The delay, however, had had the effect of counteracting the
uplifting effects of the Mumm's. The British Lion required a fresh
fillip. He went to his room to administer it. By the time he
emerged, he was feeling just right for the task in hand. A momentary
doubt occurred to him as to whether it would not be a good thing to
go down and pull Sir Thomas' nose as a preliminary to the
proceedings; but he put the temptation aside. Business before
pleasure.
With a jaunty, if somewhat unsteady, step, he climbed the stairs to
the floor above, and made his way down the corridor to Sir Thomas's
room. He switched on the light, and went to the dressing-table. The
drawer was locked, but in his present mood Spennie, like Love,
laughed at locksmiths. He grasped the handle, and threw his weight
into a sudden tug. The drawer came out with a report like a pistol-
shot.
"There!" said his lordship, wagging his head severely.
In the drawer lay the four bank-notes. The sight of them brought
back his grievance with a rush. He would teach Sir Thomas to treat
him like a kid! He would show him!
He was removing the notes, frowning fiercely the while, when he
heard a cry of surprise from behind him.
He turned, to see Molly. She was still dressed in the evening gown
she had worn at dinner; and her eyes were round with wonder. A few
moments earlier, as she was seeking her room in order to change her
costume for the theatricals, she had almost reached the end of the
corridor that led to the landing, when she observed his lordship,
flushed of face and moving like some restive charger, come
curvetting out of his bedroom in a dazzling suit of tweeds, and make
his way upstairs. Ever since their mutual encounter with Sir Thomas
before dinner, she had been hoping for a chance of seeing Spennie
alone. She had not failed to notice his depression during the meal,
and her good little heart had been troubled by the thought that she
must have been responsible for it. She knew that, for some reason,
what she had said about the letter had brought his lordship into his
uncle's bad books, and she wanted to find him and say she was sorry.
Accordingly, she had followed him. His lordship, still in the war-
horse vein, had made the pace upstairs too hot, and had disappeared
while she was still halfway up. She had arrived at the top just in
time to see him turn down the passage into Sir Thomas's dressing-
room. She could not think what his object might be. She knew that
Sir Thomas was downstairs, so it could not be from the idea of a
chat with him that Spennie was seeking the dressing-room.
Faint, yet pursuing, she followed on his trail, and arrived in the
doorway just as the pistol-report of the burst lock rang out.
She stood looking at him blankly. He was holding a drawer in one
hand. Why, she could not imagine.
"Lord Dreever!" she exclaimed.
The somber determination of his lordship's face melted into a
twisted, but kindly smile.
"Good!" he said, perhaps a trifle thickly. "Good! Glad you've come.
We're pals. You said so--on stairs--b'fore dinner. Very glad you've
come. Won't you sit down?"
He waved the drawer benevolently, by way of making her free of the
room. The movement disturbed one of the bank-notes, which fluttered
in Molly's direction, and fell at her feet.
She stooped and picked it up. When she saw what it was, her
bewilderment increased.
"But--but--" she said.
His lordship beamed--upon her with a pebble-beached smile of
indiscribable good-will.
"Sit down," he urged. "We're pals.--No quol with you. You're good
friend. Quol--Uncle Thomas."
"But, Lord Dreever, what are you doing? What was that noise I
heard?"
"Opening drawer," said his lordship, affably.
"But--" she looked again at what she had in her hand--"but this is a
five-pound note."
"Five-pound note," said his lordship. "Quite right. Three more of
them in here."
Still, she could not understand.
"But--were you--stealing them?"
His lordship drew himself up.
"No," he said, "no, not stealing, no!"
"Then--?"
"Like this. Before dinner. Old boy friendly as you please--couldn't
do enough for me. Touched him for twenty of the best, and got away
with it. So far, all well. Then, met you on stairs. You let cat out
of bag."
"But why--? Surely--!"
His lordship gave the drawer a dignified wave.
"Not blaming you," he said, magnanimously. "Not your fault;
misfortune. You didn't know. About letter."
"About the letter?" said Molly. "Yes, what was the trouble about the
letter? I knew something was wrong directly I had said that I wrote
it."
"Trouble was," said his lordship, "that old boy thought it was love-
letter. Didn't undeceive him."
"You didn't tell him? Why?"
His lordship raised his eyebrows.
"Wanted touch him twenty of the best," he explained, simply.
For the life of her, Molly could not help laughing.
"Don't laugh," protested his lordship, wounded. "No joke. Serious.
Honor at stake."
He removed the three notes, and replaced the drawer.
"Honor of the Dreevers!" he added, pocketing the money.
Molly was horrified.
"But, Lord Dreever!" she cried. "You can't! You musn't! You can't be
going, really, to take that money! It's stealing! It isn't yours!
You must put it back."
His lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her.
"That," he said, "is where you make error! Mine! Old boy gave them
to me."
"Gave them to you? Then, why did you break open the drawer?"
"Old boy took them back again--when he found out about letter."
"Then, they don't belong to you."
"Yes. Error! They do. Moral right."
Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever's
type appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man, his
lordship was a negligible quantity. He did not count. But as a
willful child, to be kept out of trouble, he had a claim on Molly.
She spoke soothingly.
"But, Lord Dreever,--" she began. "Call me Spennie," he urged.
"We're pals. You said so--on stairs. Everybody calls me Spennie--
even Uncle Thomas. I'm going to pull his nose," he broke off
suddenly, as one recollecting a forgotten appointment.
"Spennie, then," said Molly. "You mustn't, Spennie. You mustn't,
really. You--"
"You look rippin' in that dress," said his lordship, irrelevantly.
"Thank you, Spennie, dear. But listen." Molly spoke as if she were
humoring a rebellious infant. "You really mustn't take that money.
You must put it back. See, I'm putting this note back. Give me the
others, and I'll put them in the drawer, too. Then, we'll shut the
drawer, and nobody will know."
She took the notes from him, and replaced them in the drawer. He
watched her thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the merits of her
arguments
.
"No," he said, suddenly, "no! Must have them! Moral right. Old boy--
"
She pushed him gently away.
"Yes, yes, I know," she said. "I know. It's a shame that you can't
have them. But you mustn't take them. Don't you see that he would
suspect you the moment he found they were gone, and then you'd get
into trouble?"
"Something in that," admitted his lordship.
"Of course there is, Spennie, dear. I'm so glad you see! There they
all are, safe again in the drawer. Now, we can go downstairs again,
and--"
She stopped. She had closed the door earlier in the proceedings, but
her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep in the passage outside.
"Quick!" she whispered, taking his hand and darting to the electric-
light switch. "Somebody's coming. We mustn't be caught here. They'd
see the broken, drawer, and you'd get into awful trouble. Quick!"
She pushed him behind the curtain where the clothes hung, and
switched off the light.
From behind the curtain came the muffled voice of his lordship.
"It's Uncle Thomas. I'm coming out. Pull his nose."
"Be quiet!"
She sprang to the curtain, and slipped noiselessly behind it.
"But, I say--!" began his lordship.
"Hush!" She gripped his arm. He subsided.
The footsteps had halted outside the door. Then, the handle turned
softly. The door opened, and closed again with hardly a sound.
The footsteps passed on into the room.
CHAPTER XXV
EXPLANATIONS
Jimmy, like his lordship, had been trapped at the beginning of the
duologue, and had not been able to get away till it was nearly over.
He had been introduced by Lady Julia to an elderly and adhesive
baronet, who had recently spent ten days in New York, and escape had
not been won without a struggle. The baronet on his return to
England had published a book, entitled, "Modern America and Its
People," and it was with regard to the opinions expressed in this
volume that he invited Jimmy's views. He had no wish to see the
duologue, and it was only after the loss of much precious time that
Jimmy was enabled to tear himself away on the plea of having to
dress. He cursed the authority on "Modern America and Its People"
freely, as he ran upstairs. While the duologue was in progress,
there had been no chance of Sir Thomas taking it into his head to
visit his dressing-room. He had been, as his valet-detective had
observed to Mr. Galer, too busy jollying along the swells. It would
be the work of a few moments only to restore the necklace to its
place. But for the tenacity of the elderly baronet, the thing would
have been done by this time. Now, however, there was no knowing what
might not happen. Anybody might come along the passage, and see him.
He had one point in his favor. There was no likelihood of the jewels
being required by their owner till the conclusion of the
theatricals. The part that Lady Julia had been persuaded by
Charteris to play mercifully contained no scope for the display of
gems.
Before going down to dinner, Jimmy had locked the necklace in a
drawer. It was still there, Spike having been able apparently to
resist the temptation of recapturing it. Jimmy took it, and went
into the corridor. He looked up and down. There was nobody about. He
shut his door, and walked quickly in the direction of the dressing-
room.
He had provided himself with an electric pocket-torch, equipped with
a reflector, which he was in the habit of carrying when on his
travels. Once inside, having closed the door, he set this aglow, and
looked about him.
Spike had given him minute directions as to the position of the
jewel-box. He found it without difficulty. To his untrained eye, it
seemed tolerably massive and impregnable, but Spike had evidently
known how to open it without much difficulty. The lid was shut, but
it came up without an effort when he tried to raise it, and he saw
that the lock had been broken.
"Spike's coming on!" he said.
He was dangling the necklace over the box, preparatory to dropping
it in, when there was a quick rustle at the other side of the room.
The curtain was plucked aside, and Molly came out.
"Jimmy!" she cried.
Jimmy's nerves were always in pretty good order, but at the sight of
this apparition he visibly jumped.
"Great Scott!" he said.
The curtain again became agitated by some unseen force, violently
this time, and from its depths a plaintive voice made itself heard.
"Dash it all," said the voice, "I've stuck!"
There was another upheaval, and his lordship emerged, his yellow
locks ruffled and upstanding, his face crimson.
"Caught my head in a coat or something," he explained at large.
"Hullo, Pitt!"
Pressed rigidly against the wall, Molly had listened with growing
astonishment to the movements on the other side of the curtain. Her
mystification deepened every moment. It seemed to her that the room
was still in darkness. She could hear the sound of breathing; and
then the light of the torch caught her eye. Who could this be, and
why had he not switched on the regular room lights?
She strained her ears to catch a sound. For a while, she heard
nothing except the soft breathing. Then came a voice that she knew
well; and, abandoning her hiding-place, she came out into the room,
and found Jimmy standing, with the torch in his hand, over some dark
object in the corner of the room.
It was a full minute after Jimmy's first exclamation of surprise
before either of them spoke again. The light of the torch hurt
Molly's eyes. She put up a hand, to shade them. It seemed to her
that they had been standing like this for years.
Jimmy had not moved. There was something in his attitude that filled
Molly with a vague fear. In the shadow behind the torch, he looked
shapeless and inhuman.
"You're hurting my eyes," she said, at last.
"I'm sorry," said Jimmy. "I didn't think. Is that better?" He turned
the light from her face. Something in his voice and the apologetic
haste with which he moved the torch seemed to relax the strain of
the situation. The feeling of stunned surprise began to leave her.
She found herself thinking coherently again.
The relief was but momentary. Why was Jimmy in the room at that
time? Why had he a torch? What had he been doing? The questions shot
from her brain like sparks from an anvil.
The darkness began to tear at her nerves. She felt along the wall
for the switch, and flooded the whole room with light.
Jimmy laid down the torch, and stood for a moment, undecided. He had
concealed the necklace behind him. Now, he brought it forward, and
dangled it silently before the eyes of Molly and his lordship.
Excellent as were his motives for being in. that room with the
necklace in his hand, he could not help feeling, as he met Molly's
startled gaze, quite as guilty as if his intentions had been
altogether different.
His lordship, having by this time pulled himself together to some
extent, was the first to speak.
"I say, you know, what ho!" he observed, not without emotion.
"What?"
Molly drew back.
"Jimmy! You were--oh, you can't have been!"
"Looks jolly like it!" said his lordship, judicially.
"I wasn't," said Jimmy. "I was putting them back."
"Putting them back?"
"Pitt, old man," said his lordship solemnly, "that sounds a bit
thin."
"Dreever, old man," said Jimmy. "I know it does. But it's the
truth."
His lordship's manner became kindly.
"Now, look here, Pitt, old son," he said, "there's nothing to worry
about. We're all pals here. You can pitch it straight to us. We
won't give you away. We--"
"Be quiet!" cried Molly. "Jimmy!"
Her voice was strained. She spoke with an effort. She was suffering
torments. The words her father had said to her on the terrace were
pouring back into her mind. She seemed to hear his voice now, cool
and confident, warning her against Jimmy, saying that he was
crooked. There was a curious whirring in her head. Everything in the
room was growing large and misty. She heard Lord Dreever begin to
say something that sounded as if someone were speaking at the end of
a telephone; and, then, she was aware that Jimmy was holding her in
his arms, and calling to Lord Dreever to bring water,
"When a girl goes like that," said his lordship with an insufferable
air of omniscience, "you want to cut her--"
"Come along!" said Jimmy. "Are you going to be a week getting that
water?"
His lordship proceeded to soak a sponge without further parley; but,
as he carried his dripping burden across the room, Molly recovered.
She tried weakly to free herself.
Jimmy helped her to a chair. He had dropped the necklace on the
floor, and Lord Dreever nearly trod on it.
"What ho!" observed his lordship, picking it up. "Go easy with the
jewelry!"
Jimmy was bending over Molly. Neither of them seemed to be aware of
his lordship's presence. Spennie was the sort of person whose
existence is apt to be forgotten. Jimmy had had a flash of
intuition. For the first time, it had occurred to him that Mr.
McEachern might have hinted to Molly something of his own
suspicions.
"Molly, dear," he said, "it isn't what you think. I can explain
everything. Do you feel better now? Can you listen? I can explain
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