With a wonderful feeling of light-heartedness, Jimmy turned once more to the jewel box. He picked up the lamp and switched off the electric light. He had dropped the necklace to the floor, and had knelt to recover it when the opening of the door, followed by a blaze of light and a startled exclamation, brought him to his feet with a bound, blinking but alert.
In the doorway stood Sir Thomas Blunt. His face expressed the most lively astonishment. His bulging eyes were fixed upon the pearls in Jimmy's hand.
"Good evening," said Jimmy pleasantly.
Sir Thomas stammered. It is a disquieting experience to find the floor of one's dressing room occupied by a burglar.
"What—what—what—" said Sir Thomas.
"Out with it," said Jimmy.
"What——"
"I knew a man once who stammered," said Jimmy. "He used to chew dog biscuit while he was speaking. It cured him. Besides being nutritious."
"You—you blackguard!" said Sir Thomas.
Jimmy placed the pearls carefully on the dressing table. Then he turned to Sir Thomas, with his hands in the pockets of his coat. It was a tight corner, but he had been in tighter in his time, and in this instance he fancied that he held a winning card. He found himself enjoying the interview.
"So—so it's you, is it?" said Sir Thomas.
"Who told you?"
"So you're a thief," went on the baronet viciously, "a low thief."
"Dash it all—I say, come now," protested Jimmy. "Not low. You may not know me, over here, but I've got a big American reputation. Ask anybody. But——
"And, I say," added Jimmy, "I know you don't mean to be offensive, but I wish you wouldn't call me a thief. I'm a cracksman. There's a world of difference between the two branches of the profession. I mean, well, suppose you were an actor-manager, you wouldn't like to be called a super, would you? I mean—well, you see don't you? An ordinary thief, for instance, would use violence in a case like this. Violence—except in extreme cases; I hope this won't be one of them—is contrary to cracksmen's etiquette. On the other hand, Sir Thomas, I should like to say that I have you covered."
There was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. He thrust the stem of this earnestly against the lining. Sir Thomas eyed the protuberance apprehensively, and turned a little pale.
"My gun, as you see, is in my pocket. It is loaded and cocked. It is pointing straight at you at the present moment, and my finger is on the trigger. I may add that I am a dead shot at a yard and a half. So I should recommend younotto touch that bell you are looking at."
Sir Thomas' hand wavered.
"Do, if you like, of course," said Jimmy agreeably. "In any case, I shan't fire to kill you. I shall just smash your knees. Beastly painful, but not fatal."
He waggled the pipe suggestively. Sir Thomas blanched. His hand fell to his side.
"How are the theatricals going?" asked Jimmy. "Did you like the monologue?"
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 inconvenient to press the button just then; but he had recovered his composure by this time, and he saw that the game must be his. Jimmy was trapped, and he hastened to make this clear to him.
"How, may I ask," he said, "do you propose to leave the abbey?"
"I suppose they'll let me have the automobile," said Jimmy. "They can hardly ask me to walk. But I wasn't thinking of leaving just yet."
"You mean to stop!"
"Why not? It's a pretty place."
"And what steps, if I may ask, do you imagine I shall take?"
"Waltz steps. They're going to have a dance after the show, you know.You ought to be in that."
"You wish me, in fact, to become a silent accomplice? To refrain from mentioning this little matter?"
"You put things so well."
"And do you propose to keep my wife's jewels, or may I have them?"
"Oh, you may have those," said Jimmy.
"Thank you."
"I never touch paste."
Sir Thomas failed to see the significance of this remark. Jimmy repeated it, with emphasis.
"I never touch paste," he said, "and Lady Blunt's necklace is, I regret to say, made of that material."
Sir Thomas grew purple.
"Mind you," said Jimmy, "it's very good paste. I'll say that for it. I didn't see through it till I had it in my hands. Looking at the thing—even quite close—I was taken in for a moment."
The baronet made strange, gurgling noises.
"Paste!" he said, speaking with difficulty. "Paste! Paste! Damn your impertinence, sir! Are you aware that that necklace cost forty thousand pounds?"
"Then whoever paid that sum for it wasted a great deal of money. Paste it is, and paste it always will be."
"It can't be paste. How do you know?"
"How do I know? I'm an expert. Ask a jeweler how he knows diamonds from paste. He can feel them. He can almost smell them."
"Let me look. It's impossible."
"Certainly. I don't know the extent of your knowledge of pearls. If it is even moderate, I think you will admit that I am right."
Sir Thomas snatched the necklace from the table and darted with it to the electric light. He scrutinized it, breathing heavily. Jimmy's prophecy was fulfilled. The baronet burst into a vehement flood of oaths, and hurled the glittering mass across the room. The unemotional mask of the man seemed to have been torn off him. He shook with futile passion.
Jimmy watched him in interested silence.
Sir Thomas ran to the jewels, and would have crushed them beneath his feet, had not Jimmy sprang forward and jerked him away from them.
"Be quiet," he said. "Confound you, sir, will you stop that noise?"
Sir Thomas, unaccustomed to this style of address, checked the flood for a moment.
"Now," said Jimmy, "you see the situation. At present, you and I are the only persons alive, to the best of our knowledge, who know about this. Stay, though, there must be one other. The real necklace must have been stolen. It is impossible to say when. Years ago, perhaps. Well, that doesn't affect us. The thief, whoever he is, is not likely to reveal what he knows. So here you have it in a nutshell. Let me go, and don't say a word about having found me here, and I will do the same for you. No one will know that the necklace is not genuine. I shall not mention the subject, and I imagine that you will not. Very well, then. Now, for the alternative. Give me up, give the alarm, and I get—well, whatever they give me. I don't know what it would be, exactly. Something unpleasant. But what do you get out of it? Lady Blunt, if I may say so, is not precisely the sort of lady, I should think, who would bear a loss like this calmly. If I know her, she will shout loudly for another necklace, and see that she gets it. I should fancy you would find the expense unpleasantly heavy. That is only one disadvantage of the alternative. Others will suggest themselves to you. Which is it to be?"
Sir Thomas suspended his operation of glaring at the paste necklace to glare at Jimmy.
"Well?" said Jimmy. "I should like your decision as soon as it's convenient to you. They will be wanting me on the stage in a few minutes. Which is it to be?"
"Which?" snapped Sir Thomas. "Why, go away, and go to the devil!"
"All in good time," said Jimmy cheerfully. "I think you have chosen wisely. Coming downstairs?"
Sir Thomas made no response. He was regarding the necklace moodily.
"You'd better come. You'll enjoy the show. Charteris says it's the best piece there's been since 'The Magistrate'! And he ought to know. He wrote it. Well, good-by, then. See you downstairs later, I suppose?"
For some time after he had gone Sir Thomas stood, motionless. Then he went across the room and picked up the necklace. It occurred to him that if Lady Blunt found it lying in a corner, there would be questions. And questions from Lady Blunt ranked among the keenest of his trials.
* * * * *
"If I had gone into the army," said Jimmy complacently to himself, as he went downstairs, "I should have been a great general. Instead of which I go about the country, scoring off dyspeptic baronets. Well, well!"
The evening's entertainment was over. The last of the nobility and gentry had departed, and Mr. McEachern had retired to his lair to smoke—in his shirt sleeves—the last and best cigar of the day, when his solitude was invaded by his old New York friend, Mr. Samuel Galer.
"I've done a fair cop, sir," said Mr. Galer, without preamble, quivering with self-congratulation.
"How's that?" said the master of the house.
"A fair cop, sir. Caught him in the very blooming act, sir. Dark it was. Oo, pitch. Fair pitch. Like this, sir. Room opposite where the jewels was. One of the gents' bedrooms. Me hiding in there. Door on the jar. Waited a goodish bit. Footsteps. Hullo, they've stopped! Opened door a trifle and looked out. Couldn't see much. Just made out man's figure. Door of dressing room was open. Showed up against opening. Just see him. Caught you at it, my beauty, have I? says I to myself. Out I jumped. Got hold of him. Being a bit to the good in strength, and knowing something about the game, downed him after a while and got the darbies on him. Took him off and locked him in the cellar. That's how itwas, sir."
"Good boy," said Mr. McEachern approvingly. "You're no rube."
"No, sir."
"Put one of these cigars into your face."
"Thank you, sir. Very enjoyable thing, a cigar, sir. 'Specially a good un. I have a light, I thank you, sir."
"Well, and who was he?"
"Not the man you told me to watch, for. 'Nother chap altogether."
"That red-headed——"
"No, sir. Dark-haired chap. Seen him hanging about, suspicious, for a long time. Had my eye on him."
Mr. Galer chuckled reminiscently.
"Rummest card, sir,Iever lagged in my natural," he said.
"How's that? inquired Mr. McEachern amiably.
"Why," grinned Mr. Galer, "you'll hardly believe it, sir, but he had the impudence, the gall, if I may use the word, the sauce to tell me he was in my own line of business. A detective, sir! Said he was going into the room to keep guard. I said to him at the time, I said, it's too thin, cocky. That's to say——"
Mr. McEachern started.
"A detective!"
"A detective, sir," said Mr. Galer, with a chuckle. "I said to him at the time——"
"The valet!" cried Mr. McEachern.
"That's it, sir. Sir Thomas Blunt's valet, he was. That's how he got into the house, sir."
Mr. McEachern grunted despairingly.
"The man was right. He is a detective. Sir Thomas brought him down from London. He niver travels without him. Ye've done it. Ye've arristed wan of the bhoys."
Mr. Galer's jaw dropped slightly.
"He was? He really was——"
"Ye'd better go straight to where it was ye locked him up, and let him loose. And I'd suggest ye hand him an apology. G'wan, mister. Lively as you can step."
"I never thought——"
"That's the trouble with you fly cops," said his employer caustically."Ye niver do think."
"It never occurred to me——"
"G'wan!" said the master of the house. "Up an alley!"
Mr. Galer departed.
"And I asked them," said Mr. McEachern, "I asked them particularly not to send me a rube!"
He lit another cigar, and began to brood over the folly of mankind.
He was in a very pessimistic frame of mind when Jimmy curveted into the room, with his head in the clouds and his feet on air.
"Can you spare me a few minutes, Mr. McEachern?" said Jimmy.
The policeman stared heavily.
"I can," he said slowly. "What is ut?"
"Several things," said Jimmy, sitting down. "I'll take them in order.I'll start with our bright friend, Galer."
"Galer!"
"Of New York, according to you. Personally, I should think that he's seen about as much of New York as I have of Timbuctoo. Look here, McEachern, we've known each other some time, and I ask you, as man to man, do you think it playing the game to set a farmer like poor old Galer to watch me? I put it to you?"
The policeman stammered. The question chimed in so exactly with the opinion he had just formed, on his own account, of the human bloodhound who was now in the cellar making the peace with his injured fellow worker.
"Hits you where you live, that, doesn't it?" said Jimmy. "I wonder you didn't have more self-respect, let alone consideration for my feelings. I'm surprised at you."
"Ye're——"
"In fact, if you weren't going to be my father-in-law, I doubt if I could bring myself to forgive you. As it is, I overlook it."
The policeman's face turned purple.
"Only," said Jimmy, with quiet severity, taking a cigar from the box and snipping off the end, "don't let it occur again."
He lit the cigar. Mr. McEachern continued to stare fixedly at him. So might the colonel of a regiment have looked at the latest-joined subaltern, if the latter, during mess, had offered to teach him how to conduct himself on parade.
"I'm going to marry your daughter," said Jimmy.
"You are going to marry me daughter!" echoed Mr. McEachern, as one in a trance.
"I am going to marry your daughter."
The purple deepened on Mr. McEachern's face.
"More," said Jimmy, blowing a smoke ring. "Sheis going to marry me. We are going to marry each other," he explained.
McEachern's glare became frightful. He struggled for speech.
"I must congratulate you," said Jimmy, "on the way things went off tonight. It was a thorough success. Everybody was saying so. You're the most popular man in the county. What would they say of you at Jefferson Market, if they knew? By the way, do you correspond with any of the old set? Splendid fellows, they were. I wish we had some of them here tonight."
Mr. McEachern's emotions found relief in words. He rose, and waved a huge fist in Jimmy's face. His great body was shaking with rage.
"You!" shouted the policeman. "You!"
The fist was within an inch of Jimmy's chin.
Outwardly calm, inwardly very much alive to the fact that at any moment the primitive man in him might lead his prospective father-in-law beyond the confines of self-restraint, Jimmy sat still in his chair, his eyes fixed steadily on those of his relative-to-be. It was an uncomfortable moment. Mr. McEachern, if he made an assault, might regret it subsequently. But he would not be the first to do so. The man who did that would be a certain James Pitt. If it came to blows, the younger man could not hope to hold his own with the huge policeman.
"You!" roared McEachern. Jimmy fancied he could feel the wind of moving fist. "You marry me daughter! A New York crook. The sweepings of the Bowery. A man who ought to be in jail. I'd like to break your face in."
"I noticed that," said Jimmy. "If it's all the same to you, will you take your fist out of my mouth? It makes it a little difficult to carry on a conversation. And I've several things I should like to say."
"Ye'll listen to me!"
"Certainly. You were saying?"
"Ye come here. Ye worm yourself into my house, crawl into it——"
"I came by invitation, and in passing, not on all fours. Mr.McEachern, may I ask one question?"
"What is ut?"
"If you didn't want me, why did you let me stop here?"
The policeman stopped as if he had received a blow. There came flooding back into his mind the recollection of his position. In his wrath, he had forgotten that Jimmy knew his secret. And he looked on Jimmy as a man who would use his knowledge.
He sat down heavily.
Jimmy went on smoking in silence for a while. He saw what was passing in his adversary's mind, and it seemed to him that it would do no harm to let the thing sink in.
"Look here, Mr. McEachern," he said, at last, "I wish you could listen quietly to me for a minute or two. There's really no reason on earth why we should always be at one another's throats in this way. We might just a well be friends, as we should be if we met now for the first time. Our difficulty is that we know too much about each other. You knew me in New York, and you know what I did there. Naturally, you don't like the idea of my marrying your daughter. You can't believe that I'm not simply an ordinary yegg, like the rest of the crooks you used to know. I promise you, I'm not. Can't you see that it doesn't matter what a man has been? It's what he is and what he means to be that counts. Mr. Patrick McEachern, of Corven Abbey, isn't the same as Constable McEachern, of the New York police. Well, then, I have nothing to do with the man I was when you knew me first. I have disowned him. He's a back number. I am an ordinary English gentleman now. My uncle has left me more than well off. I am a baronet. And is it likely that a baronet—withmoney, mind you—is going to carry on the yegg business as a side line? Be reasonable. There's really no possible objection to me now. Let's shake, and call the fight off. Does that go?"
The policeman was plainly not unmoved by these arguments. He drummed his fingers on the table, and stared thoughtfully at Jimmy.
"Is Molly—" he said, at length, "does Molly——"
"Yes," said Jimmy. "And I can promise you I love her. Come along, now.Why wait?"
McEachern looked doubtfully at Jimmy's outstretched hand. He moved his own an inch from the table, then let it fall again.
"Come on," said Jimmy. "Do it now. Be a sport."
And with a great grunt, which might have meant anything, from resignation to cordiality, Mr. McEachern capitulated.
The American liner,St. Louis, lay in the Empress Dock, at Southampton, taking aboard her passengers. All sorts and conditions of men flowed in an unceasing stream up the gangway.
Leaning over the second-class railing, Jimmy Pitt and Spike Mullins watched them thoughtfully.
Jimmy looked up at the Blue Peter that fluttered from the foremast, and then at Spike. The Bowery boy's face was stolid and expressionless. He was smoking a short wooden pipe, with an air of detachment.
"Well, Spike," said Jimmy. "Your schooner's on the tide now, isn't it? Your vessel's at the quay. You've got some queer-looking fellow travellers. Don't miss the two Cinghalese sports, and the man in the turban and the baggy breeches. I wonder if they're air-tight. Useful if he fell overboard."
"Sure," said Spike, directing a contemplative eye toward the garment in question. "He knows his business."
"I wonder what those men on the deck are writing. They've been scribbling away ever since we came here. Probably society journalists. We shall see in next week'sSphere: 'Among the second-class passengers we noticed Mr. "Spike" Mullins, looking as cheery as ever.' It's a pity you're so set on going, Spike. Why not change your mind, and stop?"
For a moment, Spike looked wistful. Then his countenance resumed itswoodenness. "Dere ain't no use for me dis side, Mr. Chames," he said."New York's de spot. Youse don't want none of me, now you're married.How's Miss Molly, Mr. Chames?"
"Splendid, Spike; thanks. We're going over to France by to-night's boat."
"It's been a queer business," said Jimmy, after a pause. "A deuced rum business. Well, I've come very well out of it, at any rate. It seems to me that you're the only one of us who doesn't end happily, Spike. I'm married. McEachern's butted into society so deep that it would take an excavating party with dynamite to get him out of it. Molly. Well, Molly's made a bad bargain, but I hope she won't regret it. We're all going some, except you. You're going out on the old trail again—which begins in Third Avenue and ends in Sing Sing. Why tear yourself away, Spike?"
Spike concentrated his gaze on a weedy young emigrant in a blue jersey, who was having his eye examined by the overworked doctor, and seemed to be resenting it.
"Dere's nuttin' doin' dis side, Mr. Chames," he said, at length. "I want to get busy."
"Ulysses Mullins!" said Jimmy, looking at him curiously. "I know the feeling. There's only one cure, and I don't suppose you'll ever take it. You don't think a lot of women, do you? You're the rugged bachelor."
"Goils——" began Spike comprehensively, and abandoned the topic without dilating on it further.
Jimmy lit his pipe, and threw the match overboard. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the water sparkled.
"Dose were great jools, Mr. Chames," said Spike thoughtfully.
"I believe you're still brooding over them, Spike."
"We could have got away wit' dem, if you'd have stood for it. Dead easy."
"Youarebrooding over them. Spike, I'll tell you something which will console you a little before you start out on your wanderings. That necklace was paste."
"What's dat?"
"Nothing but paste. They weren't worth thirty dollars."
A light of understanding came into Spike's eyes. His face beamed with the smile of one to whom dark matters are made clear.
"Sodat'swhy you wouldn't stand for gettin' away wit' dem!" he exclaimed.
* * * * *
The last voyager had embarked. The deck was full to congestion.
"They'll be sending us ashore in a minute," said Jimmy. "I'd better be moving. Let me know how you're making out, Spike, from time to time. You know the address. And, I say. It's just possible you may find you want a dollar or two, every now and then. When you're going to buy another automobile, for instance. Well, you know where to write for it, don't you?"
"T'anks, Mr. Chames. But dat'll be all right. I'm going to sit in at another game dis time. Politics, Mr. Chames. A fr'en' of a mug what I knows has got a pull. Me brother Dan is analdermanwit' a grip on de 'Levent' Ward," he went on softly. "He'll find me a job!"
"You'll be a boss before you know where you are."
"Sure!" said Spike, grinning modestly.
"You ought to be a thundering success in American politics," saidJimmy. "You've got all the necessary qualities."
A steward passed.
"Any more for the shore?"
"Which shore?" asked Jimmy. "Well, Spike——"
"Good-by, Mr. Chames."
"Good-by," said Jimmy. "And good luck!"
* * * * *
Two tugs attached themselves excitedly to the liner's side. The great ship began to move slowly from the shore. Jimmy stood at the water side, and watched her. The rails were lined with gesticulating figures. In the front row, Spike waved his hat with silent vigor.
The sun had gone behind the clouds. As the ship slid out on its way, a stray beam pierced the grayness.
It shone on a red head.