Intrusion of Jimmy Page 14
The only drawback is that some of them 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 behavior
was not the ordinary code, was to chat with him and 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 admitted, "the having to seem a mug at
the game. I've been patronized 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'll 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."
Hargate stared.
"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 armor. 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.
"Hullo, 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
caroling 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-centers with a gulp of
brandy-and-soda, and for the 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 somber nod.
"You're engaged to her?"
Another somber 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 demeanor 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
Jimmy stared 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 God!" 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--backboneless 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. How, 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 devil 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 damn 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 ho!' or
something--dashed if I know now 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 occasion," said Jimmy, emptying the glass.
CHAPTER XVIII
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 paid little
attention to the newcomer.
"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 an' deir feet, an' de whole
of dem. I could pick out a fly cop from a bunch of a t'ousand. He's
a sure 'nough sleut' all right, all right. I seen him rubber in' at
youse, 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. An', 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 onto 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 t'ousand plunks dey set him back.
Dey
're de limit, ain't dey? Say, won't youse 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, an' 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
gittin' hold of de stuff as dis house. Dat's right, boss. Why, look
what I got dis afternoon, just snoopin' around an' not really tryin'
to git busy at all. It was just lyin' 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, an' dere dey was on de toible. I never butted into anyt'in'
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