'So I understand,' said Jimmy.
'Shall I rubber around, an' find out where is dey kept, boss?'
'Spike,' said Jimmy, 'ask me no more. All this is in direct
contravention of our treaty respecting keeping your fingers off the
spoons. You pain me. Desist.'
'Sorry, boss. But dey'll be willy-wonders, dem jools. A hundred
t'ousand plunks. Dat's goin' some, ain't it? What's dat dis side?'
'Twenty thousand pounds.'
'Gee!...Can I help youse wit' de duds, boss?'
'No, thanks, Spike, I'm through now. You might just give me a brush
down, though. No, not that. That's a hair-brush. Try the big black
one.'
'Dis is a boid of a dude suit,' observed Spike, pausing in his
labors.
'Glad you like it, Spike. Rather chic, I think.'
'It's de limit. Excuse me. How much did it set youse back, boss?'
'Something like seven guineas, I believe. I could look up the bill,
and let you know.'
'What's dat--guineas? Is dat more dan a pound?'
'A shilling more. Why these higher mathematics?'
Spike resumed his brushing.
'What a lot of dude suits youse could git,' he observed
meditatively, 'if youse had dem jools!' He became suddenly animated.
He waved the clothes-brush. 'Oh, you boss!' he cried. 'What's eatin'
youse? Aw, it's a shame not to. Come along, you boss! Say, what's
doin'? Why ain't youse sittin' in at de game? Oh, you boss!'
Whatever reply Jimmy might have made to this impassioned appeal was
checked by a sudden bang on the door. Almost simultaneously, the
handle turned.
'Gee!' cried Spike. 'It's de cop!'
Jimmy smiled pleasantly.
'Come in, Mr. McEachern,' he said, 'come in. Journeys end in lovers
meeting. You know my friend Mr. Mullins, I think? Shut the door, and
sit down, and let's talk of many things.'
CHAPTER XIV
CHECK AND A COUNTER MOVE
Mr. McEachern stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. As the result
of a long connection with evil-doers, the ex-policeman was somewhat
prone to harbor suspicions of those round about him, and at the
present moment his mind was aflame. Indeed, a more trusting man
might have been excused for feeling a little doubtful as to the
intentions of Jimmy and Spike. When McEachern had heard that Lord
Dreever had brought home a casual London acquaintance, he had
suspected as a possible drawback to the visit the existence of
hidden motives on the part of the unknown. Lord Dreever, he had
felt, was precisely the sort of youth to whom the professional
bunco-steerer would attach himself with shouts of joy. Never, he had
assured himself, had there been a softer proposition than his
lordship since bunco-steering became a profession. When he found
that the strange visitor was Jimmy Pitt, his suspicions had
increased a thousand-fold.
