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

over his shoulder. McEachern glared dumbly. This was the crowning blow, that there should be spectators of his predicament.

Jimmy strolled into the room.

"Dreever told me you were in here," he said to McEachern. "Can you spare me a—Hullo!"

The detective had pocketed his revolver at the first sound of the handle. To be discreet was one of the chief articles in the creed of the young men from Wragge's Detective Agency. But handcuffs are not easily concealed. Jimmy stood staring in amazement at McEachern's wrists.

"Some sort of a round game?" he enquired with interest.

The detective became confidential.

"It's this way, Mr. Pitt. There's been some pretty deep work going on here. There's a regular gang of burglars in the place. This chap here's one of them."

"What, Mr. McEachern!"

"That's what he calls himself."

It was all Jimmy could do to keep himself from asking Mr. McEachern whether he attributed his downfall to drink. He contented himself with a sorrowful shake of the head at the fermenting captive. Then, he took up the part of the prisoner's attorney.

"I don't believe it," he said. "What makes you think so?"

"Why, this afternoon, I caught this man's pal, the fellow that calls himself Galer—"

"I know the man," said Jimmy. "He's a detective, really. Mr. McEachern brought him down here."

The sleuth's jaw dropped limply, as if he had received a blow.

"What?" he said, in a feeble voice.

"Didn't I tell you—?" began Mr. McEachern; but the sleuth was occupied with Jimmy. That sickening premonition of disaster was beginning to steal over him. Dimly, he began to perceive that he had blundered.

"Yes," said Jimmy. "Why, I can't say; but Mr. McEachern was afraid someone might try to steal Lady Julia Blunt's rope of diamonds. So, he wrote to London for this man, Galer. It was officious, perhaps, but not criminal. I doubt if, legally, you could handcuff a man for a thing like that. What have you done with good Mr. Galer?"

"I've locked him in the coal-cellar," said the detective, dismally. The thought of the interview in prospect with the human bloodhound he had so mishandled was not exhilarating.

"Locked him in the cellar, did you?" said Jimmy. "Well, well, I daresay he's very happy there. He's probably busy detecting black-beetles. Still, perhaps you had better go and let him out. Possibly, if you were to apologize to him—? Eh? Just as you think. I only suggest. If you want somebody to vouch for Mr. McEachern's non-burglariousness, I can do it. He is a gentleman of private means, and we knew each other out in New York—we are old acquaintances."

"I never thought—"

"That," said Jimmy, with sympathetic friendliness, "if you will allow me to say so, is the cardinal mistake you detectives make. You never do think."

"It never occurred to me—"

The detective looked uneasily at Mr. McEachern. There were indications in the policeman's demeanor that the moment following release would be devoted exclusively to a carnival of violence, with a certain sleuth-hound playing a prominent role.

He took the key of the handcuffs from his pocket, and toyed with it. Mr. McEachern emitted a low growl. It was enough.

"If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Pitt," said the sleuth, obsequiously. He thrust the key into Jimmy's hands, and fled.

Jimmy unlocked the handcuffs. Mr. McEachern rubbed his wrists.

"Ingenious little things," said Jimmy.

"I'm much obliged to you," growled Mr. McEachern, without looking up.

"Not at all. A pleasure. This circumstantial evidence thing is the devil, isn't it? I knew a man who broke into a house in New York to win a bet, and to this day the owner of that house thinks him a professional burglar."

"What's that?" said Mr. McEachern, sharply.

"Why do I say 'a man '? Why am I so elusive and mysterious? You're quite right. It sounds more dramatic, but after all what you want is facts. Very well. I broke into your house that night to win a bet. That's the limpid truth."

McEachern was staring at him. Jimmy proceeded.

"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 do is to find Mifflin—I forgot what theater 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 could not forget that it was Jimmy who had extricated him from a very uncomfortable position. He saw now that that position was not so bad as it had seemed at the time, for the establishing of the innocence of Mr. Galer could have been effected on the morrow by an exchange of telegrams between the castle and Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency; yet it had certainly been bad enough. But for Jimmy, there would have been several hours of acute embarrassment, if nothing worse. He felt something of a reaction in Jimmy's favor.

Still, it is hard to overcome a deep-rooted prejudice in an instant. He stared doubtfully.

"See 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, and call the fight off. I guess you know why I came in 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 gazed thoughtfully