“Why, she wouldn’t have me at any price.”
“You asked her this afternoon?”
“Yes; and it was all right then. She refused me like a bird, wouldn’t hear of it, came pretty near laughing in my face; and then tonight,” he went on, his voice squeaky at the thought of his wrongs, “my uncle sends for me and says she’s changed her mind and is waiting for me in the morning room. I go there and she tells me in about three words that she’s been thinking it over and that the whole fearful thing is on again. I call it jolly rough on a chap. I felt such a frightful ass, you know, I didn’t know what to do—whether to kiss her, I mean—”
Jimmy snorted violently.
“Eh?” said his lordship blankly.
“Go on,” said Jimmy, between his teeth.
“I felt a fearful fool, you know. I just said ‘Right-O!’ or something—dashed if I know what I did say—and legged it. It’s a jolly rum business, the whole thing. It isn’t as if she wanted me—I could see that with half an eye—she doesn’t care a hang for me. It’s my belief, old man,” he said solemnly, “that she’s been badgered into it. I believe my uncle’s been at her.”
Jimmy laughed shortly.
“My dear man, you seem to think your uncle’s persuasive influence is universal. I guess it’s confined to you.”
“Well, anyhow, I believe that’s what’s happened. What do you say?”
“Why say anything? There doesn’t seem to be much need.”
He poured some brandy into a glass and added a little soda.
“You take it pretty stiff,” observed his lordship, with a touch of envy.
“On occasions,” said Jimmy, emptying his glass.
XVIII
The Lochinvar Method
As Jimmy sat smoking a last cigarette in his bedroom before going to bed that night Spike Mullins came in. Jimmy had been thinking things over. He was one of those men who are at their best in a losing game. Imminent disaster always had the effect of keying him up and putting an edge on his mind. The news he had heard that night had left him with undiminished determination, but conscious that a change of method would be needed. He must stake all on a single throw now. Young Lochinvar rather than Romeo must be his model. He declined to believe himself incapable of getting anything that he wanted as badly as he wanted Molly. He also declined to believe that she was really attached to Lord Dreever. He suspected the hand of McEachern in the affair, though the suspicion did not clear up the mystery by any means. Molly was a girl of character, not a feminine counterpart of his lordship, content meekly to do what she was told in a matter of this kind. The whole thing puzzled him.
“Well, Spike?” he said.
He was not too pleased at the interruption. He was thinking, and he wanted to be alone.
Something appeared to have disturbed Spike. His bearing was excited.
“Say, boss! Guess what. You know dat guy dat come dis afternoon?—de guy from de village, dat came wit old man McEachern.”
“Galer?” said Jimmy. “What about him?”
There had been an addition to the guests at the castle that afternoon. Mr. McEachern, walking in the village, had happened upon an old New York acquaintance of his, who, touring England, had reached Dreever and was anxious to see the historic castle. Mr. McEachern had brought him thither, introduced him to Sir Thomas, and now Mr. Samuel Galer was occupying a room on the same floor as Jimmy’s. He had appeared at dinner that night, a short, wooden-faced man, with no more conversation than Hargate. Jimmy had not paid any particular attention to him.
“What about him?” he said.
“He’s a ‘sleut,’ boss.”
“A what?”
“A ‘sleut.’ ”
“A detective?”
“Dat’s right. A fly cop.”
“What makes you think that?”
“T’ink! Why, I can tell dem by deir eyes and deir feet, and de whole of dem. I could pick out a fly cop from a bunch of a t’ousand. He’s sure a ’nough ‘sleut’ all right, all right. I seen him rubbering at you, boss.”
“At me! Why at me? Why, of course, I see now. Our friend McEachern has got him in to spy on us.”
“Dat’s right, boss.”
“Of course you may be mistaken.”
“Not me, boss. And, say, he ain’t de only one.”
“What, more detectives? They’ll have to put up ‘House Full’ boards at this rate. Who’s the other?”
“A mug what’s down in de soivants’ hall. I wasn’t so sure of him at foist, but now I’m onto his curves. He’s a sleut all right. He’s vally to Sir Tummas, dis second mug is; but he ain’t no vally! He’s come to see no one don’t get busy wit de jools. Say, what do youse t’ink of dem jools, boss?”
“Finest I ever saw.”
“Yes, dat’s right. A hundred thousand plunks dey set him back. Dey’re de limit, ain’t dey? Say, won’t you really—”
“Spike, I’m surprised at you! Do you know you’re getting a regular Mephistopheles, Spike? Suppose I hadn’t an iron will, what would happen? You really must select your subjects of conversation more carefully. You’re bad company for the likes of me.”
Spike shuffled despondently.
“But, boss—”
Jimmy shook his head.
“It can’t be done, my lad.”
“But it can, boss,” protested Spike. “It’s dead easy. I’ve been up to de room, and I seen de box what de jools is kept in. Why, it’s de softest ever! We could get dem as easy as pullin’ de plug out of a bottle. Why, say, dere’s never been such a peach of a place for gettin’ hold of de stuff as dis house. Dat’s right, boss. Why, look what I got dis afternoon, just snoopin’ round and not really trying to get busy at all. It was just lying about.”
He plunged his hand into his pocket and drew it out again. As he unclosed his fingers Jimmy caught the gleam of precious stones.
“What the—” he gasped.
Spike was looking at his treasure-trove with an air of affectionate proprietorship.
“Where on earth did you get those?” asked Jimmy.
“Out of one of de
