uncle.” - -“Of course. So he is,” said Molly dryly. “I forgot. That would account -for it, wouldn’t it?” - -Mr. McEachern looked at her with some concern. There was a hard ring in -her voice which he did not altogether like. His greatest admirer had -never called him an intuitive man, and he was quite at a loss to see -what was wrong. As a schemer he was perhaps, a little naive. He had -taken it for granted that Molly was ignorant of the manoeuvres which had -been going on, and which had culminated that afternoon in a stammering -proposal of marriage from Lord Dreever in the rose-garden. This, -however, was not the case. The woman incapable of seeing through the -machinations of two men of the mental calibre of Sir Thomas Blunt and -Mr. McEachern has yet to be born. For some considerable time Molly had -been alive to the well-meant plottings of that worthy pair, and had -derived little pleasure from the fact. It may be that woman loves to be -pursued, but she does not love to be pursued by a crowd. - -Mr. McEachern cleared his throat and began again. - -“You shouldn’t decide a question like that too hastily, my dear.” - -“I didn’t—not too hastily for Lord Dreever, at any rate, poor dear.” - -“It was in your power,” said Mr. McEachern portentously, “to make a man -happy.” - -“I did,” said Molly, bitterly. “You should have seen his face light up. -He could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then it came home -to him, and I thought he would have fallen on my neck. He did his very -best to look heartbroken—out of politeness—but it was no good. He -whistled most of the way back to the house—all flat, but very -cheerfully.” - -“My dear! What do you mean?” - -Molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that her -father had moods whose existence she had not suspected. It was his turn -now to make a similar discovery regarding herself. - -“I mean nothing, father,” she said. “I’m just telling you what happened. -He came to me looking like a dog that’s going to be washed——” - -“Why, of course; he was nervous, my dear.” - -“Of course. He couldn’t know that I was going to refuse him.” - -She was breathing quickly. He started to speak, but she went on looking -straight before her. Her face was very white in the moonlight. - -“He took me into the rose-garden. Was that Sir Thomas’s idea? There -couldn’t have been a better setting, I’m sure—the roses looked lovely. -Presently I heard him gulp, and I was so sorry for him. I would have -refused him then, and put him out of his misery, only I couldn’t very -well till he had proposed, could I? So I turned my back and sniffed at a -rose, and then he shut his eyes—I couldn’t see him, but I knew he shut -his eyes—and began to say his lesson.” - -“Molly!” - -“He did—he said his lesson. He gabbled it. When he had got as far as -‘Well don’t you know, what I mean is, that’s what I wanted to say, you -know,’ I turned round and soothed him. I said, I didn’t love him. He -said, ‘No, no, of course not.’ I said he had paid me a great compliment. -He said, ‘Not at all,’ looking very anxious, poor darling, as if even -then he was afraid of what might come next. But I reassured him, and he -cheered up, and we walked back to the house together, as happy as could -be.” - -McEachern put his hand round her shoulder. She winced, but let it stay. -He attempted gruff conciliation. - -“My dear, you’ve been imagining things. Of course he isn’t happy. Why, I -saw the young fellow——” - -Recollecting that the last time he had seen the young fellow—shortly -after dinner—the young fellow had been occupied in juggling, with every -appearance of mental peace, with two billiard-balls and a box of -matches, he broke off abruptly. - -“Father?” - -“My dear?” - -“Why do you want me to marry Lord Dreever?” - -“I think he’s a fine young fellow,” he said, avoiding her eyes. - -“He’s quite nice,” said Molly quietly. - -McEachern had been trying not to say it. He did not wish to say it. If -it could have been hinted at, he would have done it, but he was not good -at hinting. A lifetime passed in surroundings where the subtlest hint is -a drive in the ribs with a truncheon does not leave a man an adept at -the art. He had to be blunt or silent. - -“He’s the Earl of Dreever, my dear.” - -He rushed on, desperately anxious to cover the nakedness of the -statement in a comfortable garment of words. - -“Why, you see, you’re young, Molly. It’s only natural you shouldn’t look -on these things sensibly. You expect too much of a man. You expect this -young fellow to be like the heroes of the novels you read. When you’ve -lived a little longer, my dear, you’ll see that there’s nothing in it. -It isn’t the hero of the novel you want to marry, it’s the man who’ll -make you a good husband.” - -This remark struck Mr. McEachern as so pithy and profound that he -repeated it. - -He went on. Molly was sitting quite still, looking into the shrubbery. -He assumed she was listening, but whether she was or not he must go on -talking. The situation was difficult. Silence would make it more so. - -“Now, look at Lord Dreever,” he said. “There’s a young man with one of -the oldest titles in England. He could go anywhere and do what he liked, -and be excused for whatever he did because of his name; but he doesn’t. -He’s got the right stuff in him. He doesn’t go racketing around——” - -“His uncle doesn’t allow him enough pocket-money,” said Molly, with a -jarring little laugh. “Perhaps that’s why.” - -There was a pause. McEachern required a few moments in which to marshal -his arguments once more. He had been thrown out of his stride. - -“Father dear, listen,” she said. “We always used to understand each -other so well.” He patted her shoulder affectionately. “You can’t mean -what you say. You know I don’t love Lord Dreever, you know he’s only a -boy. Don’t you want me to marry a man? I love this old place; but surely -you can’t think that it can really matter in a thing like this? You -don’t really mean that about the hero of the novel? I’m not stupid, like -that. I only want—oh, I can’t put it into words; but don’t you see?” - -Her eyes were fixed appealingly on him. It only needed a word from -him—perhaps not even a word—to close the gulf which had opened between -them. - -He missed the chance. He had had time to think, and his arguments were -ready again. With stolid good humour he marched along the line he had -mapped out. He was kindly and shrewd and practical, and the gulf gaped -wider with every word. - -“You mustn’t be rash, my dear—you mustn’t act without thinking in these -things. Lord Dreever is only a boy, as you say, but he will grow. You -say you don’t love him. Nonsense! You like him, you would go on liking -him more and more. And why? Because you could make what you pleased of -him. You’ve got character, my dear. With a girl like you to look after -him, he would go a long way, a very long way. It’s all there; it only -wants bringing out. And think of it, Molly—Countess of Dreever! There’s -hardly a better title in England. It would make me very happy, my dear. -It’s been my one hope all these years to see you in the place where you -ought to be. And now the chance has come. Molly dear, don’t throw it -away.” - -She had leaned back with closed eyes. A wave of exhaustion had swept -over her. She listened in a dull dream. She felt beaten. They were too -strong for her. There were too many of them. What did it matter? Why not -give in and end it all and win peace? That was all she wanted—peace now. -What did it all matter? - -“Very well, father,” she said listlessly. - -McEachern stopped short. - -“You’ll do it, dear?” he cried. “You will?” - -“Very well, father.” - -He stooped and kissed her. - -“My own dear little girl,” he said. - -She got up. - -“I’m rather tired, father,” she said. “I think I’ll go in.” - -Two minutes later Mr. McEachern was in Sir Thomas Blunt’s study. Five -minutes later Sir Thomas pressed the bell. - -Saunders appeared. - -“Tell his lordship,” said Sir Thomas, “that I wish to see him for a -moment. He is in the billiard-room, I think.” - - - - - ★ 17 ★ - _Jimmy Remembers Something, and Hears Something Else_ - - -The game between Hargate and Lord Dreever was still in progress when -Jimmy returned to the billiard-room. A glance at the board showed that -the score was seventy—sixty-nine in favour of spot. - -“Good game,” said Jimmy. “Who’s spot?” - -“I am,” said his lordship, missing an easy cannon. For some reason he -appeared in high spirits. “Hargate’s been going great guns. I was eleven -ahead a moment ago, but he made a break of twelve.” - -Lord Dreever belonged to the class of billiard-player to whom a -double-figure break is a thing to be noted and greeted with respect. - -“Fluky,” muttered the silent Hargate deprecatingly. This was a long -speech for him. Since their meeting at Paddington Station Jimmy had -seldom heard him utter anything beyond a monosyllable. - -“Not a bit of it, dear old son,” said Lord Dreever handsomely. “You’re -coming on like a two-year-old. I shan’t be able to give you twenty in a -hundred much longer.” - -He went to a side-table and mixed himself a whisky and soda, singing a -brief extract from musical comedy as he did so. There could be no shadow -of doubt that he was finding life good. For the past few days, and -particularly that afternoon, he had been rather noticeably ill at ease. -Jimmy had seen him hanging about the terrace at half-past five, and had -thought that he looked like a mute at a funeral, but now, only a few -hours later, he was beaming on the world and chirping like a bird. - -The game moved jerkily along. Jimmy took a seat and watched. The score -mounted slowly. Lord Dreever was bad, but Hargate was worse. At length, -in the eighties, his lordship struck a brilliant vein. When he had -finished his break his score was ninety-five. Hargate, who had profited -by a series of misses on his opponent’s part, had reached ninety-six. - -“This is shortening my life,” said Jimmy, leaning forward. - -The balls had been left in an ideal position. Even Hargate could not -fail to make a cannon. He made it. - -A close finish to even the worst game is exciting. Jimmy leaned still -farther forward to watch the next stroke. It looked as if Hargate would -have to wait for his victory. A good player could have made a cannon as -the balls lay, but not Hargate. They were almost in a straight line, -with white in the centre. - -Hargate swore under his breath. There was nothing to be done. He struck -carelessly at white. White rolled against red, seemed to hang for a -moment, and shot straight back against spot. The game was over. - -“Great Scot! What a fluke!” cried the silent one, becoming quite -garrulous at the miracle. - -A quiet grin spread itself slowly across Jimmy’s face. He had remembered -what he had been trying to remember for over a week. - -At this moment the door opened and Saunders appeared. “Sir Thomas would -like to see your lordship in his study,” he said. - -“Eh? What does he want?” - -“Sir Thomas did not confide in me, your lordship.” - -“Eh? What? Oh, no. Well, see you later, you men.” - -He rested his cue against the table and put on his coat. Jimmy followed -him out of the door, which he shut behind him. - -“One second, Dreever,” he said. - -“Eh? Halloa! What’s up?” - -“Any money on that game?” asked Jimmy. - -“Why, yes; by Jove! now you mention it, there was—an even fiver. -And—er—by the way, old man, the fact is, just for the moment, I’m -frightfully——. You haven’t such a thing as a fiver anywhere about, have -you? The fact is——” - -“My dear fellow, of course. I’ll square up with him now, shall I?” - -“Fearfully obliged if you would. Thanks, old man. Pay it you to-morrow.” - -“No hurry,” said Jimmy; “plenty more in the old oak chest.” - -He went back to the room. Hargate was practising cannons. He was on the -point of making a stroke when Jimmy opened the door. - -“Care for a game?” said Hargate. - -“Not just at present,” said Jimmy. - -Hargate attempted his cannon and failed badly. Jimmy smiled. - -“Not such a good shot as the last,” he said. - -“No.” - -“Fine shot, that other.” - -“Fluke.” - -“I wonder.” - -Jimmy lit a cigarette. - -“Do you know New York at all?” he asked. - -“Been there.” - -“Ever been in the Strollers’ Club?” - -Hargate turned his back; but Jimmy had seen his face and was satisfied. - -“Don’t know it,” said Hargate. - -“Great place,” said Jimmy. “Mostly actors and writers, and so on. The -only drawback is that some pick up queer friends.” - -Hargate did not reply. He did not seem interested. - -“Yes,” went on Jimmy. “For instance, a pal of mine—an actor named -Mifflin—introduced a man a year ago as a member’s guest for a fortnight, -and this man rooked the fellows of I don’t know how much at billiards. -The old game, you know—nursing his man right up to the end, and then -finishing with a burst. Of course, when that happens once or twice it -may be an accident, but when a man who poses as a novice always manages -by a really brilliant shot——” - -Hargate turned round. - -“They fired this fellow out,” said Jimmy. - -“Look here!” - -“Yes?” - -“What do you mean?” - -“It’s a dull yarn,” said Jimmy apologetically. “I’ve been boring you. By -the way, Dreever asked me to square up with you for that game, in case -he shouldn’t be back. Here you are.” - -He held out an empty hand. - -“Got it?” - -“What are you going to do?” demanded Hargate. - -“What am I going to do?” queried Jimmy. - -“You know what I mean. If you’ll keep your mouth shut, and stand in, -it’s halves. Is that what you’re after?” - -Jimmy was delighted. He knew that by rights the proposal should have -brought him from his seat, with stern, set face, to wreak vengeance for -the insult, but on such occasions he was apt to ignore the conventions. -His impulse, when he met a man whose code of behaviour was not the -ordinary code, was to chat with him and to extract his point of view. He -felt as little animus against Hargate as he had felt against Spike on -the occasion of their first meeting. - -“Do you make much at this sort of game?” he asked. - -Hargate was relieved. This was business-like. - -“Pots,” he said, with some enthusiasm—“pots I tell you, if you’ll stand -in——” - -“Bit risky, isn’t it?” - -“Not a bit of it. An occasional accident——” - -“I suppose you’d call me one?” - -Hargate grinned. - -“It must be pretty tough work,” said Jimmy. “You must have to use a -tremendous lot of self-restraint.” - -Hargate sighed. - -“That’s the worst of it,” he said—“the having to seem a mug at the game. -I’ve been patronised sometimes by young fools who thought they were -teaching me till I nearly forgot myself and showed them what real -billiards was.” - -“There’s always some drawback to the learned professions,” said Jimmy. - -“But there’s a heap to make up for it in this one,” said Hargate. “Well, -look here; is it a deal? You stand in——” - -Jimmy shook his head. - -“I guess not,” he said. “It’s good of you, but commercial speculation -never was in my line. I’m afraid you must count me out of this.” - -“What! You’re going to tell——” - -“No,” said Jimmy, “I’m not. I’m not a vigilance committee. I won’t tell -a soul.” - -“Why, then——” began Hargate, relieved. - -“Unless, of course,” Jimmy went on, “you play billiards again while -you’re here.” - -“But, damn it, man! if I don’t, what’s the good? Look here, what am I to -do if they ask me to play?” - -“Give your wrist as an excuse.” - -“My wrist?” - -“Yes. You sprained it to-morrow after breakfast. It was bad luck. I -wonder how you came to do it? You didn’t sprain it much, but just enough -to stop you playing billiards.” - -Hargate reflected. - -“Understand?” said Jimmy. - -“Oh, very well,” said Hargate sullenly. “But,” he burst out, “if I ever -get a chance to get even with you——” - -“You won’t,” said Jimmy. “Dismiss the rosy dream. Get even! You don’t -know me! There’s not a flaw in my armour. I’m a sort of modern edition -of the Stainless Knight. Tennyson drew Galahad from me. I move through -life with almost a sickening absence of sin. But hush! We are -observed—at least, we shall be in another minute—somebody is coming down -the passage. You do understand, don’t you? Sprained wrist is the -watchword.” - -The handle turned. It was Lord Dreever, back again from his interview. - -“Halloa, Dreever!” said Jimmy. “We’ve missed you. Hargate has been doing -his best to amuse me with acrobatic tricks. But you’re too reckless, -Hargate, old man. Mark my words, one of these days you’ll be spraining -your wrist. You should be more careful. What, going? Good night. -Pleasant fellow, Hargate,” he added, as the footsteps retreated down the -passage. “Well, my lad, what’s the matter with you? You look depressed.” - -Lord Dreever flung himself on to the lounge and groaned hollowly. - -“Damn! Damn!! Damn!!!” he observed. - -His glassy eye met Jimmy’s and wandered away again. - -“What on earth’s the matter?” demanded Jimmy. “You go out of here -carolling like a song-bird, and you come back moaning like a lost soul. -What’s happened?” - -“Give me a brandy and soda, Pitt, old man, there’s a good chap. I’m in a -fearful hole.” - -“Why? What’s the matter?” - -“I’m engaged,” groaned his lordship. - -“Engaged? I wish you’d explain. What on earth’s wrong with you! Don’t -you want to be engaged? What’s your——” - -He broke off as a sudden, awful suspicion, dawned upon him. “Who is -she?” he cried. - -He gripped the stricken peer’s shoulder and shook it savagely. -Unfortunately he selected the precise moment when the latter was in the -act of calming his quivering nerve-centres with a gulp of brandy and -soda, and for a space of some two minutes it seemed as if the engagement -would be broken off by the premature extinction of the Dreever line. A -long and painful fit of coughing, however, ended with his lordship still -alive and on the road to recovery. - -He eyed Jimmy reproachfully, but Jimmy was in no mood for apologies. - -“Who is she?” he kept demanding. “What’s her name?” - -“Might have killed me,” grumbled the convalescent. - -“Who is she?” - -“What? Why, Miss McEachern.” - -Jimmy had known what the answer would be; but it was scarcely less of a -shock for that reason. - -“Miss McEachern?” he echoed. - -Lord Dreever nodded a sombre nod. - -“You’re engaged to her?” - -Another sombre nod. - -“I don’t believe it,” said Jimmy. - -“I wish I didn’t,” said his lordship wistfully, ignoring the slight -rudeness of the remark. “But worse luck, it’s true.” - -For the first time since the disclosure of the name Jimmy’s attention -was directed to the remarkable demeanour of his successful rival. - -“You don’t seem over-pleased,” he said. - -“Pleased! Have a fiver each way on ‘pleased’! No, I’m not exactly -leaping with joy.” - -“Then what the devil is it all about? What do you mean? What’s the idea? -If you don’t want to marry Miss McEachern, why did you propose to her?” - -Lord Dreever closed his eyes. - -“Dear old boy, don’t. It’s my uncle.” - -“Your uncle?” - -“Didn’t I explain it all to you?—about him wanting me to marry? You -know—I told you the whole thing.” - -Jimmy stared at him in silence. - -“Do you mean to say——” he said slowly. - -He stopped. It was a profanation to put the thing into words. - -“What, old man?” - -Jimmy gulped. - -“Do you mean to say you want to marry Miss McEachern simply because she -has money?” he said. - -It was not the first time that he had heard of a case of a British peer -marrying for such a reason, but it was the first time that the thing had -filled him with horror. In some circumstances things come home more -forcibly to us. - -“It’s not me, old man,” murmured his lordship—“it’s my uncle.” - -“Your uncle? Good heavens!” Jimmy clenched his hands despairingly. “Do -you mean to say that you let your uncle order you about in a thing like -this? Do you mean to say you’re such a—such a—such a gelatine-backboned -worm——” - -“Old man, I say!” protested his lordship, wounded. - -“I’d call you a wretched knock-kneed skunk, only I don’t want to be -fulsome. I hate flattering a man to his face.” - -Lord Dreever, deeply pained, half rose from his seat. - -“Don’t get up,” urged Jimmy smoothly; “I couldn’t trust myself.” - -His lordship subsided hastily. He was feeling alarmed. He had never seen -this side of Jimmy’s character. At first he had been merely aggrieved -and disappointed. He had expected sympathy. Now the matter had become -more serious. Jimmy was pacing the room like a young and hungry tiger. -At present, it was true, there was a billiard-table between them; but -his lordship felt that he could have done with good, stout bars. He -nestled in his seat with the earnest concentration of a limpet on a -rock. It would be deuced bad form, of course, for Jimmy to assault his -host, but could Jimmy be trusted to remember the niceties of etiquette? - -“Why the deuce she accepted you I can’t think,” said Jimmy, half to -himself, stopping suddenly and glaring across the table. - -Lord Dreever felt relieved. This was not polite, perhaps, but at least -it was not violent. - -“That’s what beats me, too, old man,” he said. “Between you and me, it’s -a jolly rum business. This afternoon——” - -“What about this afternoon?” - -“Why, she wouldn’t have me at any price.” - -“You asked her this afternoon?” - -“Yes; and it was all right then. She refused me like a bird, wouldn’t -hear of it, came pretty near laughing in my face; and then to-night,” he -went on, his voice squeaky at the thought of his wrongs, “my uncle sends -for me and says she’s changed her mind and is waiting for me in the -morning-room. I go there and she tells me in about three words that -she’s been thinking it over and that the whole fearful thing is on -again. I call it jolly rough on a chap. I felt such a frightful ass, you -know, I didn’t know what to do—whether to kiss her, I mean——” - -Jimmy snorted violently. - -“Eh?” said his lordship blankly. - -“Go on,” said Jimmy, between his teeth. - -“I felt a fearful fool, you know. I just said ‘Right-O!’ or -something—dashed if I know what I did say—and legged it. It’s a jolly -rum business, the whole thing. It isn’t as if she wanted me—I could see -that with half an eye—she doesn’t care a hang for me. It’s my belief, -old man,” he said solemnly, “that she’s been badgered into it. I believe -my uncle’s been at her.” - -Jimmy laughed shortly. - -“My dear man, you seem to think your uncle’s persuasive influence is -universal. I guess it’s confined to you.” - -“Well, anyhow, I believe that’s what’s happened. What do you say?” - -“Why say anything? There doesn’t seem to be much need.” - -He poured some brandy into a glass and added a little soda. - -“You take it pretty stiff,” observed his lordship, with a touch of envy. - -“On occasions,” said Jimmy, emptying his glass. - - - - - ★ 18 ★ - _The Lochinvar Method_ - - -As Jimmy sat smoking a last cigarette in his bedroom before going to bed -that night Spike Mullins came in. Jimmy had been thinking things over. -He was one of those men who are at their best in a losing game. Imminent -disaster always had the effect of keying him up and putting an edge on -his mind. The news he had heard that night had left him with -undiminished determination, but conscious that a change of method would -be needed. He must stake all on a single throw now. Young Lochinvar -rather than Romeo must be his model. He declined to believe himself -incapable of getting anything that he wanted as badly as he wanted -Molly. He also declined to believe that she was really attached to Lord -Dreever. He suspected the hand of McEachern in the affair, though the -suspicion did not clear up the mystery by any means. Molly was a girl of -character, not a feminine counterpart of his lordship, content meekly to -do what she was told in a matter of this kind. The whole thing puzzled -him. - -“Well, Spike?” he said. - -He was not too pleased at the interruption. He was thinking, and he -wanted to be alone. - -Something appeared to have disturbed Spike. His bearing was excited. - -“Say, boss! Guess what. You know dat guy dat come dis afternoon?—de guy -from de village, dat came wit old man McEachern.” - -“Galer?” said Jimmy. “What about him?” - -There had been an addition to the guests at the castle that afternoon. -Mr. McEachern, walking in the village, had happened upon an old New York -acquaintance of his, who, touring England, had reached Dreever and was -anxious to see the historic castle. Mr. McEachern had brought him -thither, introduced him to Sir Thomas, and now Mr. Samuel Galer was -occupying a room on the same floor as Jimmy’s. He had appeared at dinner -that night, a short, wooden-faced man, with no more conversation than -Hargate. Jimmy had not paid any particular attention to him. - -“What about him?” he said. - -“He’s a ‘sleut’, boss.” - -“A what?” - -“A ‘sleut’.” - -“A detective?” - -“Dat’s right. A fly cop.” - -“What makes you think that?” - -“T’ink! Why, I can tell dem by deir eyes and deir feet, and de whole of -dem. I could pick out a fly cop from a bunch of a t’ousand. He’s sure a -’nough ‘sleut’ all right, all right. I seen him rubbering at you, boss.” - -“At me! Why at me? Why, of course, I see now. Our friend McEachern has -got him in to spy on us.” - -“Dat’s right, boss.” - -“Of course you may be mistaken.” - -“Not me, boss. And, say, he ain’t de only one.” - -“What, more detectives? They’ll have to put up ‘House Full’ boards at -this rate. Who’s the other?” - -“A mug what’s down in de soivants’ hall. I wasn’t so sure of him at -foist, but now I’m on to his curves. He’s a sleut all right. He’s vally -to Sir Tummas, dis second mug is; but he ain’t no vally! He’s come to -see no one don’t get busy wit de jools. Say, what do youse t’ink of dem -jools, boss?” - -“Finest I ever saw.” - -“Yes, dat’s right. A hundred thousand plunks dey set him back. Dey’re de -limit, ain’t dey? Say, won’t you really——” - -“Spike, I’m surprised at you! Do you know you’re getting a regular -Mephistopheles, Spike? Suppose I hadn’t an iron will, what would happen? -You really must select your subjects of conversation more carefully. -You’re bad company for the likes of me.” - -Spike shuffled despondently. - -“But, boss——” - -Jimmy shook his head. - -“It can’t be done, my lad.” - -“But it can, boss,” protested Spike. “It’s dead easy. I’ve been up to de -room, and I seen de box what de jools is kept in. Why, it’s de softest -ever! We could get dem as easy as pullin’ de plug out of a bottle. Why, -say, dere’s never been such a peach of a place for gettin’ hold of de -stuff as dis house. Dat’s right, boss. Why, look what I got dis -afternoon, just snoopin’ round and not really trying to get busy at all. -It was just lying about.” - -He plunged his hand into his pocket and drew it out again. As he -unclosed his fingers Jimmy caught the gleam of precious stones. - -“What the——” he gasped. - -Spike was looking at his treasure-trove with an air of affectionate -proprietorship. - -“Where on earth did you get those?” asked Jimmy. - -“Out of one of de rooms. Dey belonged to one of de loidies. It was de -easiest old t’ing ever, boss. I just went in when dere was nobody -around, and dere dey was on de toible. I never butted into anyt’ing so -soft.” - -“Spike!” - -“Yes, boss.” - -“Do you remember the room you took them from?” - -“Sure. It was de foist on de——” - -“Then just listen to me for a moment, my bright boy. When we’re at -breakfast to-morrow you want to go to that room and put those things -back—all of them, mind you—just where you found them. Do you -understand?” - -Spike’s jaw had fallen. - -“Put dem back, boss?” he faltered. - -“Every single one of them.” - -“Boss!” said Spike plaintively. - -“Remember—every single one of them, just where it belongs. See?” - -“Very well, boss.” - -The dejection in his voice would have moved the sternest to pity. Gloom -had enveloped Spike’s spirit. The sunlight had gone out of his life. - -It had also gone out of the lives of a good many other people at the -castle. This was mainly due to the growing shadow of the day of the -theatricals. - -For pure discomfort there are few things in the world that can compete -with the final rehearsals of an amateur theatrical performance at a -country house. Every day the atmosphere becomes more heavily charged -with restlessness and depression. The producer of the piece, especially -if he is also the author of it, develops a sort of intermittent -insanity. He plucks at his moustache, if he has one; at his hair, if he -has not. He mutters to himself. He gives vent to occasional despairing -cries. The soothing suavity which marked his demeanour in the earlier -rehearsals disappears. - -He no longer says with a winning smile, “Splendid, old man, splendid! -Couldn’t be better. But I think we’ll take that over just once more, if -you don’t mind.” Instead, he rolls his eyes and snaps out, “Once more, -please. This’ll never do. At this rate we might just as well cut out the -show altogether. What’s that? No, it won’t be all right on the night! -Now, then, once more; and do pull yourselves together this time.” After -which the scene is sulkily resumed; and conversation, when the parties -concerned meet subsequently, is cold and strained. - -Matters had reached this stage at the castle. Everybody was thoroughly -tired of the piece, and, but for the thought of the disappointment which -(presumably) would rack the neighbouring nobility and gentry if it were -not to be produced, would have resigned their places without a twinge of -regret. People who had schemed to get the best and longest parts were -wishing now that they had been content with First Footman or Giles, a -villager. - -“I’ll never run an amateur show again as long as I live,” confided -Charteris to Jimmy, almost tearfully. “It’s not good enough. Most of -them aren’t word-perfect yet.” - -“It’ll be all right——” - -“Oh, don’t say it’ll be all right on the night.” - -“I wasn’t going to,” said Jimmy. “I was going to say it’ll be all right -after the night. People will soon forget how badly the thing went.” - -“You’re a nice, comforting sort of man, aren’t you?” said Charteris. - -“Why worry?” said Jimmy. “If you go on like this, it’ll be Westminster -Abbey for you in your prime. You’ll be getting brain fever.” - -Jimmy himself was one of the few who were feeling reasonably cheerful. -He was deriving a keen amusement at present from the manoeuvres of Mr. -Samuel Galer, of New York. This lynx-eyed man, having been instructed by -Mr. McEachern to watch Jimmy, was doing so with a thoroughness which -would have aroused the suspicions of a babe. If Jimmy went to the -billiard-room after dinner, Mr. Galer was there to keep him company. If, -during the course of the day, he had occasion to fetch a handkerchief or -a cigarette-case from his bedroom, he was sure, on emerging, to stumble -upon Mr. Galer in the corridor. The employees of Dodson’s Private -Inquiry Agency believed in earning their salaries. - -Occasionally, after these encounters, Jimmy would come upon Sir Thomas -Blunt’s valet, the other man in whom Spike’s trained eye had discerned -the distinguishing marks of the sleuth. He was usually somewhere round -the corner at these moments, and when collided with apologised with -great politeness. Jimmy decided that he must have come under suspicion -in this case vicariously, through Spike. Spike, in the servants’ hall, -would, of course, stand out conspicuously enough to catch the eye of a -detective on the look out for sin among the servants; and he himself, as -Spike’s employer, had been marked down as a possible confederate. - -It tickled him to think that both these giant brains should be so -greatly exercised on his account. - -He had been watching Molly closely during these days. So far no -announcement of the engagement had been made. It struck him that -possibly it was being reserved for public mention on the night of the -theatricals. The whole county would be at the castle then. There could -be no more fitting moment. He sounded Lord Dreever, and the latter said -moodily that he was probably right. - -“There’s going to be a dance of sorts after the show,” he said, “and -it’ll be done then, I suppose. No getting out of it after that—it’ll be -all over the county. Trust my uncle for that! He’ll get on a table and -shout it, shouldn’t wonder, and it’ll be in the _Morning Post_ next day -and Katie’ll see it. Only two days more! Oh, Lord!” - -Jimmy deduced that Katie was the Savoy girl, concerning whom his -lordship had vouchsafed no particulars save that she was a ripper and -hadn’t a penny. - -Only two days! Like the Battle of Waterloo, it was going to be a -close-run affair. More than ever now he realised how much she meant to -him, and there were moments when it seemed to him that she, too, had -begun to understand. That night on the terrace seemed somehow to have -changed their relationship. He thought he had got closer to her—they -were in touch. Before she had been frank, cheerful, unembarrassed; now -he noticed a constraint in her manner, a curious shyness. There was a -barrier between them, but it was not the old barrier. He had ceased to -be one of a crowd. - -But it was a race against time. The first day slipped by, a blank, and -the second, till now it was but a matter of hours. The last afternoon -had come. - -Not even Mr. Samuel Galer, of Dodson’s Private Inquiry Agency, could -have kept a more unflagging watch than did Jimmy during those hours. -There was no rehearsal that afternoon, and the members of the company, -in various stages of nervous collapse, strayed distractedly about the -grounds. First one, then another, would seize upon Molly, while Jimmy, -watching from afar, cursed their pertinacity. - -At last she wandered off alone, and Jimmy quitting his ambush, followed. - -She walked in the direction of the lake. It had been a terribly hot, -oppressive afternoon. There was thunder in the air. Through the trees -the lake glistened invitingly. - -She was standing at the water’s edge when Jimmy came up. Her back was -turned. She was rocking with her foot a Canadian canoe that lay -alongside the bank. She started as he spoke. His feet on the soft turf -had made no sound. - -“Can I take you out on the lake?” he said. - -She did not answer for a moment. She was plainly confused. - -“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I’m waiting for Lord Dreever.” - -Jimmy saw that she was nervous. There was tension in the air. She was -looking away from him, out across the lake, and her face was flushed. - -“Won’t you?” he said. - -“I’m sorry,” she said again. - -Jimmy looked over his shoulder. Down the lower terrace was approaching -the long form of his lordship. He walked with pensive jerkiness, not as -one hurrying to a welcome tryst. As Jimmy looked up he vanished behind -the great clump of laurels which stood on the lowest terrace. In another -minute he would appear round them. - -Gently, but with extreme despatch, Jimmy placed a hand on either side of -Molly’s waist. The next moment he had swung her off her feet and lowered -her carefully on to the cushions in the bow of the canoe. - -Then, jumping in himself with a force that made the boat rock, he loosed -the mooring-rope, seized the paddle and pushed off. - - - - - ★ 19 ★ - _On the Lake_ - - -In making love, as in every other branch of life, consistency is the -quality most to be aimed at. To hedge is fatal. A man must choose the -line of action which he judges to be best suited to his temperament, and -hold to it without deviation. If Lochinvar snatches the maiden up on to -his saddlebow he must continue in that vein. He must not fancy that, -having accomplished the feat, he can resume the episode on lines of -devotional humility. Prehistoric man, who conducted his courtship with a -club, never fell into the error of apologising when his bride complained -of headache. - -Jimmy did not apologise. The idea did not enter his mind. He was feeling -prehistoric. His heart was beating fast and his mind was in a whirl, but -the one definite thought that came to him during the first few seconds -of the journey was that he ought to have done this earlier. This was the -right way—pick her up and carry her off and leave uncles and fathers and -butter-haired peers of the realm to look after themselves. This was the -way—alone together in their own little world of water with nobody to -interrupt and nobody to overhear. He should have done it before. He had -wasted precious, golden time hanging about while futile men chatted to -her of things that could not possibly be of interest. But he had done -the right thing at last—he had got her. She must listen to him now. She -could not help listening. They were the only inhabitants of this new -world. - -He looked back over his shoulder at the world they had left. The last of -the Dreevers had rounded the clump of laurels, and was standing at the -edge of the water, gazing perplexedly after the retreating canoe. - -“These poets put a thing very neatly sometimes,” said Jimmy, -reflectively, as he dug the paddle into the water. “The man who said -‘Distance lends enchantment to the view’, for instance. Dreever looks -quite nice when you see him as far away as this, with a good strip of -water in between.” - -Molly, gazing over the side of the boat into the lake, abstained from -feasting her eyes on the picturesque spectacle. - -“Why did you do it?” she said, in a low voice. - -Jimmy shipped the paddle and allowed the canoe to drift. The ripple of -the water against the prow sounded clear and thin in the stillness. The -world seemed asleep. The sun blazed down, turning the water to flame. -The air was hot with the damp, electric heat that heralds a -thunderstorm. Molly’s face looked small and cool in the shade of her big -hat. Jimmy, as he watched her, felt that he had done well. This was, -indeed, the way. - -“Why did you do it?” she said again. - -“I had to.” - -“Take me back.” - -“No.” - -He took up the paddle and placed a broader strip of water between the -two worlds, then paused once more. - -“I have something to say to you first,” he said. - -She did not answer. He looked over his shoulder again. His lordship had -disappeared. - -“Do you mind if I smoke?” - -She nodded. He filled his pipe carefully and lit it. The smoke moved -sluggishly up through the still air. There was a long silence. A fish -jumped close by, falling back in a shower of silver drops. Molly started -at the sound and half turned. - -“That was a fish,” she said, as a child might have done. - -Jimmy knocked the ashes out of his pipe. - -“What made you do it?” he asked abruptly echoing her own question. - -She drew her fingers slowly through the water without speaking. - -“You know what I mean. Dreever told me.” - -She looked up with a flash of spirit, which died away as she spoke. - -“What right?” She stopped and looked away again. - -“None,” said Jimmy. “But I wish you would tell me.” - -She hung her head. Jimmy bent forward and touched her hand. - -“Don’t,” he said. “For Heaven’s sake, don’t! You mustn’t.” - -“I must,” she said miserably. - -“You shan’t! It’s wicked.” - -“I must. It’s no good talking about it—it’s too late.” - -“It’s not. You must break it off to-day.” - -She shook her head. Her fingers still dabbled mechanically in the water. -The sun was hidden now behind a grey veil, which deepened into a sullen -black over the hill behind the castle. The heat had grown more -oppressive. - -“What made you do it?” he asked again. - -“Don’t let’s talk about it, please!” - -He had a momentary glimpse of her face. There were tears in her eyes. At -the sight his self-control snapped. - -“You sha’n’t!” he cried. “It’s ghastly. I won’t let you. You must -understand now—you must know what you are to me. Do you think I shall -let you——” - -A low growl of thunder rumbled through the stillness, like the muttering -of a sleepy giant. The black cloud which had hung over the hill had -crept closer. The heat was stifling. In the middle of the lake, some -fifty yards distant, lay the island, cool and mysterious in the -gathering darkness. - -He broke off and seized the paddle. - -On this side of the island was a boat-house—a little creek, covered over -with boards, and capable of sheltering an ordinary row-boat. He ran the -canoe in just as the storm began, and turned her broadside on so that -they could watch the rain, which was sweeping over the lake in sheets. - -He began to speak again, more slowly now. - -“I think I loved you from the first day I saw you on the ship—and then I -lost you. I found you again by a miracle, and lost you again; I found -you here by another miracle, but this time I am not going to lose you. -Do you think I am going to stand by and see you taken from me by—by——” - -He took her hand. - -“Molly, you can’t love him. It isn’t possible. If I thought you did, I -wouldn’t try to spoil your happiness—I’d go away. But you don’t—you -can’t. He’s nothing. Molly!” - -“Molly!” - -She said nothing, but for the first time her eyes met his, clear and -unwavering. He could read fear in them, fear—not of himself, of -something vague, something he could not guess at. But they shone with a -light which conquered the fear as the sun conquers fire; and he drew her -to him, and kissed her again and again, murmuring incoherently. - -Suddenly she wrenched herself away, struggling like some wild thing. The -boat plunged. - -“I can’t!” she cried, in a choking voice. “I mustn’t! Oh, I can’t!” - -He stretched out a hand and clutched at the rail that ran along the -wall. The plunging ceased. He turned. She had hidden her face, and was -sobbing, quietly, with the forlorn hopelessness of a lost child. - -He made a movement towards her, but drew back. He felt dazed. - -The rain thudded and splashed on the wooden roof. A few drops trickled -through a crack in the boards. He took off his coat and placed it gently -over her shoulders. - -“Molly!” - -She looked up with wet eyes. - -“Molly dear, what is it?” - -“I mustn’t. It isn’t right.” - -“I don’t understand.” - -“I mustn’t, Jimmy.” - -He moved cautiously forward, holding the rail till he was at her side, -and took her in his arms. - -“What is it, dear? Tell me.” - -She clung to him without speaking. - -“You aren’t worrying about him, are you—about Dreever? There’s nothing -to worry about. It’ll be quite easy and simple. I’ll tell him if you -like. He knows you don’t care for him, and besides, there’s another girl -in London that he——” - -“No, no; it’s not that.” - -“What is it, dear? What’s troubling you?” - -“Jimmy——” She stopped. - -“Yes?” - -“Jimmy, father wouldn’t. Father—father doesn’t——” - -“Doesn’t like me?” - -She nodded miserably. - -A great wave of relief swept over Jimmy. He had imagined—he hardly knew -what he had imagined—some vast, insuperable obstacle, some tremendous -catastrophe whirling them asunder. He could have laughed aloud in his -happiness. So this was it, this was the cloud that brooded over -them—that Mr. McEachern did not like him! The angel, guarding Eden with -a fiery sword, had changed into a policeman with a truncheon. - -“He must learn to love me,” he said lightly. - -She looked at him hopelessly. He could not see, he could not understand. -And how could she tell him? Her father’s words rang in her brain. He was -“crooked”; he was “here on some game”; he was being watched. But she -loved him—she loved him. Oh, how could she make him understand? - -She clung tighter to him, trembling. He became serious again. - -“Dear, you mustn’t worry,” he said. “It can’t be helped. He’ll come -round. Once we’re married——” - -“No, no! Oh, can’t you understand? I couldn’t—I couldn’t.” - -“But, dear,” he said, “you can’t— Do you mean to say— Will that——“(he -searched for a word)—“stop you?” he concluded. - -“It must,” she whispered. - -A cold hand clutched at his heart. His world was falling to pieces, -crumbling under his eyes. - -“But—but you love me,” he said slowly. It was as if he were trying to -find the key to a puzzle. - -“I—don’t see——” - -“You couldn’t—you can’t. You’re a man—you don’t know—it’s so different -for a man. He’s brought up all his life with the idea of leaving home, -he goes away naturally.” - -“But, dear, you couldn’t live at home all your life. Whoever you -married——” - -“But this would be different. Father would never speak to me again— I -should never see him again. He would go right out of my life. Jimmy, I -couldn’t. A girl can’t cut away twenty years of her life and start -afresh like that. I should be haunted. I should make you miserable. -Every day a hundred little things would remind me of him, and I -shouldn’t be strong enough to resist them. You don’t know how fond he is -of me, how good he has always been. Ever since I can remember, we’ve -been such friends. You’ve only seen the outside of him, and I know how -different that is from what he really is. All his life he has thought -only of me. He has told me things about himself which nobody else dreams -of, and I know that all these years he has been working just for me. -Jimmy, you don’t hate me for saying this, do you?” - -“Go on,” he said, drawing her closer to him. - -“I can’t remember my mother—she died when I was quite little—so he and I -have been the only ones, till you came.” - -Memories of those early days crowded her mind as she spoke, making her -voice tremble; half-forgotten trifles, many of them, fraught with the -glamour and fragrance of past happiness. - -“We have always been together. He trusted me and I trusted him, and we -saw things through together. When I was ill he used to sit up all night -with me, night after night. Once—I’d only got a little fever really, but -I thought I was terribly bad—I heard him come in late and called out to -him, and he came straight in and sat and held my hand all through the -night; and it was only by accident I found out later that it had been -raining, and that he was soaked through. It might have killed him. We -were partners, Jimmy dear. I couldn’t do anything to hurt him now, could -I? It wouldn’t be square.” - -Jimmy turned away his head, for fear his face might betray what he was -feeling. He was in a hell of unreasoning jealousy. He wanted her, body -and soul, and every word she said bit like a raw wound. A moment before -and he had felt that she belonged to him; now, in the first shock of -reaction, he saw himself a stranger, an intruder, a trespasser on holy -ground. - -She saw the movement, and her intuition put her in touch with his -thoughts. - -“No, no!” she cried. “No, Jimmy—not that!” - -Their eyes met, and he was satisfied. - -They sat there silent. The rain had lessened its force and was falling -now in a gentle shower; a strip of blue sky, pale and watery, showed -through the grey over the hills. On the island close behind them a -thrush had begun to sing. - -“What are we to do?” she said at last. “What can we do?” - -“We must wait,” he said. “It will all come right. It must. Nothing can -stop us now.” - -The rain had ceased. The blue had routed the grey and driven it from the -sky. The sun, low down in the west, shone out bravely over the lake. The -air was cool and fresh. - -Jimmy’s spirits rose with a bound. He accepted the omen. This was the -world as it really was, smiling and friendly, not grey, as he had -fancied it. He had won. Nothing could alter that. What remained to be -done was trivial. He wondered how he could ever have allowed it to weigh -upon him. - -After a while he pushed the boat out of its shelter on to the glittering -water, and seized the paddle. - -“We must be getting back,” he said. “I wonder what the time is? I wish -we could stay out for ever. But it must be late. Molly!” - -“Yes?” - -“Whatever happens, you’ll break off this engagement with Dreever? Shall -I tell him? I will if you like.” - -“No, I will. I’ll write him a note if I don’t see him before dinner.” - -Jimmy paddled on a few strokes. - -“It’s no good,” he said suddenly; “I can’t keep it in. Molly, do you -mind if I sing a bar or two? I’ve got a beastly voice, but I’m feeling -rather happy. I’ll stop as soon as I can.” - -He raised his voice discordantly. - -Covertly, from beneath the shade of her big hat, Molly watched him with -troubled eyes. The sun had gone down behind the hills, and the water had -ceased to glitter. There was a suggestion of chilliness in the air. The -great mass of the castle frowned down upon them, dark and forbidding in -the dim light. - -She shivered. - - - - - ★ 20 ★ - _A Lesson in Piquet_ - - -Lord Dreever, meanwhile, having left the waterside, lit a cigarette, and -proceeded to make a reflective tour of the grounds. He felt aggrieved -with the world. Molly’s desertion in the canoe with Jimmy did not -trouble him. He had other sorrows. One is never at one’s best and -sunniest when one has been forced by a ruthless uncle into abandoning -the girl one loves and becoming engaged to another to whom one is -indifferent. Something of a jaundiced tinge stains one’s outlook on life -in such circumstances. Moreover, Lord Dreever was not by nature an -introspective young man, but, examining his position as he walked along, -he found himself wondering whether it was not a little unheroic. He came -to the conclusion that perhaps it was. - -Of course, Uncle Thomas could make it deucedly unpleasant for him if he -kicked—that was the trouble. If only he had even, say, a couple of -thousand a year of his own, he might make a fight for it. But, dash it! -Uncle Tom could cut off supplies to such a frightful extent, if there -was trouble, that he would have to go on living at Dreever indefinitely, -without so much as a fearful quid to call his own. Imagination boggled -at the prospect. In the summer and autumn, when there was shooting, his -lordship was not indisposed to stay at the home of his fathers. But all -the year round! Better a broken heart inside the radius than a sound one -in the country in the winter. - -“But, by gad,” mused his lordship, “if I had as much as a couple—yes, -dash it! even a couple of thousand a year, I’d chance it and ask Katie -to marry me, dashed if I wouldn’t!” - -He walked on, drawing thoughtfully at his cigarette. The more he -reviewed the situation, the less he liked it. There was only one bright -spot in it, and that was the feeling that now money must surely get a -shade less tight. Extracting the precious ore from Sir Thomas hitherto -had been like pulling back-teeth out of a bulldog. But now, on the -strength of this infernal engagement, surely he might reasonably be -expected to scatter largesse to some extent. - -His lordship was just wondering whether, if approached in a softened -mood, the other might not disgorge something quite big, when a large, -warm rain-drop fell on his hand. From the bushes round about came an -ever-increasing patter. The sky was leaden. - -He looked round him for shelter. He had reached the rose-garden in the -course of his perambulations. At the far end was a summer-house. He -turned up his coat-collar and ran. - -As he drew near he heard a slow and dirge-like whistling proceeding from -the interior. Plunging in out of breath, just as the deluge began, he -found Hargate seated at the little wooden table with an earnest -expression on his face. The table was covered with cards. Hargate had -not yet been compelled to sprain his wrist, having adopted the -alternative of merely refusing invitations to play billiards. - -“Halloa, Hargate!” said his lordship. “Isn’t it coming down, by Jove!” - -Hargate glanced up, nodded without speaking, and turned his attention to -the cards once more. He took one from the pack in his left hand, looked -at it, hesitated for a moment, as if doubtful whereabouts on the table -it would produce the most artistic effect, and finally put it face -upwards. Then he moved another card from the table and put it on top of -the other one. Throughout the performance he whistled painfully. - -His lordship regarded him with annoyance. - -“That looks frightfully exciting,” he said disparagingly. “What are you -playing at? Patience?” - -Hargate nodded again—this time without looking up. - -“Oh, don’t sit there looking like a frog,” said Lord Dreever irritably. -“Talk, man.” - -Hargate gathered up the cards and proceeded to shuffle them in a -meditative manner, whistling the while. - -“Oh, stop it!” said his lordship. - -Hargate nodded, and stopped. - -“Look here,” said Lord Dreever, “this is boring me stiff. Let’s have a -game at something—anything to pass away the time. Hang this rain! We -shall be cooped up here till dinner at this rate. Ever played piquet? I -could teach you in five minutes.” - -A look almost of awe came into Hargate’s face—the look of one who sees a -miracle performed before his eyes. For years he had been using all the -large stock of diplomacy at his command to induce callow youths to play -piquet with him, and here was this admirable young man, this pearl among -young men, positively offering to teach him the game. It was too much -happiness. What had he done to deserve this? He felt as a toil-worn lion -might feel if some antelope, instead of making its customary bee-line -for the horizon, were to trot up and insert its head between his jaws. - -“I— I shouldn’t mind being shown the idea,” he said. - -He listened attentively while Lord Dreever explained at some length the -principles which govern the game of piquet. Every now and then he asked -a question. It was evident that he was beginning to grasp the idea of -the game. - -“What exactly is re-piquing?” he asked, as his lordship paused. - -“It’s like this,” said his lordship, returning to his lecture. - -“Yes, I see now,” said the neophyte. - -They began playing. Lord Dreever, as was only to be expected in a -contest between teacher and student, won the first two hands. Hargate -won the next. - -“I’ve got the hang of it all right now,” he said complacently. “It’s a -simple sort of game. Make it more exciting, don’t you think, if we -played for something?” - -“All right,” said Lord Dreever slowly; “if you like.” - -He would not have suggested it himself, but after all, dash it! if the -man simply asked for it—— It was not his fault if the winning of a hand -should have given the fellow the impression that he knew all that there -was to be known about piquet. Of course, piquet was a game where skill -was practically bound to win. But—— After all, Hargate probably had -plenty of money. He could afford it. - -“All right,” said his lordship again. “How much?” - -“Something fairly moderate. Ten bob a hundred?” - -There is no doubt that his lordship ought, at this suggestion, to have -corrected the novice’s notion that ten shillings a hundred was fairly -moderate. He knew that it was possible for a poor player to lose four -hundred points in a twenty minutes’ game, and usual for him to lose two -hundred. But he let the thing go. - -“Very well,” he said. - -Twenty minutes later Hargate was looking somewhat ruefully at the -score-sheet. “I owe you eighteen shillings,” he said. “Shall I pay you -now, or shall we settle up in a lump after we’ve finished?” - -“What about stopping now?” said Lord Dreever. “It’s quite fine out.” - -“No; let’s go on. I’ve nothing to do till dinner, and I don’t suppose -you have.” - -His lordship’s conscience made one last effort. - -“You’d much better stop, you know, Hargate, really,” he said. “You can -lose a frightful lot at this game.” - -“My dear Dreever,” said Hargate stiffly, “I can look after myself, -thanks. Of course, if you think you are risking too much, by all -means——” - -“Oh, if you don’t mind,” said his lordship, outraged, “I’m only too -frightfully pleased. Only remember I warned you.” - -“I’ll bear it in mind. By the way, before we start, care to make it a -sovereign a hundred?” - -Lord Dreever could not afford to play piquet for a sovereign a hundred, -or, indeed, to play piquet for money at all; but after his adversary’s -innuendo it was impossible for a young gentleman of spirit to admit the -humiliating fact. He nodded. - -“About time, I fancy,” said Hargate, looking at his watch an hour later, -“that we were going in to dress for dinner.” - -His lordship made no reply. He was wrapped in thought. - -“Let’s see, that’s twenty pounds you owe me, isn’t it?” continued -Hargate. “Shocking bad luck you had.” - -They went out into the rose-garden. - -“Jolly everything smells after the rain,” said Hargate, who seemed to -have struck a conversational patch. “Freshened everything up.” - -His lordship did not appear to have noticed it. He seemed to be thinking -of something else. His air was pensive and abstracted. - -“There’s just time,” said Hargate, looking at his watch again, “for a -short stroll. I want to have a talk with you.” - -“Oh!” said Lord Dreever. - -His air did not belie his feelings. He looked pensive, and he was -pensive. It was deuced awkward, this twenty pounds business. - -Hargate was watching him covertly. It was his business to know other -people’s business, and he knew that Lord Dreever was impecunious, and -depended for supplies entirely on a prehensile uncle. For the success of -the proposal he was about to make he relied on this fact. - -“Who’s this man Pitt?” asked Hargate. - -“Oh, pal of mine,” said his lordship. “Why?” - -“I can’t stand the fellow.” - -“I think he’s a good chap,” said his lordship. “In fact,” remembering -Jimmy’s Good Samaritanism, “I know he is. Why don’t you like him?” - -“I don’t know. I don’t.” - -“Oh!” said his lordship indifferently. He was in no mood to listen to -the likes and dislikes of other men. - -“Look here, Dreever,” said Hargate, “I want you to do something for me—I -want you to get Pitt out of the place.” - -Lord Dreever eyed him curiously. - -“Eh?” he said. Hargate repeated his remark. - -“You seem to have mapped out quite a programme for me,” said Lord -Dreever. - -“Get him out of it,” continued Hargate vehemently. Jimmy’s prohibition -against billiards had hit him hard. He was suffering the torments of -Tantalus. The castle was full of young men of the kind to whom he most -resorted—easy marks, every one—and here he was, simply through Jimmy, -careened like a disabled battleship. It was maddening. “Make him go. You -invited him here. He doesn’t expect to stop indefinitely, I suppose? If -you left, he’d have to, too. What you must do is to go back to London -to-morrow. You can easily make some excuse. He’ll have to go with you. -Then you can drop him in London and come back. That’s what you must do.” - -A delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread itself over Lord -Dreever’s face. He began to look like an angry rabbit. He had not a -great deal of pride in his composition, but the thought of the -ignominious _role_ which Hargate was sketching out for him stirred what -he had to its shallow bottom. - -Talking on, Hargate managed to add the last straw. - -“Of course,” he said, “that money you lost to me at piquet—what was it? -Twenty? Twenty pounds, wasn’t it? Well, we would look on that as -cancelled, of course. That will be all right.” - -His lordship exploded. - -“Will it?” he cried, pink to the ears. “Will it, by George? I’ll pay you -every frightful penny of it to-morrow—and then you can clear out, -instead of Pitt. What do you take me for, I should like to know?” - -“A fool, if you refuse my offer.” - -“I’ve a jolly good mind to give you a most frightful kicking.” - -“I shouldn’t try if I were you. It’s not the sort of game you’d shine -at. Better stick to piquet.” - -“If you think I can’t pay you your rotten money—” - -“I do. But if you can, so much the better. Money is always useful.” - -“I may be a fool in some ways——” - -“You understate it, my dear man.” - -“But I’m not a cad.” - -“You’re getting quite rosy, Dreever. Wrath is good for the complexion.” - -“And if you think you can bribe me, you never made a bigger mistake in -your life.” - -“Yes, I did,” said Hargate, “when I thought you had some glimmerings of -intelligence. But if it gives you any pleasure to behave like the -juvenile lead in a melodrama, by all means do. Personally, I shouldn’t -have thought the game would be worth the candle. But if your keen sense -of honour compels you to pay the twenty pounds, all right. You mentioned -to-morrow? That’ll suit me. So we’ll let it go at that.” - -He walked off, leaving Lord Dreever filled with that comfortable glow -which comes to the weak man who for once has displayed determination. He -felt that he must not go back from his dignified stand-point. That money -would have to be paid, and on the morrow. Hargate was the sort of man -who could, and would, make it exceedingly unpleasant for him if he -failed. A debt of honour was not a thing to be trifled with. - -But he felt quite safe. He knew he could get the money when he pleased. -It showed, he reflected philosophically, how out of evil cometh good. -His greater misfortune, the engagement, would, as it were, neutralise -the loss, for it was ridiculous to suppose that Sir Thomas, having seen -his ends accomplished, and being presumably in a spacious mood in -consequence, would not be amenable to a request for a mere twenty -pounds. - -He went on into the hall. He felt strong and capable. He had shown -Hargate the stuff there was in him. He was Spennie Dreever, the man of -blood and iron, the man with whom it was best not to trifle. But it was -really, come to think of it, uncommonly lucky that he was engaged to -Molly. He recoiled from the idea of attempting, unfortified by that -fact, to extract twenty pounds from Sir Thomas for a card debt. - -In the hall he met Saunders. - -“I have been looking for your lordship,” said the butler. - -“Eh? Well, here I am.” - -“Just so, your lordship. Miss McEachern entrusted me with this note to -deliver to you in the event of her not being able to see you before -dinner personally, your lordship.” - -“Right-O. Thanks.” - -He started to go upstairs, opening the envelope as he went. What could -the girl be writing to him about? Surely she wasn’t going to start -sending him love-letters or any of that frightful rot? Deuced difficult -it would be to play up to that sort of thing. - -He stopped on the landing to read the note, and at the first line his -jaw fell. The envelope fluttered to the ground. - -“Oh, my sainted aunt!” he moaned, clutching at the banisters. “Now I am -in the soup!” - - - - - ★ 21 ★ - _Loathsome Gifts_ - - -There are doubtless men so constructed that they can find themselves -accepted suitors without any particular whirl of emotion. King Solomon -probably belonged to this class, and even Henry VIII must have become a -trifle blasé in time. But to the average man the sensations are complex -and overwhelming. A certain stunned feeling is perhaps predominant. -Blended with this is relief—the relief of a general who has brought a -difficult campaign to a successful end, or a member of a forlorn hope -who finds that the danger is over and that he is still alive. To this -must be added a newly-born sense of magnificence. Our suspicion that we -were something rather out of the ordinary run of men is suddenly -confirmed. Our bosom heaves with complacency, and the world has nothing -more to offer. - -With some there is an alloy of apprehension in the metal of their -happiness, and the strain of an engagement sometimes brings with it even -a faint shadow of regret. “She makes me buy things,” one swain, in the -third quarter of his engagement, was overhead to moan to a friend. “Two -new ties only yesterday.” He seemed to be debating within himself -whether human nature could stand the strain. - -But, whatever tragedies may cloud the end of the period, its beginning -at least is bathed in sunshine. - -Jimmy, regarding his lathered face in the glass as he dressed for dinner -that night, marvelled at the excellence of this best of all possible -worlds. - -No doubts disturbed him. That the relations between Mr. McEachern and -himself offered a permanent bar to his prospects he did not believe. For -the moment he declined to consider the existence of the ex-constable at -all. In a world that contained Molly there was no room for other people. -They were not in the picture. They did not exist. - -To him, musing contentedly over the goodness of life, there entered, in -the furtive manner habitual to that unreclaimed buccaneer, Spike -Mullins. It may have been that Jimmy read his own satisfaction and -happiness into the faces of others, but it certainly seemed to him that -there was a sort of restrained joyfulness about Spike’s demeanour. The -Bowery boy’s shuffles on the carpet were almost a dance. His face seemed -to glow beneath his crimson hair. - -“Well,” said Jimmy, “and how goes the world with young Lord FitzMullins? -Spike, have you ever been best man?” - -“What’s dat, boss?” - -“Best man at a wedding—chap who stands by the bridegroom with a hand on -the scruff of his neck to see that he goes through with it. Fellow who -looks after everything, crowds the money on to the minister at the end -of the ceremony, and then goes off and marries the first bridesmaid and -lives happily ever after.” - -Spike shook his head. - -“I ain’t got no use for gettin’ married, boss.” - -“Spike the misogynist! You wait, Spike. Some day love will awake in your -heart, and you’ll start writing poetry.” - -“I’se not dat kind of mug, boss,” protested the Bowery boy. “I ain’t got -no use for goils. It’s a mutt’s game.” - -This was rank heresy. Jimmy laid down the razor from motives of -prudence, and proceeded to lighten Spike’s reprehensible darkness. - -“Spike, you’re an ass,” he said. “You don’t know anything about it. If -you had any sense at all, you’d understand that the only thing worth -doing in life is to get married. You bone-headed bachelors make me ill. -Think what it would mean to you, having a wife. Think of going out on a -cold winter’s night to crack a crib, knowing that there would be a cup -of hot soup waiting for you when you got back, and your slippers all -warmed and comfortable. And then she’d sit on your knee, and you’d tell -her how you shot the policeman, and you’d examine the swag together! -Why, I can’t imagine anything cosier. Perhaps there would be little -Spikes running about the house. Can’t you see them jumping with joy as -you slid in through the window and told the great news? ‘Fahzer’s killed -a pleeceman!’ cry the tiny, eager voices. Sweets are served out all -round in honour of the event. Golden haired little Jimmy Mullins, my -godson, gets sixpence for having thrown a stone at a plain clothes -detective that afternoon. All is joy and wholesome revelry. Take my word -for it, Spike, there’s nothing like domesticity.” - -“Dere was a goil once,” said Spike, meditatively. “Only I was never her -steady. She married a cop.” - -“She wasn’t worthy of you, Spike,” said Jimmy sympathetically. “A girl -capable of going to the bad like that would never have done for you. You -must pick up some nice, sympathetic girl with a romantic admiration for -your line of business. Meanwhile, let me finish shaving, or I shall be -late for dinner. Great doings on to-night, Spike.” - -Spike became animated. - -“Sure, boss! Dat’s just what——” - -“If you could collect all the blue blood that will be under this roof -to-night, Spike, into one vat, you’d be able to start a dyeing works. -Don’t try, though. They mightn’t like it. By the way, have you seen -anything more—of course you have. What I mean is, have you talked at all -with that valet man—the one you think is a detective?” - -“Why, boss, dat’s just——” - -“I hope, for his own sake, he’s a better performer than my old friend -Galer. That man is getting on my nerves, Spike. He pursues me like a -smell dog. I expect he’s lurking out in the passage now. Did you see -him?” - -“Did I! Boss! Why——” - -Jimmy inspected Spike gravely. - -“Spike,” he said, “there’s something on your mind. You’re trying to say -something. What is it? Out with it.” - -Spike’s excitement vented itself in a rush of words. - -“Gee, boss! There’s bin doin’s to-night for fair. Me coco’s still -buzzin’. Sure t’ing! Why, say, when I was to Sir Tummas’s dressing-room -dis afternoon——” - -“What!” - -“Surest t’ing, you know. Just before de storm come on, when it was all -as dark as could be. Well, I was——” - -Jimmy interrupted. - -“In Sir Thomas’s dressing-room! What——” - -Spike looked somewhat embarrassed. He grinned apologetically and -shuffled his feet. - -“I’ve got dem, boss,” he said, with a smirk. - -“Got them? Got what?” - -“Dese.” - -He plunged his hand in his pocket and drew forth, in a glittering mass, -Lady Julia Blunt’s rope of diamonds. - - - - - ★ 22 ★ - _How Two of a Trade did not Agree_ - - -“One hundred t’ousand plunks,” murmured Spike, gazing lovingly at them. -“I says to meself, ‘De boss ain’t got no time to be gettin’ after dem -himself. He’s too busy dese days wit jollyin’ along de swells. So it’s -up to me,’ I says, ‘’cos de boss’ll be tickled to deat’, all right, all -right, if we can git away wit dem.’ So I——” - -Jimmy gave tongue with an energy which amazed his faithful follower. The -nightmare horror of the situation had affected him much as a sudden blow -in the parts about the waistcoat might have done. But now, as Spike -would have said, he caught up with his breath. The smirk faded slowly -from the other’s face as he listened. Not even in the Bowery, full as it -was of candid friends, had he listened to such a trenchant summing-up of -his mental and moral deficiencies. - -“Boss!” he protested. - -“That’s just a sketchy outline,” said Jimmy, pausing for breath. “I -can’t do you justice impromptu like this. You’re too vast and -overwhelming.” - -“But, boss, what’s eatin’ you? Ain’t youse tickled?” - -“Tickled!” Jimmy sawed the air. “Tickled! You lunatic! Can’t you see -what you’ve done?” - -“I’ve got dem,” said Spike, whose mind was not readily receptive of new -ideas. It seemed to him that Jimmy missed the main point. - -“Didn’t I tell you there was nothing doing when you wanted to take those -things the other day?” - -Spike’s face cleared. As he had suspected, Jimmy had missed the point. - -“Why, say, boss, yes—sure. But dose was little dinky t’ings. Of course, -youse wouldn’t stand for swipin’ chicken-feed like dem. But dese is -different. Dese di’monds is boids. It’s one hundred thousand plunks fer -dese.” - -“Spike!” said Jimmy, with painful calm. - -“Huh?” - -“Will you listen for a moment?” - -“Sure.” - -“I know it’s practically hopeless. To get an idea into your head one -wants a proper outfit—drills, blasting-powder, and so on. But there’s -just a chance, perhaps, if I talk slowly. Has it occurred to you, -Spike—my bonny, blue-eyed Spike—that every other man, more or less, in -this stately home of England is a detective who has probably received -instructions to watch you like a lynx? Do you imagine that your -blameless past is a sufficient safeguard? I suppose you think that these -detectives will say to themselves, ‘Now, whom shall we suspect? We must -leave out Spike Mullins, of course, because he naturally wouldn’t dream -of doing such a thing. It can’t be dear old Spike who’s got the stuff.’” - -“But, boss,” interposed Spike brightly. “I ain’t! Dat’s right—I ain’t -got it. Youse has!” - -Jimmy looked at him with reluctant admiration. After all, there was a -breezy delirium about Spike’s methods of thought which was rather -stimulating when you got used to it. The worst of it was that it did not -fit in with practical, everyday life. Under different conditions—say, -during convivial evenings at Colney Hatch—he could imagine the Bowery -boy being a charming companion. How pleasantly, for instance, such -remarks as that last would while away the monotony of a padded cell! - -“But, laddie,” he said, with steely affection, “listen once more. -Reflect! Ponder! Does it not seep into your consciousness that we are, -as it were, subtly connected in this house in the minds of certain bad -persons? Are we not imagined by Mr. McEachern, for instance, to be -working hand in hand like brothers? Do you fancy that Mr. McEachern, -chatting with his tame sleuth-hound over their cigars, will have been -reticent on this point? I think not. How do you propose to baffle that -gentlemanly sleuth, Spike, who, I may mention once again, has rarely -moved more than two yards away from me since his arrival?” - -An involuntary chuckle escaped Spike. - -“Sure, boss, dat’s all right!” - -“All right, is it? Well, well! What makes you think it is all right?” - -“Why, say, boss, dose sleuts is out of business.” A merry grin split his -face. “It’s funny, boss! Gee, it’s got a circus skinned! Listen! Deyse -bin an’ arrest each other.” - -Jimmy moodily revised his former view. Even in Colney Hatch this sort of -thing would be coldly received. Genius must ever walk alone. Spike would -have to get along without any hope of meeting a kindred spirit, a -fellow-being in tune with his brain-processes. - -“Dat’s right,” chuckled Spike. “Leastways, it ain’t.” - -“No, no,” said Jimmy soothingly. “I quite understand.” - -“It’s dis way, boss. One of dem has bin an’ arrest de odder mug. Dey had -a scrap, each t’inking de odder guy was after de jools, an’ not knowin’ -dey was bote sleuts, an’ now one of dem’s bin an’ taken de odder off, -an’”—there were tears of innocent joy in his eyes—“an’ locked him into -de coal-cellar.” - -“What on earth do you mean?” - -Spike giggled helplessly. - -“Listen, boss! It’s dis way. Gee, it beat de band. When it’s all dark, -’cos of de storm comin’ on, I’m in de dressin’-room chasin’ around for -de jool-box, and just as I gets a line on it—gee!— I hears a footstep -coming down de passage, very soft, straight for de door. Was I to de -bad? Dat’s right. I says to meself, ‘Here’s one of de sleut guys what’s -bin and got wise to me, an’ he’s comin’ in to put de grip on me,’ so I -gets up quick, an’ I hides behind a coitain. Dere’s a coitain at de side -of de room. Dere’s dude suits an t’ings hangin’ behind it. I chases -meself in dere, and stands waitin’ for de sleut to come in, ’cos den, -you see, I’m goin’ to try an’ get busy before he can see who I am—it’s -pretty dark ’cos of de storm—an’ jolt him one on de point of de jaw, an’ -den, while he’s down an’ out, chase meself fer de soivants’ hall.” - -“Yes?” said Jimmy. - -“Well, dis guy, he gets to de door and opens it, and I’m just gettin’ -ready for one sudden boist of speed when dere jumps out from de room on -de odder side de passage—you know de room—anodder guy, an’ gets de rapid -strangleholt on de foist mug. Say, wouldn’t dat make youse glad you -hadn’t gone to de circus? Honest, it was better dan Coney Island.” - -“Go on. What happened then?” - -“Day falls to scrappin’ good and hard. Dey couldn’t see me, an’ I -couldn’t see dem, but I could hear dem bumpin’ about and sluggin’ each -odder to beat de band. And by and by one of de mugs puts de odder mug to -de bad, so dat he goes down and takes de count; and den I hears a click. -And I know what dat is. It’s one of de gazebos has put de irons on de -odder gazebo.” - -“Call them A and B,” suggested Jimmy. - -“Den I hears him—de foist mug—strike a light, ’cos it’s dark dere ’cos -of de storm, an’ den he says, ‘Got youse, have I?’ he says. ‘I’ve had my -eye on you, t’inkin’ youse was up to somet’ing of dis kind. I’ve bin -watchin’ youse!’ I knew de voice. It’s dat mug what calls himself Sir -Tummas’s vally. And de odder——” - -Jimmy burst into a roar of laughter. - -“Don’t, Spike! This is more than man was meant to stand. Do you mean to -tell me that it is my bright, brainy, persevering friend Galer who has -been handcuffed and locked in the coal-cellar?” - -“Sure, dat’s right,” he said. - -“It’s a judgment,” said Jimmy delightedly—“that’s what it is. No man has -a right to be such a consummate ass as Galer. It isn’t decent.” - -There had been moments when McEachern’s faithful employé had filled -Jimmy with an odd sort of fury, a kind of hurt pride, almost to the -extent of making him wish that he really could have been the desperado -McEachern fancied him. Never in his life before had he sat still under a -challenge, and this espionage had been one. Behind the clumsy watcher he -had seen always the self-satisfied figure of McEachern. If there had -been anything subtle about the man from Dodson’s he could have forgiven -him; but there was not. Years of practice had left Spike with a sort of -sixth sense as regarded representatives of the law. He could pierce the -most cunning disguise. But in the case of Galer even Jimmy could detect -the detective. - -“Go on,” he said. - -Spike proceeded. - -“Well, de odder mug, de one down and out on de floor wit de irons on——” - -“Galer, in fact,” said Jimmy. “Handsome, dashing Galer!” - -“Sure. Well, he’s too busy catchin’ up wit his breat’ to shoot it back -swift, but after he’s bin doin’ de deep-breathin’ stunt for a while he -says, ‘You mutt,’ he says, ‘youse is to de bad. You’re made a break, you -have. Dat’s right. Surest t’ing you know.’ He puts it different, but -dat’s what he means. ‘I’m a sleut,’ he says. ‘Take dese t’ings -off!’—meanin’ de irons. Does de odder mug, de vally gazebo, give him de -glad eye? Not so’s you could notice it. He gives him de merry ha-ha. He -says dat dat’s de woist tale dat’s ever bin handed to him. ‘Tell it to -Sweeney!’ he says. ‘I knows youse. You woims yourself into de house as a -guest, when youse is really after de loidy’s jools.’ At dese crool woids -de odder mug, Galer, gits hot under de collar. ‘I’m a sure ’nough -sleut,’ he says. ‘I blows into dis house at de special request of Mr. -McEachern, de American gent.’ De odder mug hands him de lemon again. -‘Tell it to de King of Denmark,’ he says. ‘Dis cops de limit. Youse has -enough gall for ten strong men,’ he says. ‘Show me to Mr. McEachern,’ -says Galer. ‘He’ll——crouch,’ is dat it?” - -“Vouch?” suggested Jimmy. “Meaning give the glad hand to.” - -“Dat’s right—vouch. I wondered what he meant at de time. ‘He’ll vouch -for me,’ he says. Dat puts him all right, he t’inks; but no, he’s still -in Dutch, ’cos de vally mug says, ‘Nix on dat! I ain’t goin’ to chase -around de house wit youse, lookin’ for Mr. McEachern. It’s youse for de -coal-cellar, me man, an’ we’ll see what youse has to say when I makes me -report to Sir Tummas.’ ‘Well, dat’s to de good,’ says Galer. ‘Tell Sir -Tummas. I’ll explain to him.’ ‘Not me!’ says de vally. ‘Sir Tummas has a -hard evening’s woik before him, jollyin’ along de swells what’s comin’ -to see dis stoige-piece dey’re actin’. I ain’t goin’ to worry him till -he’s good and ready. To de coal-cellar for yours! G’wan!’ and off dey -goes! And I gets busy again, swipes de jools, and chases meself here.” - -“Have you ever heard of poetic justice, Spike?” he asked. “This is it. -But in this hour of mirth and good will we must not forget——” - -Spike interrupted. - -Beaming with honest pleasure at the enthusiastic reception of his -narrative, he proceeded to point out the morals that were to be deduced -therefrom. - -“So youse see, boss,” he said, “it’s all to de merry. When dey rubbers -for de jools and finds dem gone, dey’ll t’ink dis Galer guy swiped dem. -Dey won’t t’ink of us.” - -Jimmy looked at him gravely. - -“Of course,” said he. “What a reasoner you are, Spike! Galer was just -opening the door from the outside, by your account, when the valet-man -sprang at him. Naturally they’ll think that he took the jewels, -especially as they won’t find them on him. A man who can open a locked -safe through a closed door is just the sort of fellow who would be able -to get rid of the swag neatly while rolling about the floor with the -valet. His not having the jewels will make the case all the blacker -against him. And what will make them still more certain that he is the -thief is that he really is a detective. Spike, you ought to be in some -sort of a home, you know.” - -The Bowery boy looked disturbed. - -“I didn’t t’ink of dat, boss,” he admitted. - -“Of course not. One can’t think of everything. Now, if you will just -hand me those diamonds, I will put them back where they belong.” - -“Put dem back, boss!” - -“What else would you propose? I’d get you to do it, only I don’t think -putting things back is much in your line.” - -Spike handed over the jewels. The boss was the boss, and what he said -went. But his demeanour was tragic, telling eloquently of hopes -blighted. - -Jimmy took the necklace with something of a thrill. He was a connoisseur -of jewels, and a fine gem affected him much as a fine picture affects -the artistic. He ran the diamonds through his fingers, then scrutinized -them again, more closely this time. - -Spike watched him with a slight return of hope. It seemed to him that -the boss was wavering. Perhaps, now that he had actually handled the -jewels, he would find it impossible to give them up. To Spike a diamond -necklace of cunning workmanship was merely the equivalent of so many -“plunks”; but he knew that there were men, otherwise sane, who valued a -jewel for its own sake. - -“It’s a boid of a necklace, boss,” he murmured encouragingly. - -“It is,” said Jimmy. “In its way I’ve never seen anything much better. -Sir Thomas will be glad to have it back.” - -“Den you’re going to put it back, boss?” - -“I am,” said Jimmy. “I’ll do it just before the theatricals; there -should be a chance then. There’s one good thing—this afternoon’s affair -will have cleared the air of sleuth-hounds a little.” - - - - - ★ 23 ★ - _Family Jars_ - - -Hildebrand Spencer Poyns de Burgh John Hannasyde Coombe-Crombie, twelfth -Earl of Dreever, was feeling like a toad under the harrow. He read the -letter again, but a second perusal made it no better. Very briefly and -clearly Molly had broken off the engagement. She “thought it best”; she -was “afraid it could make neither of us happy.” All very true, thought -his lordship miserably. His sentiments to a T. At the proper time -nothing he would have liked better. But why seize for this declaration -the precise moment when he was intending, on the strength of the -engagement, to separate his uncle from twenty pounds? That was what -rankled. That Molly could have no knowledge of his sad condition did not -occur to him. He had a sort of feeling that she ought to have known by -instinct. Nature, as has been pointed out, had equipped Hildebrand -Spencer Poyns de Burgh with one of those cheap-substitute minds. What -passed for brain in him was to genuine grey matter what just-as-good -imitation coffee is to real Mocha. In moments of emotion and mental -distress, consequently, his reasoning, like Spike’s, was apt to be in a -class of its own. - -He read the letter for the third time, and a gentle perspiration began -to form on his forehead. This was awful. The presumable jubilation of -Katie, the penniless ripper of the Savoy, when he should present himself -to her a free man, did not enter into the mental picture that was -unfolding before him. She was too remote. Between him and her lay the -fearsome figure of Sir Thomas, rampant, filling the entire horizon. Nor -is this to be wondered at. There was probably a brief space during which -Perseus, concentrating his gaze upon the monster, did not see Andromeda; -and a knight of the Middle Ages, jousting in the gentlemen’s singles for -a smile from his lady, rarely allowed the thought of that smile to -occupy his whole mind at the moment when his boiler-plated antagonist -was descending upon him in the wake of a sharp spear. - -So with Spennie Dreever. Bright eyes might shine for him when all was -over, but in the meantime what seemed to him more important was that -bulging eyes would glare. - -If only this had happened later—even a day later! The reckless -impulsiveness of the modern girl had undone him. How was he to pay -Hargate his money? Hargate must be paid—that was certain; no other -course was possible. Lord Dreever’s was not one of those natures which -fret restlessly under debt. During his early career at college he had -endeared himself to the local tradesmen by the magnitude of the -liabilities he had contracted with them. It was not the being in debt -that he minded, it was the consequences. Hargate, he felt instinctively, -was of a revengeful nature. He had given Hargate twenty pounds’ worth of -snubbing, and the latter had presented the bill. If it were not paid -things would happen. Hargate and he were members of the same club, and a -member of a club who loses money at cards to a fellow-member and fails -to settle up does not make himself popular with the committee. - -He must get the money—there was no avoiding that conclusion—but how? - -Financially, his lordship was like a fallen country with a glorious -history. There had been a time, during his first two years at college, -when he had revelled in the luxury of a handsome allowance. This was the -golden age, when Sir Thomas Blunt, being, so to speak, new to the job, -and feeling that, having reached the best circles, he must live up to -them, had scattered largesse lavishly. For two years after his marriage -with Lady Julia he had maintained this admirable standard, crushing his -natural parsimony. He had regarded the money so spent as capital sunk in -an investment. By the end of the second year he had found his feet, and -began to look about him for ways of retrenchment. His lordship’s -allowance was an obvious way. He had not to wait long for an excuse for -annihilating it. There is a game called poker, at which a man without -much control over his features may exceed the limits of the handsomest -allowance. His lordship’s face during a game of poker was like the -surface of some quiet pond, ruffled by every breeze. The blank despair -of his expression when he held bad cards made bluffing expensive. The -honest joy that bubbled over in his eyes when his hand was good acted as -an efficient danger-signal to his grateful opponents. Two weeks of poker -had led to his writing to his uncle a distressed but confident request -for more funds; and the avuncular foot had come down with a joyous bang. -Taking his stand on the evils of gambling, Sir Thomas had changed the -conditions of the money-market for his nephew with a thoroughness that -effectually prevented the possibility of his being again led astray by -the fascinations of poker. The allowance vanished absolutely, and in its -place there came into being an arrangement. By this his lordship was to -have whatever money he wished for, but he must ask for it, and state why -it was needed. If the request were reasonable, the cash would be -forthcoming; if preposterous, it would not. The flaw in the scheme, from -his lordship’s point of view, was the difference of opinion which can -exist in the minds of two men as to what the words reasonable and -preposterous may be taken to mean. - -Twenty pounds, for instance, would, in the lexicon of Sir Thomas Blunt, -be perfectly reasonable for the current expenses of a man engaged to -Molly McEachern, but preposterous for one to whom she had declined to -remain engaged. It is these subtle shades of meaning which make the -English language so full of pitfalls for the foreigner. - -So engrossed was his lordship in his meditations that it was not till a -voice spoke at his elbow that he was aware that Sir Thomas himself was -standing by his side. - -“Well, Spennie, my boy,” said the knight. “Time to dress for dinner, I -think. Eh? Eh?” - -He was plainly in high good-humour. The thought of the distinguished -company he was to entertain that night had changed him temporarily, as -with some wave of a fairy wand, into a thing of joviality and -benevolence. One could almost hear the milk of human kindness gurgling -and splashing within him. The irony of Fate! To-night—such was his -mood—a dutiful nephew could have come and felt his pockets and helped -himself—if circumstances had been different. Oh, woman, woman, how you -bar us from Paradise! - -His lordship gurgled a wordless reply, thrusting the fateful letter -hastily into his pocket. He would break the news anon—soon. Not -yet—later on; in fact, anon. - -“Up in your part, my boy?” continued Sir Thomas. “You mustn’t spoil the -play by forgetting your lines. That wouldn’t do.” - -His eye was caught by the envelope which Spennie had dropped. A -momentary relapse from the jovial and benevolent was the result. His -fussy little soul abhorred small untidinesses. - -“Dear me,” he said, stooping, “I wish people would not drop paper about -the house. I cannot endure a litter.” - -He spoke as if somebody had been playing hare-and-hounds and scattering -the scent on the stairs. This sort of thing sometimes made him regret -the old days. In Blunt’s Stores Rule 67 imposed a fine of half a crown -on employés convicted of paper-dropping. - -“I——” began his lordship. - -“Why”—Sir Thomas straightened himself—“it’s addressed to you!” - -“I was just going to pick it up. It’s—er—there was a note in it.” - -Sir Thomas Blunt gazed at the envelope again. Joviality and benevolence -resumed their thrones. - -“And the feminine handwriting,” he chuckled. He eyed the limp peer -almost roguishly. “I see, I see,” he said. “Very charming. Quite -delightful! Girls must have their little romance. I suppose you two -young people are exchanging love-letters all day? Delightful—quite -delightful! Don’t look as if you were ashamed of it, my boy. I like it. -I think it’s charming.” - -Undoubtedly this was the opening. Beyond a question his lordship should -have said at this point, “Uncle, I cannot tell a lie. I cannot even -allow myself to see you labouring under a delusion which a word from me -can remove. The contents of this note are not what you suppose. They run -as follows——” - -What he did say was, “Uncle, can you let me have twenty pounds?” - -Those were his amazing words. They slipped out. He could not stop them. - -Sir Thomas was taken aback for an instant, but not seriously. He started -as might a man who, stroking a cat, receives a sudden but trifling -scratch. - -“Twenty pounds, eh?” he said reflectively. - -Then the milk of human kindness swept over displeasure like a tidal -wave. This was a night for rich gifts to the deserving. - -“Why, certainly, my boy, certainly. Do you want it at once?” - -His lordship replied that he did, please; and he had seldom said a thing -more fervently. - -“Well, well. We’ll see what we can do. Come with me.” - -He led the way to his dressing-room. Like nearly all the rooms at the -castle, it was large. One wall was completely hidden by the curtain -behind which Spike had taken refuge that afternoon. - -Sir Thomas went to the dressing-table and unlocked a small drawer. - -“Twenty, you said? Five—ten—fifteen—here you are, my boy.” - -Lord Dreever muttered his thanks. Sir Thomas accepted the guttural -acknowledgment with a friendly pat on the shoulder. - -“I like a little touch like that,” he said. - -His lordship looked startled. - -“I wouldn’t have touched you,” he began, “if it hadn’t been——” - -“A little touch like that letter-writing,” Sir Thomas went on. “It shows -a warm heart. She is a warm-hearted girl, Spennie—a charming, -warm-hearted girl! You’re uncommonly lucky, my boy.” - -His lordship, crackling the four bank-notes, silently agreed with him. - -“But come, I must be dressing. Dear me, it is very late. We shall have -to hurry. By the way, my boy, I shall take the opportunity of making a -public announcement of the engagement to-night. It will be a capital -occasion for it, I think, perhaps, at the conclusion of the theatricals, -a little speech—something quite impromptu and informal, just asking them -to wish you happiness, and so on. I like the idea. There is an old-world -air about it that appeals to me. Yes.” - -He turned to the dressing-table and removed his collar. - -“Well, run along, my boy,” he said. “You must not be late.” - -His lordship tottered from the room. He did quite an unprecedented -amount of thinking as he hurried into his evening clothes; but the -thought which occurred most frequently was that, whatever happened, all -was well in one way, at any rate. He had the twenty pounds. There would -be something colossal in the shape of disturbances when his uncle -learned the truth. It would be the biggest thing since the San Francisco -earthquake. But what of it? He had the money. - -He slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He would take it down with him, -and pay Hargate directly after dinner. - -He left the room. The flutter of a skirt caught his eye as he reached -the landing. A girl was coming down the corridor on the other side. He -waited at the head of the stairs to let her go down before him. As she -came on to the landing he saw that it was Molly. - -For a moment there was an awkward pause. - -“Er—I got your note,” said his lordship. - -She looked at him, and then burst out laughing. - -“You know you don’t mind the least little bit,” she said—“not a scrap. -Now, do you?” - -“Well, you see——” - -“Don’t make excuses. Do you?” - -“Well, it’s like this, you see. I——” - -He caught her eye. Next moment they were laughing together. - -“No; but look here, you know,” said his lordship. “What I mean is, it -isn’t that I don’t—I mean, look here, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t -be the best of pals.” - -“Why, of course there isn’t.” - -“No, really, I say? That’s ripping. Shake hands on it.” - -They clasped hands; and it was in this affecting attitude that Sir -Thomas Blunt, bustling downstairs, discovered them. - -“Aha!” he cried archly. “Well, well, well! But don’t mind me, don’t mind -me!” - -Molly flushed uncomfortably; partly because she disliked Sir Thomas even -when he was not arch, and hated him when he was: partly because she felt -foolish; and principally because she was bewildered. She had not looked -forward to meeting Sir Thomas that night. It was always unpleasant -meeting him, but it would be more unpleasant than usual after she had -upset the scheme for which he had worked so earnestly. She had wondered -whether he would be cold and distant or voluble and heated. In her -pessimistic moments she had anticipated a long and painful scene. That -he should be behaving like this was not very much short of a miracle. -She could not understand it. - -A glance at Lord Dreever enlightened her. That miserable creature was -wearing the air of a timid child about to pull a large cracker. He -seemed to be bracing himself up for an explosion. - -She pitied him sincerely. So he had not told his uncle the news yet! Of -course, he had scarcely had time. Saunders must have given him the note -as he was going up to dress. - -However, there was no use in prolonging the agony. Sir Thomas must be -told sooner or later. She was glad of the chance to tell him herself. -She would be able to explain that it was all her doing. - -“I’m afraid there’s a mistake,” she said. - -“Eh?” said Sir Thomas. - -“I’ve been thinking it over, and I came to the conclusion that we -weren’t——Well, I broke off the engagement.” - -Sir Thomas’s always prominent eyes protruded still farther. The colour -of his florid face deepened. Suddenly he chuckled. - -Molly looked at him amazed. Sir Thomas was indeed behaving unexpectedly -to-night. - -“I see it,” he wheezed. “You’re having a joke with me! So this is what -you were hatching as I came downstairs! Don’t tell me! If you had really -thrown him over you wouldn’t have been laughing together like that. It’s -no good, my dear. I might have been taken in if I had not seen you, but -I did.” - -“No, no,” cried Molly. “You’re wrong—you’re quite wrong. When you saw us -we were just agreeing that we should be very good friends—that was all. -I broke off the engagement before that. I——” - -She was aware that his lordship had emitted a hollow croak, but she took -it as his method of endorsing her statement—not as a warning. - -“I wrote Lord Dreever a note this evening,” she went on, “telling him -that I couldn’t possibly——” - -She broke off in alarm. With the beginning of her last speech Sir Thomas -had begun to swell, until now he looked as if he were in imminent danger -of bursting. His face was purple. To Molly’s lively imagination his eyes -appeared to move slowly out of his head, like a snail’s. From the back -of his throat came strange noises. - -“S-s-so——” he stammered. - -He gulped and tried again. - -“So this,” he said, “so this—so that was what was in that letter, eh?” - -Lord Dreever smiled weakly. - -“Eh?” yelled Sir Thomas. - -His lordship started convulsively. - -“Er—yes,” he said. “Yes, yes—that was it, don’t you know!” - -Sir Thomas eyed him with a baleful stare. Molly looked from one to the -other in bewilderment. - -There was a pause, during which Sir Thomas seemed partially to recover -command of himself. Doubts as to the propriety of a family row in -mid-stairs appeared to occur to him. He moved forward. - -“Come with me,” he said, with awful curtness. - -His lordship followed bonelessly. Molly watched them go, and wondered -more than ever. There was something behind this. It was not merely the -breaking-off of the engagement that had roused Sir Thomas. He was not a -just man, but he was just enough to be able to see that the blame was -not Lord Dreever’s. There had been something more. She was puzzled. - -In the hall Saunders was standing, weapon in hand, about to beat the -gong. - -“Not yet!” snapped Sir Thomas. “Wait!” - -Dinner had been ordered especially early that night because of the -theatricals. The necessity for strict punctuality had been straitly -enjoined upon Saunders. At some inconvenience he had ensured strict -punctuality. And now—— But we all have our cross to bear in this world. -Saunders bowed with dignified resignation. - -Sir Thomas led the way into his study. - -“Be so good as to close the door,” he said. - -His lordship was so good. - -Sir Thomas backed to the mantelpiece and stood there in the attitude -which for generations has been sacred to the elderly Briton—feet well -apart, hands clasped beneath his coat tails. His stare raked Lord -Dreever like a searchlight. - -“Now, sir!” he said. - -His lordship wilted before his gaze. - -“The fact is, uncle——” - -“Never mind the facts. I know them! What I require is an explanation.” - -He spread his feet farther apart. The years had rolled back, and he was -plain Thomas Blunt again, of Blunt’s Stores, dealing with an erring -employé. - -“You know what I mean,” he went on. “I am not referring to the -breaking-off of the engagement. What I insist upon learning is your -reason for failing to inform me earlier of the contents of that letter.” - -His lordship said that somehow, don’t you know, there didn’t seem to be -a chance, you know. He had several times been on the point—but—well, -somehow—— Well, that’s how it was. - -“No chance?” cried Sir Thomas. “Indeed! Why did you require that money I -gave you?” - -“Oh—er—I wanted it for something.” - -“Very possibly. For what?” - -“I—the fact is, I owed it to a fellow.” - -“Ha! How did you come to owe it?” - -His lordship shuffled. - -“You have been gambling,” boomed Sir Thomas. “Am I right?” - -“No, no! I say, no, no. It wasn’t gambling—it was a game of skill. We -were playing piquet.” - -“Kindly refrain from quibbling. You lost this money at cards, then, as I -supposed. Just so.” - -He widened the space between his feet. He intensified his glare. He -might have been posing to an illustrator of _The Pilgrim’s Progress_ for -a picture of “Apollyon straddling right across the way”. - -“So,” he said, “you deliberately concealed from me the contents of that -letter, in order that you might extract money from me under false -pretences? Don’t speak!” (his lordship had gurgled). “You did! Your -behaviour was that of a—of a——” - -There was a very fair selection of evil-doers in all branches of -business from which to choose. He gave the preference to the race-track. - -“Of a common welsher,” he concluded. “But I won’t put up with it. No; -not for an instant. I insist upon you returning that money to me here -and now. If you have not got it with you, go and fetch it.” - -His lordship’s face betrayed the deepest consternation. He had been -prepared for much, but not for this. That he would have to undergo what, -in his school-days, he would have called a “jaw” was inevitable, and he -had been ready to go through with it. It might hurt his feelings, -possibly, but it would leave his purse intact. A ghastly development of -this kind he had not foreseen. - -“But, I say, uncle!” he bleated. - -Sir Thomas silenced him with a grand gesture. - -Ruefully his lordship produced his little all. Sir Thomas took it with a -snort and went to the door. - -Saunders was still brooding statuesquely over the gong. - -“Sound it!” said Sir Thomas. - -Saunders obeyed him with the air of an unleashed hound. - -“And now,” said Sir Thomas, “go to my dressing-room and place these -notes in the small drawer of the table.” - -The butler’s calm, expressionless, yet withal observant eye took in at a -glance the signs of trouble. Neither the inflated air of Sir Thomas nor -the punctured-balloon bearing of Lord Dreever escaped him. - -“Something hup,” he said to his immortal soul as he moved upstairs. -“Been a fair old, rare old row, seems to me.” - -He reserved his more polished periods for use in public. In conversation -with his immortal soul he was wont to unbend somewhat. - - - - - ★ 24 ★ - _The Treasure-Seeker_ - - -Gloom wrapped his lordship about during dinner as with a garment. He -owed twenty pounds; his assets amounted to seven shillings and -fourpence. He thought, and thought again. Quite an intellectual pallor -began to appear on his normally pink cheeks. Saunders silently -sympathetic—he hated Sir Thomas as an interloper, and entertained for -his lordship, under whose father also he had served, a sort of paternal -fondness—was ever at his elbow with the magic bottle; and to Spennie, -emptying and re-emptying his glass almost mechanically, wine, the -healer, brought an idea. To obtain twenty pounds from any one person of -his acquaintance was impossible; to divide the twenty by four and -persuade a generous quartet to contribute five pounds apiece was more -feasible. - -Hope began to stir within him again. - -Immediately after dinner he began to flit about the castle like a family -spectre of active habits. The first person he met was Charteris. - -“Halloa, Spennie!” said Charteris. “I wanted to see you. It is currently -reported that you are in love. At dinner you looked as if you had -influenza. What’s your trouble? For goodness’ sake bear up until the -show’s over. Don’t go swooning on the stage, or anything. Do you know -your lines?” - -“The fact is,” said his lordship eagerly, “it’s this way. I happen to -want—— Can you lend me a fiver?” - -“All I have in the world at this moment,” said Charteris, “is eleven -shillings and a postage-stamp. If the stamp would be of any use to you -as a start——No? You know, it’s from small beginnings like that great -fortunes are amassed. However——” - -Two minutes later Lord Dreever had resumed his hunt. - -The path of the borrower is a thorny one, especially if, as in the case -of Spennie, his reputation as a payer-back is not of the best. - -Spennie, in his time, had extracted small loans from most of his male -acquaintances, rarely repaying the same. He had a tendency to forget -that he had borrowed half-a-crown here to pay a cab fare and ten -shillings there to settle up for a dinner; and his memory was not much -more retentive of larger sums. This made his friends somewhat wary. The -consequence was that the great treasure-hunt was a failure from start to -finish. He got friendly smiles, he got honeyed apologies, he got earnest -assurances of goodwill; but he got no money, except from Jimmy Pitt. - -He had approached Jimmy in the early stages of the hunt and Jimmy, being -in the mood when he would have lent anything to anybody, yielded the -required five pounds without a murmur. - -But what was five pounds? The garment of gloom and the intellectual -pallor were once more prominent when his lordship repaired to his room -to don the loud tweeds which, as Lord Herbert, he was to wear in the -first act. - -There was a good deal to be said against stealing, as a habit; but it -cannot be denied that, in certain circumstances, it offers an admirable -solution of a financial difficulty, and, if the penalties were not so -exceedingly unpleasant, it is probable that it would become far more -fashionable than it is. - -His lordship’s mind did not turn immediately to this outlet from his -embarrassment. He had never stolen before, and it did not occur to him -directly to do so now. There is a conservative strain in all of us. But -gradually, as it was borne in upon him that it was the only course -possible, unless he were to grovel before Hargate on the morrow and ask -for time to pay—an unthinkable alternative—he found himself -contemplating the possibility of having to secure the money by unlawful -means. By the time he had finished his theatrical toilet, he had -definitely decided that this was the only thing to be done. - -His plan was simple. He knew where the money was—in the dressing-table -in Sir Thomas’s room. He had heard Saunders instructed to put it there. -What could be easier than to go and get it? Everything was in his -favour. Sir Thomas would be downstairs receiving his guests. The coast -would be clear. Why, it was like finding the money. - -Besides, he reflected, as he worked his way through a bottle of Mumm -which he had had the forethought to abstract from the supper-table as a -nerve-steadier, it was not really stealing. Dash it all, the man had -given him the money! It was his own! He had half a mind—he poured -himself out another glass of the elixir—to give Sir Thomas a jolly good -talking to into the bargain. Yes, dash it all! - -He pushed on his cuffs fiercely. The British lion was roused. - -A man’s first crime is, as a rule, a shockingly amateurish affair. Now -and then, it is true, we find beginners forging with the accuracy of old -hands or breaking into houses with the finish of experts. But these are -isolated cases. The average tyro lacks generalship altogether. Spennie -Dreever may be cited as a typical novice. It did not strike him that -inquiries might be instituted by Sir Thomas when he found the money -gone, and that suspicion might conceivably fall upon himself. Courage -may be born of champagne, but rarely prudence. - -The theatricals began at half-past eight with a duologue. The audience -had been hustled into their seats, happier than is usual in such -circumstances, owing to the rumour which had been circulated that the -proceedings were to terminate with an informal dance. The castle was -singularly well constructed for such a purpose. There was plenty of room -and a sufficiency of retreat for those who sat out, in addition to a -conservatory large enough to have married off half the couples in the -country. - -Spennie’s idea had been to establish an alibi by mingling with the -throng for a few minutes, and then to get through his burglarious -speciality during the duologue, when his absence would not be noticed. -It might be that if he disappeared later in the evening people would -wonder what had become of him. - -He lurked about till the last of the audience had taken their seats. As -he was moving off through the hall a hand fell upon his shoulder. -Conscience makes cowards of us all. Spennie bit his tongue and leaped -three inches into the air. - -“Halloa, Charteris!” he said gaspingly. - -Charteris appeared to be in a somewhat overwrought condition. Rehearsals -had turned him into a pessimist, and now that the actual moment of -production had arrived his nerves were in a thoroughly jumpy condition, -especially as the duologue was to begin in two minutes and the obliging -person who had undertaken to prompt had disappeared. - -“Spennie,” said Charteris, “where are you off to?” - -“What—what do you mean? I was just going upstairs.” - -“No, you don’t. You’ve got to come and prompt. That fellow Blake has -vanished. I’ll wring his neck! Come along!” - -Spennie went reluctantly. Half-way through the duologue the official -prompter returned, with the remark that he had been having a bit of a -smoke on the terrace and that his watch had gone wrong. Leaving him to -discuss the point with Charteris, Spennie slipped quietly away. - -The delay, however, had had the effect of counteracting the uplifting -effects of the Mumm. The British lion required a fresh fillip. He went -to his room to administer it. By the time he emerged he was feeling just -right for the task in hand. A momentary doubt occurred to him whether it -would not be a good thing to go down and pull Sir Thomas’s nose as a -preliminary to the proceedings; but he put the temptation aside. -Business before pleasure. - -With a jaunty, if somewhat unsteady, step he climbed the stairs to the -floor above, and made his way down the corridor to Sir Thomas’s room. He -switched on the light and went to the dressing-table. The drawer was -locked, but in his present mood Spennie, like Love, laughed at -locksmiths. He grasped the handle and threw his weight into a sudden -tug. The drawer came out with a report like a pistol-shot. - -“There!” said his lordship, wagging his head severely. - -In the drawer lay the four bank-notes. The sight of them brought back -his grievances with a rush. He would teach Sir Thomas to treat him like -a kid. He would show him! - -He was removing the notes, frowning fiercely the while, when he heard a -cry of surprise from behind him. - -He turned, to see Molly. She wore the costume of a stage milkmaid, and -her eyes were round with wonder. Leaving her room a few moments earlier, -after dressing for her part, she had almost reached the end of the -corridor that led to the landing when she observed his lordship, flashed -of face and moving like some restive charger, come curveting out of his -bedroom in a dazzling suit of tweeds and make his way upstairs. Ever -since their mutual encounter with Sir Thomas before dinner she had been -hoping for a chance of seeing him alone. She had not failed to notice -his depression during the meal, and her good little heart had been -troubled by the thought that she must have been responsible for it. She -knew that for some reason what she had said about the letter had brought -his lordship into his uncle’s bad books, and she wanted to find him and -say she was sorry. - -Accordingly, she had followed him. His lordship, still in the war-horse -vein, had made the pace upstairs too hot, and had disappeared while she -was still half-way up. She had arrived at the top just in time to see -him turn down the passage into Sir Thomas’s dressing-room. She could not -think what his object might be. She knew that Sir Thomas was downstairs, -so it could not be with the idea of a chat with him that Spennie was -seeking the dressing-room. - -Faint, yet pursuing, she followed on his trail, and arrived in the -doorway just as the pistol-report of the burst lock rang out. - -She stood looking at him blankly. He was holding a drawer in one hand. -Why, she could not imagine. - -“Lord Dreever!” she exclaimed. - -The sombre determination of his lordship’s face melted into a twisted -but kindly smile. - -“Good!” he said, perhaps a trifle thickly. “Good! Glad you’ve come—we’re -pals—you said so—on stairs—b’fore dinner. Very glad you’ve come. Won’t -you sit down?” - -He waved the drawer benevolently, by way of making her free of the room. -The movement disturbed one of the bank-notes, which fluttered in Molly’s -direction and fell at her feet. - -She stooped and picked it up. When she saw what it was her bewilderment -increased. - -“But—but——” she said. - -His lordship beamed upon her with a pebble-beached smile of -indescribable goodwill. - -“Sit down,” he urged. “We’re pals—no quol with you—you’re good friend. -Quol—Uncle Thomas.” - -“But, Lord Dreever, what are you doing? What was that noise I heard?” - -“Opening drawer,” said his lordship affably. - -“But——” She looked again at what she had in her hand. “But this is a -five pound note.” - -“Five pound note,” said his lordship—“quite right. Three more of them in -here.” - -Still she could not understand. - -“But—— Were you—stealing them?” - -His lordship drew himself up. - -“No,” he said. “No! Not stealing. No.” - -“Then——” - -“Like this: before dinner old boy friendly as you please; couldn’t do -enough for me. Touched him for twenty of the best and got away with it. -So far all well. Then met you on stairs. You let cat out of bag.” - -“But why? Surely——” - -His lordship gave the drawer a dignified wave. - -“Not blaming you,” he said magnanimously. “Not your fault—misfortune. -You didn’t know—about letter.” - -“About the letter?” said Molly. “Yes; what was the trouble about the -letter? I knew something was wrong directly I had said that I wrote it.” - -“Trouble was,” said his lordship, “that old boy thought it was love -letter. Didn’t undeceive him.” - -“You didn’t tell him? Why?” - -His lordship raised his eyebrows. - -“Wanted touch him twenty of the best,” he explained simply. - -For the life of her Molly could not help laughing. - -“Don’t laugh,” protested his lordship, wounded. “No joke—serious—honour -at stake.” - -He removed the three notes and replaced the drawer. - -“Honour of the Dreevers!” he added, pocketing the money. - -“But, Lord Dreever!” she cried. “You can’t! You mustn’t! You can’t be -going, really, to take that money? It’s stealing! It isn’t yours!” - -His lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her. - -“That,” he said, “is where you make error. Mine! Old boy gave them to -me.” - -“Gave them to you! Then why did you break open the drawer?” - -“Old boy took them back again, when he found out about letter.” - -“Then they don’t belong to you?” - -“Yes. Error! They do. Moral right.” - -Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever’s type -appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man his lordship was a -negligible quantity—he did not count; but as a wilful child, to be kept -out of trouble, he had a claim on Molly. - -She spoke soothingly. - -“But, Lord Dreever——” she began. - -“Call me Spennie,” he urged. “We’re pals. You said so—on stairs. -Everybody calls me Spennie, even Uncle Thomas. I’m going to pull his -nose,” he broke off suddenly, as one recollecting a forgotten -appointment. - -“Spennie, then,” said Molly. “You mustn’t, Spennie. You mustn’t, really. -You——” - -“You look rippin’ in that dress,” he said irrelevantly. - -“Thank you, Spennie, dear. But listen.” She spoke as if she were -humouring a rebellious infant. “You really mustn’t take that money. You -must put it back. See, I’m putting this note back. Give me the others, -and I’ll put them in the drawer too. Then we’ll shut the drawer, and -nobody will know.” - -She took the notes from him, and replaced them in the drawer. He watched -her thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the merits of her arguments. - -“No,” he said suddenly. “No—must have them—moral right! Old boy——” - -She pushed him gently away. - -“Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “I know it’s a shame that you can’t have -them; but you mustn’t take them. Don’t you see that he would suspect you -the moment he found they were gone? And then you’d get into trouble.” - -“Something in that,” admitted his lordship. - -“Of course there is, Spennie, dear. I’m so glad you see. There they all -are, safe again in the drawer. Now we can go downstairs again, and——” - -She stopped. She had closed the door earlier in the proceedings, but her -quick ear caught the sound of a footstep in the passage outside. - -“Quick!” she whispered, taking his hand and darting to the electric -light switch. “Somebody’s coming. We mustn’t be caught here. They’d see -the broken drawer, and you’d get into awful trouble. Quick!” - -She pushed him behind the curtain where the clothes hung, and switched -off the light. - -From behind the curtain came the muffled voice of his lordship. - -“It’s Uncle Thomas. I’m coming out. Pull his nose.” - -“Be quiet!” - -She sprang to the curtain and slipped noiselessly behind it. - -“But, I say——” began his lordship. - -“Hush!” - -She gripped his arm. He subsided. - -The footsteps had halted outside the door. Then the handle turned -softly. The door opened and closed again with hardly a sound. - -The footsteps passed on into the room. - - - - - ★ 25 ★ - _Explanations and an Interruption_ - - -Jimmy, like Lord Dreever, had been trapped at the beginning of the -duologue, and had not been able to get away till it was nearly over. He -had been introduced by Lady Julia to an elderly and adhesive baronet, -who had recently spent ten days in New York, and escape had not been won -without a struggle. The baronet, on his return to England had published -a book entitled “Modern America and its People” and it was with regard -to the opinions expressed in this volume that he invited Jimmy’s views. -He had no wish to see the duologue, and it was only after the loss of -much precious time that Jimmy was enabled to tear himself away on the -plea of having to dress. He anathematized the authority on “Modern -America and its People” freely as he ran upstairs. - -While the duologue was in progress there had been no chance of Sir -Thomas taking it into his head to visit his dressing-room. He had been, -as his valet detective had observed to Mr. Galer, too busy jollying -among the swells. It would only be the work of a few moments restoring -the necklace to its place. But for the tenacity of the elderly baronet -the thing would have been done by this time. But now there was no -knowing what might not happen—anybody might come along the passage and -see him. - -He had one point in his favour: there was no likelihood of the jewels -being required by their owner till the conclusion of the theatricals. -The part which Lady Julia had been persuaded by Charteris to play -mercifully contained no scope for the display of gems. - -Before going down to dinner he had locked up the necklace in a drawer. -It was still there, Spike having, apparently, been able to resist the -temptation of recapturing it. He took it out and went into the corridor. -He looked up and down it. There was nobody about. He shut his door and -walked quickly in the direction of the dressing-room. - -He had provided himself with a lamp from a bicycle belonging to one of -the grooms. Once inside, having closed the door, he lit this and looked -about him. - -Spike had given him minute directions as to the position of the jewel -box. He found it without difficulty. To his untrained eye it seemed -tolerably massive and impregnable, but Spike had evidently known how to -open it without much difficulty. The lid was shut, but it came up -without an effort when he tried to raise it, and he saw that the lock -had been broken. - -“Spike’s coming on!” he said. - -He was dangling the necklace over the box, preparatory to dropping it -in, when there was a quick rustle at the other side of the room. The -curtain was plucked aside and Molly came out. - -“Jimmy!” she cried. - -Jimmy’s nerves were always in pretty good order, but at the sight of -this apparition he certainly jumped. - -“Great Scot!” he said. - -The curtain again became agitated by some unseen force, violently this -time, and from its depths a plaintive voice made itself heard. - -“Dash it all,” said the voice, “I’ve stuck!” - -There was another upheaval, and his lordship emerged, his yellow locks -ruffled and upstanding, his face crimson. - -“Caught my head in a coat or something,” he explained at large. “Halloa, -Pitt!” - -Pressed rigid against the wall, Molly had listened with growing -astonishment to the movements on the other side of the curtain. Her -mystification deepened every moment. It seemed to her that the room was -still in darkness. She could hear the sound of breathing; and then the -light of the lantern caught her eye. Who could this be, and why had he -not switched on the electric light? - -She strained her ears to catch a sound. For a while she heard nothing -except the soft breathing. Then came a voice that she knew well; and, -abandoning her hiding-place, she came out into the room, and found Jimmy -standing with a lamp in his hand over some dark object in the corner of -the room. - -It was a full minute after Jimmy’s first exclamation of surprise before -either of them spoke again. The light of the lamp hurt Molly’s eyes. She -put up a hand to shade them. It seemed to her that they had been -standing like this for years. - -Jimmy had not moved. There was something in his attitude which filled -Molly with a vague fear. In the shadow behind the lamp he looked -shapeless and inhuman. - -“You’re hurting my eyes,” she said at last. - -“I’m sorry,” said Jimmy. “I didn’t think. Is that better?” He turned the -light from her face. Something in his voice and the apologetic haste -with which he moved the lamp seemed to relax the strain of the -situation. The feeling of stunned surprise began to leave her. She found -herself thinking coherently again. - -The relief was but momentary. Why was Jimmy in the room at that time? -Why had he a lamp? What had he been doing? The questions shot from her -brain like sparks from an anvil. - -The darkness began to tear at her nerves. She felt along the wall for -the switch and flooded the room with light. - -Jimmy laid down the lantern and stood for a moment undecided. He had -concealed the necklace behind him. Now he brought it forward and dangled -it silently before the eyes of Molly and his lordship. Excellent as were -his motives for being in that room with the necklace in his hand, he -could not help feeling, as he met Molly’s startled gaze, quite as guilty -as if his intentions had been quite different. - -His lordship, having by this time pulled himself together to some -extent, was the first to speak. - -“I say, you know, what ho!” he observed, not without emotion. “What?” - -Molly drew back. - -“Jimmy! You were——. Oh, you can’t have been!” - -“Looks jolly like it!” said his lordship judicially. - -“I wasn’t,” said Jimmy. “I was putting them back.” - -“Putting them back?” - -“Pitt, old man,” said his lordship solemnly, “that sounds a bit thin.” - -“Dreever, old man,” said Jimmy, “I know it does. But it’s the truth.” - -His lordship’s manner became kindly. - -“Now, look here, Pitt, old son,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry -about—we’re all pals here—you can pitch it straight to us. We won’t give -you away. We——” - -“Be quiet!” cried Molly. “Jimmy!” - -Her voice was strained; she spoke with an effort; she was suffering -torments. The words her father had said to her on the terrace were -pouring back into her mind. She seemed to hear his voice now, cool and -confident, warning her against Jimmy, saying that he was crooked. There -was a curious whirring in her head. Everything in the room was growing -large and misty. She heard Lord Dreever begin to say something that -sounded as if some one were speaking at the end of a telephone; and then -she was aware that Jimmy was holding her in his arms and calling to Lord -Dreever to bring water. - -“When a girl goes like that,” said his lordship, with an insufferable -air of omniscience, “you want to cut her——” - -“Come along!” said Jimmy. “Are you going to be a week getting that -water?” - -His lordship proceeded to soak a sponge without further parley; but as -he carried his dripping burden across the room Molly recovered. She -tried weakly to free herself. - -Jimmy helped her to a chair. He had dropped the necklace on the floor, -and Lord Dreever nearly trod on it. - -“What ho!” observed his lordship, picking it up. “Go easy with the -jewellery!” - -Jimmy was bending over Molly. Neither of them seemed to be aware of his -lordship’s presence. Spennie was the sort of person whose existence is -apt to be forgotten. Jimmy had had a flash of intuition. For the first -time it occurred to him that Mr. McEachern might have hinted to Molly -something of his own suspicions. - -“Molly, dear,” he said, “it isn’t what you think. I can explain -everything. Do you feel better now? Can you listen? I can explain -everything.” - -“Pitt, old boy,” protested his lordship, “you don’t understand. We -aren’t going to give you away. We’re all——” - -Jimmy ignored him. - -“Molly, listen,” he said. - -She sat up. - -“Go on, Jimmy,” she said. - -“I wasn’t stealing the necklace—I was putting it back. The man who came -to the castle with me, Spike Mullins, took it this afternoon and brought -it to me.” - -Spike Mullins! Molly remembered the name. - -“He thinks I am a crook—a sort of Raffles. It was my fault. I was a -fool. It all began that night in New York when we met at your house. I -had been to the opening performance of a play called _Love, the -Cracksman_—one of those burglar plays.” - -“Jolly good show!” interpolated his lordship chattily. “It was at the -Circle over here. I went twice.” - -“A friend of mine, a man named Mifflin, had been playing the hero in it, -and after the show, at the club, he started in talking about the art of -burglary—he’d been studying it—and I said that anybody could burgle a -house. And in another minute it somehow happened that I had made a bet -that I would do it that night. Heaven knows whether I ever really meant -to; but that same night this man Mullins broke into my flat, and I -caught him. We got into conversation, and I worked off on him a lot of -technical stuff I’d heard from this actor friend of mine, and he jumped -to the conclusion that I was an expert. And then it suddenly occurred to -me that it would be a good joke on Mifflin if I went out with Mullins -and did break into a house. I wasn’t in the mood to think what a fool I -was at the time. Well, anyway, we went out, and—well, that’s how it all -happened. And then I met Spike in London, down and out, and brought him -here.” - -He looked at her anxiously. It did not need his lordship’s owlish -expression of doubt to tell him how weak his story must sound. He had -felt it even as he was telling it. He was bound to admit that if ever a -story rang false in every sentence it was this one. - -“Pitt, old man,” said his lordship, shaking his head, more in sorrow -than in anger, “it won’t do, old top. What’s the point of putting up any -old yarn like that? Don’t you see, what I mean is, it’s not as if we -minded. Don’t I keep telling you we’re all pals here? I’ve often thought -what a jolly good feller old Raffles was—regular sportsman. I don’t -blame a chappie for doing the gentleman burglar touch. Seems to me it’s -a dashed sporting——” - -Molly turned on him suddenly, cutting short his views on the ethics of -gentlemanly theft in a blaze of indignation. - -“What do you mean?” she cried. “Do you think I don’t believe every word -Jimmy has said?” - -His lordship jumped. - -“Well, don’t you know, it seemed to me a bit thin. What I mean is——” He -met Molly’s eye. - -“Oh, well!” he concluded lamely. - -Molly turned to Jimmy. - -“Jimmy, of course I believe you—I believe every word.” - -“Molly!” - -His lordship looked on, marvelling. The thought crossed his mind that he -had lost the ideal wife. A girl who would believe any old yarn a feller -cared to—— If it hadn’t been for Katie—— For a moment he felt almost -sad. - -Jimmy and Molly were looking at each other in silence. From the -expression on their faces his lordship gathered that his existence had -once more been forgotten. He saw her hold out her hands to Jimmy. It was -embarrassing for a chap! He looked away. - -The next moment the door opened and closed again, and she had gone. - -He looked at Jimmy. Jimmy was still apparently unconscious of his -presence. - -His lordship coughed. - -“Pitt, old man——” - -“Halloa!” said Jimmy, coming out of his thoughts with a start. “You -still here? By the way”—he eyed Lord Dreever curiously—“I never thought -of asking before—what on earth are you doing here? Why were you behind -the curtain? Were you playing hide and seek?” - -His lordship was not one of those who invent circumstantial stories -easily on the spur of the moment. He searched rapidly for something that -would pass muster, then abandoned the hopeless struggle. After all, why -not be frank? He still believed Jimmy to be of the class of the hero of -_Love, the Cracksman_. There would be no harm in confiding in him. He -was a good fellow, a kindred soul, and would sympathise. - -“It’s like this,” he said. And, having prefaced his narrative with the -sound remark that he had been a bit of an ass, he gave Jimmy a summary -of recent events. - -“What!” said Jimmy. “You taught Hargate piquet? Why, my dear man, he was -playing piquet like a professor when you were in short frocks. He’s a -wonder at it.” - -His lordship stared. - -“How’s that?” he said. “You don’t know him, do you?” - -“I met him in New York at the Strollers’ Club. A pal of mine, an -actor—this fellow Mifflin I mentioned just now—put him up as a guest. He -coined money at piquet. And there were some pretty useful players in the -place, too. I don’t wonder you found him a promising pupil.” - -“Then—then—why, dash it! then he’s a bally sharper?” - -“You’re a genius at crisp description,” said Jimmy. “You’ve got him -summed up to rights first shot.” - -“I shan’t pay him a bally penny.” - -“Of course not. If he makes any objection refer him to me.” - -His lordship’s relief was extreme. The more overpowering effects of the -elixir had passed away, and he saw now what he had not seen in his more -exuberant frame of mind—the cloud of suspicion which must hang over him -when the loss of the bank-notes was discovered. - -He wiped his forehead. - -“By Jove!” he said. “That’s something off my mind! By George, I feel -like a two year old! I say, you’re a dashed good sort, Pitt.” - -“You flatter me,” said Jimmy. “I strive to please.” - -“I say, Pitt, that yarn you told us just now—the bet and all -that—honestly, you don’t mean to say that was true, was it? I mean—— By -Jove! I’ve got an idea.” - -“We live in stirring times!” - -“Did you say your actor pal’s name was Mifflin?” He broke off suddenly -before Jimmy could answer. “Great Scot!” he whispered, “what’s that? -Good lord! Somebody’s coming!” - -He dived behind the curtain like a rabbit. It had only just ceased to -shake when the door opened and Sir Thomas Blunt walked in. - - - - - ★ 26 ★ - _Stirring Times for Sir Thomas_ - - -For a man whose intentions towards the jewels and their owner were so -innocent, and even benevolent, Jimmy was in a singularly compromising -position. It would have been difficult, even under more favourable -conditions, to have explained to Sir Thomas’s satisfaction his presence -in the dressing-room. As things stood it was even harder, for his -lordship’s last action before seeking cover had been to fling the -necklace from him like a burning coal. For the second time in ten -minutes it had fallen to the carpet, and it was just as Jimmy -straightened himself after picking it up that Sir Thomas got a full view -of him. - -The knight stood in the doorway, his face expressing the most lively -astonishment. His bulging eyes were fixed upon the necklace in Jimmy’s -hand. Jimmy could see him struggling to find words to cope with so -special a situation, and he felt rather sorry for him. Excitement of -this kind was bad for a short-necked man of Sir Thomas’s type. - -With kindly tact he endeavoured to help him out. - -“Good evening,” he said pleasantly. - -Sir Thomas stammered. He was gradually nearing speech. - -“What—what—what——” he said. - -“Out with it,” said Jimmy. - -“What——” - -“I knew a man once in South Dakota who stammered,” said Jimmy. “He used -to chew dog-biscuit while he was speaking. It cured him, besides being -nutritious. Another good way is to count ten while you’re thinking what -to say, and then get it out quick.” - -“You—you blackguard!” - -Jimmy placed the necklace carefully on the dressing-table. Then he -turned to Sir Thomas, with his hands in the pockets of his coat. Over -the knight’s head he could see the folds of the curtain quivering -gently, as if stirred by some zephyr. Evidently the drama of the -situation was not lost on Hildebrand Spencer, twelfth Earl of Dreever. - -Nor was it lost on Jimmy. This was precisely the sort of situation that -appealed to him. He had his plan of action clearly mapped out. He knew -that it would be useless to tell the knight the true facts of the case. -Sir Thomas was as deficient in simple faith as in Norman blood. - -To all appearances this was a tight corner, but Jimmy fancied that he -saw his way out of it. Meanwhile, the situation appealed to him. -Curiously enough, it was almost identical with the big scene in Act III -of _Love, the Cracksman_ in which Arthur Mifflin had made such a hit as -the debonair burglar. - -Jimmy proceeded to give his own idea of what the rendering of a debonair -burglar should be. Arthur Mifflin had lit a cigarette, and had shot out -smoke-rings and repartee alternately. A cigarette would have been a -great help here, but Jimmy prepared to do his best without properties. - -“So—so it’s you, is it?” said Sir Thomas. - -“Who told you!” - -“Thief! Low thief!” - -“Come, now,” protested Jimmy. “Why low? Just because you don’t know me -over here, why scorn me? How do you know I haven’t got a big American -reputation? For all you can tell, I may be Boston Willie or Sacramento -Sam, or some one. Let us preserve the decencies of debate.” - -“I had my suspicions of you. I had my suspicions from the first, when I -heard that my idiot of a nephew had made a casual friend in London. So -this was what you were! A thief, who——” - -“I don’t mind personally,” interrupted Jimmy, “but I hope, if ever you -mix with cracksmen, you won’t call them thieves. They are frightfully -sensitive. You see, there’s a world of difference between the two -branches of the profession, and a good deal of snobbish caste prejudice. -Let us suppose that you were an actor-manager. How would you enjoy being -called a super? You see the idea, don’t you? You’d hurt their feelings. -Now, an ordinary thief would probably use violence in a case like this; -but violence, except in extreme cases—I hope this won’t be one of -them—is contrary, I understand, to cracksmen’s etiquette. On the other -hand, Sir Thomas, candour compels me to add that I have you covered.” - -There was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. He thrust the stem earnestly -against the lining. Sir Thomas eyed the protuberance apprehensively, and -turned a little pale. Jimmy was scowling ferociously. Arthur Mifflin’s -scowl in Act III had been much admired. - -“My gun,” said Jimmy, “is, as you see, in my pocket. I always shoot from -the pocket, in spite of the tailor’s bills. The little fellow is loaded -and cocked. He’s pointing straight at your diamond solitaire. That fatal -spot! No one has ever been hit in the diamond solitaire and survived. My -finger is on the trigger, so I should recommend you not to touch that -bell you are looking at. There are other reasons why you shouldn’t, but -those I will go into presently.” - -Sir Thomas’s hand wavered. - -“Do, if you like, of course,” said Jimmy agreeably—“it’s your own -house—but I shouldn’t. I am a dead shot at a yard and a half. You -wouldn’t believe the number of sitting haystacks I’ve picked off at that -distance. I simply can’t miss. On second thoughts, I sha’n’t fire to -kill you. Let us be humane on this joyful occasion. I shall just smash -your knees—painful, but not fatal.” - -He waggled his pipe suggestively. Sir Thomas blanched. His hand fell to -his side. - -“Great!” said Jimmy. “After all, why should you be in a hurry to break -up this very pleasant little meeting? I’m sure I’m not. Let us chat. How -are the theatricals going? Was the duologue a success? Wait till you see -our show. Three of us knew our lines at the dress rehearsal.” - -Sir Thomas had backed away from the bell, but the retreat was merely for -the convenience of the moment. He understood that it might be injurious -to press the button just then; but he had recovered his composure by -this time, and he saw that ultimately the game must be his. - -Jimmy was trapped. - -His face resumed its normal hue. Automatically his hands began to move -towards his coat-tails and his feet to spread themselves. Jimmy noted -with a smile these signs of restored complacency. He hoped ere long to -upset that complacency somewhat. - -Sir Thomas addressed himself to making Jimmy’s position clear to him. - -“How, may I ask,” he said, “do you propose to leave the castle?” - -“Won’t you let me have the motor?” said Jimmy. “But I expect I sha’n’t -be leaving just yet.” - -Sir Thomas laughed shortly. - -“No,” he said. “No; I fancy not. I am with you there!” - -“Great minds,” said Jimmy. “I shouldn’t be surprised if we thought alike -on all sorts of subjects. Just think how you came round to my views on -ringing the bell. In a flash! But what made you fancy that I intended to -leave the castle?” - -“I should hardly have supposed that you would be anxious to stay.” - -“On the contrary. It’s the one place I have been in in the last two -years that I have felt really satisfied with. Usually I want to move on -after a week. But I could stop here for ever.” - -“I am afraid, Mr. Pitt—by the way, an alias, of course?” - -“I fear not,” he said. “If I had chosen an alias, it would have been -Tressilyan, or Trevelyan, or something. I call Pitt a poor thing in -names. I once knew a man called Ronald Cheylesmore. Lucky fellow!” - -Sir Thomas returned to the point on which he had been about to touch. - -“I am afraid, Mr. Pitt, that you hardly realise your position.” - -“No?” said Jimmy, interested. - -“I find you in the act of stealing my wife’s necklace——” - -“Would there be any use in telling you that I was not stealing it, but -putting it back?” - -Sir Thomas raised his eyebrows in silence. - -“No?” said Jimmy. “I was afraid not. You were saying——” - -“I find you in the act of stealing my wife’s necklace,” proceeded Sir -Thomas, “and because for the moment you succeed in postponing arrest by -threatening me with a revolver——” - -An agitated look came into Jimmy’s face. - -“Great Scott!” he cried. He felt hastily in his pocket. “Yes,” he said; -“as I had begun to fear. I owe you an apology, Sir Thomas,” he went on -with manly dignity, producing the briar. “I am entirely to blame. How -the mistake arose I cannot imagine, but I find it isn’t a revolver after -all.” - -Sir Thomas’s cheeks took on a richer tint of purple. He glared dumbly at -the pipe. - -“In the excitement of the moment, I suppose——” began Jimmy. - -Sir Thomas interrupted. The recollection of his needless panic rankled -within him. - -“You—you—you——” - -“Count ten!” - -“You—what you propose to gain by this buffoonery I am at a loss——” - -“How can you say such savage things?” protested Jimmy. “Not buffoonery! -Wit! Esprit! Flow of soul such as circulates daily in the best society.” - -Sir Thomas almost leaped towards the bell. With his finger on it, he -turned to deliver a final speech. - -“I believe you’re insane,” he cried; “but I’ll have no more of it. I -have endured this foolery long enough. I’ll——” - -“Just one moment,” said Jimmy. “I said just now that there were other -reasons besides the revol—well, pipe—why you should not ring that bell. -One of them is that all the servants will be in their places in the -audience, so that there won’t be any one to answer it. But that’s not -the most convincing reason. Will you listen to one more before getting -busy?” - -“I see your game. Don’t imagine for a moment that you trick me.” - -“Nothing could be further——” - -“You fancy you can gain time by talking, and find some way of escape——” - -“But I don’t want to escape. Don’t you realise that in about ten minutes -I am due to play an important part in a great drama on the stage?” - -“I’ll keep you here, I tell you. You’ll leave this room,” said Sir -Thomas grandly, “over my body.” - -“Steeplechasing in the home,” murmured Jimmy. “No more dull evenings. -But listen—do listen. I won’t keep you a minute, and if you want to push -that bell after I’ve finished, you may push it six inches into the wall -if you like.” - -“Well?” said Sir Thomas shortly. - -“Would you like me to lead gently up to what I want to say, gradually -preparing you for the reception of the news, or shall I——” - -The knight took out his watch. - -“I shall give you one minute,” he said. - -“Heavens, I must hustle! How many seconds have I got now?” - -“If you have anything to say, say it.” - -“Very well, then,” said Jimmy. “It’s only this. That necklace is a -fraud. The diamonds aren’t diamonds at all. They’re paste!” - - - - - ★ 27 ★ - _A Declaration of Independence_ - - -If Jimmy had entertained any doubts concerning the effectiveness of this -disclosure, they would have vanished at the sight of the other’s face. -Just as the rich hues of a sunset pale slowly into an almost -imperceptible green, so did the purple of Sir Thomas’s cheeks become, in -stages, first a dull red, then pink, and finally take on a uniform -pallor. His mouth hung open. His attitude of righteous defiance had -crumpled. Unsuspected creases appeared in his clothes. He had the -appearance of one who has been caught in the machinery. - -Jimmy was a little puzzled. He had expected to check the enemy, to bring -him to reason, but not to demolish him in that way. There was something -in this which he did not understand. When Spike had handed him the -stones, and his trained eye, after a moment’s searching examination, had -made him suspicious, and when, finally, a simple test had proved his -suspicions correct, he was comfortably aware that, though found with the -necklace on his person, he had knowledge which, communicated to Sir -Thomas, would serve him well. He knew that Lady Julia was not the sort -of Lady who would bear calmly the announcement that her treasured rope -of diamonds was a fraud. He knew enough of her to know that she would -demand another necklace, and see that she got it, and that Sir Thomas -was not one of those generous and expansive natures which think nothing -of an expenditure of twenty thousand pounds. - -This was the line of thought which had kept him cheerful during what -might otherwise have been a trying interview. He was aware from the -first that Sir Thomas would not believe in the purity of his motives; -but he was convinced that the knight would be satisfied to secure his -silence on the subject of the paste necklace on any terms. He had looked -forward to baffled rage, furious denunciation, and a dozen other -expressions of emotion, but certainly not to collapse of this kind. - -The other had begun to make strange, gurgling noises. - -“Mind you,” said Jimmy, “it’s a very good imitation—I’ll say that for -it. I didn’t suspect it till I had the thing in my hands. Looking at -it—even quite close—I was taken in for a moment.” - -Sir Thomas swallowed nervously. - -“How did you know?” he muttered. - -Again Jimmy was surprised. He had expected indignant denials and demands -for proof, excited reiteration of the statement that the stones had cost -twenty thousand pounds. - -“How did I know?” he repeated. “If you mean what first made me suspect, -I couldn’t tell you; it might have been one of a score of things. A -jeweller can’t say exactly how he gets on the track of faked stones. He -can feel them, he can almost smell them. I worked with a jeweller once; -that’s how I got my knowledge of jewels. But if you mean, can I prove -what I say about this necklace, that’s easy. There’s no deception; it’s -simple. See here. These stones are supposed to be diamonds. Well, the -diamond is the hardest stone in existence—nothing will scratch it. Now, -I’ve got a little ruby out of a pin which I know is genuine. By rights, -then, that ruby ought not to have scratched these stones. You follow -that? But it did. It scratched two of them, the only two I tried. If you -like I can continue the experiment, but there’s no need. I can tell you -straight away what these stones are. I said they were paste, but that -wasn’t quite accurate. They’re a stuff called white jargoon. It’s a -stuff that’s very easily worked. You work it with the flame of a -blow-pipe. You don’t want a full description, I suppose? Anyway, what -happens is that the blow-pipe sets it up like a tonic, gives it -increased specific gravity, and a healthy complexion, and all sorts of -great things of that kind. Two minutes in the flame of a blow-pipe is -like a week at the seaside to a bit of white jargoon. Are you satisfied? -If it comes to that, I suppose you can hardly be expected to be; -convinced is a better word. Are you convinced, or do you hanker after -tests like polarised light and refracting liquids?” - -Sir Thomas had staggered to a chair. - -“So that was how you knew!” he said. - -“That was—” began Jimmy, when a sudden suspicion flashed across his -mind. He scrutinised Sir Thomas’s pallid face keenly. - -“Did you know?” he asked. - -He wondered that the possibility had not occurred to him earlier. - -“By George, I believe you did!” he cried. “You must have done. So that’s -how it happened, is it? I don’t wonder it was a shock when I said I knew -about the necklace.” - -“Mr. Pitt!” - -“Well?” - -“I have something to say to you.” - -“I’m listening.” - -Sir Thomas tried to rally. There was a touch of the old pomposity in his -manner when he spoke. - -“Mr. Pitt, I find you in an unpleasant position——” - -Jimmy interrupted. - -“Don’t you worry about my unpleasant position,” he said. “Fix your -attention exclusively upon your own. Let us be frank with one another. -You’re in the cart. What do you propose to do about it?” - -“I do not understand you,” he began. - -“No?” said Jimmy. “I’ll try and make my meaning clear. Correct me from -time to time if I am wrong. The way I size the thing up is as follows: -When you married Lady Julia I gather that it was, so to speak, up to you -to some extent. People knew you were a millionaire, and they expected -something special in the way of gifts from the bridegroom to the bride. -Now you, being of a prudent and economical nature, began to wonder if -there wasn’t some way of getting a reputation for lavishness without -actually cashing up to any great extent. Am I right?” - -Sir Thomas did not answer. - -“I am,” said Jimmy. “Well, it occurred to you, naturally enough, that a -properly-selected gift of jewellery might work the trick. It only needed -a little nerve. When you give a present of diamonds to a lady she is not -likely to call for polarised light and refracting liquids and the rest -of the circus. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred she will take the -thing on trust. Very well. You trotted off to a jeweller and put the -thing to him confidentially. I expect you suggested paste; but, being a -wily person, he pointed out that paste has a habit of not wearing well. -It is pretty enough when it’s new, but quite a small amount of ordinary -wear and tear destroys the polish of the surface and the sharpness of -the cutting. It gets scratched easily. Having heard this, and reflected -that Lady Julia was not likely to keep the necklace under a glass case, -you rejected paste as too risky. The genial jeweller then suggested -white jargoon, mentioning, as I have done, that after an application or -so of the blow-pipe its own mother wouldn’t know it. If he was a bit of -an antiquary, he probably added that in the eighteenth century jargoon -stones were supposed to be actually an inferior sort of diamond. What -could be more suitable? ‘Make it jargoon, dear heart,’ you cried -joyfully, and all was well. Am I right? I notice that you have not -corrected me so far.” - -Whether Sir Thomas would have replied in the affirmative is uncertain. -He was opening his mouth to speak when the curtain at the end of the -room heaved, and Lord Dreever burst out like a cannon-ball in tweeds. - -The apparition effectually checked any speech that Sir Thomas might have -been intending to make. Lying back in his chair, he goggled silently at -the new arrival. Even Jimmy, though knowing that his lordship was in -hiding, was taken aback. - -His lordship broke the silence. - -“Great Scot!” he cried. - -Neither Jimmy nor Sir Thomas seemed to consider the observation unsound -or inadequate. They permitted it to pass without comment. - -“You old scoundrel!” added his lordship, addressing Sir Thomas; “and -you’re the man who called me a welsher!” There were signs of a flicker -of spirit in the knight’s prominent eyes, but they died away. He made no -reply. - -“Great Scot!” moaned his lordship, in a fever of self-pity, “here have I -been all these years letting you give me Hades in every shape and form, -when all the while—— My goodness, if I’d only known earlier!” - -He turned to Jimmy. - -“Pitt, old man,” he said warmly, “I—dash it—I don’t know what to say. If -it hadn’t been for you—I always did like Americans.” - -“I’m not one,” said Jimmy; but his lordship went on, unchecked. - -“I always thought it bally rot that that fuss happened in—in—wherever it -was. If it hadn’t been for fellows like you,” he continued, addressing -Sir Thomas once more, “there wouldn’t have been any of that frightful -Declaration of Independence business. Would there, Pitt, old man?” - -These were deep problems too spacious for casual examination. Jimmy -shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, I should say Sir Thomas might not have got along with George -Washington, anyhow,” he said. - -“Of course not. Well”—his lordship moved towards the door—“I’m off -downstairs to see what Aunt Julia has to say about it all.” - -A shudder, as if from some electric shock shook Sir Thomas. He leaped to -his feet. - -“Spencer,” he cried, “I forbid you to say a word to your aunt.” - -“Oh!” said his lordship. “You do, do you?” - -Sir Thomas shivered. - -“She would never let me hear the last of it.” - -“I bet she wouldn’t. I’ll go and see.” - -“Stop!” - -“Well?” - -Sir Thomas dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. He dared not -face the vision of Lady Julia in possession of the truth. At one time -the fear lest she might discover the harmless little deception he had -practised had kept him awake at night, but gradually, as the days went -by, and the excellence of the imitation stones had continued to impose -upon her and upon every one else who saw them, the fear had diminished. -But it had always been at the back of his mind. Even in her calmer -moments his wife was a source of mild terror to him. His imagination -reeled at the thought of what depths of aristocratic scorn and -indignation she would plumb in a case like this. - -“Spencer,” he said, “I insist that you shall not inform your aunt of -this!” - -“What? You want me to keep my mouth shut? You want me to become an -accomplice in this beastly, low-down deception? I like that!” - -“The point,” said Jimmy, “is well taken—_noblesse oblige_, and all that -sort of thing. The blood of the Dreevers boils furiously at the idea. -Listen! You can hear it sizzling.” - -Lord Dreever moved a step nearer the door. - -“Stop!” cried Sir Thomas again. “Spencer!” - -“Well?” - -“Spencer, my boy, it occurs to me that perhaps I have not always treated -you very well.” - -“‘Perhaps!’ ‘Not always!’ Great Scot! I’ll have a fiver each way on both -those. Considering you’ve treated me like a frightful kid practically -ever since you’ve known me, I call that pretty rich. Why, what about -this very night, when I asked you for a few pounds?” - -“It was only the thought that you had been gambling——” - -“Gambling! How about palming off faked diamonds on Aunt Julia for a -gamble?” - -“A game of skill, surely,” murmured Jimmy. - -“I have been thinking the matter over,” said Sir Thomas, “and if you -really need the—— Was it not fifty pounds?” - -“It was twenty,” said his lordship, “and I don’t need it. Keep it. -You’ll want all you can save for a new necklace.” - -His fingers closed on the door-handle. - -“Spencer—stop!” - -“Well?” - -“We must talk this over. We must not be hasty.” - -He passed the handkerchief over his forehead. - -“In the past, perhaps,” he resumed, “our relations have not been quite—— -The fault was mine. I have always endeavoured to do my duty. It is a -difficult task to look after a young man of your age——” - -His lordship’s sense of his grievances made him eloquent. - -“Dash it all!” he cried. “That’s just what I jolly well complain of. Who -the dickens wanted you to look after me? Hang it! you’ve kept your eye -on me all these years like a frightful policeman! You cut off my -allowance right in the middle of my time at the ’Varsity, just when I -needed it most, and I had to come and beg for money whenever I wanted to -buy a cigarette. I looked a fearful ass I can tell you! Men who knew me -used to be dashed funny about it. I’m sick of the whole bally business. -You’ve given me a jolly thin time all this while, and now I’m going to -get a bit of my own back. Wouldn’t you, Pitt, old man?” - -Jimmy, thus suddenly appealed to, admitted that, in his lordship’s -place, he might have experienced a momentary temptation to do something -of the kind. - -“Of course,” said his lordship. “Any fellow would.” - -“But, Spencer, let me——” - -“You’ve soured my life,” said his lordship, frowning a tense, Byronic -frown. “That’s what you’ve done—soured my whole bally life. I’ve had a -rotten time. I’ve had to go about touching my friends for money to keep -me going. Why, I owe you a fiver, don’t I, Pitt, old man?” - -It was a tenner, to be finickingly accurate about details, but Jimmy did -not say so. He concluded, rightly, that the memory of the original five -pounds which he had lent Lord Dreever at the Savoy Hotel had faded from -the other’s mind. - -“Don’t mention it,” he said. - -“But I do mention it,” protested his lordship shrilly. “It just proves -what I say. If I had had a decent allowance it wouldn’t have happened. -And you wouldn’t give me enough to set me going in the Diplomatic -Service. That’s another thing. Why wouldn’t you do that?” - -Sir Thomas pulled himself together. - -“I hardly thought you qualified, my dear boy.” - -His lordship did not actually foam at the mouth, but he looked as if he -might do so at any moment. Excitement and the memory of his wrongs, -lubricated, as it were, by the champagne he had consumed both at and -after dinner, had produced in him a frame of mind far removed from the -normal. His manners no longer had that repose which stamps the caste of -Vere de Vere. He waved his hands. - -“I know, I know!” he shouted. “I know you didn’t. You thought me a -fearful fool. I tell you I’m sick of it. And always trying to make me -marry money! Dashed humiliating! If she hadn’t been a jolly sensible -girl you’d have spoiled Miss McEachern’s life as well as mine. You came -very near it. I tell you, I’ve had enough of it. I’m in love! I’m in -love with the rippingest girl in England. You’ve seen her, Pitt, old -top. Isn’t she a ripper?” - -Jimmy stamped the absent lady with the seal of his approval. - -“I tell you, if she’ll have me, I’m going to marry her.” - -The dismay written on every inch of Sir Thomas’s countenance became -intensified at these terrific words. Great as had been his contempt for -the actual holder of the title considered simply as a young man, he had -always been filled with a supreme respect for the Dreever name. - -“But, Spencer,” he almost howled, “consider your position! You cannot——” - -“Can’t I, by Jove! if she’ll have me; and dash my position! What’s my -position got to do with it? Katie’s the daughter of a general, if it -comes to that. Her brother was at the House with me. If I had a penny to -call my own I’d have asked her to marry me ages ago. Don’t you worry -about my position!” - -Sir Thomas croaked feebly. - -“Now, look here,” said his lordship, with determination. “Here’s the -whole thing in a jolly old nutshell. If you want me to forget about this -little flutter in fake diamonds of yours you’ve got to pull your socks -up and start in to do things. You’ve got to get me attached to some -Embassy, for a beginning. It won’t be difficult. There’s dozens of old -boys in London who knew the governor when he was alive who will jump at -the chance of doing me a good turn. I know I’m a bit of an ass in some -ways, but that’s expected of you in the Diplomatic Service. They only -want you to wear evening clothes as if you were used to them, and be a -bit of a flier at dancing, and I can fill the bill all right as far as -that goes. And you’ve got to give your jolly old blessing to Katie and -me—if she’ll have me. That’s about all I can think of for the moment. -Now do we go? Are you on?” - -“It’s preposterous,” began Sir Thomas. - -Lord Dreever gave the door-handle a rattle. He stopped. - -“It’s a hold-up all right,” said Jimmy soothingly. “I don’t want to butt -in on a family conclave, but my advice, if asked, would be to unbelt -before the shooting begins. You’ve got something worse than a pipe -pointing at you now. As regards my position in the business, don’t -worry. My silence is thrown in gratis. Give me one loving smile and my -lips are sealed.” - -Sir Thomas turned on him. - -“As for you——” he cried. - -“Never mind about Pitt,” said his lordship. “He’s a dashed good fellow, -Pitt. I wish there were more like him. And he wasn’t pinching the stuff -either. If you had only listened when he tried to tell you, you mightn’t -be in such a frightful hole. He was putting the things back, as he said. -I know all about it. Well, what’s the answer?” - -For a moment Sir Thomas seemed on the point of refusal. But just as he -was about to speak his lordship opened the door, and at the movement he -collapsed again. - -“I will!” he cried. “I will!” - -“Good,” said his lordship, with satisfaction. “That’s a bargain. Coming -downstairs, Pitt, old man? We shall be wanted on the stage in about half -a minute.” - -“As an antidote to stage-fright,” said Jimmy, as they went along the -corridor, “little discussions of that kind may be highly recommended. I -shouldn’t mind betting that you feel fit for anything.” - -“I feel like a two-year-old,” assented his lordship enthusiastically. -“I’ve forgotten all my part, but I don’t care. I’ll just go on and talk -to them.” - -“That,” said Jimmy, “is the right spirit. Charteris will get heart -disease, but it’s the right spirit. A little more of that sort of thing -and amateur theatricals would be worth listening to. Step lively, -Roscius; the stage waits.” - - - - - ★ 28 ★ - _Spennie’s Hour of Clear Vision_ - - -Mr. McEachern sat in the billiard-room smoking. He was alone. From where -he sat he could hear distant strains of music. The more rigorous portion -of the evening’s entertainment, the theatricals, was over, and the -nobility and gentry, having done their duty by sitting through the -performance, were now enjoying themselves in the ballroom. Everybody was -happy. The play had been quite as successful as the usual amateur -performance. The prompter had made himself a great favourite from the -start, his series of duets with Spennie having been especially admired, -and Jimmy, as became an old professional, had played his part with great -finish and certainty of touch, though, like the bloodhounds in the -performance of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” on tour, he had had poor support. -But the audience bore no malice. - -No collection of individuals is less vindictive than an audience at -amateur theatricals. It was all over now. Charteris had literally -gibbered in the presence of eye-witnesses at one point in the second -act, when Spennie, by giving a wrong cue, had jerked the play abruptly -into Act III (where his colleagues, dimly suspecting something wrong, -but not knowing what, had kept it for some two minutes, to the -mystification of the audience); but now even he had begun to forget. As -he two-stepped down the room the lines of agony on his face were -softened. He even smiled. - -As for Spennie, the brilliance of his happy grin dazzled all beholders. - -He was still wearing it when he invaded the solitude of Mr. McEachern. -In every dance, however greatly he may be enjoying it, there comes a -time when a man needs a meditative cigarette apart from the throng. It -came to Spennie after the seventh item on the programme. The billiard -room struck him as admirably suitable in every way. It was not likely to -be used as a sitting out place, and it was near enough to the ballroom -to enable him to hear when the music of item No. 9 should begin. - -Mr. McEachern was glad to see him. In the turmoil following the -theatricals he had been unable to get a word with any of the persons -with whom he most wished to speak. He had been surprised that no -announcement of the engagement had been made at the end of the -performance. Spennie would be able to supply him with information as to -when the announcement might be expected. - -Spennie hesitated for an instant when he saw who was in the room. He was -not over-anxious for a _tête-à-tête_ with Molly’s father just then; but -reflecting that after all he, Spennie, was not to blame for any -disappointment that might be troubling the other, he switched on his -grin again and walked in. - -“Came in for a smoke,” he explained, by way of opening the conversation. -“Not dancing the next.” - -“Come in, my boy, come in,” said Mr. McEachern. “I was waiting to see -you.” - -Spennie regretted his entrance. He had supposed that the other had heard -the news of the breaking-off of the engagement. Evidently, from his -manner, he had not. This was a nuisance. - -He sat down and lit a cigarette, casting about the while for an -innocuous topic of conversation. - -“Like the show?” he inquired. - -“Fine,” said Mr. McEachern. “By the way—” - -Spennie groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that a determined man can -change the conversation to any subject he pleases by means of those -three words. - -“By the way,” said Mr. McEachern, “I thought Sir Thomas—wasn’t your -uncle intending to announce——?” - -“Well, yes, he was,” said Spennie. - -“Going to declare it during the dancing, maybe?” - -“Well—er—no. The fact is, he’s not going to do it at all, don’t you -know.” He inspected the red end of his cigarette closely. “As a matter -of fact, it’s kind of broken off.” - -The other’s exclamation jarred on him. Rotten, having to talk about this -sort of thing! - -“Broken off?” - -Spennie nodded. - -“Miss McEachern thought it over, don’t you know,” he said, “and came to -the conclusion that it wasn’t good enough.” - -Now that it was said he felt easier. It had merely been the awkwardness -of having to touch on the thing that had troubled him. That his news -might be a blow to McEachern did not cross his mind. He was a singularly -modest youth, and though he realised vaguely that his title had a -certain value in some people’s eyes, he could not understand anyone -mourning over the loss of him as a son-in-law. Katie’s father, the old -general, thought him a fool, and once, during an attack of gout, had -said so. - -Oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, he -smoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that, for -a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he was displaying too -little emotion. He debated swiftly within himself whether he should have -a dash at manly grief, but came to the conclusion that it could not be -done. Melancholy on this maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year, -the day on which he had utterly routed the powers of evil, as -represented by Sir Thomas, was impossible. - -“It wouldn’t have done, don’t you know,” he said. “We weren’t suited. -What I mean to say is, I’m a bit of a dashed sort of silly ass in some -ways, if you know what I mean. A girl like Miss McEachern couldn’t have -been happy with me. She wants one of those capable, energetic fellers.” - -This struck him as a good beginning—modest but not grovelling. He -continued, tapping quite a respectably deep vein of philosophy as he -spoke. - -“You see, dear old top—I mean sir—you see, it’s like this. As far as -women are concerned, fellers are divided into two classes. There’s the -masterful, capable Johnnies and the—er—the other sort. Now, I’m the -other sort. My idea of the happy married life is to be—well, not exactly -downtrodden, but—you know what I mean—kind of second fiddle. I want a -wife”—his voice grew soft and dreamy—“who’ll pet me a good deal, don’t -you know, stroke my hair a lot, and all that. I haven’t it in me to do -the master-in-my-own-house business. For me the silent-devotion -touch—sleepin’ on the mat outside her door, don’t you know, when she -wasn’t feeling well, and bein’ found there in the morning, and being -rather cosseted for my thoughtfulness. That’s the sort of idea. Hard to -put it quite OK, but you know the sort of thing I mean. A feller’s got -to realise his jolly old limitations if he wants to be happy though -married; what? Now, suppose Miss McEachern was to marry me! Great Scot, -she’d be bored to death in a week! Honest. She couldn’t help herself. -She wants a chap with the same amount of go in him that she’s got.” - -He lit another cigarette. He was feeling pleased with himself. Never -before had ideas marshalled themselves in his mind in such long and -well-ordered ranks. He felt that he could go on talking like this all -night. He was getting brainier every minute. He remembered reading in -some book somewhere of a girl (or chappie) who had had her (or his) -“hour of clear vision”. This was precisely what had happened now. -Whether it was owing to the excitement of what had taken place that -night, or because he had been keeping up his thinking powers with -excellent dry champagne, he did not know. All he knew was that he felt -on top of his subject. He wished he had had a larger audience. “A girl -like Miss McEachern,” he resumed, “doesn’t want any of the hair-stroking -business. She’d simply laugh at a feller if he asked for it. She needs a -chappie of the Get On or Get Out type—somebody in the six-cylinder -class. And as a matter of fact, between ourselves, I rather think she’s -found him.” - -“What?” - -Mr. McEachern half rose from his chair. All his old fears had come -surging back. - -“What do you mean?” - -“Fact,” said his lordship, nodding. “Mind you, I don’t know for certain. -As the girl says in the song, I don’t know, but I guess. What I mean to -say is, they seemed jolly friendly and all that—calling each other by -their Christian names, and so on.” - -“Who?” - -“Pitt,” said his lordship. He was leaning back, blowing a smoke-ring at -the moment, so did not see the look on the other’s face and the sudden -grip of his fingers on the arms of his chair. He went on with some -enthusiasm. - -“Jimmy Pitt!” he said. “Now, there’s a feller. Full of oats to the brim, -and fairly bursting with go and energy. A girl wouldn’t have a dull -moment with a chap like that. You know,” he proceeded confidentially, -“there’s a lot in this idea of affinities. Take my word for it, dear -old—sir. There’s a girl up in London, for instance. Now, she and I hit -it off most amazingly. There’s hardly a thing we don’t think alike -about. For instance, ‘The Merry Widow’ didn’t make a bit of a hit with -her; nor did it with me, yet look at the millions of people who raved -about it. And neither of us like oysters. We’re affinities—that’s why. -You see the same sort of thing all over the place. It’s a jolly queer -business. Sometimes makes me believe in re—in-what’s-its-name—you know -what I mean. All that in the poem, you know. How does it go? ‘When you -were a tiddley-om-pom and I was a thingummajig.’ Dashed brainy bit of -work. I was reading it only the other day. Well, what I mean to say is, -it’s my belief that Jimmy Pitt and Miss McEachern are by way of being -something in that line. Doesn’t it strike you that they are just the -sort to get on together? You can see it with half an eye. You can’t help -liking a feller like Jimmy Pitt. He’s a sport! I wish I could tell you -some of the things he’s done, but I can’t, for reasons; but you can take -it from me he’s a sport. You ought to cultivate him. You’d like him.... -Oh, dash it! there’s the music! I must be off. Got to dance this one.” - -He rose from his chair and dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray. - -“So long,” he said, with a friendly nod. “Wish I could stop, but it’s no -go. That’s the last let-up I shall have to-night.” - -He went out, leaving Mr. McEachern seated in his chair, a prey to many -and varied emotions. - - - - - ★ 29 ★ - _The Last Round_ - - -He had only been gone a few minutes when Mr. McEachern’s meditations -were again interrupted. This time the visitor was a stranger to him—a -dark-faced, clean-shaven man. He did not wear evening clothes, so could -not be one of the guests; and Mr. McEachern could not place him -immediately. Then he remembered. He had seen him in Sir Thomas Blunt’s -dressing room. This was Sir Thomas’s valet. - -“Might I have a word with you, sir?” - -“What is it?” asked McEachern, staring heavily. His mind had not -recovered from the effect of Lord Dreever’s philosophical remarks. There -was something of a cloud on his brain. To judge from his lordship’s -words, things had been happening behind his back; and the idea of Molly -deceiving him was too strange to be assimilated in an instant. He looked -at the valet dully. - -“What is it?” he asked again. - -“I must apologise for intruding, but I thought it best to approach you -before making my report to Sir Thomas.” - -“Your report?” - -“I am employed by a private inquiry agency.” - -“What?” - -“Yes, sir—Wragge’s. You may have heard of us, in Holborn Bars; very old -established, divorce a speciality. You will have seen the -advertisements. Sir Thomas wrote asking for a man, and the governor sent -me down. I have been with the house some years. My job, I gathered, was -to keep my eyes open generally. Sir Thomas, it seemed, had no suspicions -of any definite person. I was to be on the spot just in case, in a -manner of speaking. And it’s precious lucky I was, or her ladyship’s -jewels would have been gone. I’ve done a fair cop this very night.” - -He paused, and eyed the ex-policeman keenly. McEachern was obviously -excited. Could Jimmy have made an attempt on the jewels during the -dance? Or Spike? - -“Say,” he said, “was it a red headed——?” - -The detective was watching him with a curious smile. - -“No, he wasn’t red headed. You seem interested, sir. I thought you would -be. I will tell you all about it. I had had my suspicions of this party -ever since he arrived. And I may say that it struck me at the time that -there was something mighty fishy about the way he got into the castle.” - -McEachern started. So he had not been the only one to suspect Jimmy’s -motives in attaching himself to Lord Dreever. - -“Go on,” he said. - -“I suspected that there was some game on, and it struck me that this -would be the day for the attempt, the house being upside down, in a -manner of speaking, on account of the theatricals. And I was right. I -kept near those jewels on and off all day, and presently, just as I had -thought, along comes this fellow. He’d hardly got to the door when I was -on him.” - -“Good boy! You’re no rube.” - -“We fought for a while, but, being a bit to the good in strength, and -knowing something about the game, I had the irons on him pretty quick, -and took him off and locked him in the cellar. That’s how it was, sir.” - -Mr. McEachern’s relief was overwhelming. If Lord Dreever’s statement was -correct, and Jimmy had really succeeded in winning Molly’s affection, -this would be indeed a rescue at the eleventh hour. It was with a _Nunc -Dimittis_ air he felt for his cigar case and extended it towards the -detective. A cigar from his own private case was with him a mark of the -supremest favour and good will—a sort of accolade which he bestowed only -upon the really meritorious few. - -Usually it was received with becoming deference, but on this occasion -there was a somewhat startling deviation from routine, for, just as he -was opening the case, something cold and hard pressed against each of -his wrists; there was a snap and a click, and looking up, dazed, he saw -that the detective had sprung back, and was contemplating him with a -grim smile over the barrel of an ugly-looking little revolver. - -Guilty or innocent, the first thing a man does, when he finds handcuffs -on his wrists, is to try to get them off. The action is automatic. Mr. -McEachern strained at the steel chain till the veins stood out on his -forehead. His great body shook with rage. - -The detective eyed his efforts with some satisfaction. The picture -presented by the other, as he heaved and tugged, was that of a guilty -man trapped. - -“It’s no good, my friend,” he said. - -His voice brought McEachern back to his senses. In the first shock of -the thing the primitive man in him had led him beyond the confines of -self-restraint. He had simply struggled unthinkingly. Now he came to -himself again. - -He shook his manacled hands furiously. - -“What does this mean?” he shouted. “What the——” - -“Less noise,” said the detective sharply. “Get back!” he snapped, as the -other took a step forward. - -“Do you know who I am?” thundered McEachern. - -“No,” said the detective. “And that’s just why you’re wearing those -bracelets. Come, now, don’t be a fool, the game’s up; can’t you see -that?” - -McEachern leaned helplessly against the billiard-table. He felt weak. -Everything was unreal. Had he gone mad? he wondered. - -“That’s right,” said the detective—“stay there. You can’t do any harm -there. It was a pretty little game, I’ll admit. You worked it -well—meeting your old friend from New York and all, and having him -invited to the castle. Very pretty. New York, indeed! Seen about as much -of New York as I have of Timbuctoo. I saw through him.” - -Some inkling of the truth began to penetrate McEachern’s consciousness. -He had become so obsessed with the idea that, as the captive was not -Spike, it must be Jimmy, that the possibility of Mr. Galer being the -subject of discussion only dawned upon him now. - -“What do you mean?” he cried. “Who is it that you have arrested?” - -“Blest if I know. You can tell me that, I should think, seeing he’s an -old Timbuctoo friend of yours. Galer’s the name he goes by here.” - -“Galer!” - -“That’s the man. And do you know what he had the impudence, the gall, to -tell me? That he was in my own line of business. A detective! He said -you had sent for him to come here.” - -He laughed amusedly at the recollection. - -“And so he is, you fool. So I did.” - -“Oh, you did, did you? And what business had you bringing detectives -into other people’s houses?” - -Mr. McEachern started to answer, but checked himself. Never before had -he appreciated to the full the depth and truth of the proverb relating -to the frying-pan and the fire. To clear himself he must mention his -suspicions of Jimmy, and also his reasons for those suspicions. And to -do that would mean revealing his past. It was Scylla and Charybdis. - -A drop of perspiration trickled down his temple. - -“What’s the good?” said the detective. “Mighty ingenious idea, that, -only you hadn’t allowed for there being a real detective in the house. -It was that chap pitching me that yarn that made me suspicious of you. I -put two and two together. ‘Partners,’ I said to myself. I’d heard all -about you, scraping acquaintance with Sir Thomas and all. Mighty -ingenious. You become the old family friend, and then you let in your -pal. He gets the stuff and hands it over to you. Nobody dreams of -suspecting you, and there you are. Honestly, now, wasn’t that the game?” - -“It’s all a mistake——” McEachern was beginning, when the door-handle -turned. - -The detective looked over his shoulder. McEachern glared dumbly. This -was the crowning blow, that there should be spectators of his -predicament. - -Jimmy strolled into the room. - -“Dreever told me you were in here,” he said to McEachern. “Can you spare -me a—— Halloa!” - -The detective had pocketed his revolver at the first sound of the -handle—to be discreet was one of the chief articles in the creed of the -young men from Wragge’s Detective Agency—but handcuffs are not easily -concealed. Jimmy stood staring in amazement at McEachern’s wrists. - -“Some sort of a round game?” he inquired with interest. - -The detective became confidential. - -“It’s this way, Mr. Pitt. There’s been some pretty deep work going on -here. There’s a regular gang of burglars in the place. This chap here’s -one of them.” - -“What, Mr. McEachern?” - -“That’s what he calls himself.” - -It was all Jimmy could do to keep himself from asking Mr. McEachern -whether he attributed his downfall to drink. He contented himself with a -sorrowful shake of the head at the fermenting captive. Then he took up -the part of counsel for the defence. - -“I don’t believe it,” he said. “What makes you think so?” - -“Why, this afternoon I caught this man’s pal—the fellow that calls -himself Galer——” - -“I know the man,” said Jimmy. “He’s a detective really. Mr. McEachern -brought him down here.” - -The sleuth’s jaw dropped limply, as if he had received a blow. - -“What?” he said, in a feeble voice. - -“Didn’t I tell you——” began Mr. McEachern; but the sleuth was occupied -with Jimmy. That sickening premonition of disaster was beginning to -steal over him. Dimly he began to perceive that he had blundered. - -“Yes,” said Jimmy. “Why, I can’t say; but Mr. McEachern was afraid some -one might try to steal Lady Julia Blunt’s rope of diamonds, so he wrote -to London for this man Galer. It was officious, perhaps, but not -criminal. I doubt if, legally, you could handcuff a man for a thing like -that. What have you done with good Mr. Galer?” - -“I’ve locked him in the coal-cellar,” said the detective dismally. The -thought of the interview in prospect with the human bloodhound he had so -mishandled was not exhilarating. - -“Locked him in the cellar, did you?” said Jimmy. “Well, well, I dare say -he’s very happy there. He’s probably busy detecting black-beetles. -Still, perhaps you had better go and let him out. Possibly if you were -to apologise to him—— Eh? Just as you think—I only suggest. If you want -somebody to vouch for Mr. McEachern’s non-burglariousness, I can do it. -He is a gentleman of private means, and we knew each other out in New -York.” - -“I never thought——” - -“That,” said Jimmy, with sympathetic friendliness, “if you will allow me -to say so, is the cardinal mistake you detectives make. You never do -think.” - -“It never occurred to me——” - -He took the key of the handcuffs from his pocket and toyed with it. Mr. -McEachern emitted a low growl. It was enough. - -“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Pitt,” said the detective obsequiously. He -thrust the key into Jimmy’s hands and fled. Jimmy unlocked the -handcuffs. Mr. McEachern rubbed his wrists. - -“Ingenious little things,” said Jimmy. - -“I’m much obliged to you,” growled Mr. McEachern, without looking up. - -“Not at all—a pleasure. This circumstantial evidence business is the -devil, isn’t it? I knew a man who broke into a house in New York to win -a bet, and to this day the owner of the house thinks him a professional -burglar.” - -“What’s that?” said Mr. McEachern sharply. - -“Why do I say ‘a man’? Why am I so elusive and mysterious? You’re quite -right. It sounds more dramatic; but, after all, what you want is facts. -Very well. I broke into your house that night to win a bet. That’s the -limpid truth.” - -McEachern was staring at him. Jimmy proceeded. - -“You are just about to ask—what was Spike Mullins doing with me? Well, -Spike had broken into my flat an hour before, and I took him along with -me as a sort of guide, philosopher, and friend.” - -“Spike Mullins said you were a burglar from England.” - -“I’m afraid I rather led him to think so. I had been to see the opening -performance of a burglar-play called _Love, the Cracksman_, that night, -and I worked off on Spike some severely technical information I had -received from a pal of mine who played lead in the show. I told you when -I came in that I had been talking to Lord Dreever. Well, what he was -saying to me was that he had met this very actor-man, a fellow called -Mifflin—Arthur Mifflin—in London just before he met me. He’s in London -now, rehearsing for a show that’s come over from America. You see the -importance of this item? It means that if you doubt my story all you -need to do is to find Mifflin—I forget what theatre his play is coming -on at, but you could find out in a second—and ask him to corroborate. -Are you satisfied?” - -McEachern did not answer. An hour before he would have fought to the -last ditch for his belief in Jimmy’s crookedness, but the events of the -last ten minutes had shaken him. He felt something of a reaction in -Jimmy’s favour. - -“Look here, Mr. McEachern,” said Jimmy, “I wish you would listen quietly -to me for a minute or two. There’s really no reason on earth why we -should be at one another’s throats in this way. We might just as well be -friends. Let’s shake hands and call the fight off. I suppose you know -why I came here to see you?” McEachern did not speak. - -“You know that your daughter has broken off her engagement to Lord -Dreever?” - -“Then he was right!” said McEachern, half to himself. “It is you?” - -Jimmy nodded. McEachern drummed his fingers on the table and stared -thoughtfully at him. - -“Is Molly——?” he said, at length. “Does Molly——?” - -“Yes,” said Jimmy. - -McEachern continued his drumming. - -“Don’t think there’s been anything underhand about this,” said Jimmy. -“She absolutely refused to do anything unless you gave your consent. She -said you had been partners all her life, and she was going to do the -square thing by you.” - -“She did?” said McEachern eagerly. - -“I think you ought to do the square thing by her. I’m not much, but she -wants me. Do the square thing by her.” - -McEachern was staring straight in front of him. There was a look in his -eyes which Jimmy had never seen there before—a frightened, hunted look. - -“It’s too late,” he burst out. “I’ll be square with her now, but it’s -too late. I won’t stand in her way when I can make her happy. But I’ll -lose her! Oh, my God, I’ll lose her! - -“Did you think I had never said to myself,” he went on, “the things you -said to me that day when we met here? Did you think I didn’t know what I -was? Who should know it better than myself? But she didn’t—I’d kept it -from her. I’d sweat for fear she would find out some day. When I came -over here I thought I was safe; and then you came, and I saw you -together. I thought you were a crook—you were with Mullins in New York—I -told her you were a crook.” - -“You told her that?” - -“I said I knew it. I couldn’t tell her the truth why I thought so. I -said I had made inquiries in New York and found out about you.” - -Jimmy saw now. The mystery was solved. So that was why Molly had allowed -them to force her into the engagement with Dreever. - -“I see,” he said slowly. - -McEachern gripped the table in silence. - -“I see,” said Jimmy again. “You mean she’ll want an explanation?” - -He thought for a moment. - -“You must tell her,” he said quickly. “For your own sake you must tell -her. Go and do it now. Wake up, man!” He shook him by the shoulder. “Go -and do it now. She’ll forgive you. Don’t be afraid of that. Go and look -for her and tell her now.” - -McEachern roused himself. - -“I will,” he said. - -“It’s the only way,” said Jimmy. - -McEachern opened the door, then fell back a pace. Jimmy could hear -voices in the passage outside. He recognised Lord Dreever’s. - -McEachern continued to back away from the door. - -Lord Dreever entered, with Molly on his arm. - -“Halloa!” said his lordship, looking round. - -“Halloa, Pitt! Here we all are; what?” - -“Lord Dreever wanted to smoke,” said Molly. - -She smiled, but there was anxiety in her eyes. She looked quickly at her -father and at Jimmy. - -“Molly, my dear,” said McEachern huskily, “I want to speak to you for a -moment.” - -Jimmy took his lordship by the arm. - -“Come along, Dreever,” he said. “You can come and sit out with me. We’ll -go and smoke on the terrace.” - -They left the room together. - -“What does the old boy want?” inquired his lordship. “Are you and Miss -McEachern——?” - -“We are,” said Jimmy. - -“By Jove! I say, old chap! Million congratulations and all that sort of -rot, you know!” - -His lordship had to resume his duties in the ballroom after a while; but -Jimmy sat on, smoking and thinking. - -In the general stillness the opening of the door at the top of the steps -came sharply to his ears. He looked up. Two figures were silhouetted for -a moment against the light, and then the door closed again. They began -to move slowly down the steps. - -Jimmy had recognised them. He got up. He was in the shadow; they could -not see him. They began to walk down the terrace. They were quite close -now. Neither was speaking, but presently, when they were but a few feet -away, they stopped. There was the splutter of a match, and McEachern lit -a cigar. In the yellow light his face was clearly visible. Jimmy looked, -and was content. - - - - - ★ 30 ★ - _Conclusion_ - - -The American liner _St. Louis_ lay in the Empress Dock at Southampton, -taking aboard her passengers. All sorts and conditions of men flowed in -an unceasing stream up the gangway. - -Leaning over the second-class railing, Jimmy Pitt and Spike Mullins -watched them thoughtfully. - -“Well, Spike,” said Jimmy, “your schooner’s on the tide now, isn’t it? -Your vessel’s at the quay. You’ve got some queer-looking -fellow-travellers. Don’t miss the two Cingalese sports and the man in -the turban and baggy breeches. I wonder if they’re airtight? Useful if -he fell overboard.” - -“Sure,” said Spike, directing a contemplative eye towards the garment in -question. “He knows his business.” - -“I wonder what those men on the deck are writing? They’ve been -scribbling away ever since we came here. Probably society journalists. -We shall see in next week’s papers, ‘Among the second-class passengers -we noticed Mr. “Spike” Mullins looking as cheery as ever.’ It’s a pity -you’re so set on going, Spike. Why not change your mind and stop?” - -For a moment Spike looked wistful. Then his countenance resumed its -woodenness. “Dere ain’t no use for me dis side, boss,” he said. “New -York’s de spot. Youse don’t want none of me now you’re married. How’s -Miss Molly, boss?” - -“Splendid, Spike, thanks. We’re going over to France by to-night’s boat. - -“It’s been a queer business,” said Jimmy, after a pause—“a deuced queer -business. Still, I’ve come very well out of it, at any rate. It seems to -me that you’re the only one of us who doesn’t end happily, Spike. I’m -married. McEachern’s butted into society so deep that it would take an -excavating party with dynamite to get him out of it. Molly—well, Molly’s -made a bad bargain, but I hope she won’t regret it. We’re all going -some, except you. You’re going out on the old trail again—which begins -in Third Avenue and ends in Sing Sing. Why tear yourself away, Spike?” - -Spike concentrated his gaze on a weedy young emigrant in a blue jersey, -who was having his eye examined by the overworked doctor, and seemed to -be resenting it. - -“Dere’s nuttin’ doin’ dis side, boss,” he said at length. “I want to get -busy.” - -“Ulysses Mullins!” said Jimmy, looking at him curiously. “I know the -feeling. There’s only one cure. I sketched it out for you once, but I -doubt if you’ll ever take it. You don’t think a lot of women, do you? -You’re the rugged bachelor.” - -“Goils——!” began Spike comprehensively, and abandoned the topic without -dilating on it further. - -“Dose were great jools, boss,” said Spike thoughtfully. - -“I believe you’re still brooding over them, Spike.” - -“We could have got away wit dem, if you’d have stood for it—dead easy.” - -“You are brooding over them. Spike, I’ll tell you something which will -console you a little before you start out on your wanderings. It’s in -confidence, so keep it dark. That necklace was paste.” - -“What’s dat?” - -“Nothing but paste. I spotted it directly you handed them to me. It -wasn’t worth a hundred dollars.” - -A light of understanding came into Spike’s eyes. His face beamed with -the smile of one to whom dark matters are made clear. - -“So dat’s why you wouldn’t stand for getting away wit it!” he exclaimed. - - * * * * * * * * - -The last voyager had embarked. The deck was full to congestion. - -“They’ll be sending us ashore in a minute,” said Jimmy. “I’d better be -moving. Let me know how you’re getting on, Spike, from time to time. You -know the address. And, I say, it’s just possible you may find you want a -dollar or two every now and then—when you’re going to buy another -aeroplane, for instance. Well, you know where to write to for it, don’t -you?” - -“T’anks, boss. But dat’ll be all right. I’m goin’ to sit in at anodder -game dis time—politics, boss. A fr’en’ of a mug what I knows has gotten -a pull. He’ll find me a job.” - -“Politics!” said Jimmy. “I never thought of that. ‘My brother Dan is an -alderman with a grip on the Seventh Ward!’” he quoted softly. “Why, -you’ll be a boss before you know where you are.” - -“Sure,” said Spike, grinning modestly. - -“You ought to be a thundering success in American politics,” said Jimmy. -“You’ve got all the necessary qualities.” - -A steward passed. - -“Any more for the shore?” - -“Well, Spike——” said Jimmy. - -“Good-bye, boss.” - -“Good-bye,” said Jimmy. “And good luck.” - - * * * * * * * * - -The sun had gone behind the clouds. 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