elixir had passed away, and he saw now what he had not seen in his more
exuberant frame of mind—the cloud of suspicion which must hang over him
when the loss of the bank-notes was discovered.
He wiped his forehead.
“By Jove!” he said. “That’s something off my mind! By George, I feel
like a two year old! I say, you’re a dashed good sort, Pitt.”
“You flatter me,” said Jimmy. “I strive to please.”
“I say, Pitt, that yarn you told us just now—the bet and all
that—honestly, you don’t mean to say that was true, was it? I mean—— By
Jove! I’ve got an idea.”
“We live in stirring times!”
“Did you say your actor pal’s name was Mifflin?” He broke off suddenly
before Jimmy could answer. “Great Scot!” he whispered, “what’s that?
Good lord! Somebody’s coming!”
He dived behind the curtain like a rabbit. It had only just ceased to
shake when the door opened and Sir Thomas Blunt walked in.
★ 26 ★
_Stirring Times for Sir Thomas_
For a man whose intentions towards the jewels and their owner were so
innocent, and even benevolent, Jimmy was in a singularly compromising
position. It would have been difficult, even under more favourable
conditions, to have explained to Sir Thomas’s satisfaction his presence
in the dressing-room. As things stood it was even harder, for his
lordship’s last action before seeking cover had been to fling the
necklace from him like a burning coal. For the second time in ten
minutes it had fallen to the carpet, and it was just as Jimmy
straightened himself after picking it up that Sir Thomas got a full view
of him.
The knight stood in the doorway, his face expressing the most lively
astonishment. His bulging eyes were fixed upon the necklace in Jimmy’s
hand. Jimmy could see him struggling to find words to cope with so
special a situation, and he felt rather sorry for him. Excitement of
this kind was bad for a short-necked man of Sir Thomas’s type.
With kindly tact he endeavoured to help him out.
“Good evening,” he said pleasantly.
Sir Thomas stammered. He was gradually nearing speech.
“What—what—what——” he said.
“Out with it,” said Jimmy.
“What——”
“I knew a man once in South Dakota who stammered,” said Jimmy. “He used
to chew dog-biscuit while he was speaking. It cured him, besides being
nutritious. Another good way is to count ten while you’re thinking what
to say, and then get it out quick.”
“You—you blackguard!”
Jimmy placed the necklace carefully on the dressing-table. Then he
turned to Sir Thomas, with his hands in the pockets of his coat. Over
the knight’s head he could see the folds of the curtain quivering
gently, as if stirred by some zephyr. Evidently the drama of the
situation was not lost on Hildebrand Spencer, twelfth Earl of Dreever.
Nor was it lost on Jimmy. This was precisely the sort of situation that
appealed to him. He had his plan of action clearly mapped out. He knew
that it would be useless to tell the knight the true facts of the case.
Sir Thomas was as deficient in simple faith as in Norman blood.
To all appearances this was a tight corner, but Jimmy fancied that he
saw his way out of it. Meanwhile, the situation appealed to him.
Curiously enough, it was almost identical with the big scene in Act III
of _Love, the Cracksman_ in which Arthur Mifflin had made such a hit as
the debonair burglar.
Jimmy proceeded to give his own idea of what the rendering of a debonair
burglar should be. Arthur Mifflin had lit a cigarette, and had shot out
smoke-rings and repartee alternately. A cigarette would have been a
great help here, but Jimmy prepared to do his best without properties.
“So—so it’s you, is it?” said Sir Thomas.
“Who told you!”
“Thief! Low thief!”
“Come, now,” protested Jimmy. “Why low? Just because you don’t know me
over here, why scorn me? How do you know I haven’t got a big American
reputation? For all you can tell, I may be Boston Willie or Sacramento
Sam, or some one. Let us preserve the decencies of debate.”
“I had my suspicions of you. I had my suspicions from the first, when I
heard that my idiot of a nephew had made a casual friend in London. So
this was what you were! A thief, who——”
“I don’t mind personally,” interrupted Jimmy, “but I hope, if ever you
mix with cracksmen, you won’t call them thieves. They are frightfully
sensitive. You see, there’s a world of difference between the two
branches of the profession, and a good deal of snobbish caste prejudice.
Let us suppose that you were an actor-manager. How would you enjoy being
called a super? You see the idea, don’t you? You’d hurt their feelings.
Now, an ordinary thief would probably use violence in a case like this;
but violence, except in extreme cases—I hope this won’t be one of
them—is contrary, I understand, to cracksmen’s etiquette. On the other
hand, Sir Thomas, candour compels me to add that I have you covered.”
There was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. He thrust the stem earnestly
against the lining. Sir Thomas eyed the protuberance apprehensively, and
turned a little pale. Jimmy was scowling ferociously. Arthur Mifflin’s
scowl in Act III had been much admired.
“My gun,” said Jimmy, “is, as you see, in my pocket. I always shoot from
the pocket, in spite of the tailor’s bills. The little fellow is loaded
and cocked. He’s pointing straight at your diamond solitaire. That fatal
spot! No one has ever been hit in the diamond solitaire and survived. My
finger is on the trigger, so I should recommend you not to touch that
bell you are looking at. There are other reasons why you shouldn’t, but
those I will go into presently.”
Sir Thomas’s hand wavered.
“Do, if you like, of course,” said Jimmy agreeably—“it’s your own
house—but I shouldn’t. I am a dead shot at a yard and a half. You
wouldn’t believe the number of sitting haystacks I’ve picked off at that
distance. I simply can’t miss. On second thoughts, I sha’n’t fire to
kill you. Let us be humane on this joyful occasion. I shall just smash
your knees—painful, but not fatal.”
He waggled his pipe suggestively. Sir Thomas blanched. His hand fell to
his side.
“Great!” said Jimmy. “After all, why should you be in a hurry to break
up this very pleasant little meeting? I’m sure I’m not. Let us chat. How
are the theatricals going? Was the duologue a success? Wait till you see
our show. Three of us knew our lines at the dress rehearsal.”
Sir Thomas had backed away from the bell, but the retreat was merely for
the convenience of the moment. He understood that it might be injurious
to press the button just then; but he had recovered his composure by
this time, and he saw that ultimately the game must be his.
Jimmy was trapped.
His face resumed its normal hue. Automatically his hands began to move
towards his coat-tails and his feet to spread themselves. Jimmy noted
with a smile these signs of restored complacency. He hoped ere long to
upset that complacency somewhat.
Sir Thomas addressed himself to making Jimmy’s position clear to him.
“How, may I ask,” he said, “do you propose to leave the castle?”
“Won’t you let me have the motor?” said Jimmy. “But I expect I sha’n’t
be leaving just yet.”
Sir Thomas laughed shortly.
“No,” he said. “No; I fancy not. I am with you there!”
“Great minds,” said Jimmy. “I shouldn’t be surprised if we thought alike
on all sorts of subjects. Just think how you came round to my views on
ringing the bell. In a flash! But what made you fancy that I intended to
leave the castle?”
“I should hardly have supposed that you would be anxious to stay.”
“On the contrary. It’s the one place I have been in in the last two
years that I have felt really satisfied with. Usually I want to move on
after a week. But I could stop here for ever.”
“I am afraid, Mr. Pitt—by the way, an alias, of course?”
“I fear not,” he said. “If I had chosen an alias, it would have been
Tressilyan, or Trevelyan, or something. I call Pitt a poor thing in
names. I once knew a man called Ronald Cheylesmore. Lucky fellow!”
Sir Thomas returned to the point on which he had been about to touch.
“I am afraid, Mr. Pitt, that you hardly realise your position.”
“No?” said Jimmy, interested.
“I find you in the act of stealing my wife’s necklace——”
“Would there be any use in telling you that I was not stealing it, but
putting it back?”
Sir Thomas raised his eyebrows in silence.
“No?” said Jimmy. “I was afraid not. You were saying——”
“I find you in the act of stealing my wife’s necklace,” proceeded Sir
Thomas, “and because for the moment you succeed in postponing arrest by
threatening me with a revolver——”
An agitated look came into Jimmy’s face.
“Great Scott!” he cried. He felt hastily in his pocket. “Yes,” he said;
“as I had begun to fear. I owe you an apology, Sir Thomas,” he went on
with manly dignity, producing the briar. “I am entirely to blame. How
the mistake arose I cannot imagine, but I find it isn’t a revolver after
all.”
Sir Thomas’s cheeks took on a richer tint of purple. He glared dumbly at
the pipe.
“In the excitement of the moment, I suppose——” began Jimmy.
Sir Thomas interrupted. The recollection of his needless panic rankled
within him.
“You—you—you——”
“Count ten!”
“You—what you propose to gain by this buffoonery I am at a loss——”
“How can you say such savage things?” protested Jimmy. “Not buffoonery!
Wit! Esprit! Flow of soul such as circulates daily in the best society.”
Sir Thomas almost leaped towards the bell. With his finger on it, he
turned to deliver a final speech.
“I believe you’re insane,” he cried; “but I’ll have no more of it. I
have endured this foolery long enough. I’ll——”
“Just one moment,” said Jimmy. “I said just now that there were other
reasons besides the revol—well, pipe—why you should not ring that bell.
One of them is that all the servants will be in their places in the
audience, so that there won’t be any one to answer it. But that’s not
the most convincing reason. Will you listen to one more before getting
busy?”
“I see your game. Don’t imagine for a moment that you trick me.”
“Nothing could be further——”
“You fancy you can gain time by talking, and find some way of escape——”
“But I don’t want to escape. Don’t you realise that in about ten minutes
I am due to play an important part in a great drama on the stage?”
“I’ll keep you here, I tell you. You’ll leave this room,” said Sir
Thomas grandly, “over my body.”
“Steeplechasing in the home,” murmured Jimmy. “No more dull evenings.
But listen—do listen. I won’t keep you a minute, and if you want to push
that bell after I’ve finished, you may push it six inches into the wall
if you like.”
“Well?” said Sir Thomas shortly.
“Would you like me to lead gently up to what I want to say, gradually
preparing you for the reception of the news, or shall I——”
The knight took out his watch.
“I shall give you one minute,” he said.
“Heavens, I must hustle! How many seconds have I got now?”
“If you have anything to say, say it.”
“Very well, then,” said Jimmy. “It’s only this. That necklace is a
fraud. The diamonds aren’t diamonds at all. They’re paste!”
★ 27 ★
_A Declaration of Independence_
If Jimmy had entertained any doubts concerning the effectiveness of this
disclosure, they would have vanished at the sight of the other’s face.
Just as the rich hues of a sunset pale slowly into an almost
imperceptible green, so did the purple of Sir Thomas’s cheeks become, in
stages, first a dull red, then pink, and finally take on a uniform
pallor. His mouth hung open. His attitude of righteous defiance had
crumpled. Unsuspected creases appeared in his clothes. He had the
appearance of one who has been caught in the machinery.
Jimmy was a little puzzled. He had expected to check the enemy, to bring
him to reason, but not to demolish him in that way. There was something
in this which he did not understand. When Spike had handed him the
stones, and his trained eye, after a moment’s searching examination, had
made him suspicious, and when, finally, a simple test had proved his
suspicions correct, he was comfortably aware that, though found with the
necklace on his person, he had knowledge which, communicated to Sir
Thomas, would serve him well. He knew that Lady Julia was not the sort
of Lady who would bear calmly the announcement that her treasured rope
of diamonds was a fraud. He knew enough of her to know that she would
demand another necklace, and see that she got it, and that Sir Thomas
was not one of those generous and expansive natures which think nothing
of an expenditure of twenty thousand pounds.
This was the line of thought which had kept him cheerful during what
might otherwise have been a trying interview. He was aware from the
first that Sir Thomas would not believe in the purity of his motives;
but he was convinced that the knight would be satisfied to secure his
silence on the subject of the paste necklace on any terms. He had looked
forward to baffled rage, furious denunciation, and a dozen other
expressions of emotion, but certainly not to collapse of this kind.
The other had begun to make strange, gurgling noises.
“Mind you,” said Jimmy, “it’s a very good imitation—I’ll say that for
it. I didn’t suspect it till I had the thing in my hands. Looking at
it—even quite close—I was taken in for a moment.”
Sir Thomas swallowed nervously.
“How did you know?” he muttered.
Again Jimmy was surprised. He had expected indignant denials and demands
for proof, excited reiteration of the statement that the stones had cost
twenty thousand pounds.
“How did I know?” he repeated. “If you mean what first made me suspect,
I couldn’t tell you; it might have been one of a score of things. A
jeweller can’t say exactly how he gets on the track of faked stones. He
can feel them, he can almost smell them. I worked with a jeweller once;
that’s how I got my knowledge of jewels. But if you mean, can I prove
what I say about this necklace, that’s easy. There’s no deception; it’s
simple. See here. These stones are supposed to be diamonds. Well, the
diamond is the hardest stone in existence—nothing will scratch it. Now,
I’ve got a little ruby out of a pin which I know is genuine. By rights,
then, that ruby ought not to have scratched these stones. You follow
that? But it did. It scratched two of them, the only two I tried. If you
like I can continue the experiment, but there’s no need. I can tell you
straight away what these stones are. I said they were paste, but that
wasn’t quite accurate. They’re a stuff called white jargoon. It’s a
stuff that’s very easily worked. You work it with the flame of a
blow-pipe. You don’t want a full description, I suppose? Anyway, what
happens is that the blow-pipe sets it up like a tonic, gives it
increased specific gravity, and a healthy complexion, and all sorts of
great things of that kind. Two minutes in the flame of a blow-pipe is
like a week at the seaside to a bit of white jargoon. Are you satisfied?
If it comes to that, I suppose you can hardly be expected to be;
convinced is a better word. Are you convinced, or do you hanker after
tests like polarised light and refracting liquids?”
Sir Thomas had staggered to a chair.
“So that was how you knew!” he said.
“That was—” began Jimmy, when a sudden suspicion flashed across his
mind. He scrutinised Sir Thomas’s pallid face keenly.
“Did you know?” he asked.
He wondered that the possibility had not occurred to him earlier.
“By George, I believe you did!” he cried. “You must have done. So that’s
how it happened, is it? I don’t wonder it was a shock when I said I knew
about the necklace.”
“Mr. Pitt!”
“Well?”
“I have something to say to you.”
“I’m listening.”
Sir Thomas tried to rally. There was a touch of the old pomposity in his
manner when he spoke.
“Mr. Pitt, I find you in an unpleasant position——”
Jimmy interrupted.
“Don’t you worry about my unpleasant position,” he said. “Fix your
attention exclusively upon your own. Let us be frank with one another.
You’re in the cart. What do you propose to do about it?”
“I do not understand you,” he began.
“No?” said Jimmy. “I’ll try and make my meaning clear. Correct me from
time to time if I am wrong. The way I size the thing up is as follows:
When you married Lady Julia I gather that it was, so to speak, up to you
to some extent. People knew you were a millionaire, and they expected
something special in the way of gifts from the bridegroom to the bride.
Now you, being of a prudent and economical nature, began to wonder if
there wasn’t some way of getting a reputation for lavishness without
actually cashing up to any great extent. Am I right?”
Sir Thomas did not answer.
“I am,” said Jimmy. “Well, it occurred to you, naturally enough, that a
properly-selected gift of jewellery might work the trick. It only needed
a little nerve. When you give a present of diamonds to a lady she is not
likely to call for polarised light and refracting liquids and the rest
of the circus. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred she will take the
thing on trust. Very well. You trotted off to a jeweller and put the
thing to him confidentially. I expect you suggested paste; but, being a
wily person, he pointed out that paste has a habit of not wearing well.
It is pretty enough when it’s new, but quite a small amount of ordinary
wear and tear destroys the polish of the surface and the sharpness of
the cutting. It gets scratched easily. Having heard this, and reflected
that Lady Julia was not likely to keep the necklace under a glass case,
you rejected paste as too risky. The genial jeweller then suggested
white jargoon, mentioning, as I have done, that after an application or
so of the blow-pipe its own mother wouldn’t know it. If he was a bit of
an antiquary, he probably added that in the eighteenth century jargoon
stones were supposed to be actually an inferior sort of diamond. What
could be more suitable? ‘Make it jargoon, dear heart,’ you cried
joyfully, and all was well. Am I right? I notice that you have not
corrected me so far.”
Whether Sir Thomas would have replied in the affirmative is uncertain.
He was opening his mouth to speak when the curtain at the end of the
room heaved, and Lord Dreever burst out like a cannon-ball in tweeds.
The apparition effectually checked any speech that Sir Thomas might have
been intending to make. Lying back in his chair, he goggled silently at
the new arrival. Even Jimmy, though knowing that his lordship was in
hiding, was taken aback.
His lordship broke the silence.
“Great Scot!” he cried.
Neither Jimmy nor Sir Thomas seemed to consider the observation unsound
or inadequate. They permitted it to pass without comment.
“You old scoundrel!” added his lordship, addressing Sir Thomas; “and
you’re the man who called me a welsher!” There were signs of a flicker
of spirit in the knight’s prominent eyes, but they died away. He made no
reply.
“Great Scot!” moaned his lordship, in a fever of self-pity, “here have I
been all these years letting you give me Hades in every shape and form,
when all the while—— My goodness, if I’d only known earlier!”
He turned to Jimmy.
“Pitt, old man,” he said warmly, “I—dash it—I don’t know what to say. If
it hadn’t been for you—I always did like Americans.”
“I’m not one,” said Jimmy; but his lordship went on, unchecked.
“I always thought it bally rot that that fuss happened in—in—wherever it
was. If it hadn’t been for fellows like you,” he continued, addressing
Sir Thomas once more, “there wouldn’t have been any of that frightful
Declaration of Independence business. Would there, Pitt, old man?”
These were deep problems too spacious for casual examination. Jimmy
shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, I should say Sir Thomas might not have got along with George
Washington, anyhow,” he said.
“Of course not. Well”—his lordship moved towards the door—“I’m off
downstairs to see what Aunt Julia has to say about it all.”
A shudder, as if from some electric shock shook Sir Thomas. He leaped to
his feet.
“Spencer,” he cried, “I forbid you to say a word to your aunt.”
“Oh!” said his lordship. “You do, do you?”
Sir Thomas shivered.
“She would never let me hear the last of it.”
“I bet she wouldn’t. I’ll go and see.”
“Stop!”
“Well?”
Sir Thomas dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. He dared not
face the vision of Lady Julia in possession of the truth. At one time
the fear lest she might discover the harmless little deception he had
practised had kept him awake at night, but gradually, as the days went
by, and the excellence of the imitation stones had continued to impose
upon her and upon every one else who saw them, the fear had diminished.
But it had always been at the back of his mind. Even in her calmer
moments his wife was a source of mild terror to him. His imagination
reeled at the thought of what depths of aristocratic scorn and
indignation she would plumb in a case like this.
“Spencer,” he said, “I insist that you shall not inform your aunt of
this!”
“What? You want me to keep my mouth shut? You want me to become an
accomplice in this beastly, low-down deception? I like that!”
“The point,” said Jimmy, “is well taken—_noblesse oblige_, and all that
sort of thing. The blood of the Dreevers boils furiously at the idea.
Listen! You can hear it sizzling.”
Lord Dreever moved a step nearer the door.
“Stop!” cried Sir Thomas again. “Spencer!”
“Well?”
“Spencer, my boy, it occurs to me that perhaps I have not always treated
you very well.”
“‘Perhaps!’ ‘Not always!’ Great Scot! I’ll have a fiver each way on both
those. Considering you’ve treated me like a frightful kid practically
ever since you’ve known me, I call that pretty rich. Why, what about
this very night, when I asked you for a few pounds?”
“It was only the thought that you had been gambling——”
“Gambling! How about palming off faked diamonds on Aunt Julia for a
gamble?”
“A game of skill, surely,” murmured Jimmy.
“I have been thinking the matter over,” said Sir Thomas, “and if you
really need the—— Was it not fifty pounds?”
“It was twenty,” said his lordship, “and I don’t need it. Keep it.
You’ll want all you can save for a new necklace.”
His fingers closed on the door-handle.
“Spencer—stop!”
“Well?”
“We must talk this over. We must not be hasty.”
He passed the handkerchief over his forehead.
“In the past, perhaps,” he resumed, “our relations have not been quite——
The fault was mine. I have always endeavoured to do my duty. It is a
difficult task to look after a young man of your age——”
His lordship’s sense of his grievances made him eloquent.
“Dash it all!” he cried. “That’s just what I jolly well complain of. Who
the dickens wanted you to look after me? Hang it! you’ve kept your eye
on me all these years like a frightful policeman! You cut off my
allowance right in the middle of my time at the ’Varsity, just when I
needed it most, and I had to come and beg for money whenever I wanted to
buy a cigarette. I looked a fearful ass I can tell you! Men who knew me
used to be dashed funny about it. I’m sick of the whole bally business.
You’ve given me a jolly thin time all this while, and now I’m going to
get a bit of my own back. Wouldn’t you, Pitt, old man?”
Jimmy, thus suddenly appealed to, admitted that, in his lordship’s
place, he might have experienced a momentary temptation to do something
of the kind.
“Of course,” said his lordship. “Any fellow would.”
“But, Spencer, let me——”
“You’ve soured my life,” said his lordship, frowning a tense, Byronic
frown. “That’s what you’ve done—soured my whole bally life. I’ve had a
rotten time. I’ve had to go about touching my friends for money to keep
me going. Why, I owe you a fiver, don’t I, Pitt, old man?”
It was a tenner, to be finickingly accurate about details, but Jimmy did
not say so. He concluded, rightly, that the memory of the original five
pounds which he had lent Lord Dreever at the Savoy Hotel had faded from
the other’s mind.
“Don’t mention it,” he said.
“But I do mention it,” protested his lordship shrilly. “It just proves
what I say. If I had had a decent allowance it wouldn’t have happened.
And you wouldn’t give me enough to set me going in the Diplomatic
Service. That’s another thing. Why wouldn’t you do that?”
Sir Thomas pulled himself together.
“I hardly thought you qualified, my dear boy.”
His lordship did not actually foam at the mouth, but he looked as if he
might do so at any moment. Excitement and the memory of his wrongs,
lubricated, as it were, by the champagne he had consumed both at and
after dinner, had produced in him a frame of mind far removed from the
normal. His manners no longer had that repose which stamps the caste of
Vere de Vere. He waved his hands.