The Gem Collector

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XVII.

  Pressed, rigid, against the wall behind her curtain, Molly hadlistened in utter bewilderment to the sounds of strife in the passageoutside. The half-heard conversation between the detectives had donenothing toward a solution of the mystery. Galer's voice she thoughtshe recognized as one that she had heard before; but she could notidentify it.

  When the detectives had passed away together down the corridor, shehad imagined that the adventure was at an end and that she was atliberty to emerge--cautiously--from her hiding place and follow themdownstairs. She had stretched out a hand, to draw the curtain aside,when she caught sight of the yellow ray of the lamp on the floor, andshrank back again. As she did so, she heard the sound of breathing.Somebody was still in the room.

  Her mystification deepened. She had supposed that the tale of visitorsto the dressing room was complete with the two who had striven in thepassage. Yet here was another.

  She strained her ears to catch a sound. For a while she heard nothing.Then came a voice that she knew well; and, abandoning concealment, shecame out into the room, and found Jimmy kneeling on the floor besidethe rifled jewel box.

  For a full minute they stood staring at each other, without a word.The light of the lamp hurt Molly's eyes. She put up a hand, to shadethem. The silence was oppressive. It seemed to Molly that they hadbeen standing like this for years.

  Jimmy had not moved. There was something in his attitude which filledMolly with a vague fear. In the shadow behind the lamp, he lookedshapeless and inhuman.

  "What are you doing here?" he said at last, in a harsh, unnaturalvoice.

  "I----"

  She stopped.

  "You're hurting my eyes," she said.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't think. Is that better?"

  He turned the light from her face. Something in his voice and theapologetic haste with which he moved the lamp seemed to relax thestrain of the situation. The feeling of stunned surprise began toleave 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 lamp? What had he been doing? The questions shot from herbrain like sparks from an anvil.

  The darkness began to tear at her nerves. She felt along the wall forthe switch, and flooded the room with light.

  Jimmy laid down the lantern, and stood for a moment, undecided. Helooked at Molly, and suddenly there came over him an overwhelmingdesire to tell her everything. He had tried to stifle his conscience,to assure himself that the old days were over, and that there was noneed to refer to them. And for a while he had imposed upon himself.But lately the falseness of his position had come home to him. Hecould not allow her to marry him, in ignorance of what he had been. Itwould be a villainous thing to do. Often he had tried to tell her, buthad failed. He saw that it must be done, here and now.

  He lifted the lid of the jewel box, and dangled the necklace beforeher eyes.

  She drew back.

  "Jimmy! You were--stealing them?"

  "No, I was putting them back."

  "Putting them back?"

  "Listen. I'm going to tell you the truth, Molly--I've been trying tofor days, but I never had the pluck. I wasn't stealing this necklace,but for seven years I lived by this sort of thing."

  "By----"

  "By stealing. By breaking into houses and stealing. There. It isn'tnice, is it? But it's the truth. And whatever happens, I'm glad youknow."

  "Stealing!" said Molly slowly. "You!"

  He took a step forward, and laid his hand on her arm. She shrank awayfrom him. His hand fell to his side like lead.

  "Molly, do you hate me?"

  "How could you?" she whispered. "How could you?"

  "Molly, I want to tell you a story. Are you listening? It's the storyof a weak devil who was put up to fight the world, and wasn't strongenough for it. He got a bad start, and he never made it up. They senthim to school, the best school in the country; and he got expelled.Then they gave him a hundred pounds, and told him to make out forhimself. He was seventeen, then. Seventeen, mind you. And all he knewwas a little Latin and Greek, a very little, and nothing else. Andthey sent him out to make his fortune."

  He stopped.

  "It will be much simpler to tell it in the first person," he said,with a short laugh. "I arrived in New York--I was seventeen, you willremember--with ninety pounds in my pocket. It seemed illimitablewealth at the time. Two pounds was the most I had ever possessedbefore. I could not imagine its ever coming to an end. In dollars itseemed an inconceivable amount of money. I put up at the Waldorf. Iremember, I took a cab there. I gave the man three dollars."

  He laughed again.

  "You can guess how long my ninety pounds lasted. Within a month I hadbegun to realize that my purse was shallower than I had thought. Itoccurred to me that work of some sort would be an advantage. I wentround and tried to get some. My God! Remember, I was seventeen, andabsolutely ignorant of every useful trade under the sun."

  "Go on."

  "One day I was lunching at the Quentin, when a man came and sat downat the same table, and we got into conversation. I had spent themorning answering want advertisements, and I was going to break mylast twenty-dollar bill to pay for my lunch. I was in the frame ofmind when I would have done anything, good or bad, that would havegiven me some money. The man was very friendly. After lunch, he tookme off to his rooms. He had a couple of parlor rooms in Forty-fifthStreet. Then he showed his hand. He was a pretty scoundrel, but Ididn't care. I didn't care for anything, except that there seemed tobe money to be had from him. Honesty! Put a man in New York withnineteen dollars and a few cents in his pockets, and no friends, andsee what happens! It's a hell for the poor, in New York. An iron,grinding city. It frightens you. It's so big and hard and cruel. Ittakes the fight out of you. I've felt it, and I know."

  He stopped, and gave a little shiver. Nine years had passed since thatday, but a man who has all but gone under in a big city does notreadily forget the nightmare horror of it.

  "Stone--that was the man's name--was running a tapless wire-tappinggame. You've read about the trick, I expect. Every one has known aboutit since Larry Summerfield was sent to Sing Sing. But it was new then.There are lots of ways of doing it. Stone's was to hire a room and fixit up to look like a branch of the Western Union Telegraph Company. Hewould bring men in there and introduce them to a man he called themanager of the branch, who was supposed to get racing results tenminutes before they were sent out to the pool rooms. The victim wouldput up the money for a bet, and Stone and his friends got it at once.Stone was looking for an assistant. He wanted a man who looked like agentleman. To inspire confidence! I looked older than I was, and hetook me on. It was a filthy business, but I was in a panic. I was withStone eight months. Then I left him. It was too unsavory--even for me.

  "It was after that that I became a cracksman. I wanted money. It wasno use hoping for work. I couldn't get it, and I couldn't have done itif I had got it. I was a pirate, and fit for nothing except piracy.One night I met a man in a Broadway rathskeller. I knew him by sight.I had seen him about at places. 'You're with Stone, aren't you?' hesaid, after we had talked about racing and other things for a while. Istared at him in surprise. I was frightened, too. 'It's all right', hesaid, 'I know all about Stone. You needn't be afraid of me. Aren't youwith him?' 'I was', I said. 'You left him? Why?' I told him. 'You seema bright kid', he said. 'Join me if you feel like it.' He was acracksman. I never found out his real name. He was always called Bob.A curious man. He had been at Harvard, and spoke half a dozenlanguages. I think he took to burglary from sheer craving forexcitement. He used to speak of it as if it were an art. I joined him,and he taught me all he knew. When he died--he was run over by acar--I went on with the thing. Then my uncle died, and I came back toEngland, rich.

  "When I left the lawyer's office, I made up my mind that I would drawa line across my life. I swore I would never crack another crib. Andwhen I met you I swore it again."

  "And yet--
--"

  "No. It isn't as bad as you think. When I was in London I fell in witha man named Mullins, who used to work with me in the old days. He wasstarving, so I took him in, and brought him along here with me, tokeep him out of mischief. To-night he came to me with this necklace.He had been in here, and stolen it. I took it from him, and came toput it back. You believe me, don't you, Molly?"

  "Yes," said she simply.

  He came a step nearer.

  "Molly, don't give me up. I know I've been a blackguard, but I swearthat's all over now. I've drawn a line right through it. I oughtn'tto have let myself love you. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't,dear. You won't give me up, will you? If you'd only take me in hand,you could make what you liked of me. I'd do anything for you. Anymortal thing you wanted. You can make me just anything you please.Will you try? Molly!"

  He stopped. She held out both her hands to him.

  The next moment she had gone.