P G Wodehouse - Piccadilly Jim

by Piccadilly Jim

  The only thing that prevented her relief being unmixed was the fact that she could see Lord Wisbeach casting furtive glances at Jimmy, who was eating with the quiet concentration of one who, after days of boarding-house fare, finds himself in the presence of the masterpieces of a chef. In the past few days Jimmy had consumed too much hash to worry now about anything like a furtive glance. He had perceived Lord Wisbeach's roving eye, and had no doubt that at the conclusion of the meal he would find occasion for a little chat. Meanwhile, however, his duty was towards his tissues and their restoration. He helped himself liberally from a dish which his father offered him.

  He became aware that Mrs. Pett was addressing him.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Quite like old times," said Mrs. Pett genially. Her suspicions had vanished completely since Lord Wisbeach's recognition of the visitor, and remorse that she should have suspected him made her unwontedly amiable. "Being with Skinner again," she explained. "It must remind you of London."

  Jimmy caught his father's expressionless eye.

  "Skinner's," he said handsomely, "is a character one cannot help but respect. His nature expands before one like some beautiful flower."

  The dish rocked in Mr. Crocker's hand, but his face remained impassive.

  "There is no vice in Skinner," proceeded Jimmy. "His heart is the heart of a little child."

  Mrs. Pett looked at this paragon of the virtues in rather a startled way. She had an uncomfortable feeling that she was being laughed at. She began to dislike Jimmy again.

  "For many years Skinner has been a father to me," said Jimmy. "Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well? Skinner."

  For all her suspense, Ann could not help warming towards an accomplice who carried off an unnerving situation with such a flourish. She had always regarded herself with a fair degree of complacency as possessed of no mean stock of courage and resource, but she could not have spoken then without betraying her anxiety. She thought highly of Jimmy, but all the same she could not help wishing that he would not make himself quite so conspicuous. Perhaps--the thought chilled her--perhaps he was creating quite a new Jimmy Crocker, a character which would cause Skinner and Lord Wisbeach to doubt the evidence of their eyes and begin to suspect the truth. She wished she could warn him to simmer down, but the table was a large one and he and she were at opposite ends of it.

  Jimmy, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying himself. He felt that he was being the little ray of sunshine about the home and making a good impression. He was completely happy. He liked the food, he liked seeing his father buttle, and he liked these amazing freaks who were, it appeared, fellow-inmates with him of this highly desirable residence. He wished that old Mr. Pett could have been present. He had conceived a great affection for Mr. Pett, and registered a mental resolve to lose no time in weaning him from his distressing habit of allowing the office to interfere with his pleasures. He was planning a little trip to the Polo Grounds, in which Mr. Pett, his father, and a number of pop bottles were to be his companions, when his reverie was interrupted by a sudden cessation of the buzz of talk. He looked up from his plate, to find the entire company regarding Willie Partridge open-mouthed. Willie, with gleaming eyes, was gazing at a small test-tube which he had produced from his pocket and placed beside his plate.

  "I have enough in this test-tube," said Willie airily, "to blow half New York to bits."

  The silence was broken by a crash in the background. Mr. Crocker had dropped a chafing-dish.

  "If I were to drop this little tube like that," said Willie, using the occurrence as a topical illustration, "we shouldn't be here."

  "Don't drop it," advised Jimmy. "What is it?"

  "Partridgite!"

  Mrs. Pett had risen from the table, with blanched face.

  "Willie, how can you bring that stuff here? What are you thinking of?"

  Willie smiles a patronising smile.

  "There is not the slightest danger, aunt Nesta. It cannot explode without concussion. I have been carrying it about with me all the morning."

  He bestowed on the test-tube the look a fond parent might give his favourite child. Mrs. Pett was not reassured.

  "Go and put it in your uncle's safe at once. Put it away."

  "I haven't the combination."

  "Call your uncle up at once at the office and ask him."

  "Very well. If you wish it, aunt Nesta. But there is no danger."

  "Don't take that thing with you," screamed Mrs. Pett, as he rose. "You might drop it. Come back for it."

  "Very well."

  Conversation flagged after Willie's departure. The presence of the test-tube seemed to act on the spirits of the company after the fashion of the corpse at the Egyptian banquet. Howard Bemis, who was sitting next to it, edged away imperceptibly till he nearly crowded Ann off her chair. Presently Willie returned. He picked up the test-tube, put it in his pocket with a certain jauntiness, and left the room again.

  "Now, if you hear a sudden bang and find yourself disappearing through the roof," said Jimmy, "that will be it."

  Willie returned and took his place at the table again. But the spirit had gone out of the gathering. The voice of Clarence Renshaw was hushed, and Howard Bemis spoke no more of the influence of Edgar Lee Masters on modern literature. Mrs. Pett left the room, followed by Ann. The geniuses drifted away one by one. Jimmy, having lighted a cigarette and finished his coffee, perceived that he was alone with his old friend, Lord Wisbeach, and that his old friend Lord Wisbeach was about to become confidential.

  The fair-haired young man opened the proceedings by going to the door and looking out. This done, he returned to his seat and gazed fixedly at Jimmy.

  "What's your game?" he asked.

  Jimmy returned his gaze blandly.

  "My game?" he said. "What do you mean?"

  "Can the coy stuff," urged his lordship brusquely. "Talk sense and talk it quick. We may be interrupted at any moment. What's your game? What are you here for?"

  Jimmy raised his eyebrows.

  "I am a prodigal nephew returned to the fold."

  "Oh, quit your kidding. Are you one of Potter's lot?"

  "Who is Potter?"

  "You know who Potter is."

  "On the contrary. My life has never been brightened by so much as a sight of Potter."

  "Is that true?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Are you working on your own, then?"

  "I am not working at all at present. There is some talk of my learning to be an Asparagus Adjuster by mail later on."

  "You make me sick," said Lord Wisbeach. "Where's the sense of trying to pull this line of talk. Why not put your cards on the table? We've both got in here on the same lay, and there's no use fighting and balling the thing up."

  "Do you wish me to understand," said Jimmy, "that you are not my old friend, Lord Wisbeach?"

  "No. And you're not my old friend, Jimmy Crocker."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "If you had been, would you have pretended to recognise me upstairs just now? I tell you, pal, I was all in for a second, till you gave me the high sign."

  Jimmy laughed.

  "It would have been awkward for you if I really had been Jimmy Crocker, wouldn't it?"

  "And it would have been awkward for you if I had really been Lord Wisbeach."

  "Who are you, by the way?"

  "The boys call me Gentleman Jack."

  "Why?" asked Jimmy, surprised.

  Lord Wisbeach ignored the question.

  "I'm working with Burke's lot just now. Say, let's be sensible about this. I'll be straight with you, straight as a string."

  "Did you say string or spring?"

  "And I'll expect you to be straight with me."

  "Are we to breathe confidences into each other's ears?"

  Lord Wisbeach went to the door again and submitted the passage to a second examination.

  "You seem nervous," said J
immy.

  "I don't like that butler. He's up to something."

  "Do you think he's one of Potter's lot?"

  "Shouldn't wonder. He isn't on the level, anyway, or why did he pretend to recognise you as Jimmy Crocker?"

  "Recognition of me as Jimmy Crocker seems to be the acid test of honesty."

  "He was in a tight place, same as I was," said Lord Wisbeach. "He couldn't know that you weren't really Jimmy Crocker until you put him wise--same as you did me--by pretending to know him." He looked at Jimmy with grudging admiration. "You'd got your nerve with you, pal, coming in here like this. You were taking big chances. You couldn't have known you wouldn't run up against some one who really knew Jimmy Crocker. What would you have done if this butler guy had really been on the level?"

  "The risks of the profession!"

  "When I think of the work I had to put in," said Lord Wisbeach, "it makes me tired to think of some one else just walking in here as you did."

  "What made you choose Lord Wisbeach as your alias?"

  "I knew that I could get away with it. I came over on the boat with him, and I knew he was travelling round the world and wasn't going to stay more than a day in New York. Even then I had to go some to get into this place. Burke told me to get hold of old Chester and get a letter of introduction from him. And here you come along and just stroll in and tell them you have come to stay!" He brooded for a moment on the injustice of things. "Well, what are you going to do about it, Pal?"

  "About what?"

  "About us both being here? Are you going to be sensible and work in with me and divvy up later on, or are you going to risk spoiling everything by trying to hog the whole thing? I'll be square with you. It isn't as if there was any use in trying to bluff each other. We're both here for the same thing. You want to get hold of that powder stuff, that Partridgite, and so do I."

  "You believe in Partridgite, then?"

  "Oh, can it," said Lord Wisbeach disgustedly. "What's the use? Of course I believe in it. Burke's had his eye on the thing for a year. You've heard of Dwight Partridge, haven't you? Well, this guy's his son. Every one knows that Dwight Partridge was working on an explosive when he died, and here's his son comes along with a test-tube full of stuff which he says could blow this city to bits. What's the answer? The boy's been working on the old man's dope. From what I've seen of him, I guess there wasn't much more to be done on it, or he wouldn't have done it. He's pretty well dead from the neck up, as far as I can see. But that doesn't alter the fact that he's got the stuff and that you and I have got to get together and make a deal. If we don't, I'm not saying you mightn't gum my game, just as I might gum yours; but where's the sense in that? It only means taking extra chances. Whereas if we sit in together, there's enough in it for both of us. You know as well as I do that there's a dozen markets which'll bid against each other for stuff like that Partridgite. If you're worrying about Burke giving you a square deal, forget it. I'll fix Burke. He'll treat you nice, all right."

  Jimmy ground the butt of his cigarette against his plate.

  "I'm no orator, as Brutus is; but, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man. And, speaking in the capacity of a plain, blunt man, I rise to reply--Nothing doing."

  "What? You won't come in?"

  Jimmy shook his head.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Wizzy, if I may still call you that, but your offer fails to attract. I will not get together or sit in or anything else. On the contrary, I am about to go to Mrs. Pett and inform her that there is a snake in her Eden."

  "You're not going to squeal on me?"

  "At the top of my voice."

  Lord Wisbeach laughed unpleasantly.

  "Yes, you will," he said. "How are you going to explain why you recognised me as an old pal before lunch if I'm a crook after lunch. You can't give me away without giving yourself away. If I'm not Lord Wisbeach, then you're not Jimmy Crocker."

  Jimmy sighed. "I get you. Life is very complex, isn't it?"

  Lord Wisbeach rose.

  "You'd better think it over, son," he said. "You aren't going to get anywhere by acting like a fool. You can't stop me going after this stuff, and if you won't come in and go fifty-fifty, you'll find yourself left. I'll beat you to it."

  He left the room, and Jimmy, lighting a fresh cigarette, addressed himself to the contemplation of this new complication in his affairs. It was quite true what Gentleman Jack or Joe or whatever the "boys" called him had said. To denounce him meant denouncing himself. Jimmy smoked thoughtfully. Not for the first time he wished that his record during the past few years had been of a snowier character. He began to appreciate what must have been the feelings of Dr. Jekyll under the handicap of his disreputable second self, Mr. Hyde.

  CHAPTER XVI

  MRS. PETT TAKES PRECAUTIONS

  Mrs. Pett, on leaving the luncheon-table, had returned to the drawing-room to sit beside the sick-settee of her stricken child. She was troubled about Ogden. The poor lamb was not at all himself to-day. A bowl of clear soup, the midday meal prescribed by Doctor Briginshaw, lay untasted at his side.

  She crossed the room softly, and placed a cool hand on her son's aching brow.

  "Oh, Gee," said Ogden wearily.

  "Are you feeling a little better, Oggie darling?"

  "No," said Ogden firmly. "I'm feeling a lot worse."

  "You haven't drunk your nice soup."

  "Feed it to the cat."

  "Could you eat a nice bowl of bread-and-milk, precious?"

  "Have a heart," replied the sufferer.

  Mrs. Pett returned to her seat, sorrowfully. It struck her as an odd coincidence that the poor child was nearly always like this on the morning after she had been entertaining guests; she put it down to the reaction from the excitement working on a highly-strung temperament. To his present collapse the brutal behaviour of Jerry Mitchell had, of course, contributed. Every drop of her maternal blood boiled with rage and horror whenever she permitted herself to contemplate the excesses of the late Jerry. She had always mistrusted the man. She had never liked his face--not merely on aesthetic grounds but because she had seemed to detect in it a lurking savagery. How right events had proved this instinctive feeling. Mrs. Pett was not vulgar enough to describe the feeling, even to herself, as a hunch, but a hunch it had been; and, like every one whose hunches have proved correct, she was conscious in the midst of her grief of a certain complacency. It seemed to her that hers must be an intelligence and insight above the ordinary.

  The peace of the early afternoon settled upon the drawing-room. Mrs. Pett had taken up a book; Ogden, on the settee, breathed stentorously. Faint snores proceeded from the basket in the corner where Aida, the Pomeranian, lay curled in refreshing sleep. Through the open window floated sounds of warmth and Summer.

  Yielding to the drowsy calm, Mrs. Pett was just nodding into a pleasant nap, when the door opened and Lord Wisbeach came in.

  Lord Wisbeach had been doing some rapid thinking. Rapid thought is one of the essentials in the composition of men who are known as Gentleman Jack to the boys and whose livelihood is won only by a series of arduous struggles against the forces of Society and the machinations of Potter and his gang. Condensed into capsule form, his lordship's meditations during the minutes after he had left Jimmy in the dining-room amounted to the realisation that the best mode of defence is attack. It is your man who knows how to play the bold game on occasion who wins. A duller schemer than Lord Wisbeach might have been content to be inactive after such a conversation as had just taken place between himself and Jimmy. His lordship, giving the matter the concentrated attention of his trained mind, had hit on a better plan, and he had come to the drawing-room now to put it into effect.

  His entrance shattered the peaceful atmosphere. Aida, who had been gurgling apoplectically, sprang snarling from the basket, and made for the intruder open-mouthed. Her shrill barking rang through the room.

  Lord Wisbeach hated little dogs. He hated and feared them. Many men of action have these
idiosyncrasies. He got behind a chair and said "There, there." Aida, whose outburst was mere sound and fury and who had no intention whatever of coming to blows, continued the demonstration from a safe distance, till Mrs. Pett, swooping down, picked her up and held her in her lap, where she consented to remain, growling subdued defiance. Lord Wisbeach came out from behind his chair and sat down warily.

  "Can I have a word with you, Mrs. Pett?"

  "Certainly, Lord Wisbeach."

  His lordship looked meaningly at Ogden.

  "In private, you know."

  He then looked meaningly at Mrs. Pett.

  "Ogden darling," said Mrs. Pett, "I think you had better go to your room and undress and get into bed. A little nice sleep might do you all the good in the world."

  With surprising docility, the boy rose.

  "All right," he said.

  "Poor Oggie is not at all well to-day," said Mrs. Pett, when he was gone. "He is very subject to these attacks. What do you want to tell me, Lord Wisbeach?"

  His lordship drew his chair a little closer.

  "Mrs. Pett, you remember what I told you yesterday?"

  "Of course."

  "Might I ask what you know of this man who has come here calling himself Jimmy Crocker?"

  Mrs. Pett started. She remembered that she had used almost that very expression to Ann. Her suspicions, which had been lulled by the prompt recognition of the visitor by Skinner and Lord Wisbeach, returned. It is one of the effects of a successful hunch that it breeds other hunches. She had been right about Jerry Mitchell; was she to be proved right about the self-styled Jimmy Crocker?

  "You have seen your nephew, I believe?"

  "Never. But--"

  "That man," said Lord Wisbeach impassively, "is not your nephew."