Piccadilly Jim

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE VOICE PROM THE PAST

  The library, whither Jimmy had made his way after leaving Mrs.Pett, was a large room on the ground floor, looking out on thestreet which ran parallel to the south side of the house. It hadFrench windows, opening onto a strip of lawn which ended in ahigh stone wall with a small gate in it, the general effect ofthese things being to create a resemblance to a country houserather than to one in the centre of the city. Mr. Pett's townresidence was full of these surprises.

  In one corner of the room a massive safe had been let into thewall, striking a note of incongruity, for the remainder of thewall-space was completely covered with volumes of all sorts andsizes, which filled the shelves and overflowed into a smallgallery, reached by a short flight of stairs and running alongthe north side of the room over the door.

  Jimmy cast a glance at the safe, behind the steel doors of whichhe presumed the test-tube of Partridgite which Willie had carriedfrom the luncheon-table lay hid: then transferred his attentionto the shelves. A cursory inspection of these revealed nothingwhich gave promise of whiling away entertainingly the momentswhich must elapse before the return of Ann. Jimmy's tastes inliterature lay in the direction of the lighter kind of modernfiction, and Mr. Pett did not appear to possess a single volumethat had been written later than the eighteenth century--andmostly poetry at that. He turned to the writing-desk near thewindow, on which he had caught sight of a standing shelf full ofbooks of a more modern aspect. He picked one up at random andopened it.

  He threw it down disgustedly. It was poetry. This man Pettappeared to have a perfect obsession for poetry. One would neverhave suspected it, to look at him. Jimmy had just resignedhimself, after another glance at the shelf, to a bookless vigil,when his eye was caught by a name on the cover of the last in therow so unexpected that he had to look again to verify thediscovery.

  He had been perfectly right. There it was, in gold letters.

  THE LONELY HEART

  BY

  ANN CHESTER

  He extracted the volume from the shelf in a sort of stupor. Evennow he was inclined to give his goddess of the red hair thebenefit of the doubt, and assume that some one else of the samename had written it. For it was a defect in Jimmy'scharacter--one of his many defects--that he loathed and scornedminor poetry and considered minor poets, especially whenfeminine, an unnecessary affliction. He declined to believe thatAnn, his Ann, a girl full of the finest traits of character, thegirl who had been capable of encouraging a comparative strangerto break the law by impersonating her cousin Jimmy Crocker, couldalso be capable of writing The Lonely Heart and other poems. Heskimmed through the first one he came across, and shuddered. Itwas pure slush. It was the sort of stuff they filled up pageswith in the magazines when the detective story did not run longenough. It was the sort of stuff which long-haired blighters readalone to other long-haired blighters in English suburbandrawing-rooms. It was the sort of stuff which--to be brief--gavehim the Willies. No, it could not be Ann who had written it.

  The next moment the horrid truth was thrust upon him. There wasan inscription on the title page.

  "To my dearest uncle Peter, with love from the author, AnnChester."

  The room seemed to reel before Jimmy's eyes. He felt as if afriend had wounded him in his tenderest feelings. He felt as ifsome loved one had smitten him over the back of the head with asandbag. For one moment, in which time stood still, his devotionto Ann wobbled. It was as if he had found her out in someterrible crime that revealed unsuspected flaws in her hithertoideal character.

  Then his eye fell upon the date on the title page, and a strongspasm of relief shook him. The clouds rolled away, and he lovedher still. This frightful volume had been published five yearsago.

  A wave of pity swept over Jimmy. He did not blame her now. Shehad been a mere child five years ago, scarcely old enough todistinguish right from wrong. You couldn't blame her for writingsentimental verse at that age. Why, at a similar stage in his owncareer he had wanted to be a vaudeville singer. Everything mustbe excused to Youth. It was with a tender glow of affectionateforgiveness that he turned the pages.

  As he did so a curious thing happened to him. He began to havethat feeling, which every one has experienced at some time orother, that he had done this very thing before. He was almostconvinced that this was not the first time he had seen that poemon page twenty-seven entitled "A Lament." Why, some of the linesseemed extraordinarily familiar. The people who understood thesethings explained this phenomenon, he believed, by some stuffabout the cells of the brain working simultaneously or something.Something about cells, anyway. He supposed that that must be it.

  But that was not it. The feeling that he had read all this beforegrew instead of vanishing, as is generally the way on theseoccasions. He _had_ read this stuff before. He was certain of it.But when? And where? And above all why? Surely he had not done itfrom choice.

  It was the total impossibility of his having done it from choicethat led his memory in the right direction. There had only been ayear or so in his life when he had been obliged to read thingswhich he would not have read of his own free will, and that hadbeen when he worked on the _Chronicle_. Could it have been thatthey had given him this book of poems to review? Or--?

  And then memory, in its usual eccentric way, having taken allthis time to make the first part of the journey, finished therest of it with one lightning swoop, and he knew.

  And with the illumination came dismay. Worse than dismay. Horror.

  "Gosh!" said Jimmy.

  He knew now why he had thought on the occasion of their firstmeeting in London that he had seen hair like Ann's before. Themists rolled away and he saw everything clear and stark. He knewwhat had happened at that meeting five years before, to which shehad so mysteriously alluded. He knew what she had meant thatevening on the boat, when she had charged one Jimmy Crocker withhaving cured her of sentiment. A cold sweat sprang into beingabout his temples. He could remember that interview now, asclearly as if it had happened five minutes ago instead of fiveyears. He could recall the article for the _Sunday Chronicle_ whichhe had written from the interview, and the ghoulish gusto withwhich he had written it. He had had a boy's undisciplined senseof humour in those days, the sense of humour which riots like ayoung colt, careless of what it bruises and crushes. He shudderedat the recollection of the things he had hammered out sogleefully on his typewriter down at the _Chronicle_ office. Hefound himself recoiling in disgust from the man he had been, theman who could have done a wanton thing like that withoutcompunction or ruth. He had read extracts from the article to anappreciative colleague. . . .

  A great sympathy for Ann welled up in him. No wonder she hatedthe memory of Jimmy Crocker.

  It is probable that remorse would have tortured him even further,had he not chanced to turn absently to page forty-six and read apoem entitled "Love's Funeral." It was not a long poem, and hehad finished it inside of two minutes; but by that time a changehad come upon his mood of self-loathing. He no longer felt like aparticularly mean murderer. "Love's Funeral" was like a tonic.It braced and invigourated him. It was so unspeakably absurd, sopoor in every respect. All things, he now perceived, had workedtogether for good. Ann had admitted on the boat that it was hissatire that had crushed out of her the fondness for this sort ofthing. If that was so, then the part he had played in her lifehad been that of a rescuer. He thought of her as she was now andas she must have been then to have written stuff like this, andhe rejoiced at what he had done. In a manner of speaking the Annof to-day, the glorious creature who went about the placekidnapping Ogdens, was his handiwork. It was he who had destroyedthe minor poetry virus in her.

  The refrain of an old song came to him.

  "You made me what I am to-day! I hope you're satisfied!"

  He was more than satisfied. He was proud of himself.

  He rejoiced, however, after the first flush of enthusiasm,somewhat m
oderately. There was no disguising the penalty of hisdeed of kindness. To Ann Jimmy Crocker was no rescuer, but a sortof blend of ogre and vampire. She must never learn his realidentity--or not until he had succeeded by assiduous toil, as hehoped he would, in neutralising that prejudice of the distantpast.

  A footstep outside broke in on his thoughts. He thrust the bookquickly back into its place. Ann came in, and shut the doorbehind her.

  "Well?" she said eagerly.

  Jimmy did not reply for a moment. He was looking at her andthinking how perfect in every way she was now, as she stood therepurged of sentimentality, all aglow with curiosity to know howher nefarious plans had succeeded. It was his Ann who stoodthere, not the author of "The Lonely Heart."

  "Did you ask her?"

  "Yes. But--"

  Ann's face fell.

  "Oh! She won't let him come back?"

  "She absolutely refused. I did my best."

  "I know you did."

  There was a silence.

  "Well, this settles it," said Jimmy. "Now you will have to let mehelp you."

  Ann looked troubled.

  "But it's such a risk. Something terrible might happen to you.Isn't impersonation a criminal offence?"

  "What does it matter? They tell me prisons are excellent placesnowadays. Concerts, picnics--all that sort of thing. I shan'tmind going there. I have a nice singing-voice. I think I will tryto make the glee-club."

  "I suppose we are breaking the law," said Ann seriously. "I toldJerry that nothing could happen to us except the loss of hisplace to him and being sent to my grandmother to me, but I'mbound to say I said that just to encourage him. Don't you thinkwe ought to know what the penalty is, in case we are caught?"

  "It would enable us to make our plans. If it's a life sentence, Ishouldn't worry about selecting my future career."

  "You see," explained Ann, "I suppose they would hardly send me toprison, as I'm a relation--though I would far rather go therethan to grandmother's. She lives all alone miles away in thecountry, and is strong on discipline--but they might do all sortsof things to you, in spite of my pleadings. I really think youhad better give up the idea, I'm afraid my enthusiasm carried meaway. I didn't think of all this before."

  "Never. This thing goes through, or fails over my dead body. Whatare you looking for?"

  Ann was deep in a bulky volume which stood on a lectern by thewindow.

  "Catalogue," she said briefly, turning the pages. "Uncle Peterhas heaps of law books. I'll look up kidnapping. Here we are. LawEncyclopedia. Shelf X. Oh, that's upstairs. I shan't be aminute."

  She ran to the little staircase, and disappeared. Her voice camefrom the gallery.

  "Here we are. I've got it."

  "Shoot," said Jimmy.

  "There's such a lot of it," called the voice from above. "Pagesand pages. I'm just skimming. Wait a moment."

  A rustling followed from the gallery, then a sneeze.

  "This is the dustiest place I was ever in," said the voice. "It'sinches deep everywhere. It's full of cigarette ends, too. I musttell uncle. Oh, here it is. Kidnapping--penalties--"

  "Hush" called Jimmy. "There's some one coming."

  The door opened.

  "Hello," said Ogden, strolling in. "I was looking for you. Didn'tthink you would be here."

  "Come right in, my little man, and make yourself at home," saidJimmy.

  Ogden eyed him with disfavour.

  "You're pretty fresh, aren't you?"

  "This is praise from Sir Hubert Stanley."

  "Eh? Who's he?"

  "Oh, a gentleman who knew what was what."

  Ogden closed the door.

  "Well, I know what's what, too. I know what you are for onething." He chuckled. "I've got your number all right."

  "In what respect?"

  Another chuckle proceeded from the bulbous boy.

  "You think you're smooth, don't you? But I'm onto you, JimmyCrocker. A lot of Jimmy Crocker you are. You're a crook. Get me?And I know what you're after, at that. You're going to try tokidnap me."

  From the corner of his eye Jimmy was aware of Ann's startledface, looking over the gallery rail and withdrawn hastily. Nosound came from the heights, but he knew that she was listeningintently.

  "What makes you think that?"

  Ogden lowered himself into the depths of his favourite easychair, and, putting his feet restfully on the writing-desk, metJimmy's gaze with a glassy but knowing eye.

  "Got a cigarette?" he said.

  "I have not," said Jimmy. "I'm sorry."

  "So am I."

  "Returning, with your permission, to our original subject," saidJimmy, "what makes you think that I have come here to kidnapyou?"

  Ogden yawned.

  "I was in the drawing-room after lunch, and that guy LordWisbeach came in and said he wanted to talk to mother privately.Mother sent me out of the room, so of course I listened at thedoor."

  "Do you know where little boys go who listen to privateconversations?" said Jimmy severely.

  "To the witness-stand generally, I guess. Well, I listened, and Iheard this Lord Wisbeach tell mother that he had only pretendedto recognise you as Jimmy Crocker and that really he had neverseen you before in his life. He said you were a crook and thatthey had got to watch you. Well, I knew then why you had comehere. It was pretty smooth, getting in the way you did. I've gotto hand it to you."

  Jimmy did not reply. His mind was occupied with the contemplationof this dashing counter-stroke on the part of Gentleman Jack. Hecould hardly refrain from admiring the simple strategy with whichthe latter had circumvented him. There was an artistry about themove which compelled respect.

  "Well, now, see here," said Ogden, "you and I have got to gettogether on this proposition. I've been kidnapped twice before,and the only guys that made anything out of it were thekidnappers. It's pretty soft for them. They couldn't have got acent without me, and they never dreamed of giving me a rake-off.I'm getting good and tired of being kidnapped for other people'sbenefit, and I've made up my mind that the next guy that wants mehas got to come across. See? My proposition is fifty-fifty. Ifyou like it, I'm game to let you go ahead. If you don't like it,then the deal's off, and you'll find that you've a darned poorchance of getting me. When I was kidnapped before, I was just akid, but I can look after myself now. Well, what do you say?"

  Jimmy found it hard at first to say anything. He had neverproperly understood the possibilities of Ogden's characterbefore. The longer he contemplated him, the more admirable Ann'sscheme appeared. It seemed to him that only a resolute keeper ofa home for dogs would be adequately equipped for dealing withthis remarkable youth.

  "This is a commercial age," he said.

  "You bet it is," said Ogden. "My middle name is business. Say,are you working this on your own, or are you in with BuckMaginnis and his crowd?"

  "I don't think I know Mr. Maginnis."

  "He's the guy who kidnapped me the first time. He's a rough-neck.Smooth Sam Fisher got away with me the second time. Maybe you'rein with Sam?"

  "No."

  "No, I guess not. I heard that he had married and retired frombusiness. I rather wish you were one of Buck's lot. I like Buck.When he kidnapped me, I lived with him and he gave me a swelltime. When I left him, a woman came and interviewed me about itfor one of the Sunday papers. Sob stuff. Called the piece 'EvenKidnappers Have Tender Hearts Beneath A Rough Exterior.' I've gotit upstairs in my press-clipping album. It was pretty bad slush.Buck Maginnis hasn't got any tender heart beneath his roughexterior, but he's a good sort and I liked him. We used to shootcraps. And he taught me to chew. I'd be tickled to death to haveBuck get me again. But, if you're working on your own, all right.It's all the same to me, provided you meet me on the terms."

  "You certainly are a fascinating child."

  "Less of it, less of it. I've troubles enough to bear withouthaving you getting fresh. Well, what about it? Talk figures. If Ilet you take me away, do we divvy up or don't we? That's allyou've got to say." />
  "That's easily settled. I'll certainly give you half of whateverI get."

  Ogden looked wistfully at the writing-desk.

  "I wish I could have that in writing. But I guess it wouldn'tstand in law. I suppose I shall have to trust you."

  "Honour among thieves."

  "Less of the thieves. This is just a straight businessproposition. I've got something valuable to sell, and I'm darnedif I'm going to keep giving it away. I've been too easy. I oughtto have thought of this before. All right, then, that's settled.Now it's up to you. You can think out the rest of it yourself."

  He heaved himself out of the chair, and left the room. Ann,coming down from the gallery, found Jimmy meditating. He lookedup at the sound of her step.

  "Well, that seems to make it pretty easy for us, doesn't it?" hesaid. "It solves the problem of ways and means."

  "But this is awful. This alters everything. It isn't safe for youto stay here. You must go away at once. They've found you out.You may be arrested at any moment."

  "That's a side-issue. The main point is to put this thingthrough. Then we can think about what is going to happen to me."

  "But can't you see the risk you're running?"

  "I don't mind. I want to help you."

  "I won't let you."

  "You must."

  "But do be sensible. What would you think of me if I allowed youto face this danger--?"

  "I wouldn't think any differently of you. My opinion of you is afixed thing. Nothing can alter it. I tried to tell you on theboat, but you wouldn't let me. I think you're the most perfect,wonderful girl in all the world. I've loved you since the firstmoment I saw you. I knew who you were when we met for half aminute that day in London. We were utter strangers, but I knewyou. You were the girl I had been looking for all my life. GoodHeavens, you talk of risks. Can't you understand that just beingwith you and speaking to you and knowing that we share this thingtogether is enough to wipe out any thought of risk? I'd doanything for you. And you expect me to back out of this thingbecause there is a certain amount of danger!"

  Ann had retreated to the door, and was looking at him with wideeyes. With other young men and there had been many--who had saidmuch the same sort of thing to her since her _debutante_ days shehad been cool and composed--a little sorry, perhaps, but in nodoubt as to her own feelings and her ability to resist theirpleadings. But now her heart was racing, and the conviction hadbegun to steal over her that the cool and composed Ann Chesterwas in imminent danger of making a fool of herself. Quitesuddenly, without any sort of warning, she realised that therewas some quality in Jimmy which called aloud to somecorresponding quality in herself--a nebulous something that madeher know that he and she were mates. She knew herself hard toplease where men were concerned. She could not have describedwhat it was in her that all the men she had met, the men withwhom she had golfed and ridden and yachted, had failed tosatisfy: but, ever since she had acquired the power ofself-analysis, she had known that it was something which was asolid and indestructible part of her composition. She could nothave put into words what quality she demanded in man, but she hadalways known that she would recognise it when she found it: andshe recognised it now in Jimmy. It was a recklessness, anirresponsibility, a cheerful dare-devilry, the complement to herown gay lawlessness.

  "Ann!" said Jimmy.

  "It's too late!"

  She had not meant to say that. She had meant to say that it wasimpossible, out of the question. But her heart was running awaywith her, goaded on by the irony of it all. A veil seemed to havefallen from before her eyes, and she knew now why she had beendrawn to Jimmy from the very first. They were mates, and she hadthrown away her happiness.

  "I've promised to marry Lord Wisbeach!"

  Jimmy stopped dead, as if the blow had been a physical one.

  "You've promised to marry Lord Wisbeach!"

  "Yes."

  "But--but when?"

  "Just now. Only a few minutes ago. When I was driving him to hishotel. He had asked me to marry him before I left for England,and I had promised to give him his answer when I got back. Butwhen I got back, somehow I couldn't make up my mind. The daysslipped by. Something seemed to be holding me back. He pressed meto say that I would marry him, and it seemed absurd to go onrefusing to be definite, so I said I would."

  "You can't love him? Surely you don't--?"

  Ann met his gaze frankly.

  "Something seems to have happened to me in the last few minutes,"she said, "and I can't think clearly. A little while ago itdidn't seem to matter much. I liked him. He was good-looking andgood-tempered. I felt that we should get along quite well and beas happy as most people are. That seemed as near perfection asone could expect to get nowadays, so--well, that's how it was."

  "But you can't marry him! It's out of the question!"

  "I've promised."

  "You must break your promise."

  "I can't do that."

  "You must!"

  "I can't. One must play the game."

  Jimmy groped for words. "But in this case you mustn't--it'sawful--in this special case--" He broke off. He saw the trap hewas in. He could not denounce that crook without exposinghimself. And from that he still shrank. Ann's prejudice againstJimmy Crocker might have its root in a trivial and absurdgrievance, but it had been growing through the years, and whocould say how strong it was now?

  Ann came a step towards him, then paused doubtfully. Then, as ifmaking up her mind, she drew near and touched his sleeve.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  There was a silence.

  "I'm sorry!"

  She moved away. The door closed softly behind her. Jimmy scarcelyknew that she had gone. He sat down in that deep chair which wasMr. Pett's favourite, and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Andthen, how many minutes or hours later he did not know, the sharpclick of the door-handle roused him. He sprang from the chair.Was it Ann, come back?

  It was not Ann. Round the edge of the door came inquiringly thefair head of Lord Wisbeach.

  "Oh!" said his lordship, sighting Jimmy.

  The head withdrew itself.

  "Come here!" shouted Jimmy.

  The head appeared again.

  "Talking to me?"

  "Yes, I was talking to you."

  Lord Wisbeach followed his superstructure into the room. He wasoutwardly all that was bland and unperturbed, but there was awary look in the eye that cocked itself at Jimmy, and he did notmove far from the door. His fingers rested easily on the handlebehind him. He did not think it probable that Jimmy could haveheard of his visit to Mrs. Pett, but there had been somethingmenacing in the latter's voice, and he believed in safety first.

  "They told me Miss Chester was here," he said by way of relaxingany possible strain there might be in the situation.

  "And what the devil do you want with Miss Chester, you slimy,crawling second-story-worker, you damned, oily yegg?" enquiredJimmy.

  The sunniest optimist could not have deluded himself into thebelief that the words were spoken in a friendly and genialspirit. Lord Wisbeach's fingers tightened on the door-handle, andhe grew a little flushed about the cheek-bones.

  "What's all this about?" he said.

  "You infernal crook!"

  Lord Wisbeach looked anxious.

  "Don't shout like that! Are you crazy? Do you want people tohear?"

  Jimmy drew a deep breath.

  "I shall have to get further away from you," he said morequietly. "There's no knowing what may happen if I don't. I don'twant to kill you. At least, I do, but I had better not."

  He retired slowly until brought to a halt by the writing-desk. Tothis he anchored himself with a firm grip. He was extremelyanxious to do nothing rash, and the spectacle of Gentleman Jackinvited rashness. He leaned against the desk, clutching itssolidity with both hands. Lord Wisbeach held steadfastly to thedoor-handle. And in this tense fashion the interview proceeded.

  "Miss Chester," said Jimmy, forcing himself to speak calmly, "hasjust been tell
ing me that she has promised to marry you."

  "Quite true," said Lord Wisbeach. "It will be announcedto-morrow." A remark trembled on his lips, to the effect that herelied on Jimmy for a fish-slice, but prudence kept it unspoken.He was unable at present to understand Jimmy's emotion. Why Jimmyshould object to his being engaged to Ann, he could not imagine.But it was plain that for some reason he had taken the thing toheart, and, dearly as he loved a bit of quiet fun, Lord Wisbeachdecided that the other was at least six inches too tall and fiftypounds too heavy to be bantered in his present mood by one of hisown physique. "Why not?"

  "It won't be announced to-morrow," said Jimmy. "Because byto-morrow you will be as far away from here as you can get, ifyou have any sense."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Just this. If you haven't left this house by breakfast timeto-morrow, I shall expose you."

  Lord Wisbeach was not feeling particularly happy, but he laughedat this.

  "You!"

  "That's what I said."

  "Who do you think you are, to go about exposing people?"

  "I happen to be Mrs. Pett's nephew, Jimmy Crocker."

  Lord Wisbeach laughed again.

  "Is that the line you are going to take?"

  "It is."

  "You are going to Mrs. Pett to tell her that you are JimmyCrocker and that I am a crook and that you only pretended torecognise me for reasons of your own?"

  "Just that."

  "Forget it!" Lord Wisbeach had forgotten to be alarmed in hisamusement. He smiled broadly. "I'm not saying it's not good stuffto pull, but it's old stuff now. I'm sorry for you, but I thoughtof it before you did. I went to Mrs. Pett directly after lunchand sprang that line of talk myself. Do you think she'll believeyou after that? I tell you I'm ace-high with that dame. Youcan't queer me with her."

  "I think I can. For the simple reason that I really am JimmyCrocker."

  "Yes, you are."

  "Exactly. Yes, I am."

  Lord Wisbeach smiled tolerantly.

  "It was worth trying the bluff, I guess, but it won't work. Iknow you'd be glad to get me out of this house, but you've got tomake a better play than that to do it."

  "Don't deceive yourself with the idea that I'm bluffing. Lookhere." He suddenly removed his coat and threw it to LordWisbeach. "Read the tailor's label inside the pocket. See thename. Also the address. 'J. Crocker. Drexdale House. GrosvenorSquare. London.'"

  Lord Wisbeach picked up the garment and looked as directed. Hisface turned a little sallower, but he still fought against hisgrowing conviction.

  "That's no proof."

  "Perhaps not. But, when you consider the reputation of the tailorwhose name is on the label, it's hardly likely that he would bestanding in with an impostor, is it? If you want real proof, Ihave no doubt that there are half a dozen men working on the_Chronicle_ who can identify me. Or are you convinced already?"

  Lord Wisbeach capitulated.

  "I don't know what fool game you think you're playing, but Ican't see why you couldn't have told me this when we were talkingafter lunch."

  "Never mind. I had my reasons. They don't matter. What matters isthat you are going to get out of here to-morrow. Do youunderstand that?"

  "I get you."

  "Then that's about all, I think. Don't let me keep you."

  "Say, listen." Gentleman Jack's voice was plaintive. "I think youmight give a fellow a chance to get out good. Give me time tohave a guy in Montreal send me a telegram telling me to go upthere right away. Otherwise you might just as well put the copson me at once. The old lady knows I've got business in Canada.You don't need to be rough on a fellow."

  Jimmy pondered this point.

  "All right. I don't object to that."

  "Thanks."

  "Don't start anything, though."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Jimmy pointed to the safe.

  "Come, come, friend of my youth. We have no secrets from eachother. I know you're after what's in there, and you know that Iknow. I don't want to harp on it, but you'll be spending to-nightin the house, and I think you had better make up your mind tospend it in your room, getting a nice sleep to prepare you foryour journey. Do you follow me, old friend?"

  "I get you."

  "That will be all then, I think. Wind a smile around your neckand recede."

  The door slammed. Lord Wisbeach had restrained his feelingssuccessfully during the interview, but he could not deny himselfthat slight expression of them. Jimmy crossed the room and tookhis coat from the chair where the other had dropped it. As he didso a voice spoke.

  "Say!"

  Jimmy spun round. The room was apparently empty. The thing wasbeginning to assume an uncanny aspect, when the voice spokeagain.

  "You think you're darned funny, don't you?"

  It came from above. Jimmy had forgotten the gallery. He directedhis gaze thither, and perceived the heavy face of Ogden hangingover the rail like a gargoyle.

  "What are you doing there?" he demanded.

  "Listening."

  "How did you get there?"

  "There's a door back here that you get to from the stairs. Ioften come here for a quiet cigarette. Say, you think yourselfsome josher, don't you, telling me you were a kidnapper! Youstrung me like an onion. So you're really Jimmy Crocker afterall? Where was the sense in pulling all that stuff about takingme away and divvying up the ransom? Aw, you make me tired!"

  The head was withdrawn, and Jimmy heard heavy steps followed bythe banging of a door. Peace reigned in the library.

  Jimmy sat down in the chair which was Mr. Pett's favourite andwhich Ogden was accustomed to occupy to that gentleman'sdispleasure. The swiftness of recent events had left him a littledizzy, and he desired to think matters over and find out exactlywhat had happened.

  The only point which appeared absolutely clear to him in a welterof confusing occurrences was the fact that he had lost the chanceof kidnapping Ogden. Everything had arranged itself sobeautifully simply and conveniently as regarded that ventureuntil a moment ago; but now that the boy had discovered hisidentity it was impossible for him to attempt it. He was loth toaccept this fact. Surely, even now, there was a way . . .

  Quite suddenly an admirable plan occurred to him. It involved theco-operation of his father. And at that thought he realised witha start that life had been moving so rapidly for him since hisreturn to the house that he had not paid any attention at all towhat was really as amazing a mystery as any. He had been too busyto wonder why his father was there.

  He debated the best method of getting in touch with him. It wasout of the question to descend to the pantry or wherever it wasthat his father lived in this new incarnation of his. Then thehappy thought struck him that results might be obtained by thesimple process of ringing the bell. It might produce some otherunit of the domestic staff. However, it was worth trying. He rangthe bell.

  A few moments later the door opened. Jimmy looked up. It was nothis father. It was a dangerous-looking female of uncertain age,dressed as a parlour-maid, who eyed him with what seemed to hisconscience-stricken soul dislike and suspicion. She had atight-lipped mouth and beady eyes beneath heavy brows. Jimmy hadseldom seen a woman who attracted him less at first sight.

  "Jer ring, S'?"

  Jimmy blinked and almost ducked. The words had come at him like aprojectile.

  "Oh, ah, yes."

  "J' want anything, s'?"

  With an effort Jimmy induced his mind to resume its interruptedequilibrium.

  "Oh, ah, yes. Would you mind sending Skinner the butler to me."

  "Y's'r."

  The apparition vanished. Jimmy drew out his handkerchief anddabbed at his forehead. He felt weak and guilty. He felt as if hehad just been accused of nameless crimes and had been unable todeny the charge. Such was the magic of Miss Trimble's eye--theleft one, which looked directly at its object. Conjecture pausesbaffled at the thought of the effect which her gaze might havecreated in the breasts of the sex she despised, had it beendo
uble instead of single-barrelled. But half of it had wasteditself on a spot some few feet to his right.

  Presently the door opened again, and Mr. Crocker appeared,looking like a benevolent priest.