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

To Ann Jimmy Crocker was no rescuer, but a sort of blend of ogre and vampire. She must never learn his real identity⁠—or not until he had succeeded by assiduous toil, as he hoped he would, in neutralising that prejudice of the distant past.

A footstep outside broke in on his thoughts. He thrust the book quickly back into its place. Ann came in, and shut the door behind her.

“Well?” she said eagerly.

Jimmy did not reply for a moment. He was looking at her and thinking how perfect in every way she was now, as she stood there purged of sentimentality, all aglow with curiosity to know how her nefarious plans had succeeded. It was his Ann who stood there, not the author of “The Lonely Heart.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Yes. But⁠—”

Ann’s face fell.

“Oh! She won’t let him come back?”

“She absolutely refused. I did my best.”

“I know you did.”

There was a silence.

“Well, this settles it,” said Jimmy. “Now you will have to let me help you.”

Ann looked troubled.

“But it’s such a risk. Something terrible might happen to you. Isn’t impersonation a criminal offence?”

“What does it matter? They tell me prisons are excellent places nowadays. Concerts, picnics⁠—all that sort of thing. I shan’t mind going there. I have a nice singing-voice. I think I will try to make the glee-club.”

“I suppose we are breaking the law,” said Ann seriously. “I told Jerry that nothing could happen to us except the loss of his place to him and being sent to my grandmother to me, but I’m bound to say I said that just to encourage him. Don’t you think we ought to know what the penalty is, in case we are caught?”

“It would enable us to make our plans. If it’s a life sentence, I shouldn’t worry about selecting my future career.”

“You see,” explained Ann, “I suppose they would hardly send me to prison, as I’m a relation⁠—though I would far rather go there than to grandmother’s. She lives all alone miles away in the country, and is strong on discipline⁠—but they might do all sorts of things to you, in spite of my pleadings. I really think you had better give up the idea, I’m afraid my enthusiasm carried me away. I didn’t think of all this before.”

“Never. This thing goes through, or fails over my dead body. What are you looking for?”

Ann was deep in a bulky volume which stood on a lectern by the window.

“Catalogue,” she said briefly, turning the pages. “Uncle Peter has heaps of law books. I’ll look up kidnapping. Here we are. Law Encyclopedia. Shelf X. Oh, that’s upstairs. I shan’t be a minute.”

She ran to the little staircase, and disappeared. Her voice came from the gallery.

“Here we are. I’ve got it.”

“Shoot,” said Jimmy.

“There’s such a lot of it,” called the voice from above. “Pages and pages. I’m just skimming. Wait a moment.”

A rustling followed from the gallery, then a sneeze.

“This is the dustiest place I was ever in,” said the voice. “It’s inches deep everywhere. It’s full of cigarette ends, too. I must tell uncle. Oh, here it is. Kidnapping⁠—penalties⁠—”

“Hush” called Jimmy. “There’s someone coming.”

The door opened.

“Hello,” said Ogden, strolling in. “I was looking for you. Didn’t think you would be here.”

“Come right in, my little man, and make yourself at home,” said Jimmy.

Ogden eyed him with disfavour.

“You’re pretty fresh, aren’t you?”

“This is praise from Sir Hubert Stanley.”

“Eh? Who’s he?”

“Oh, a gentleman who knew what was what.”

Ogden closed the door.

“Well, I know what’s what, too. I know what you are for one thing.” He chuckled. “I’ve got your number all right.”

“In what respect?”

Another chuckle proceeded from the bulbous boy.

“You think you’re smooth, don’t you? But I’m onto you, Jimmy Crocker. A lot of Jimmy Crocker you are. You’re a crook. Get me? And I know what you’re after, at that. You’re going to try to kidnap me.”

From the corner of his eye Jimmy was aware of Ann’s startled face, looking over the gallery rail and withdrawn hastily. No sound came from the heights, but he knew that she was listening intently.

“What makes you think that?”

Ogden lowered himself into the depths of his favourite easy chair, and, putting his feet restfully on the writing-desk, met Jimmy’s gaze with a glassy but knowing eye.

“Got a cigarette?” he said.

“I have not,” said Jimmy. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Returning, with your permission, to our original subject,” said Jimmy, “what makes you think that I have come here to kidnap you?”

Ogden yawned.

“I was in the drawing-room after lunch, and that guy Lord Wisbeach came in and said he wanted to talk to mother privately. Mother sent me out of the room, so of course I listened at the door.”

“Do you know where little boys go who listen to private conversations?” said Jimmy severely.

“To the witness-stand generally, I guess. Well, I listened, and I heard this Lord Wisbeach tell mother that he had only pretended to recognise you as Jimmy Crocker and that really he had never seen you before in his life. He said you were a crook and that they had got to watch you. Well, I knew then why you had come here. It was pretty smooth, getting in the way you did. I’ve got to hand it to you.”

Jimmy did not reply. His mind was occupied with the contemplation of this dashing counter-stroke on the part of Gentleman Jack. He could hardly refrain from admiring the simple strategy with which the latter had circumvented him. There was an artistry about the move which compelled respect.

“Well, now, see here,” said Ogden, “you and I have got to get together on this proposition. I’ve been kidnapped twice before, and the only guys that made anything out of it were the kidnappers. It’s pretty soft for them. They couldn’t have got a cent without me, and they never dreamed of giving me a rake-off. I’m getting good and tired of being kidnapped for other people’s benefit, and I’ve made up my mind that the next guy that wants me has