The Intrusion of Jimmy

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHECK AND A COUNTER MOVE

  Mr. McEachern stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. As the resultof a long connection with evil-doers, the ex-policeman was somewhatprone to harbor suspicions of those round about him, and at thepresent moment his mind was aflame. Indeed, a more trusting manmight have been excused for feeling a little doubtful as to theintentions of Jimmy and Spike. When McEachern had heard that LordDreever had brought home a casual London acquaintance, he hadsuspected as a possible drawback to the visit the existence ofhidden motives on the part of the unknown. Lord Dreever, he hadfelt, was precisely the sort of youth to whom the professionalbunco-steerer would attach himself with shouts of joy. Never, he hadassured himself, had there been a softer proposition than hislordship since bunco-steering became a profession. When he foundthat the strange visitor was Jimmy Pitt, his suspicions hadincreased a thousand-fold.

  And when, going to his room to get ready for dinner, he had nearlyrun into Spike Mullins in the corridor, his frame of mind had beenthat of a man to whom a sudden ray of light reveals the fact that heis on the brink of a black precipice. Jimmy and Spike had burgledhis house together in New York. And here they were, together again,at Dreever Castle. 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;but he had learned society's lessons well. Though the heavens mightfall, he must not be late for dinner. So, he went and dressed, andan obstinate tie put the finishing touches to his wrath.

  Jimmy regarded him coolly, without moving from, the chair in whichhe had seated himself. Spike, on the other hand, seemed embarrassed.He stood first on one leg, and then on the other, as if he weretesting the respective merits of each, and would make a definitechoice later on.

  "You 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, boss?" he whispered.

  "No, you can go, Spike."

  "You stay where you are, you red-headed devil!" said McEachern,tartly.

  "Run along, Spike," said Jimmy.

  The Bowery boy looked doubtfully at the huge form of theex-policeman, which blocked access to the door.

  "Would you mind letting my man pass?" said Jimmy.

  "You stay--" began McEachern.

  Jimmy got up and walked round to the door, which he opened. Spikeshot out. He was not lacking in courage, but he dislikedembarrassing interviews, and it struck him that Jimmy was the man tohandle a situation of this kind. He felt that he himself would onlybe 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.

  "And now--" said he, then paused.

  "Yes?" asked Jimmy.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Nothing, at the moment."

  "You know what I mean. Why are you here, you and that red-headeddevil, Spike Mullins?" He jerked his head in the direction of thedoor.

  "I am here because I was very kindly invited to come by LordDreever."

  "I know you."

  "You have that privilege. Seeing that we only met once, it's verygood of you to remember me."

  "What's your game? What do you mean to do?"

  "To do? Well, I shall potter about the garden, you know, and shoot abit, perhaps, and look at the horses, and think of life, and feedthe chickens--I suppose there are chickens somewhere about--andpossibly go for an occasional row on the lake. Nothing more. Oh,yes, I believe they want me to act in some theatricals."

  "You'll miss those theatricals. You'll leave here to-morrow."

  "To-morrow? But I've only just arrived, dear heart."

  "I don't care about that. Out you go to-morrow. I'll give you tillto-morrow."

  "I congratulate you," said Jimmy. "One of the oldest houses inEngland."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I gathered from what you said that you had bought the Castle. Isn'tthat so? If it still belongs to Lord Dreever, don't you think youought to consult him before revising his list of guests?"

  McEachern looked steadily at him. His manner became quieter.

  "Oh, you take that tone, do you?"

  "I don't know what you mean by 'that tone.' What tone would you takeif a comparative stranger ordered you to leave another man's house?"

  McEachern's massive jaw protruded truculently in the manner that hadscared good behavior into brawling East Siders.

  "I know your sort," he said. "I'll call your bluff. And you won'tget till to-morrow, either. It'll be now."

  "'Why should we wait for the morrow? You are queen of my heartto-night," murmured Jimmy, encouragingly.

  "I'll expose you before them all. I'll tell them everything."

  Jimmy shook his head.

  "Too melodramatic," he said. "'I call on heaven to judge betweenthis man and me!' kind of thing. I shouldn't. What do you propose totell, anyway?"

  "Will you deny that you were a crook in New York?"

  "I will. I was nothing of the kind."

  "What?"

  "If you'll listen, I can explain--"

  "Explain!" The other's voice rose again. "You talk about explaining,you scum, when I caught you in my own parlor at three in themorning--you--"

  The smile faded from Jimmy's face.

  "Half a minute," he said. It might be that the ideal course would beto let the storm expend itself, and then to explain quietly thewhole matter of Arthur Mifflin and the bet that had led to his oneexcursion into burglary; but he doubted it. Things--including histemper--had got beyond the stage of quiet explanations. McEachernwould most certainly disbelieve his story. What would happen afterthat he did not know. A scene, probably: a melodramaticdenunciation, at the worst, before the other guests; at the best,before Sir Thomas alone. He saw nothing but chaos beyond that. Hisstory was thin to a degree, unless backed by witnesses, and hiswitnesses were three thousand miles away. Worse, he had not beenalone in the policeman's parlor. A man who is burgling a house for abet does not usually do it in the company of a professional burglar,well known to the police.

  No, quiet explanations must be postponed. They could do no good, andwould probably lead to his spending the night and the next fewnights at the local police-station. And, even if he were spared thatfate, it was certain that he would have to leave the castle--leavethe castle and Molly!

  He jumped up. The thought had stung him.

  "One moment," he said.

  McEachern stopped.

  "Well?"

  "You're going to tell them that?" asked Jimmy.

  "I am."

  Jimmy walked up to him.

  "Are you also going to tell them why you didn't have me arrestedthat night?" he said.

  McEachern started. Jimmy planted himself in front of him, and glaredup into his face. It would have been hard to say which of the twowas the angrier. The policeman was flushed, and the veins stood outon his forehead. Jimmy was in a white heat of rage. He had turnedvery pale, and his muscles were quivering. Jimmy in this mood hadonce cleared a Los Angeles bar-room with the leg of a chair in thespace of two and a quarter minutes by the clock.

  "Are you?" he demanded. "Are you?"

  McEachern's hand, hanging at his side, lifted itself hesitatingly.The fingers brushed against Jimmy's shoulder.

  Jimmy's lip twitched.

  "Yes," he said, "do it! Do it, and see what happens. By God, if youput a hand on me, I'll finish you. Do you think you can bully me? Doyou think I care for your size?"

  McEachern dropped his hand. For the first time in his life, he hadmet a man who, instinct told him, w
as his match and more. He steppedback a pace.

  Jimmy put his hands in his pockets, and turned away. He walked tothe mantelpiece, and leaned his back against it.

  "You haven't answered my question," he said. "Perhaps, you can't?"

  McEachern was wiping his forehead, and breathing quickly.

  "If you like," said Jimmy, "we'll go down to the drawing-room now,and you shall tell your story, and I'll tell mine. I wonder whichthey will think the more interesting. Damn you," he went on, hisanger rising once more, "what do you mean by it? You come into myroom, and bluster, and talk big about exposing crooks. What do youcall yourself, I wonder? Do you realize what you are? Why, poorSpike's an angel compared with you. He did take chances. He wasn'tin a position of trust. You--"

  He stopped.

  "Hadn't you better get out of here, don't you think?" he said,curtly.

  Without a word, McEachern walked to the door, and went out.

  Jimmy dropped into a chair with a deep breath. He took up hiscigarette-case, but before he could light a match the gong soundedfrom the distance.

  He rose, and laughed rather shakily. He felt limp. "As an effort atconciliating papa," he said, "I'm afraid that wasn't much of asuccess."

  It was not often that McEachern was visited by ideas. He ran ratherto muscle than to brain. But he had one that evening during dinner.His interview with Jimmy had left him furious, but baffled. He knewthat his hands were tied. Frontal attack was useless. To drive Jimmyfrom the castle would be out of the question. All that could be donewas to watch him while he was there. For he had never been moreconvinced of anything in his life than that Jimmy had wormed his wayinto the house-party with felonious intent. The appearance of LadyJulia at dinner, wearing the famous rope of diamonds, supplied anobvious motive. The necklace had an international reputation.Probably, there was not a prominent thief in England or on theContinent who had not marked it down as a possible prey. It hadalready been tried for, once. It was big game, just the sort of lurethat would draw the type of criminal McEachern imagined Jimmy to be.

  From his seat at the far end of the table, Jimmy looked at thejewels as they gleamed on their wearer's neck. They were almost tooostentatious for what was, after all, an informal dinner. It was nota rope of diamonds. It was a collar. There was something Orientaland barbaric in the overwhelming display of jewelry. It was a prizefor which a thief would risk much.

  The conversation, becoming general with the fish, was not of a kindto remove from his mind the impression made by the sight of thegems. It turned on burglary.

  Lord Dreever began it.

  "Oh, I say," he said, "I forgot to tell you, Aunt Julia, Number Sixwas burgled the other night."

  Number 6a, Eaton Square, was the family's London house.

  "Burgled!" cried Sir Thomas.

  "Well, broken into," said his lordship, gratified to find that hehad got the ear of his entire audience. Even Lady Julia was silentand attentive. "Chap got in through the scullery window about oneo'clock in the morning."

  "And what did you do?" inquired Sir Thomas.

  "Oh, I--er--I was out at the time," said Lord Dreever. "Butsomething frightened the feller," he went on hurriedly, "and he madea bolt for it without taking anything."

  "Burglary," said a young man, whom Jimmy subsequently discovered tobe the drama-loving Charteris, leaning back and taking advantage ofa pause, "is the hobby of the sportsman and the life work of theavaricious." He took a little pencil from his waistcoat pocket, andmade a rapid note on his cuff.

  Everybody seemed to have something to say on the subject. One younglady gave it as her opinion that she would not like to find aburglar under her bed. Somebody else had heard of a fellow whosefather had fired at the butler, under the impression that he was ahouse-breaker, and had broken a valuable bust of Socrates. LordDreever had known a man at college whose brother wrote lyrics formusical comedy, and had done one about a burglar's best friend beinghis mother.

  "Life," said Charteris, who had had time for reflection, "is a housewhich we all burgle. We enter it uninvited, take all that we can layhands on, and go out again." He scribbled, "Life--house--burgle," onhis cuff, and replaced the pencil.

  "This man's brother I was telling you about," said Lord Dreever,"says there's only one rhyme in the English language to 'burglar,'and that's 'gurgler--' unless you count 'pergola'! He says--"

  "Personally," said Jimmy, with a glance at McEachern, "I have rathera sympathy for burglars. After all, they are one of the hardest-workingclasses in existence. They toil while everybody else isasleep. Besides, a burglar is only a practical socialist. Peopletalk a lot about the redistribution of wealth. The burglar goes outand does it. I have found burglars some of the decentest criminals Ihave ever met."

  "I despise burglars!" ejaculated Lady Julia, with a suddenness thatstopped Jimmy's eloquence as if a tap had been turned off. "If Ifound one coming after my jewels, and I had a pistol, I'd shoothim."

  Jimmy met McEachern's eye, and smiled kindly at him. Theex-policeman was looking at him with the gaze of a baffled, butmalignant basilisk.

  "I take very good care no one gets a chance at your diamonds, mydear," said Sir Thomas, without a blush. "I have had a steel boxmade for me," he added to the company in general, "with a speciallock. A very ingenious arrangement. Quite unbreakable, I imagine."

  Jimmy, with Molly's story fresh in his mind, could not check a rapidsmile. Mr. McEachern, watching intently, saw it. To him, it wasfresh evidence, if any had been wanted, of Jimmy's intentions and ofhis confidence of success. McEachern's brow darkened. During therest of the meal, tense thought rendered him even more silent thanwas his wont at the dinner-table. The difficulty of his positionwas, he saw, great. Jimmy, to be foiled, must be watched, and howcould he watch him?

  It was not until the coffee arrived that he found an answer to thequestion. With his first cigarette came the idea. That night, in hisroom, before going to bed, he wrote a letter. It was an unusualletter, but, singularly enough, almost identical with one Sir ThomasBlunt had written that very morning.

  It was addressed to the Manager of Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency,of Bishopsgate Street, E. C., and ran as follows:

  Sir,--

  On receipt of this, kindly send down one of your smartest men.Instruct him to stay at the village inn in character of Americanseeing sights of England, and anxious to inspect Dreever Castle. Iwill meet him in the village and recognize him as old New Yorkfriend, and will then give him further instructions. Yoursfaithfully,

  J. McEACHERN.

  P. S. Kindly not send a rube, but a real smart man.

  This brief, but pregnant letter cost some pains in its composition.McEachern was not a ready writer. But he completed it at last to hissatisfaction. There was a crisp purity in the style that pleasedhim. He sealed up the envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. Hefelt more at ease now. Such was the friendship that had sprung upbetween Sir Thomas Blunt and himself as the result of the jewelepisode in Paris that he could count with certainty on thesuccessful working of his scheme. The grateful knight would not belikely to allow any old New York friend of his preserver to languishat the village inn. The sleuth-hound would at once be installed atthe castle, where, unsuspected by Jimmy, he could keep an eye on thecourse of events. Any looking after that Mr. James Pitt mightrequire could safely be left in the hands of this expert.

  With considerable fervor, Mr. McEachern congratulated himself on hisastuteness. With Jimmy above stairs and Spike below, thesleuth-hound would have his hands full.