as every wanderer does, at Charing Cross.
At this point, he had tried to rally. Such running away, he told
himself, was futile. He would stand still and fight the fever in
him.
He had been fighting it now for a matter of two weeks, and already
he was contemplating retreat. A man at luncheon had been talking
about Japan--
Watching the crowd, Jimmy had found his attention attracted chiefly
by a party of three, a few tables away. The party consisted of a
girl, rather pretty, a lady of middle age and stately demeanor,
plainly her mother, and a light-haired, weedy young man in the
twenties. It had been the almost incessant prattle of this youth and
the peculiarly high-pitched, gurgling laugh which shot from him at
short intervals that had drawn Jimmy's notice upon them. And it was
the curious cessation of both prattle and laugh that now made him
look again in their direction.
The young man faced Jimmy; and Jimmy, looking at him, could see that
all was not well with him. He was pale. He talked at random. A
slight perspiration was noticeable on his forhead.
Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it.
Given the time and the place, there were only two things that could
have caused this look. Either the light-haired young man had seen a
ghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money to
pay the check.
Jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from his
case, scribbled the words, "Can I help?" on it, and gave it to a
waiter to take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on
collapse.
The next moment, the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a
feverish whisper.
"I say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap! It's
frightfully awkward. I've come out with too little money. I hardly
like to--you've never seen me before--"
"Don't rub in my misfortunes," pleaded Jimmy. "It wasn't my fault."
He placed a five-pound note on the table.
"Say when," he said, producing another.
"I say, thanks fearfully," the young man said. "I don't know what
I'd have done." He grabbed at the note. "I'll let you have it back
to-morrow. Here's my card. Is your address on your card? I can't
remember. Oh, by Jove, I've got it in my hand all the time." The
gurgling laugh came into action again, freshened and strengthened by
its rest. "Savoy Mansions, eh? I'll come round to-morrow. Thanks
frightfully again, old chap. I don't know what I should have done."
"It's been a treat," said Jimmy, deprecatingly.
The young man flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil. Jimmy
looked at the card he had left. "Lord Dreever," it read, and in the
corner the name of a well-known club. The name Dreever was familiar
to Jimmy. Everyone knew of Dreever Castle, partly because it was one
of the oldest houses in England, but principally because for
centuries it had been advertised by a particularly gruesome ghost-
story. Everyone had heard of the secret of Dreever, which was known
only to the earl and the family lawyer, and confided to the heir at
midnight on his twenty-first birthday. Jimmy had come across the
story in corners of the papers all over the States, from New York to
Onehorseville, Iowa. He looked with interest at the light-haired
young man, the latest depository of the awful secret. It was
popularly supposed that the heir, after hearing it, never smiled
again; but it did not seem to have affected the present Lord Dreever
to any great extent. His gurgling laugh was drowning the orchestra.
Probably, Jimmy thought, when the family lawyer had told the light-
haired young man the secret, the latter's comment had been, "No,
really? By Jove, I say, you know!"
Jimmy paid his bill, and got up to go.
It was a perfect summer night--too perfect for bed. Jimmy strolled
on to the Embankment, and stood leaning over the balustrade, looking
across the river at the vague, mysterious mass of buildings on the
Surrey side.
He must have been standing there for some time, his thoughts far
away, when a voice spoke at his elbow.
"I say. Excuse me, have you--Hullo!" It was his light-haired
lordship of Dreever. "I say, by Jove, why we're always meeting!"
A tramp on a bench close by stirred uneasily in his sleep as the
gurgling laugh rippled the air.
"Been looking at the water?" inquired Lord Dreever. "I have. I often
do. Don't you think it sort of makes a chap feel--oh, you know. Sort
of--I don't know how to put it."
"Mushy?" said Jimmy.
"I was going to say poetical. Suppose there's a girl--"
He paused, and looked down at the water. Jimmy was sympathetic with
this mood of contemplation, for in his case, too, there was a girl.
"I saw my party off in a taxi," continued Lord Dreever, "and came
down here for a smoke; only, I hadn't a match. Have you--?"
Jimmy handed over his match-box. Lord Dreever lighted a cigar, and
fixed his gaze once more on the river.
"Ripping it looks," he said.
Jimmy nodded.
"Funny thing," said Lord Dreever. "In the daytime, the water here
looks all muddy and beastly. Damn' depressing, I call it. But at
night--" He paused. "I say," he went on after a moment, "Did you see
the girl I was with at the Savoy?"
"Yes," said Jimmy.
"She's a ripper," said Lord Dreever, devoutly.
On the Thames Embankment, in the small hours of a summer morning,
there is no such thing as a stranger. The man you talk with is a
friend, and, if he will listen--as, by the etiquette of the place,
he must--you may pour out your heart to him without restraint. It is
expected of you!
"I'm fearfully in love with her," said his lordship.
"She looked a charming girl," said Jimmy.
They examined the water in silence. From somewhere out in the
night came the sound of oars, as the police-boat moved on its
patrol.
"Does she make you want to go to Japan?" asked Jimmy, suddenly.
"Eh?" said Lord Dreever, startled. "Japan?"
Jimmy adroitly abandoned the position of confidant, and seized that
of confider.
"I met a girl a year ago--only really met her once, and even then--
oh, well! Anyway, it's made me so restless that I haven't been able
to stay in one place for more than a month on end. I tried Morocco,
and had to quit. I tried Spain, and that wasn't any good, either.
The other day, I heard a fellow say that Japan was a pretty
interesting sort of country. I was wondering whether I wouldn't give
it a trial."
Lord Dreever regarded this traveled man with interest.
"It beats me," he said, wonderingly. "What do you want to leg it
about the world like that for? What's the trouble? Why don't you
stay where the girl is?"
"I don't know where she is."
"Don't know?"
"She disappeared."
"Where did you see her last?" asked his lordship, as if Molly were a
mislaid penknife.
"New York."
"But how do you mean, disappeared? Don't you know her address?"
"I don't even know her name."
"But dash it all, I say, I mean! Have you ever spoken to her?"
"Only once. It's rather a complicated story. At any rate, she's
gone."
Lord Dreever said that it was a rum business. Jimmy conceded the
point.
"Seems to me," said his lordship, "we're both in the cart."
"What's your trouble?"
Lord Dreever hesitated.
"Oh, well, it's only that I want to marry one girl, and my uncle's
dead set on my marrying another."
"Are you afraid of hurting your uncle's feelings?"
"It's not so much hurting his feelings. It's--oh, well, it's too
long to tell now. I think I'll be getting home. I'm staying at our