CHAPTER IX
FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD
On the night of the day on which Sir Thomas Blunt wrote anddispatched his letter to Wragge's Detective Agency, Jimmy Pittchanced to stop at the Savoy.
If you have the money and the clothes, and do not object to beingturned out into the night just as you are beginning to enjoyyourself, there are few things pleasanter than supper at the SavoyHotel, London. But, as Jimmy sat there, eying the multitude throughthe smoke of his cigarette, he felt, despite all the brightness andglitter, that this was a flat world, and that he was very much alonein it.
A little over a year had passed since the merry evening at Police-CaptainMcEachern's. During that time, he had covered a good deal ofnew ground. His restlessness had reasserted itself. Somebody hadmentioned Morocco in his hearing, and a fortnight later he was inFez.
Of the principals in that night's drama, he had seen nothing more.It was only when, after walking home on air, rejoicing over thestrange chance that had led to his finding and having speech withthe lady of the Lusitania, he had reached Fifty-Ninth Street, thathe realized how he had also lost her. It suddenly came home to himthat not only did he not know her address, but he was ignorant ofher name. Spike had called the man with the revolver "boss"throughout--only that and nothing more. Except that he was apolice-captain, Jimmy knew as little about the man as he had before theirmeeting. And Spike, who held the key to the mystery, had vanished.His acquaintances of that night had passed out of his life likefigures in a waking dream. As far as the big man with the pistol wasconcerned, this did not distress him. He had known that massiveperson only for about a quarter of an hour, but to his thinking thatwas ample. Spike he would have liked to meet again, but he bore theseparation with much fortitude. There remained the girl of the ship;and she had haunted him with unfailing persistence during every oneof the three hundred and eighty-four days that had passed sincetheir meeting.
It was the thought of her that had made New York seem cramped. Forweeks, Jimmy had patrolled the likely streets, the Park, andRiverside Drive, in the hope of meeting her. He had gone to thetheaters and restaurants, but with no success. Sometimes, he hadwandered through the Bowery, on the chance of meeting Spike. He hadseen red heads in profusion, but never again that of his youngdisciple in the art of burglary. In the end, he had wearied of theother friends of the Strollers, had gone out again on hiswanderings. He was greatly missed, especially by that large sectionof his circle which was in a perpetual state of wanting a little tosee it through till Saturday. For years, Jimmy had been to theseunfortunates a human bank on which they could draw at will. Itoffended them that one of those rare natures which are always goodfor two dollars at any hour of the day should be allowed to wasteitself on places like Morocco and Spain--especially Morocco, where,by all accounts, there were brigands with almost a New York sense oftouch.
They argued earnestly with Jimmy. They spoke of Raisuli and KaidMacLean. But Jimmy was not to be stopped. The gad-fly was vexinghim, and he had to move.
For a year, he had wandered, realizing every day the truth ofHorace's philosophy for those who travel, that a man cannot changehis 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 toldhimself, was futile. He would stand still and fight the fever inhim.
He had been fighting it now for a matter of two weeks, and alreadyhe was contemplating retreat. A man at luncheon had been talkingabout Japan--
Watching the crowd, Jimmy had found his attention attracted chieflyby a party of three, a few tables away. The party consisted of agirl, rather pretty, a lady of middle age and stately demeanor,plainly her mother, and a light-haired, weedy young man in thetwenties. It had been the almost incessant prattle of this youth andthe peculiarly high-pitched, gurgling laugh which shot from him atshort intervals that had drawn Jimmy's notice upon them. And it wasthe curious cessation of both prattle and laugh that now made himlook again in their direction.
The young man faced Jimmy; and Jimmy, looking at him, could see thatall was not well with him. He was pale. He talked at random. Aslight perspiration was noticeable on his forehead.
Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it.
Given the time and the place, there were only two things that couldhave caused this look. Either the light-haired young man had seen aghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money topay the check.
Jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from hiscase, scribbled the words, "Can I help?" on it, and gave it to awaiter to take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering oncollapse.
The next moment, the light-haired one was at his table, talking in afeverish whisper.
"I say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap! It'sfrightfully awkward. I've come out with too little money. I hardlylike 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 whatI'd have done." He grabbed at the note. "I'll let you have it backto-morrow. Here's my card. Is your address on your card? I can'tremember. Oh, by Jove, I've got it in my hand all the time." Thegurgling laugh came into action again, freshened and strengthened byits rest. "Savoy Mansions, eh? I'll come round to-morrow. Thanksfrightfully 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. Jimmylooked at the card he had left. "Lord Dreever," it read, and in thecorner the name of a well-known club. The name Dreever was familiarto Jimmy. Everyone knew of Dreever Castle, partly because it was oneof the oldest houses in England, but principally because forcenturies it had been advertised by a particularly gruesome ghost-story.Everyone had heard of the secret of Dreever, which was knownonly to the earl and the family lawyer, and confided to the heir atmidnight on his twenty-first birthday. Jimmy had come across thestory in corners of the papers all over the States, from New York toOnehorseville, Iowa. He looked with interest at the light-hairedyoung man, the latest depository of the awful secret. It waspopularly supposed that the heir, after hearing it, never smiledagain; but it did not seem to have affected the present Lord Dreeverto any great extent. His gurgling laugh was drowning the orchestra.Probably, Jimmy thought, when the family lawyer had told thelight-haired young man the secret, the latter's comment had been, "No,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 strolledon to the Embankment, and stood leaning over the balustrade, lookingacross the river at the vague, mysterious mass of buildings on theSurrey side.
He must have been standing there for some time, his thoughts faraway, when a voice spoke at his elbow.
"I say. Excuse me, have you--Hullo!" It was his light-hairedlordship of Dreever. "I say, by Jove, why we're always meeting!"
A tramp on a bench close by stirred uneasily in his sleep as thegurgling laugh rippled the air.
"Been looking at the water?" inquired Lord Dreever. "I have. I oftendo. Don't you think it sort of makes a chap feel--oh, you know. Sortof--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 withthis mood of contemplation, for in his case, too, there was a girl.
"I saw my party off in a taxi," continued Lord Dreever, "and camedown here for a smoke; only, I hadn't a match. Have you--?"
Jimmy handed over his match-box. Lord Dreever lighted a cigar, andfixed his gaze once more on the river.
"Ripping it looks," he said.
Jimmy nodded.
"Funny thing," said Lord Dreever. "In
the daytime, the water herelooks all muddy and beastly. Damn' depressing, I call it. But atnight--" He paused. "I say," he went on after a moment, "Did you seethe 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 afriend, 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 isexpected 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 thenight came the sound of oars, as the police-boat moved on itspatrol.
"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 thatof confider.
"I met a girl a year ago--only really met her once, and even then--oh,well! Anyway, it's made me so restless that I haven't been ableto stay in one place for more than a month on end. I tried Morocco,and had to quit. I tried Spain, and that wasn't any good, either.The other day, I heard a fellow say that Japan was a prettyinteresting sort of country. I was wondering whether I wouldn't giveit a trial."
Lord Dreever regarded this traveled man with interest.
"It beats me," he said, wonderingly. "What do you want to leg itabout the world like that for? What's the trouble? Why don't youstay where the girl is?"
"I don't know where she is."
"Don't know?"
"She disappeared."
"Where did you see her last?" asked his lordship, as if Molly were amislaid penknife.
"New York."
"But how do you mean, disappeared? Don't you know her address?"
"I don't even know her name."
"But dash it all, I say, I mean! Have you ever spoken to her?"
"Only once. It's rather a complicated story. At any rate, she'sgone."
Lord Dreever said that it was a rum business. Jimmy conceded thepoint.
"Seems to me," said his lordship, "we're both in the cart."
"What's your trouble?"
Lord Dreever hesitated.
"Oh, well, it's only that I want to marry one girl, and my uncle'sdead set on my marrying another."
"Are you afraid of hurting your uncle's feelings?"
"It's not so much hurting his feelings. It's--oh, well, it's toolong to tell now. I think I'll be getting home. I'm staying at ourplace in Eaton Square."
"How are you going? If you'll walk, I'll come some of the way withyou."
"Right you are. Let's be pushing along, shall we?"
They turned up into the Strand, and through Trafalgar Square intoPiccadilly. Piccadilly has a restful aspect in the small hours. Somemen were cleaning the road with water from a long hose. The swishingof the torrent on the parched wood was musical.
Just beyond the gate of Hyde Park, to the right of the road, standsa cabmen's shelter. Conversation and emotion had made Lord Dreeverthirsty. He suggested coffee as a suitable conclusion to the night'srevels.
"I often go in here when I'm up in town," he said. "The cabbiesdon't mind. They're sportsmen."
The shelter was nearly full when they opened the door. It was verywarm inside. A cabman gets so much fresh air in the exercise of hisprofessional duties that he is apt to avoid it in private life. Theair was heavy with conflicting scents. Fried onions seemed to behaving the best of the struggle for the moment, though plug tobaccocompeted gallantly. A keenly analytical nose might also havedetected the presence of steak and coffee.
A dispute seemed to be in progress as they entered.
"You don't wish you was in Russher," said a voice.
"Yus, I do wish I wos in Russher," retorted a shriveled mummy of acabman, who was blowing patiently at a saucerful of coffee.
"Why do you wish you was in Russher?" asked the interlocutor,introducing a Massa Bones and Massa Johnsing touch into thedialogue.
"Because yer can wade over yer knees in bla-a-a-ad there," said themummy.
"In wot?"
"In bla-a-ad--ruddy bla-a-ad! That's why I wish I wos in Russher."
"Cheery cove that," said Lord Dreever. "I say, can you give us somecoffee?"
"I might try Russia instead of Japan," said Jimmy, meditatively.
The lethal liquid was brought. Conversation began again. Otherexperts gave their views on the internal affairs of Russia. Jimmywould have enjoyed it more if he had been less sleepy. His back waswedged comfortably against the wall of the shelter, and the heat ofthe room stole into his brain. The voices of the disputants grewfainter and fainter.
He had almost dozed off when a new voice cut through the murmur andwoke him. It was a voice he knew, and the accent was a familiaraccent.
"Gents! Excuse me."
He looked up. The mists of sleep shredded away. A ragged youth witha crop of fiery red hair was standing in the doorway, regarding theoccupants of the shelter with a grin, half-whimsical, half-defiant.
Jimmy recognized him. It was Spike Mullins.
"Excuse me," said Spike Mullins. "Is dere any gent in dis bunch ofprofessional beauts wants to give a poor orphan dat suffers from apainful toist something to drink? Gents is courteously requested notto speak all in a crowd."
"Shet that blanky door," said the mummy cabman, sourly.
"And 'op it," added his late opponent. "We don't want none of yoursort 'ere."
"Den you ain't my long-lost brudders after all," said the newcomer,regretfully. "I t'ought youse didn't look handsome enough for dat.Good-night to youse, gents."
"Shet that door, can't yer, when I'm telling yer!" said the mummy,with increased asperity.
Spike was reluctantly withdrawing, when Jimmy rose.
"One moment," he said.
Never in his life had Jimmy failed to stand by a friend in need.Spike was not, perhaps, exactly a friend, but even an acquaintancecould rely on Jimmy when down in the world. And Spike was manifestlyin that condition.
A look of surprise came into the Bowery Boy's face, followed by oneof stolid woodenness. He took the sovereign that Jimmy held out tohim with a muttered word of thanks, and shuffled out of the room.
"Can't see what you wanted to give him anything for," said LordDreever. "Chap'll only spend it getting soused."
"Oh, he reminded me of a man I used to know."
"Did he? Barnum's what-is-it, I should think," said his lordship."Shall we be moving?"
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