Her voice was strained. She spoke with an effort. She was suffering
torments. The words her father had said to her on the terrace were
pouring back into her mind. She seemed to hear his voice now, cool
and confident, warning her against Jimmy, saying that he was
crooked. There was a curious whirring in her head. Everything in the
room was growing large and misty. She heard Lord Dreever begin to
say something that sounded as if someone were speaking at the end of
a telephone; and, then, she was aware that Jimmy was holding her in
his arms, and calling to Lord Dreever to bring water,
'When a girl goes like that,' said his lordship with an insufferable
air of omniscience, 'you want to cut her--'
'Come along!' said Jimmy. 'Are you going to be a week getting that
water?'
His lordship proceeded to soak a sponge without further parley; but,
as he carried his dripping burden across the room, Molly recovered.
She tried weakly to free herself.
Jimmy helped her to a chair. He had dropped the necklace on the
floor, and Lord Dreever nearly trod on it.
'What ho!' observed his lordship, picking it up. 'Go easy with the
jewelry!'
Jimmy was bending over Molly. Neither of them seemed to be aware of
his lordship's presence. Spennie was the sort of person whose
existence is apt to be forgotten. Jimmy had had a flash of
intuition. For the first time, it had occurred to him that Mr.
McEachern might have hinted to Molly something of his own
suspicions.
'Molly, dear,' he said, 'it isn't what you think. I can explain
everything. Do you feel better now? Can you listen? I can explain
everything.'
'Pitt, old boy,' protested his lordship, 'you don't understand. We
aren't going to give you away. We're all--'
Jimmy ignored him.
'Molly, listen,' he said.
She sat up.
'Go on, Jimmy,' she said.
'I wasn't stealing the necklace. I was putting it back. The man who
came to the castle with me, Spike Mullins, took it this afternoon,
and brought it to me.'
Spike Mullins! Molly remembered the name.
'He thinks I am a crook, a sort of Raffles. It was my fault. I was a
fool. It all began that night in New York, when we met at your
house. I had been to the opening performance of a play called,
'Love, the Cracksman,' one of those burglar plays.'
'Jolly good show,' interpolated his lordship, chattily. 'It was at
the Circle over here. I went twice.'
'A friend of mine, a man named Mifflin, had been playing the hero in
it, and after the show, at the club, he started in talking about the
art of burglary--he'd been studying it--and I said that anybody
could burgle a house. And, in another minute, it somehow happened
that I had made a bet that I would do it that night. Heaven knows
