CHAPTER VIII.
"It's a conspiracy!" thundered Mr. McEachern.
He stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. It has been shown that theex-policeman was somewhat prone to harbor suspicions of those roundabout him, and at the present moment his mind was aflame. Indeed, amore trusting man might have been excused for feeling a littledoubtful as to the intentions of Jimmy and Spike. When McEachern hadheard that his stepson had brought home a casual London acquaintance,he had suspected the existence of hidden motives on the part of theunknown. Spennie, he had told himself, was precisely the sort of youthto whom the professional bunko-steerer would attach himself withshouts of joy. Never, he had assured himself, had there been a softerproposition than his stepson since bunko-steering became a profession.
When he found that the strange visitor was Jimmy Pitt, his suspicionshad increased a thousandfold.
And when, going to his dressing room to get ready for dinner, he hadnearly run into Spike Mullins, Red Spike of shameful memory, his frameof mind had been that of a man to whom a sudden ray of light revealsthe fact that he is on the very brink of a black precipice. Jimmy andSpike had been a firm in New York. And here they were, together again,in his house in Shropshire. To say that the thing struck McEachern assinister is to put the matter baldly. There was once a gentleman whoremarked that he smelt a rat and saw it floating in the air.Ex-constable McEachern smelt a regiment of rats, and the air seemed tohim positively congested with them.
His first impulse had been to rush to Jimmy's room there and then; butLady Jane had trained him well. Though the heavens might fall, he mustnot be late for dinner. So he went and dressed, and an obstinate tieput the finishing touches to his wrath.
Jimmy regarded him coolly, without moving from the chair in which hehad seated himself. Spike, on the other hand, seemed embarrassed. Hestood first on one leg and then on the other, as if he were testingthe respective merits of each, and would make a definite choice lateron.
"Ye scoundrels!" growled McEachern.
Spike, who had been standing for a few moments on his right leg, andseemed at last to have come to a decision, hastily changed to theleft, and grinned feebly.
"Say, youse won't want me any more, Mr. Chames?" he whispered.
"No; you can go, Spike."
"Ye stay where y'are, ye red-headed limb."
"Run along, Spike!" said Jimmy.
The Bowery boy looked doubtfully at the huge form of the ex-policeman,which blocked access to the door.
"Would you mind letting my man pass?" said Jimmy.
"Ye stay----" began McEachern.
Jimmy got up, and walked round him to the door, which he opened. Spikeshot out like a rabbit released from a trap. He was not lacking incourage, but he disliked embarrassing interviews, and it struck himthat Mr. Chames was the man to handle a situation of this kind. Hefelt that he himself would only be in the way.
"Now we can talk comfortably," said Jimmy, going back to his chair.
McEachern's deep-set eyes gleamed, and his forehead grew red; but hemastered his feelings.
"An' now," said he, "perhaps ye'll explain!"
"What exactly?" asked Jimmy.
"What ye're doin' here."
"Nothing at the moment."
"Ye know what I mane. Why are ye here, you and that red-headed devil?"
He jerked his head in the direction of the door.
"I am here because I was very kindly invited to come by your stepson."
"I know ye."
"You have that privilege."
"I know ye, I say, and I want to know what ye're here to do."
"To do? Well, I shall potter about the garden, don't you know, andsmell the roses, and look at the horses, and feed the chickens, andperhaps go for an occasional row on the lake. Nothing more. Oh, yes, Ibelieve they want me to act in these theatricals."
"An' I'll tell ye another thing ye'll be wanted to do, and that is togo away from here at wance!"
"My dear old sir!"
"Ye hear me? At wance."
"Couldn't think of it," said Jimmy decidedly. "Not for a moment."
"I'll expose ye," stormed McEachern. "I'll expose ye. Will ye denythat ye was a crook in New York?"
"What proofs have you?"
"Proofs! Will you deny it?"
"No. It's quite true."
"I knew it."
"But I'm a reformed character, now, Mr. McEachern. I have money of myown. It was left me. I hear you had money left you, too."
"I did," said McEachern shortly.
"Congratulate you. I'm glad I know, because otherwise I might haveformed quite a wrong impression when I came here and found you withmoney to burn. Quite the old English squire now, Mr. McEachern, what?"
"Ye'll lave the house to-morrow."
"All the more reason why we should make the most of this opportunityof talking over old times. Did you mind leaving the force?"
"And ye'll take that blackguard Mullins wid ye."
"Judging from the stories one hears, it must be a jolly sort of life.What a pity so many of them go in for graft. I could tell you somestories about a policeman I used to know in New York. He was thechampion grafter. I remember hearing one yarn from a newspaper man outthere. This reporter chap happened to hear of the grumblings of sometenants of an apartment house uptown which led them to believe thatcertain noises they complained of were made by burglars who used theflat as a place to pack up the loot for shipment to other cities. Youknow that habit of ours, don't you? He was quite right, and when hetipped off his newspaper they reported the thing to the police. Now, Icould have gone right up and made those men show up their hands bymerely asking them to.
"Not so the police. I wonder if you remember the case. You look as ifyou were beginning to. The police went blundering at wrong doors, andmost of the gang got away. And while they were in the house after theraid a woman was able to slip in and take away on an express wagon thethree trunks which were to have been held for evidence. And that's notall, either. There was one particular policeman who held the case forthe prosecution in his hands. If he had played up in court next day,the one man that had been captured would have got all that was comingto him. What happened? Why, his evidence broke down, and the man wasdischarged. It's a long story. I hope it hasn't bored you."
McEachern did not look bored. He was mopping his forehead, andbreathing quickly.
"It was a most interesting case," said Jimmy. "I've got all thenames."
"It's a lie!"
"Not at all. True as anything. Ever heard of that policeman--I've gothis name, too--who made a lot of money by getting appointments in theforce for men of his acquaintance? He used to be paid heavily for it,and you'd hardly believe what a lot of scoundrels he let in in thatway."
"See here----" began McEachern huskily.
"I wonder if you ever came across any men in the force who madeanything by that dodge of arresting a person and then getting a lawyerfor them. Ever heard of that? It's rather like a double ruff atbridge. You--I'm awfully sorry. I shouldn't have used that word. WhatI meant to say was the policeman makes his arrest, then suggests thatthe person had better have a bondsman. He gathers in a bondsman, whocharges the prisoner four dollars for bailing him out. Two dollars ofthis goes to the sergeant, who accepts the bail without question, andthe policeman takes one. Then the able and intelligent officer says tothe prisoner: 'What you want is a lawyer.' 'Right,' says the prisoner,'if you think so.' Off goes the policeman and gets the lawyer. Fivemore dollars, of which he gets his share. It's a beautiful system. Itmight interest the people at dinner to-night to hear about it. I thinkI'll tell them."
"You'll----"
"And when you come to think that some policemen in New York taketribute from peddlers who obstruct the traffic, tradesmen who obstructthe sidewalk, restaurant keepers who keep open after one o'clock inthe morning, drivers who exceed speed limits, and keepers of poolrooms, you'll understand that there's a good bit to be made out ofgraft, if you go in for it seriously.
It's uncommonly lucky,McEachern, that you were left that money. Otherwise you might havebeen tempted, mightn't you?"
There was a somewhat breathless silence in the room. Mr. McEachern waspanting slightly.
"You couldn't reconsider your decision about sending me awayto-morrow, I suppose?" said Jimmy, flicking at his shoes with ahandkerchief. "It's a lovely part of the country, this. I would besorry to leave it."
Mr. McEachern's brain was working with unwonted rapidity. This manmust be silenced at all costs. It would be fatal to his prospects inEnglish society if one tithe of these gruesome stories were madepublic. And he believed Jimmy capable of making them public, beingguilty thereby of an error of judgment. Jimmy, though he had norespect at all for Mr. McEachern, would have died sooner than spreadany story which, even in an indirect way, could reflect upon Molly.Mr. McEachern, however, had not the advantage of knowing hisantagonist's feelings, and the bluff was successful.
"Ye can stay," he said.
"Thanks," said Jimmy.
"And I'll beg ye not to mention the force at dinner or at any othertime."
"I won't dream of it."
"They think I made me money on Wall Street."
"It would have been a slower job there. You were wise in your choice.Shall we go down to the drawing-room, now?"
"Ye say y'are rich yerself," said McEachern.
"Very," said Jimmy, "so don't you worry yourself, my Wall Streetspeculator."
Mr. McEachern did not worry himself. He had just recollected that in avery short time he would have a trained detective on the premises. Anylooking after that James Willoughby Pitt might require might safely beleft in the hands of this expert.
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