The Intrusion of Jimmy by P. G. Wodehouse (new books to read .txt) 📗

the seat. Molly drew the cloak closer round her, and shivered.

"Cold, dear?"

"No."

"You shivered."

"It was nothing. Yes, it was," she went on quickly; "it was. Father, will you promise me something?"

"Of course. What?"

"Don't ever be angry with me like that again, will you? I couldn't bear it. Really, I couldn't. I know it's stupid of me, but it hurt. You don't know how it hurt."

"But, my dear—"

"Oh, I know it's stupid. But—"

"But, my darling, it wasn't so. I was angry, but it wasn't with you."

"With—? Were you angry with Mr. Pitt?"

McEachern saw that he had traveled too far. He had intended that Jimmy's existence should be forgotten for the time being. He had other things to discuss. But it was too late now. He must go forward.

"I didn't like to see you out here alone with Mr. Pitt, dear," he said. "I was afraid—"

He saw that he must go still further forward. It was more than, awkward. He wished to hint at the undesirability of an entanglement with Jimmy without admitting the possibility of it. Not being a man, of nimble brain, he found this somewhat beyond his powers.

"I don't like him," he said, briefly. "He's crooked."

Molly's eyes opened wide. The color had gone from her face.

"Crooked, father?"

McEachern perceived that he had traveled very much too far, almost to disaster. He longed to denounce Jimmy, but he was gagged. If Molly were to ask the question, that Jimmy had asked in the bedroom—that fatal, unanswerable question! The price was too great to pay.

He spoke cautiously, vaguely, feeling his way.

"I couldn't explain to you, my dear. You wouldn't understand. You must remember, my dear, that out in New York I was in a position to know a great many queer characters—crooks, Molly. I was working among them."

"But, father, that night at our house you didn't know Mr. Pitt. He had to tell you his name."

"I didn't know him—then," said her father slowly, "but—but—" he paused—"but I made inquiries," he concluded with a rush, "and found out things."

He permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. He saw his way now.

"Inquiries?" said Molly. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you suspect him?"

A moment earlier, the question might have confused McEachern, but not now. He was equal to it. He took it in his stride.

"It's hard to say, my dear. A man who has had as much to do with crooks as I have recognizes them when he sees them."

"Did you think Mr. Pitt looked—looked like that?" Her voice was very small. There was a drawn, pinched expression on her face. She was paler than ever.

He could not divine her thoughts. He could not know what his words had done; how they had shown her in a flash what Jimmy was to her, and lighted her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hidden there. She knew now. The feeling of comradeship, the instinctive trust, the sense of dependence—they no longer perplexed her; they were signs which she could read.

And he was crooked!

McEachern proceeded. Belief made him buoyant.

"I did, my dear. I can read them like a book. I've met scores of his sort. Broadway is full of them. Good clothes and a pleasant manner don't make a man honest. I've run up against a mighty high-toned bunch of crooks in my day. It's a long time since I gave up thinking that it was only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick ears that needed watching. It's the innocent Willies who look as if all they could do was to lead the cotillon. This man Pitt's one of them. I'm not guessing, mind you. I know. I know his line, and all about him. I'm watching him. He's here on some game. How did he get here? Why, he scraped acquaintance with Lord Dreever in a London restaurant. It's the commonest trick on the list. If I hadn't happened to be here when he came, I suppose he'd have made his haul by now. Why, he came all prepared for it! Have you seen an ugly, grinning, red-headed scoundrel hanging about the place? His valet. So he says. Valet! Do you know who that is? That's one of the most notorious yegg-men on the other side. There isn't a policeman in New York who doesn't know Spike Mullins. Even if I knew nothing of this Pitt, that would be enough. What's an innocent man going round the country with Spike Mullins for, unless they are standing in together at some game? That's who Mr. Pitt is, my dear, and that's why maybe I seemed a little put out when I came upon you and him out here alone together. See as little of him as you can. In a large party like this, it won't be difficult to avoid him."

Molly sat staring out across the garden. At first, every word had been a stab. Several times, she had been on the point of crying out that she could bear it no longer. But, gradually, a numbness succeeded the pain. She found herself listening apathetically.

McEachern talked on. He left the subject of Jimmy, comfortably conscious that, even if there had ever existed in Molly's heart any budding feeling of the kind he had suspected, it must now be dead. He steered the conversation away until it ran easily among commonplaces. He talked of New York, of the preparations for the theatricals. Molly answered composedly. She was still pale, and a certain listlessness in her manner might have been noticed by a more observant man than Mr. McEachern. Beyond this, there was nothing to show that her heart had been born and killed but a few minutes before. Women have the Red Indian instinct; and Molly had grown to womanhood in those few minutes.

Presently, Lord Dreever's name came up. It caused a momentary pause, and McEachern took advantage of it. It was the cue for which he had been waiting. He hesitated for a moment, for the conversation was about to enter upon a difficult phase, and he was not quite sure of himself. Then, he took the plunge.

"I have just been talking to Sir Thomas, my dear," he said. He tried to speak casually, and, as a natural result, infused so much meaning into his voice that Molly looked at him in surprise. McEachern coughed confusedly. Diplomacy, he concluded, was not his forte. He abandoned it in favor of directness. "He was telling me that you had refused Lord Dreever this evening."

"Yes. I did," said Molly. "How did Sir Thomas know?"

"Lord Dreever told him."

Molly raised her eyebrows.

"I shouldn't have thought it was the sort of thing