Intrusion of Jimmy Page 11

  "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 that 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 steadily at him. 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 that had

  scared good behavior 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. "'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 parlor 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 that 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 parlor. 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."

  Jimmy walked up to him.

  "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 lip 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 realize 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 at

  conciliating papa," he said, "I'm afraid that wasn't much of a

  success."

  It was not often that 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

  that would draw the type of criminal McEachern imagined Jimmy to be.

  From his seat at the far end of the table, Jimmy 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 jewelry. 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, Number Six

  was burgled the other night."

  Number 6a, Eaton Square, was the family's London house.

  "Burgled!" cried 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 in 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 else 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 that

  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 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 even more silent 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 character of American

  seeing sights of England, and anxious to inspect Dreever Castle. I

  will meet him in the village and recognize 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 real smart man.

  This brief, but pregnant letter cost some pains in its composition.

  McEachern was not a ready writer. But he completed it at last to his

  satisfaction. There was a crisp purity in the style that 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 could keep an eye on the

  course of events. Any looking after that Mr. James Pitt might

  require could safely be left in the hands of this expert.

  With considerable fervor, Mr. McEachern congratulated himself on his

  astuteness. With Jimmy above stairs and Spike below, the sleuth-

  hound would have his hands full.

  CHAPTER XV

  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. Fine acting part. The

  biggest in the piece. Full of fat lines. Spennie was to have playe
d

  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 Lord Herbert.

  He's simply got to be him-self. We've got a success now, my boy.

  Rehearsal after lunch. Don't be late." And he was 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 within a week,

  and that, as yet, 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 vigor that

  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

  organizer of amateur theatricals no miracle of this kind is

  impossible, and Charteris was one of the most inveterate organizers

  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 hypnotized his host into undertaking the

  part, 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 lie 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