Intrusion of Jimmy

by Intrusion Of Jimmy

  for the actual holder of the title, considered simply as a young

  man, he had always been filled with a supreme respect for the

  Dreever name.

  "But, Spencer," he almost howled, "consider your position! You

  cannot--"

  "Can't I, by Jove! If she'll have me! And damn my position! What's

  my position got to do with it? Katie's the daughter of a general, if

  it comes to that. Her brother was at college with me. If I'd had a

  penny to call my own, I'd have asked her to marry me ages ago. Don't

  you worry about my position!"

  Sir Thomas croaked feebly.

  "Now, look here," said his lordship, with determination. "Here's the

  whole thing in a jolly old nutshell. If you want me to forget about

  this little flutter in fake diamonds of yours, you've got to pull up

  your socks, and start in to do things. You've got to get me attached

  to some embassy for a beginning. It won't be difficult. There's

  dozens of old boys in London, who knew the governor when he was

  alive, who will jump at the chance of doing me a good turn. I know

  I'm a bit of an ass in some ways, but that's expected of you in the

  diplomatic service. They only want you to wear evening clothes as if

  you were used to them, and be a bit of a flyer at dancing, and I can

  fill the bill all right as far as that goes. And you've got to give

  your jolly old blessing to Katie and me--if she'll have me. That's

  about all I can think of for the moment. How do we go? Are you on?"

  "It's preposterous," began Sir Thomas.

  Lord Dreever gave the door-handle a rattle.

  "It's a hold-up all right," said Jimmy, soothingly. "I don't want to

  butt in on a family conclave, but my advice, if asked, would be to

  unbelt before the shooting begins. You've got something worse than a

  pipe pointing at you, now. As regards my position in the business,

  don't worry. My silence is presented gratis. Give me a loving smile,

  and my lips are sealed."

  Sir Thomas turned on the speaker.

  "As for you--" he cried.

  "Never mind about Pitt," said his lordship. "He's a dashed good

  fellow, Pitt. I wish there were more like him. And he wasn't

  pinching the stuff, either. If you had only listened when he tried

  to tell you, you mightn't be in such a frightful hole. He was

  putting the things back, as he said. I know all about it. Well,

  what's the answer?"

  For a moment, Sir Thomas seemed on the point of refusal. But, just

  as he was about to speak, his lordship opened the door, and at the

  movement he collapsed again.

  "I will," he cried. "I will!"

  "Good," said his lordship with satisfaction. "That's a bargain.

  Coming downstairs, Pitt, old man? We shall be wanted on the stage in

  about half a minute."

  "As an antidote to stage fright," said Jimmy, as they went along the

  corridor, "little discussions of that kind may be highly

  recommended. I shouldn't mind betting that you feel fit for

  anything?"

  "I feel like a two-year-old," assented his lordship,

  enthusiastically. "I've forgotten all my part, but I don't care.

  I'll just go on and talk to them."

  "That," said Jimmy, "is the right spirit. Charteris will get heart-

  disease, but it's the right spirit. A little more of that sort of

  thing, and amateur theatricals would be worth listening to. Step

  lively, Roscius; the stage waits."

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  SPENNIE'S HOUR OF CLEAR VISION

  Mr. McEachern sat in the billiard-room, smoking. He was alone. From

  where he sat, he could hear distant strains of music. The more

  rigorous portion of the evening's entertainment, the theatricals,

  was over, and the nobility and gentry, having done their duty by

  sitting through the performance, were now enjoying themselves in the

  ballroom. Everybody was happy. The play had been quite as successful

  as the usual amateur performance. The prompter had made himself a

  great favorite from the start, his series of duets with Spennie

  having been especially admired; and Jimmy, as became an old

  professional, had played his part with great finish and certainty of

  touch, though, like the bloodhounds in "Uncle Tom's Cabin" on the

  road, he had had poor support. But the audience bore no malice. No

  collection of individuals is less vindictive than an audience at

  amateur theatricals. It was all over now. Charteris had literally

  gibbered in the presence of eye-witnesses at one point in the second

  act, when Spennie, by giving a wrong cue, had jerked the play

  abruptly into act three, where his colleagues, dimly suspecting

  something wrong, but not knowing what it was, had kept it for two

  minutes, to the mystification of the audience. But, now Charteris

  had begun to forget. As he two-stepped down the room, the lines of

  agony on his face were softened. He even smiled.

  As for Spennie, the brilliance of his happy grin dazzled all

  beholders.

  He was still wearing it when he invaded the solitude of Mr.

  McEachern. In every dance, however greatly he may be enjoying it,

  there comes a time when a man needs a meditative cigarette apart

  from the throng. It came to Spennie after the seventh item on the

  program. The billiard-room struck him as admirably suitable in every

  way. It was not likely to be used as a sitting-out place, and it was

  near enough to the ball-room to enable him to hear when the music of

  item number nine should begin.

  Mr. McEachern welcomed his visitor. In the turmoil following the

  theatricals, he had been unable to get a word with any of the

  persons with whom he most wished to speak. He had been surprised

  that no announcement of the engagement had been made at the end of

  the performance. Spennie would be able to supply him with

  information as to when the announcement might be expected.

  Spennie hesitated for an instant when he saw who was in the room. He

  was not over-anxious for a tete-a-tete with Molly's father just

  then. But, re-fleeting that, after all, he was not to blame for

  any disappointment that might be troubling the other, he switched on

  his grin again, and walked in.

  "Came in for a smoke," he explained, by way of opening the

  conversation. "Not dancing the next."

  "Come in, my boy, come in," said Mr. McEachern. "I was waiting to

  see you."

  Spennie regretted his entrance. He had supposed that the other had

  heard the news of the breaking-off of the engagement. Evidently,

  however, McEachern had not. This was a nuisance. The idea of flight

  came to Spennie, but he dismissed it. As nominal host that night, he

  had to dance many duty-dances. This would be his only chance of a

  smoke for hours, and the billiard-room was the best place for it.

  He sat down, and lighted a cigarette, casting about the while for an

  innocuous topic of conversation.

  "Like the show?" he inquired.

  "Fine," said Mr. McEachern. "By the way--"

  Spennie groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that a determined man can

  change the conversation to any subject he pleases by means of those

 
three words.

  "By the way," said Mr. McEachern, "I thought Sir Thomas--wasn't your

  uncle intending to announce--?"

  "Well, yes, he was," said Spennie.

  "Going to do it during the dancing, maybe?"

  "Well--er--no. The fact is, he's not going to do it at all, don't

  you know." Spennie inspected the red end of his cigarette closely.

  "As a matter of fact, it's kind of broken off."

  The other's exclamation jarred on him. Rotten, having to talk about

  this sort of thing!

  "Broken off?"

  Spennie nodded.

  "Miss McEachern thought it over, don't you know," he said, "and came

  to the conclusion that it wasn't good enough."

  Now that it was said, he felt easier. It had merely been the

  awkwardness of having to touch on the thing that had troubled him.

  That his news might be a blow to McEachern did not cross his mind.

  He was a singularly modest youth, and, though he realized vaguely

  that his title had a certain value in some persons' eyes, he could

  not understand anyone mourning over the loss of him as a son-in-law.

  Katie's father, the old general, thought him a fool, and once,

  during an attack of gout, had said so. Spennie was wont to accept

  this as the view which a prospective father-in-law might be expected

  to entertain regarding himself.

  Oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, he

  smoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that,

  for a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he was

  displaying too little emotion. He debated swiftly within himself

  whether or not he should have a dash at manly grief, but came to the

  conclusion that it could not be done. Melancholy on this maddest,

  merriest day of all the glad New Year, the day on which he had

  utterly routed the powers of evil, as represented by Sir Thomas, was

  impossible. He decided, rather, on a let-us-be-reasonable attitude.

  "It wouldn't have done, don't you know," he said. "We weren't

  suited. What I mean to say is, I'm a bit of a dashed sort of silly

  ass in some ways, if you know what I mean. A girl like Miss

  McEachern couldn't have been happy with me. She wants one of these

  capable, energetic fellers."

  This struck him as a good beginning--modest, but not groveling. He

  continued, tapping quite a respectably deep vein of philosophy as he

  spoke.

  "You see, dear old top--I mean, sir, you see, it's like this. As far

  as women are concerned, fellers are divided into two classes.

  There's the masterful, capable Johnnies, and the--er--the other

  sort. Now, I'm the other sort. My idea of the happy married life is

  to be--well, not exactly downtrodden, but--you know what I mean--

  kind of second fiddle. I want a wife--" his voice grew soft and

  dreamy--"who'll pet me a good deal, don't you know, stroke my hair a

  lot, and all that. I haven't it in me to do the master-in-my-own-

  house business. For me, the silent-devotion touch. Sleeping on the

  mat outside her door, don't you know, when she wasn't feeling well,

  and being found there in the morning and being rather cosseted for

  my thoughtfulness. That's the sort of idea. Hard to put it quite O.

  K., but you know the sort of thing I mean. A feller's got to realize

  his jolly old limitations if he wants to be happy though married,

  what? Now, suppose Miss McEachern was to marry me! Great Scott,

  she'd be bored to death in a week. Honest! She couldn't help

  herself. She wants a chap with the same amount of go in him that

  she's got."

  He lighted another cigarette. He was feeling pleased with himself.

  Never before had ideas marshaled themselves in his mind in such long

  and well-ordered ranks. He felt that he could go on talking like

  this all night. He was getting brainier every minute. He remembered

  reading in some book somewhere of a girl (or chappie) who had had

  her (or his) "hour of clear vision." This was precisely what had

  happened now. Whether it was owing to the excitement of what had

  taken place that night, or because he had been keying up his

  thinking powers with excellent dry champagne, he did not know. All

  he knew was that he felt on top of his subject. He wished he had had

  a larger audience.

  "A girl like Miss McEachern doesn't want any of that hair-stroking

  business. She'd simply laugh at a feller if he asked for it. She

  needs a chappie of the get-on-or-get-out type, somebody in the six

  cylinder class. And, as a matter of fact, between ourselves, I

  rather think she's found him."

  "What!"

  Mr. McEachern half rose from his chair. All his old fears had come

  surging back.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Fact," said his lordship, nodding. "Mind you, I don't know for

  certain. As the girl says in the song, I don't know, but I guess.

  What I mean to say is, they seemed jolly friendly, and all that;

  calling each other by their first names, and so on."

  "Who--?"

  "Pitt," said his lordship. He was leaning back, blowing a smoke-ring

  at the moment, so he did not see the look on the other's face and

  the sudden grip of the fingers on the arms of the chair. He went on

  with some enthusiasm.

  "Jimmy Pitt!" he said. "Now, there's a feller! Full of oats to the

  brim, and fairly bursting with go and energy. A girl wouldn't have a

  dull moment with a chap like that. You know," he proceeded

  confidently, "there's a lot in this idea of affinities. Take my word

  for it, dear old--sir. There's a girl up in London, for instance.

  Now, she and I hit it off most amazingly. There's hardly a thing we

  don't think alike about. For instance, 'The Merry Widow' didn't make

  a bit of a hit with her. Nor did it with me. Yet, look at the

  millions of people who raved about it. And neither of us likes

  oysters. We're affinities--that's why. You see the same sort of

  thing all over the place. It's a jolly queer business. Sometimes,

  makes me believe in re-in-what's-it's-name. You know what I mean.

  All that in the poem, you know. How does it go? 'When you were a

  tiddley-om-pom, and I was a thingummajig.' Dashed brainy bit of

  work. I was reading it only the other day. Well, what I mean to say

  is, it's my belief that Jimmy Pitt and Miss McEachern are by way of

  being something in that line. Doesn't it strike you that they are

  just the sort to get on together? You can see it with half an eye.

  You can't help liking a feller like Jimmy Pitt. He's a sport! I wish

  I could tell you some of the things he's done, but I can't, for

  reasons. But you can take it from me, he's a sport. You ought to

  cultivate him. You'd like him ... Oh, dash it, there's the music. I

  must be off. Got to dance this one."

  He rose from his chair, and dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray.

  "So long," he said, with a friendly nod. "Wish I could stop, but

  it's no go. That's the last let-up I shall have to-night."

  He went out, leaving Mr. McEachern a prey to many and varied

  emotions.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE LAST ROUND

  He had only been
gone a few minutes when Mr. McEachern's meditations

  were again interrupted. This time, the visitor was a stranger to

  him, a dark-faced, clean-shaven man. He did not wear evening

  clothes, so could not be one of the guests; and Mr. McEachern could

  not place him immediately. Then, he remembered. He had seen him in

  Sir Thomas Blunt's dressing-room. This was Sir Thomas's valet.

  "Might I have a word with you, sir?"

  "What is it?" asked McEachern, staring heavily. His mind had not

  recovered from the effect of Lord Dreever's philosophical remarks.

  There was something of a cloud on his brain. To judge from his

  lordship's words, things had been happening behind his back; and the

  idea of Molly's deceiving him was too strange to be assimilated in

  an instant. He looked at the valet dully.

  "What is it?" he asked again.

  "I must apologize for intruding, but I thought it best to approach

  you before making my report to Sir Thomas."

  "Your report?"

  "I am employed by a private inquiry agency."

  "What!"

  "Yes, sir. Wragge's. You may have heard of us. In Holborn Bars. Very

  old established. Divorce a specialty. You will have seen the

  advertisements. Sir Thomas wrote asking for a man, and the governor

  sent me down. I have been with the house some years. My job, I

  gathered, was to keep my eyes open generally. Sir Thomas, it seemed,

  had no suspicions of any definite person. I was to be on the spot

  just in case, in a manner of speaking. And it's precious lucky I

  was, or her ladyship's jewels would have been gone. I've done a fair

  cop this very night."

  He paused, and eyed the ex-policeman keenly. McEachern was obviously

  excited. Could Jimmy have made an attempt on the jewels during the

  dance? or Spike?

  "Say," he said, "was it a red-headed--?"

  The detective was watching him with a curious smile.

  "No, he wasn't red-headed. You seem interested, sir. I thought you

  would be. I will tell you all about it. I had had my suspicions of

  this party ever since he arrived. And I may say that it struck me at

  the time that there was something mighty fishy about the way he got

  into the castle."

  McEachern started. So, he had not been the only one to suspect

  Jimmy's motives in attaching himself to Lord Dreever.

  "Go on," he said.

  "I suspected that there was some game on, and it struck me that this