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

answer to the bell and who had sent his father to him. Yet how could it be she? Jimmy knew little of the habits of parlourmaids, but surely they did not wander about with revolvers in the small hours?

While he endeavoured feverishly to find reason in this chaos, the door opened and a motley crowd, roused from sleep by the cries, poured in. Jimmy, turning his head back again to attend to this invasion, perceived Mrs. Pett, Ann, two or three of the geniuses, and Willie Partridge, in various stages of negligee and babbling questions.

The woman with the pistol, assuming instant and unquestioned domination of the assembly, snapped out an order.

“Shutatdoor!”

Somebody shut the door.

“Now, whassall this?” she said, turning to Gentleman Jack.

XXIII Stirring Times for the Petts

Gentleman Jack had lowered his revolver, and was standing waiting to explain all, with the insufferable look of the man who is just going to say that he has only done his duty and requires no thanks.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Nev’ min’ who I am!” said Miss Trimble curtly. “Siz Pett knows who I am.”

“I hope you won’t be offended, Lord Wisbeach,” said Mrs. Pett from the group by the door. “I engaged a detective to help you. I really thought you could not manage everything by yourself. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Pett. Very wise.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say so.”

“An excellent move.”

Miss Trimble broke in on these amiable exchanges.

“Whassall this? Howjer mean⁠—help me?”

“Lord Wisbeach most kindly offered to do all he could to protect my nephew’s explosive,” said Mrs. Pett.

Gentleman Jack smiled modestly.

“I hope I have been of some slight assistance! I think I came down in the nick of time. Look!” He pointed to the safe. “He had just got it open! Luckily I had my pistol with me. I covered him, and called for help. In another moment he would have got away.”

Miss Trimble crossed to the safe and inspected it with a frown, as if she disliked it. She gave a grunt and returned to her place by the window.

“Made good job ’f it!” was her comment.

Ann came forward. Her face was glowing and her eyes shone.

“Do you mean to say that you found Jimmy breaking into the safe? I never heard anything so absurd!”

Mrs. Pett intervened.

“This is not James Crocker, Ann! This man is an impostor, who came into the house in order to steal Willie’s invention.” She looked fondly at Gentleman Jack. “Lord Wisbeach told me so. He only pretended to recognise him this afternoon.”

A low gurgle proceeded from the open mouth of little Ogden. The proceedings bewildered him. The scene he had overheard in the library between the two men had made it clear to him that Jimmy was genuine and Lord Wisbeach a fraud, and he could not understand why Jimmy did not produce his proofs as before. He was not aware that Jimmy’s head was only just beginning to clear from the effects of the blow on the chin. Ogden braced himself for resolute lying in the event of Jimmy calling him as a witness. But he did not intend to have his little business proposition dragged into the open.

Ann was looking at Jimmy with horror-struck eyes. For the first time it came to her how little she knew of him and how very likely it was⁠—in the face of the evidence it was almost certain⁠—that he should have come to the house with the intention of stealing Willie’s explosive. She fought against it, but a voice seemed to remind her that it was he who had suggested the idea of posing as Jimmy Crocker. She could not help remembering how smoothly and willingly he had embarked on the mad scheme. But had it been so mad? Had it not been a mere cloak for this other venture? If Lord Wisbeach had found him in this room, with the safe blown open, what other explanation could there be?

And then, simultaneously with her conviction that he was a criminal, came the certainty that he was the man she loved. It had only needed the spectacle of him in trouble to make her sure. She came to his side with the vague idea of doing something to help him, of giving him her support. Once there, she found that there was nothing to do and nothing to say. She put her hand on his, and stood waiting helplessly for she knew not what.

It was the touch of her fingers which woke Jimmy from his stupor. He came to himself almost with a jerk. He had been mistily aware of what had been said, but speech had been beyond him. Now, quite suddenly, he was a whole man once more. He threw himself into the debate with energy.

“Good Heavens!” he cried. “You’re all wrong. I found him blowing open the safe!”

Gentleman Jack smiled superciliously.

“A likely story, what! I mean to say, it’s a bit thin!”

“Ridiculous!” said Mrs. Pett. She turned to Miss Trimble with a gesture. “Arrest that man!”

“Wait a mom’nt,” replied that clearheaded maiden, picking her teeth thoughtfully with the muzzle of her revolver. “Wait mom’nt. Gotta look ’nto this. Hear both these guys’ st’ries.”

“Really,” said Gentleman Jack suavely, “it seems somewhat absurd⁠—”

“Ney’ mind how ’bsurd ’t sounds,” returned the fair Trimble rebukingly. “You close y’r face ’n lissen t’ me. Thass all you’ve gotta do.”

“I know you didn’t do it!” cried Ann, tightening her hold on Jimmy’s arm.

“Less ’f it, please. Less ’f it!” Miss Trimble removed the pistol from her mouth and pointed it at Jimmy. “What’ve you to say? Talk quick!”

“I happened to be down there⁠—”

“Why?” asked Miss Trimble, as if she had touched off a bomb.

Jimmy stopped short. He perceived difficulties in the way of explanation.

“I happened to be down there,” he resumed stoutly, “and that man came into the room with an electric torch and a blowpipe and began working on the safe⁠—”

The polished tones of Gentleman Jack cut in on his story.

“Really now, is it