Intrusion of Jimmy Read online

  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 to meet 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.

  There was, however, 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' always prominent eyes protruded still further. The color

  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, a limp bundle against the banisters, 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 his nephew 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 the gaze.

  "The fact is, uncle--"

  "Never mind the facts. I know them! What I require is an

  explanation."

  He spread his feet further apart. The years had rolled back, and he

  was plain Thomas Blunt again, of Blunt's Stores, dealing with an

  erring employee.

  "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, some-how--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 Sit Thomas "Am I right?"

  "No, no. I say, no, no. It wasn
't gambling. It was a game of skill.

  We were playing picquet."

  "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 "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 pretenses? Don't speak!" His lordship had gurgled, "You did!

  Your behavior 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 your 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 h'up," 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.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  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

  four-pence. 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 quartette 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 specter of active habits. The first person he met was

  Charteris.

  "Hullo, 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

  till 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

  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, like

  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 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 good-will. 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 loaned 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 is 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 favor. 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 the bottle of

  Mumm's which he had had the forethought to abstract from the supper-

  table as a nerve-steadier, it wasn't 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 shot 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 rumor 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 county.

  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

  specialty 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 until 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.

  "Hello, 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 devil 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.