Books: The Intrusion of Jimmy
P >>
P. G. Wodehouse >> The Intrusion of Jimmy
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15 |
16
"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
everything."
"Pitt, old boy," protested his lordship, "you don't understand. We
aren't going to give you away. We're all--"
Jimmy ignored him.
"Molly, listen," he said.
She sat up.
"Go on, Jimmy," she said.
"I wasn't stealing the necklace. I was putting it back. The man who
came to the castle with me, Spike Mullins, took it this afternoon,
and brought it to me."
Spike Mullins! Molly remembered the name.
"He thinks I am a crook, a sort of Raffles. It was my fault. I was a
fool. It all began that night in New York, when we met at your
house. I had been to the opening performance of a play called,
'Love, the Cracksman,' one of those burglar plays."
"Jolly good show," interpolated his lordship, chattily. "It was at
the Circle over here. I went twice."
"A friend of mine, a man named Mifflin, had been playing the hero in
it, and after the show, at the club, he started in talking about the
art of burglary--he'd been studying it--and I said that anybody
could burgle a house. And, in another minute, it somehow happened
that I had made a bet that I would do it that night. Heaven knows
whether I ever really meant to; but, that same night, this man
Mullins broke into my flat, and I caught him. We got into
conversation, and I worked off on him a lot of technical stuff I'd
heard from this actor friend of mine, and he jumped to the
conclusion that I was an expert. And, then, it suddenly occurred to
me that it would be a good joke on Mifflin if I went out with
Mullins, and did break into a house. I wasn't in the mood to think
what a fool I was at the time. Well, anyway, we went out, and--well,
that's how it all happened. And, then, I met Spike in London, down
and out, and brought him here."
He looked at her anxiously. It did not need his lordship's owlish
expression of doubt to tell him how weak his story must sound. He
had felt it even as he was telling it. He was bound to admit that,
if ever a story rang false in every sentence, it was this one.
"Pitt, old man," said his lordship, shaking his head, more in sorrow
than in anger, "it won't do, old top. What's the point of putting up
any old yarn like that? Don't you see, what I mean is, it's not as
if we minded. Don't I keep telling you we're all pals here? I've
often thought what a jolly good feller old Raffles was. Regular
sportsman! I don't blame a chappie for doing the gentleman burglar
touch. Seems to me it's a dashed sporting--"
Molly turned on him suddenly, cutting short his views on the ethics
of gentlemanly theft in a blaze of indignation.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "Do you think I don't believe every
word Jimmy has said?"
His lordship jumped.
"Well, don't you know, it seemed to me a bit thin. What I mean is--"
He met Molly's eye. "Oh, well!" he concluded, lamely.
Molly turned to Jimmy.
"Jimmy, of course, I believe you. I believe every word."
"Molly!"
His lordship looked on, marveling. The thought crossed his mind that
he had lost the ideal wife. A girl who would believe any old yarn a
feller cared to--If it hadn't been for Katie! For a moment, he felt
almost sad.
Jimmy and Molly were looking at each other in silence. From the
expression on their faces, his lordship gathered that his existence
had once more been forgotten. He saw her hold out her hands to
Jimmy, and it seemed to him that the time had come to look away. It
was embarrassing for a chap! He looked away.
The next moment, the door opened and closed again, and she had gone.
He looked at Jimmy. Jimmy was still apparently unconscious of his
presence.
His lordship coughed.
"Pitt, old man--"
"Hullo!" said Jimmy, coming out of his thoughts with a start. "You
still here? By the way--" he eyed Lord Dreever curiously--"I never
thought of asking before--what on earth are you doing here? Why were
you behind the curtain? Were you playing hide-and-seek?"
His lordship was not one of those who invent circumstantial stories
easily on the spur of the moment. He searched rapidly for something
that would pass muster, then abandoned the hopeless struggle. After
all, why not be frank? He still believed Jimmy to be of the class of
the hero of "Love, the Cracksman." There would be no harm in
confiding in him. He was a good fellow, a kindred soul, and would
sympathize.
"It's like this," he said. And, having prefaced his narrative with
the sound remark that he had been a bit of an ass, he gave Jimmy a
summary of recent events.
"What!" said Jimmy. "You taught Hargate picquet? Why, my dear man,
he was playing picquet like a professor when you were in short
frocks. He's a wonder at it."
His lordship started.
"How's that?" he said. "You don't know him, do you?"
"I met him in New York, at the Strollers' Club. A pal of mine, an
actor, this fellow Mifflin I mentioned just now, put him up as a
guest. He coined money at picquet. And there were some pretty
useful players in the place, too. I don't wonder you found him a
promising pupil."
"Then--then--why, dash it, then he's a bally sharper!"
"You're a genius at crisp description," said Jimmy. "You've got him
summed up to rights first shot."
"I sha'n't pay him a bally penny!"
"Of course not. If he makes any objection, refer him to me."
His lordship's relief was extreme. The more overpowering effects of
the elixir had passed away, and he saw now, what he had not seen in
his more exuberant frame of mind, the cloud of suspicion that must
have hung over him when the loss of the banknotes was discovered.
He wiped his forehead.
"By Jove!" he said. "That's something off my mind! By George, I feel
like a two-year-old. I say, you're a dashed good sort, Pitt."
"You flatter me," said Jimmy. "I strive to please."
"I say, Pitt, that yarn you told us just now--the bet, and all that.
Honestly, you don't mean to say that was true, was it? I mean--By
Jove! I've got an idea."
"We live in stirring times!"
"Did you say your actor pal's name was Mifflin?" He broke off
suddenly before Jimmy could answer. "Great Scott!" he whispered.
"What's that! Good lord! Somebody's coming!"
He dived behind the curtain, like a rabbit. The drapery had only
just ceased to shake when the door opened, and Sir Thomas Blunt
walked in.
CHAPTER XXVI
STIRRING TIMES FOR SIR THOMAS
For a man whose intentions toward the jewels and their owner were so
innocent, and even benevolent, Jimmy was in a singularly
compromising position. It would have been difficult even under more
favorable conditions to have explained to Sir Thomas's satisfaction
his presence in the dressing-room. As things stood, it was even
harder, for his lordship's last action before seeking cover had been
to fling the necklace from him like a burning coal. For the second
time in ten minutes, it had fallen to the carpet, and it was just as
Jimmy straightened himself after picking it up that Sir Thomas got a
full view of him.
The knight stood in the doorway, his face expressing the most lively
astonishment. His bulging eyes were fixed upon the necklace in
Jimmy's hand. Jimmy could see him struggling to find words to cope
with so special a situation, and felt rather sorry for him.
Excitement of this kind was bad for a short-necked man of Sir
Thomas's type.
With kindly tact, he endeavored to help his host out.
"Good-evening," he said, pleasantly.
Sir Thomas stammered. He was gradually nearing speech.
"What--what--what--" he said.
"Out with it," said Jimmy.
"--what--"
"I knew a man once in South Dakota who stammered," said Jimmy. "He
used to chew dog-biscuit while he was speaking. It cured him--
besides being nutritious. Another good way is to count ten while
you're thinking what to say, and then get it out quick."
"You--you blackguard!"
Jimmy placed the necklace carefully on the dressing-table. Then, he
turned to Sir Thomas, with his hands thrust into his pockets. Over
the knight's head, he could see the folds of the curtain quivering
gently, as if stirred by some zephyr. Evidently, the drama of the
situation was not lost on Hildebrand Spencer, twelfth Earl of
Dreever.
Nor was it lost on Jimmy. This was precisely the sort of situation
that appealed to him. He had his plan of action clearly mapped out.
He knew that it would be useless to tell the knight the true facts
of the case. Sir Thomas was as deficient in simple faith as in
Norman blood. Though a Londoner by birth, he had one, at least, of
the characteristic traits of the natives of Missouri.
To all appearances, this was a tight corner, but Jimmy fancied that
he saw his way out of it. Meanwhile, the situation appealed to him.
Curiously enough, it was almost identical with the big scene in act
three of "Love, the Cracksman," in which Arthur Mifflin had made
such a hit as the debonair burglar.
Jimmy proceeded to give his own idea of what the rendering of a
debonair burglar should be. Arthur Mifflin had lighted a cigarette,
and had shot out smoke-rings and repartee alternately. A cigarette
would have been a great help here, but Jimmy prepared to do his best
without properties.
"So--so, it's you, is it?" said Sir Thomas.
"Who told you?"
"Thief! Low thief!"
"Come, now," protested Jimmy. "Why low? Just because you don't know
me over here, why scorn me? How do you know I haven't got a big
American reputation? For all you can tell, I may be Boston Billie or
Sacramento Sam, or someone. Let us preserve the decencies of
debate."
"I had my suspicions of you. I had my suspicions from the first,
when I heard that my idiot of a nephew had made a casual friend in
London. So, this was what you were! A thief, who--"
"I don't mind, personally," interrupted Jimmy, "but I hope, if ever
you mix with cracksmen, you won't go calling them thieves. They are
frightfully sensitive. You see! There's a world of difference
between the two branches of the profession and a good deal of
snobbish caste-prejudice. Let us suppose that you were an actor-
manager. How would you enjoy being called a super? You see the idea,
don't you? You'd hurt their feelings. Now, an ordinary thief would
probably use violence in a case like this. But violence, except in
extreme cases--I hope this won't be one of them--is contrary, I
understand, to cracksman's etiquette. On the other hand, Sir Thomas,
candor compels me to add that I have you covered."
There was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. He thrust the stem
earnestly against the lining. Sir Thomas eyed the protuberance
apprehensively, and turned a little pale. Jimmy was scowling
ferociously. Arthur Mifflin's scowl in act three had been much
admired.
"My gun," said Jimmy, "is, as you see, in my pocket. I always shoot
from the pocket, in spite of the tailor's bills. The little fellow
is loaded and cocked. He's pointing straight at your diamond
solitaire. That fatal spot! No one has ever been hit in the diamond
solitaire, and survived. My finger is on the trigger. So, I should
recommend you not to touch that bell you are looking at. There are
other reasons why you shouldn't, but those I will go into
presently."
Sir Thomas's hand wavered.
"Do if you like, of course," said Jimmy, agreeably. "It's your own
house. But I shouldn't. I am a dead shot at a yard and a half. You
wouldn't believe the number of sitting haystacks I've picked off at
that distance. I just can't miss. On second thoughts, I sha'n't fire
to kill you. Let us be humane on this joyful occasion. I shall just
smash your knees. Painful, but not fatal."
He waggled the pipe suggestively. Sir Thomas blenched. His hand fell
to his side.
"Great!" said Jimmy. "After all, why should you be in a hurry to
break up this very pleasant little meeting. I'm sure I'm not. Let us
chat. How are the theatricals going? Was the duologue a success?
Wait till you see our show. Three of us knew our lines at the dress-
rehearsal."
Sir Thomas had backed away from the bell, but the retreat was merely
for the convenience of the moment. He understood that it might be
injudicious to press the button just then; but he had recovered his
composure by this time, and he saw that ultimately the game must be
his. His face resumed its normal hue. Automatically, his hands began
to move toward his coat-tails, his feet to spread themselves. Jimmy
noted with a smile these signs of restored complacency. He hoped ere
long to upset that complacency somewhat.
Sir Thomas addressed himself to making Jimmy's position clear to
him.
"How, may I ask," he said, "do you propose to leave the castle?"
"Won't you let me have the automobile?" said Jimmy. "But I guess I
sha'n't be leaving just yet."
Sir Thomas laughed shortly.
"No," he said--"no! I fancy not. I am with you there!"
"Great minds," said Jimmy. "I shouldn't be surprised if we thought
alike on all sorts of subjects. Just think how you came round to my
views on ringing bells. But what made you fancy that I intended to
leave the castle?"
"I should hardly have supposed that you would be anxious to stay."
"On the contrary! It's the one place I have been in, in the last two
years, that I have felt really satisfied with. Usually, I want to
move on after a week. But I could stop here forever."
"I am afraid, Mr. Pitt--By the way, an alias, of course?"
Jimmy shook his head.
"I fear not," he said. "If I had chosen an alias, it would have been
Tressilyan, or Trevelyan, or something. I call Pitt a poor thing in
names. I once knew a man called Ronald Cheylesmore. Lucky devil!"
Sir Thomas returned to the point on which he had been about to
touch.
"I am afraid, Mr. Pitt," he said, "that you hardly realize your
position."
"No?" said Jimmy, interested.
"I find you in the act of stealing my wife's necklace--"
"Would there be any use in telling you that I was not stealing it,
but putting it back?"
Sir Thomas raised his eyebrows in silence.
"No?" said Jimmy. "I was afraid not. You were saying--?"
"I find you in the act of stealing my wife's necklace," proceeded
Sir Thomas, "and, because for the moment you succeed in postponing
arrest by threatening me with a revolver--"
An agitated look came into Jimmy's face.
"Great Scott!" he cried. He felt hastily in his pocket.
"Yes," he said; "as I had begun to fear. I owe you an apology, Sir
Thomas," he went on with manly dignity, producing the briar, "I am
entirely to blame. How the mistake arose I cannot imagine, but I
find it isn't a revolver after all."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15 |
16