Piccadilly Jim - P. G. Wodehouse (best romance ebooks TXT) 📗

“No, I shall have to go there. I have some packing to do.”

“You will be back to lunch?” said Ann.

“Thanks. I shan’t be gone more than half an hour.”

For a moment after they had gone, Ann relaxed, happy and relieved. Everything had gone splendidly. Then a shock ran through her whole system as Mrs. Pett spoke. She spoke excitedly, in a lowered voice, leaning over to Ann.

“Ann! Did you notice anything? Did you suspect anything?”

Ann mastered her emotion with an effort.

“Whatever do you mean, aunt Nesta?”

“About that young man, who calls himself Jimmy Crocker.”

Ann clutched the side of the chair.

“Who calls himself Jimmy Crocker? I don’t understand.”

Ann tried to laugh. It seemed to her an age before she produced any sound at all, and when it came it was quite unlike a laugh.

“What put that idea into your head? Surely, if he says he is Jimmy Crocker, it’s rather absurd to doubt him, isn’t it? How could anybody except Jimmy Crocker know that you were anxious to get Jimmy Crocker over here? You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

This reasoning shook Mrs. Pett a little, but she did not intend to abandon a perfectly good suspicion merely because it began to seem unreasonable.

“They have their spies everywhere,” she said doggedly.

“Who have?”

“The Secret Service people from other countries. Lord Wisbeach was telling me about it yesterday. He said that I ought to suspect everybody. He said that an attempt might be made on Willie’s invention at any moment now.”

“He was joking.”

“He was not. I have never seen anyone so serious. He said that I ought to regard every fresh person who came into the house as a possible criminal.”

“Well, that guy’s fresh enough,” muttered Ogden from the settee.

Mrs. Pett started.

“Ogden! I had forgotten that you were there.” She uttered a cry of horror, as the fact of his presence started a new train of thought. “Why, this man may have come to kidnap you! I never thought of that.”

Ann felt it time to intervene. Mrs. Pett was hovering much too near the truth for comfort. “You mustn’t imagine things, aunt Nesta. I believe it comes from writing the sort of stories you do. Surely, it is impossible for this man to be an impostor. How would he dare take such a risk? He must know that you could detect him at any moment by cabling over to Mrs. Crocker to ask if her stepson was really in America.”

It was a bold stroke, for it suggested a plan of action which, if followed, would mean ruin for her schemes, but Ann could not refrain from chancing it. She wanted to know whether her aunt had any intention of asking Mrs. Crocker for information, or whether the feud was too bitter for her pride to allow her to communicate with her sister in any way. She breathed again as Mrs. Pett stiffened grimly in her chair.

“I should not dream of cabling to Eugenia.”

“I quite understand that,” said Ann. “But an impostor would not know that you felt like that, would he?”

“I see what you mean.”

Ann relaxed again. The relief was, however, only momentary.

“I cannot understand, though,” said Mrs. Pett, “why your uncle should have been so positive that he saw this young man on the Atlantic.”

“Just a chance resemblance, I suppose. Why, uncle Peter said he saw the man whom he imagined was like Jimmy Crocker talking to me. If there had been any real resemblance, shouldn’t I have seen it before uncle Peter?”

Assistance came from an unexpected quarter.

“I know the chap uncle Peter meant,” said Ogden. “He wasn’t like this guy at all.”

Ann was too grateful for the help to feel astonished at it. Her mind, dwelling for a mere instant on the matter, decided that Ogden must have seen her on deck with somebody else than Jimmy. She had certainly not lacked during the voyage for those who sought her society.

Mrs. Pett seemed to be impressed.

“I may be letting my imagination run away with me,” she said.

“Of course you are, aunt Nesta,” said Ann thankfully. “You don’t realise what a vivid imagination you have got. When I was typing that last story of yours, I was simply astounded at the ideas you had thought of. I remember saying so to uncle Peter. You can’t expect to have a wonderful imagination like yours and not imagine things, can you?”

Mrs. Pett smiled demurely. She looked hopefully at her niece, waiting for more, but Ann had said her say.

“You are perfectly right, my dear child,” she said when she was quite sure the eulogy was not to be resumed. “No doubt I have been foolish to suspect this young man. But Lord Wisbeach’s words naturally acted more strongly on a mind like mine than they would have done in the case of another woman.”

“Of course,” said Ann.

She was feeling quite happy now. It had been tense while it had lasted, but everything was all right now.

“And, fortunately,” said Mrs. Pett, “there is a way by which we can find out for certain if the young man is really James Crocker.”

Ann became rigid again.

“A way? What way?”

“Why, don’t you remember, my dear, that Skinner has known James Crocker for years.”

“Skinner?”

The name sounded familiar, but in the stress of the moment Ann could not identify it.

“My new butler. He came to me straight from Eugenia. It was he who let us in when we called at her house. Nobody could know better than he whether this person is really James Crocker or not.”

Ann felt as if she had struggled to the limit of her endurance. She was not prepared to cope with this unexpected blow. She had not the strength to rally under it. Dully she perceived that her schemes must be dismissed as a failure before they had had a chance of success. Her accomplice must not return to the house to be exposed. She saw that clearly enough. If he came back, he would walk straight into