The Intrusion of Jimmy

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE TREASURE SEEKER

  Gloom wrapped his lordship about, during dinner, as with a garment.He owed twenty pounds. His assets amounted to seven shillings andfour-pence. He thought, and thought again. Quite an intellectualpallor began to appear on his normally pink cheeks. Saunders,silently sympathetic--he hated Sir Thomas as an interloper, andentertained for his lordship, under whose father also he had served,a sort of paternal fondness--was ever at his elbow with the magicbottle; and to Spennie, emptying and re-emptying his glass almostmechanically, wine, the healer, brought an idea. To obtain twentypounds from any one person of his acquaintance was impossible. Todivide the twenty by four, and persuade a generous quartette tocontribute five pounds apiece was more feasible.

  Hope began to stir within him again.

  Immediately after dinner, he began to flit about the castle like afamily specter of active habits. The first person he met wasCharteris.

  "Hullo, Spennie," said Charteris, "I wanted to see you. It iscurrently reported that you are in love. At dinner, you looked as ifyou had influenza. What's your trouble? For goodness' sake, bear uptill the show's over. Don't go swooning on the stage, or anything.Do you know your lines?"

  "The fact is," said his lordship eagerly, "it's this way. I happento want--Can you lend me a fiver?"

  "All I have in the world at this moment," said Charteris, "is elevenshillings and a postage-stamp. If the stamp would be of any use toyou as a start--? No? You know, it's from small beginnings like thatthat great fortunes are amassed. However--"

  Two minutes later, Lord Dreever had resumed his hunt.

  The path of the borrower is a thorny one, especially if, likeSpennie, his reputation as a payer-back is not of the best.

  Spennie, in his time, had extracted small loans from most of hismale acquaintances, rarely repaying the same. He had a tendency toforget that he had borrowed half-a-crown here to pay a cab and tenshillings there to settle up for a dinner; and his memory was notmuch more retentive of larger sums. This made his friends somewhatwary. The consequence was that the great treasure-hunt was a failurefrom start to finish. He got friendly smiles. He got honeyedapologies. He got earnest assurances of good-will. But he got nomoney, except from Jimmy Pitt.

  He had approached Jimmy in the early stages of the hunt; and Jimmy,being in the mood when he would have loaned anything to anybody,yielded the required five pounds without a murmur.

  But what was five pounds? The garment of gloom and the intellectualpallor were once more prominent when his lordship repaired to hisroom to don the loud tweeds which, as Lord Herbert, he was to wearin the first act.

  There is a good deal to be said against stealing, as a habit; but itcannot be denied that, in certain circumstances, it offers anadmirable solution of a financial difficulty, and, if the penaltieswere not so exceedingly unpleasant, it is probable that it wouldbecome far more fashionable than it is.

  His lordship's mind did not turn immediately to this outlet from hisembarrassment. He had never stolen before, and it did not occur tohim directly to do so now. There is a conservative strain in all ofus. But, gradually, as it was borne in upon him that it was the onlycourse possible, unless he were to grovel before Hargate on themorrow and ask for time to pay--an unthinkable alternative--he foundhimself contemplating the possibility of having to secure the moneyby unlawful means. By the time he had finished his theatricaltoilet, he had definitely decided that this was the only thing to bedone.

  His plan was simple. He knew where the money was, in the dressing-tablein Sir Thomas's room. He had heard Saunders instructed to putit there. What could be easier than to go and get it? Everything wasin his favor. Sir Thomas would be downstairs, receiving his guests.The coast would be clear. Why, it was like finding the money.

  Besides, he reflected, as he worked his way through the bottle ofMumm's which he had had the forethought to abstract from thesupper-table as a nerve-steadier, it wasn't really stealing. Dash it all,the man had given him the money! It was his own! He had half amind--he poured himself out another glass of the elixir--to give SirThomas a jolly good talking-to into the bargain. Yes, dash it all!

  He shot his cuffs fiercely. The British Lion was roused.

  A man's first crime is, as a rule, a shockingly amateurish affair.Now and then, it is true, we find beginners forging with theaccuracy of old hands, or breaking into houses with the finish ofexperts. But these are isolated cases. The average tyro lacksgeneralship altogether. Spennie Dreever may be cited as a typicalnovice. It did not strike him that inquiries might be instituted bySir Thomas, when he found the money gone, and that suspicion mightconceivably fall upon himself. Courage may be born of champagne, butrarely prudence.

  The theatricals began at half-past eight with a duologue. Theaudience had been hustled into their seats, happier than is usual insuch circumstances, owing to the rumor which had been circulatedthat the proceedings were to terminate with an informal dance. Thecastle was singularly well constructed for such a purpose. There wasplenty of room, and a sufficiency of retreat for those who sat out,in addition to a conservatory large enough to have married off halfthe couples in the county.

  Spennie's idea had been to establish an alibi by mingling with thethrong for a few minutes, and then to get through his burglariousspecialty during the duologue, when his absence would not benoticed. It might be that, if he disappeared later in the evening,people would wonder what had become of him.

  He lurked about until the last of the audience had taken theirseats. As he was moving off through the hall, a hand fell upon hisshoulder. Conscience makes cowards of us all. Spennie bit his tongueand leaped three inches into the air.

  "Hello, Charteris!" he said, gaspingly.

  Charteris appeared to be in a somewhat overwrought condition.Rehearsals had turned him into a pessimist, and, now that the actualmoment of production had arrived, his nerves were in a thoroughlyjumpy condition, especially as the duologue was to begin in twominutes and the obliging person who had undertaken to prompt haddisappeared.

  "Spennie," said Charteris, "where are you off to?"

  "What--what do you mean? I was just going upstairs."

  "No, you don't. You've got to come and prompt. That devil Blake hasvanished. I'll wring his neck! Come along."

  Spennie went, reluctantly. Half-way through the duologue, theofficial prompter returned with the remark that he had been having abit of a smoke on the terrace, and that his watch had gone wrong.Leaving him to discuss the point with Charteris, Spennie slippedquietly away.

  The delay, however, had had the effect of counteracting theuplifting effects of the Mumm's. The British Lion required a freshfillip. He went to his room to administer it. By the time heemerged, he was feeling just right for the task in hand. A momentarydoubt occurred to him as to whether it would not be a good thing togo down and pull Sir Thomas' nose as a preliminary to theproceedings; but he put the temptation aside. Business beforepleasure.

  With a jaunty, if somewhat unsteady, step, he climbed the stairs tothe floor above, and made his way down the corridor to Sir Thomas'sroom. He switched on the light, and went to the dressing-table. Thedrawer was locked, but in his present mood Spennie, like Love,laughed at locksmiths. He grasped the handle, and threw his weightinto a sudden tug. The drawer came out with a report like a pistol-shot.

  "There!" said his lordship, wagging his head severely.

  In the drawer lay the four bank-notes. The sight of them broughtback his grievance with a rush. He would teach Sir Thomas to treathim like a kid! He would show him!

  He was removing the notes, frowning fiercely the while, when heheard a cry of surprise from behind him.

  He turned, to see Molly. She was still dressed in the evening gownshe had worn at dinner; and her eyes were round with wonder. A fewmoments earlier, as she was seeking her room in order to change hercostume for the theatricals, she had almost reached the end of thecorridor that led to the landing, when she observed his lordship,flushed of face and mov
ing like some restive charger, comecurvetting out of his bedroom in a dazzling suit of tweeds, and makehis way upstairs. Ever since their mutual encounter with Sir Thomasbefore dinner, she had been hoping for a chance of seeing Spenniealone. She had not failed to notice his depression during the meal,and her good little heart had been troubled by the thought that shemust have been responsible for it. She knew that, for some reason,what she had said about the letter had brought his lordship into hisuncle's bad books, and she wanted to find him and say she was sorry.

  Accordingly, she had followed him. His lordship, still in the war-horsevein, had made the pace upstairs too hot, and had disappearedwhile she was still halfway up. She had arrived at the top just intime to see him turn down the passage into Sir Thomas's dressing-room.She could not think what his object might be. She knew thatSir Thomas was downstairs, so it could not be from the idea of achat with him that Spennie was seeking the dressing-room.

  Faint, yet pursuing, she followed on his trail, and arrived in thedoorway just as the pistol-report of the burst lock rang out.

  She stood looking at him blankly. He was holding a drawer in onehand. Why, she could not imagine.

  "Lord Dreever!" she exclaimed.

  The somber determination of his lordship's face melted into atwisted, but kindly smile.

  "Good!" he said, perhaps a trifle thickly. "Good! Glad you've come.We're pals. You said so--on stairs--b'fore dinner. Very glad you'vecome. Won't you sit down?"

  He waved the drawer benevolently, by way of making her free of theroom. The movement disturbed one of the bank-notes, which flutteredin Molly's direction, and fell at her feet.

  She stooped and picked it up. When she saw what it was, herbewilderment increased.

  "But--but--" she said.

  His lordship beamed--upon her with a pebble-beached smile ofindescribable good-will.

  "Sit down," he urged. "We're pals.--No quol with you. You're goodfriend. Quol--Uncle Thomas."

  "But, Lord Dreever, what are you doing? What was that noise Iheard?"

  "Opening drawer," said his lordship, affably.

  "But--" she looked again at what she had in her hand--"but this is afive-pound note."

  "Five-pound note," said his lordship. "Quite right. Three more ofthem in here."

  Still, she could not understand.

  "But--were you--stealing them?"

  His lordship drew himself up.

  "No," he said, "no, not stealing, no!"

  "Then--?"

  "Like this. Before dinner. Old boy friendly as you please--couldn'tdo enough for me. Touched him for twenty of the best, and got awaywith it. So far, all well. Then, met you on stairs. You let cat outof bag."

  "But why--? Surely--!"

  His lordship gave the drawer a dignified wave.

  "Not blaming you," he said, magnanimously. "Not your fault;misfortune. You didn't know. About letter."

  "About the letter?" said Molly. "Yes, what was the trouble about theletter? I knew something was wrong directly I had said that I wroteit."

  "Trouble was," said his lordship, "that old boy thought it waslove-letter. Didn't undeceive him."

  "You didn't tell him? Why?"

  His lordship raised his eyebrows.

  "Wanted touch him twenty of the best," he explained, simply.

  For the life of her, Molly could not help laughing.

  "Don't laugh," protested his lordship, wounded. "No joke. Serious.Honor at stake."

  He removed the three notes, and replaced the drawer.

  "Honor of the Dreevers!" he added, pocketing the money.

  Molly was horrified.

  "But, Lord Dreever!" she cried. "You can't! You mustn't! You can't begoing, really, to take that money! It's stealing! It isn't yours!You must put it back."

  His lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her.

  "That," he said, "is where you make error! Mine! Old boy gave themto me."

  "Gave them to you? Then, why did you break open the drawer?"

  "Old boy took them back again--when he found out about letter."

  "Then, they don't belong to you."

  "Yes. Error! They do. Moral right."

  Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever'stype appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man, hislordship was a negligible quantity. He did not count. But as awillful child, to be kept out of trouble, he had a claim on Molly.

  She spoke soothingly.

  "But, Lord Dreever,--" she began. "Call me Spennie," he urged."We're pals. You said so--on stairs. Everybody calls meSpennie--even Uncle Thomas. I'm going to pull his nose," he broke offsuddenly, as one recollecting a forgotten appointment.

  "Spennie, then," said Molly. "You mustn't, Spennie. You mustn't,really. You--"

  "You look rippin' in that dress," said his lordship, irrelevantly.

  "Thank you, Spennie, dear. But listen." Molly spoke as if she werehumoring a rebellious infant. "You really mustn't take that money.You must put it back. See, I'm putting this note back. Give me theothers, and I'll put them in the drawer, too. Then, we'll shut thedrawer, and nobody will know."

  She took the notes from him, and replaced them in the drawer. Hewatched her thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the merits of herarguments.

  "No," he said, suddenly, "no! Must have them! Moral right. Old boy--"

  She pushed him gently away.

  "Yes, yes, I know," she said. "I know. It's a shame that you can'thave them. But you mustn't take them. Don't you see that he wouldsuspect you the moment he found they were gone, and then you'd getinto trouble?"

  "Something in that," admitted his lordship.

  "Of course there is, Spennie, dear. I'm so glad you see! There theyall are, safe again in the drawer. Now, we can go downstairs again,and--"

  She stopped. She had closed the door earlier in the proceedings, buther quick ear caught the sound of a footstep in the passage outside.

  "Quick!" she whispered, taking his hand and darting to the electric-lightswitch. "Somebody's coming. We mustn't be caught here. They'dsee the broken, drawer, and you'd get into awful trouble. Quick!"

  She pushed him behind the curtain where the clothes hung, andswitched off the light.

  From behind the curtain came the muffled voice of his lordship.

  "It's Uncle Thomas. I'm coming out. Pull his nose."

  "Be quiet!"

  She sprang to the curtain, and slipped noiselessly behind it.

  "But, I say--!" began his lordship.

  "Hush!" She gripped his arm. He subsided.

  The footsteps had halted outside the door. Then, the handle turnedsoftly. The door opened, and closed again with hardly a sound.

  The footsteps passed on into the room.