“You are just about to ask—what was Spike Mullins doing with me? Well,
Spike had broken into my flat an hour before, and I took him along with
me as a sort of guide, philosopher, and friend.”
“Spike Mullins said you were a burglar from England.”
“I’m afraid I rather led him to think so. I had been to see the opening
performance of a burglar-play called _Love, the Cracksman_, that night,
and I worked off on Spike some severely technical information I had
received from a pal of mine who played lead in the show. I told you when
I came in that I had been talking to Lord Dreever. Well, what he was
saying to me was that he had met this very actor-man, a fellow called
Mifflin—Arthur Mifflin—in London just before he met me. He’s in London
now, rehearsing for a show that’s come over from America. You see the
importance of this item? It means that if you doubt my story all you
need to do is to find Mifflin—I forget what theatre his play is coming
on at, but you could find out in a second—and ask him to corroborate.
Are you satisfied?”
McEachern did not answer. An hour before he would have fought to the
last ditch for his belief in Jimmy’s crookedness, but the events of the
last ten minutes had shaken him. He felt something of a reaction in
Jimmy’s favour.
“Look here, Mr. McEachern,” said Jimmy, “I wish you would listen quietly
to me for a minute or two. There’s really no reason on earth why we
should be at one another’s throats in this way. We might just as well be
friends. Let’s shake hands and call the fight off. I suppose you know
why I came here to see you?” McEachern did not speak.
“You know that your daughter has broken off her engagement to Lord
Dreever?”
“Then he was right!” said McEachern, half to himself. “It is you?”
Jimmy nodded. McEachern drummed his fingers on the table and stared
thoughtfully at him.
“Is Molly——?” he said, at length. “Does Molly——?”
“Yes,” said Jimmy.
McEachern continued his drumming.
“Don’t think there’s been anything underhand about this,” said Jimmy.
“She absolutely refused to do anything unless you gave your consent. She
said you had been partners all her life, and she was going to do the
square thing by you.”
“She did?” said McEachern eagerly.
“I think you ought to do the square thing by her. I’m not much, but she
wants me. Do the square thing by her.”
McEachern was staring straight in front of him. There was a look in his
eyes which Jimmy had never seen there before—a frightened, hunted look.
“It’s too late,” he burst out. “I’ll be square with her now, but it’s
too late. I won’t stand in her way when I can make her happy. But I’ll
lose her! Oh, my God, I’ll lose her!
“Did you think I had never said to myself,” he went on, “the things you
said to me that day when we met here? Did you think I didn’t know what I
was? Who should know it better than myself? But she didn’t—I’d kept it
from her. I’d sweat for fear she would find out some day. When I came
over here I thought I was safe; and then you came, and I saw you
together. I thought you were a crook—you were with Mullins in New York—I
told her you were a crook.”
“You told her that?”
“I said I knew it. I couldn’t tell her the truth why I thought so. I
said I had made inquiries in New York and found out about you.”
Jimmy saw now. The mystery was solved. So that was why Molly had allowed
them to force her into the engagement with Dreever.
“I see,” he said slowly.
McEachern gripped the table in silence.
“I see,” said Jimmy again. “You mean she’ll want an explanation?”
He thought for a moment.
“You must tell her,” he said quickly. “For your own sake you must tell
her. Go and do it now. Wake up, man!” He shook him by the shoulder. “Go
and do it now. She’ll forgive you. Don’t be afraid of that. Go and look
for her and tell her now.”
McEachern roused himself.
“I will,” he said.
“It’s the only way,” said Jimmy.
McEachern opened the door, then fell back a pace. Jimmy could hear
voices in the passage outside. He recognised Lord Dreever’s.
McEachern continued to back away from the door.
Lord Dreever entered, with Molly on his arm.
“Halloa!” said his lordship, looking round.
“Halloa, Pitt! Here we all are; what?”
“Lord Dreever wanted to smoke,” said Molly.
She smiled, but there was anxiety in her eyes. She looked quickly at her
father and at Jimmy.
“Molly, my dear,” said McEachern huskily, “I want to speak to you for a
moment.”
Jimmy took his lordship by the arm.
“Come along, Dreever,” he said. “You can come and sit out with me. We’ll
go and smoke on the terrace.”
They left the room together.
“What does the old boy want?” inquired his lordship. “Are you and Miss
McEachern——?”
“We are,” said Jimmy.
“By Jove! I say, old chap! Million congratulations and all that sort of
rot, you know!”
His lordship had to resume his duties in the ballroom after a while; but
Jimmy sat on, smoking and thinking.
In the general stillness the opening of the door at the top of the steps
came sharply to his ears. He looked up. Two figures were silhouetted for
a moment against the light, and then the door closed again. They began
to move slowly down the steps.
Jimmy had recognised them. He got up. He was in the shadow; they could
not see him. They began to walk down the terrace. They were quite close
now. Neither was speaking, but presently, when they were but a few feet
away, they stopped. There was the splutter of a match, and McEachern lit
a cigar. In the yellow light his face was clearly visible. Jimmy looked,
and was content.
★ 30 ★
_Conclusion_
The American liner _St. Louis_ lay in the Empress Dock at Southampton,
taking aboard her passengers. All sorts and conditions of men flowed in
an unceasing stream up the gangway.
Leaning over the second-class railing, Jimmy Pitt and Spike Mullins
watched them thoughtfully.
“Well, Spike,” said Jimmy, “your schooner’s on the tide now, isn’t it?
Your vessel’s at the quay. You’ve got some queer-looking
fellow-travellers. Don’t miss the two Cingalese sports and the man in
the turban and baggy breeches. I wonder if they’re airtight? Useful if
he fell overboard.”
“Sure,” said Spike, directing a contemplative eye towards the garment in
question. “He knows his business.”
“I wonder what those men on the deck are writing? They’ve been
scribbling away ever since we came here. Probably society journalists.
We shall see in next week’s papers, ‘Among the second-class passengers
we noticed Mr. “Spike” Mullins looking as cheery as ever.’ It’s a pity
you’re so set on going, Spike. Why not change your mind and stop?”
For a moment Spike looked wistful. Then his countenance resumed its
woodenness. “Dere ain’t no use for me dis side, boss,” he said. “New
York’s de spot. Youse don’t want none of me now you’re married. How’s
Miss Molly, boss?”
“Splendid, Spike, thanks. We’re going over to France by to-night’s boat.
“It’s been a queer business,” said Jimmy, after a pause—“a deuced queer
business. Still, I’ve come very well out of it, at any rate. It seems to
me that you’re the only one of us who doesn’t end happily, Spike. I’m
married. McEachern’s butted into society so deep that it would take an
excavating party with dynamite to get him out of it. Molly—well, Molly’s
made a bad bargain, but I hope she won’t regret it. We’re all going
some, except you. You’re going out on the old trail again—which begins
in Third Avenue and ends in Sing Sing. Why tear yourself away, Spike?”
Spike concentrated his gaze on a weedy young emigrant in a blue jersey,
who was having his eye examined by the overworked doctor, and seemed to
be resenting it.
“Dere’s nuttin’ doin’ dis side, boss,” he said at length. “I want to get
busy.”
“Ulysses Mullins!” said Jimmy, looking at him curiously. “I know the
feeling. There’s only one cure. I sketched it out for you once, but I
doubt if you’ll ever take it. You don’t think a lot of women, do you?
You’re the rugged bachelor.”
“Goils——!” began Spike comprehensively, and abandoned the topic without
dilating on it further.
“Dose were great jools, boss,” said Spike thoughtfully.
“I believe you’re still brooding over them, Spike.”
“We could have got away wit dem, if you’d have stood for it—dead easy.”
“You are brooding over them. Spike, I’ll tell you something which will
console you a little before you start out on your wanderings. It’s in
confidence, so keep it dark. That necklace was paste.”
“What’s dat?”
“Nothing but paste. I spotted it directly you handed them to me. It
wasn’t worth a hundred dollars.”
A light of understanding came into Spike’s eyes. His face beamed with
the smile of one to whom dark matters are made clear.
“So dat’s why you wouldn’t stand for getting away wit it!” he exclaimed.
* * * * * * * *
The last voyager had embarked. The deck was full to congestion.
“They’ll be sending us ashore in a minute,” said Jimmy. “I’d better be
moving. Let me know how you’re getting on, Spike, from time to time. You
know the address. And, I say, it’s just possible you may find you want a
dollar or two every now and then—when you’re going to buy another
aeroplane, for instance. Well, you know where to write to for it, don’t
you?”
“T’anks, boss. But dat’ll be all right. I’m goin’ to sit in at anodder
game dis time—politics, boss. A fr’en’ of a mug what I knows has gotten
a pull. He’ll find me a job.”
“Politics!” said Jimmy. “I never thought of that. ‘My brother Dan is an
alderman with a grip on the Seventh Ward!’” he quoted softly. “Why,
you’ll be a boss before you know where you are.”
“Sure,” said Spike, grinning modestly.
“You ought to be a thundering success in American politics,” said Jimmy.
“You’ve got all the necessary qualities.”
A steward passed.
“Any more for the shore?”
“Well, Spike——” said Jimmy.
“Good-bye, boss.”
“Good-bye,” said Jimmy. “And good luck.”
* * * * * * * *
The sun had gone behind the clouds. As the ship slid out on its way a
stray beam pierced the greyness.
It shone on a red head.
Transcriber’s Notes
—Silently corrected a few typos.
—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.