Intrusion of Jimmy Page 6

  a gruesome persistence which nothing could check. At the age of

  fifty-one, he was chairman of Blunt's Stores, L't'd, 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, Chairman of Dreever, L't'd. 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 little over a year after the events recorded in the

  preceding chapter, Sir Thomas was in his private room, looking out

  of the window, from which the view 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 and its

  island with the little boat-house in the center gave 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 chiefly because the

  position enabled him to avoid his wife's eye; and just at the moment

  be 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."

  "We can take care of them."

  "But why should we 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 diamonds," said Sir

  Thomas, obstinately. Switch things upon a cash basis, and he was

  more at ease.

  "May I ask if you suspect any of our guests of being criminals?"

  inquired Lady Julia, with a glance of chill disdain.

  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, no," he admitted.

  "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 short-comings with vigor and severity. Sir Thomas, for his

  part, looked on Spennie as a youth who would get into mischief

  unless under his uncle's eye.

  "I had a telegram from him just now," Lady Julia explained.

  "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.

  Sir Thomas read this over, put in a comma, then placed it in an

  envelope, and lighted a cigar with the air of one who can be

  checked, yes, but vanquished, never.

  CHAPTER IX

  FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD

  On the night of the day on which Sir Thomas Blunt wrote and

  dispatched his letter to Wragge's Detective Agency, Jimmy Pitt

  chanced to stop at the Savoy.

  If you have the money and the clothes, and do not obj
ect 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, eying 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, after walking home on air, rejoicing over the

  strange chance that had led to his finding and having speech with

  the lady of the Lusitania, he had reached Fifty-Ninth Street, that

  he realized how he had also lost her. It suddenly came home to him

  that not only did he not know her address, but he was 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 the man as he had 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 known that massive

  person only for about a quarter of an hour, but to his thinking that

  was ample. Spike he would have liked to meet again, but he bore the

  separation with much 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 that had passed since

  their meeting.

  It was the thought of her that had made New York seem cramped. For

  weeks, Jimmy had patrolled the likely streets, the Park, and

  Riverside Drive, in the hope of meeting her. He had gone to the

  theaters 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 never again that of his young

  disciple in the art of burglary. In the end, he had wearied of the

  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 gad-fly was vexing

  him, and he had to move.

  For a year, he had wandered, realizing 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. Such 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 luncheon 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 demeanor,

  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 that had drawn Jimmy's notice upon them. And it was

  the curious cessation of both prattle and laugh that 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 with him. He was pale. He talked at random. A

  slight perspiration was noticeable on his forhead.

  Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it.

  Given the time and the place, there were only two things that could

  have caused this look. Either the light-haired young man had seen a

  ghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money to

  pay the check.

  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 five-pound 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. Everyone 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. Everyone 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, "N
o,

  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--Hullo!" It was his light-haired

  lordship of Dreever. "I say, by Jove, why we're always meeting!"

  A tramp on a bench close by stirred uneasily in his sleep as the

  gurgling laugh rippled 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 sympathetic with

  this mood of contemplation, for in his case, too, 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 lighted 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, as 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