had felt it even as he was telling it. He was bound to admit that,
if ever a story rang false in every sentence, it was this one.
"Pitt, old man," said his lordship, shaking his head, more in sorrow
than in anger, "it won't do, old top. What's the point of putting up
any old yarn like that? Don't you see, what I mean is, it's not as
if we minded. Don't I keep telling you we're all pals here? I've
often thought what a jolly good feller old Raffles was. Regular
sportsman! I don't blame a chappie for doing the gentleman burglar
touch. Seems to me it's a dashed sporting--"
Molly turned on him suddenly, cutting short his views on the ethics
of gentlemanly theft in a blaze of indignation.
"What do you mean?" she cried. "Do you think I don't believe every
word Jimmy has said?"
His lordship jumped.
"Well, don't you know, it seemed to me a bit thin. What I mean is--"
He met Molly's eye. "Oh, well!" he concluded, lamely.
Molly turned to Jimmy.
"Jimmy, of course, I believe you. I believe every word."
"Molly!"
His lordship looked on, marveling. The thought crossed his mind that
he had lost the ideal wife. A girl who would believe any old yarn a
feller cared to--If it hadn't been for Katie! For a moment, he felt
almost sad.
Jimmy and Molly were looking at each other in silence. From the
expression on their faces, his lordship gathered that his existence
had once more been forgotten. He saw her hold out her hands to
Jimmy, and it seemed to him that the time had come to look away. It
was embarrassing for a chap! He looked away.
The next moment, the door opened and closed again, and she had gone.
He looked at Jimmy. Jimmy was still apparently unconscious of his
presence.
His lordship coughed.
"Pitt, old man--"
"Hullo!" said Jimmy, coming out of his thoughts with a start. "You
still here? By the way--" he eyed Lord Dreever curiously--"I never
thought of asking before--what on earth are you doing here? Why were
you behind the curtain? Were you playing hide-and-seek?"
His lordship was not one of those who invent circumstantial stories
easily on the spur of the moment. He searched rapidly for something
that would pass muster, then abandoned the hopeless struggle. After
all, why not be frank? He still believed Jimmy to be of the class of
the hero of "Love, the Cracksman." There would be no harm in
confiding in him. He was a good fellow, a kindred soul, and would
sympathize.
"It's like this," he said. And, having prefaced his narrative with
the sound remark that he had been a bit of an ass, he gave Jimmy a
summary of recent events.
"What!" said Jimmy. "You taught Hargate picquet? Why, my dear man,
he was playing picquet like a professor when you were in short
frocks. He's a wonder at it."
His lordship started.
"How's that?" he said. "You don't know him, do you?"
"I met him in New York, at the Strollers' Club. A pal of mine, an
actor, this fellow Mifflin I mentioned just now, put him up as a
guest. He coined money at picquet. And there were some pretty
useful players in the place, too. I don't wonder you found him a
promising pupil."
"Then--then--why, dash it, then he's a bally sharper!"
"You're a genius at crisp description," said Jimmy. "You've got him
summed up to rights first shot."
"I sha'n't pay him a bally penny!"
"Of course not. If he makes any objection, refer him to me."
His lordship's relief was extreme. The more overpowering effects of
the elixir had passed away, and he saw now, what he had not seen in
his more exuberant frame of mind, the cloud of suspicion that must
have hung over him when the loss of the banknotes was discovered.
He wiped his forehead.
"By Jove!" he said. "That's something off my mind! By George, I feel
like a two-year-old. I say, you're a dashed good sort, Pitt."
"You flatter me," said Jimmy. "I strive to please."
"I say, Pitt, that yarn you told us just now--the bet, and all that.
Honestly, you don't mean to say that was true, was it? I mean--By
Jove! I've got an idea."
"We live in stirring times!"
"Did you say your actor pal's name was Mifflin?" He broke off
suddenly before Jimmy could answer. "Great Scott!" he whispered.
"What's that! Good lord! Somebody's coming!"
He dived behind the curtain, like a rabbit. The drapery had only
just ceased to shake when the door opened, and Sir Thomas Blunt
walked in.
CHAPTER XXVI
STIRRING TIMES FOR SIR THOMAS
For a man whose intentions toward the jewels and their owner were so
innocent, and even benevolent, Jimmy was in a singularly
compromising position. It would have been difficult even under more
favorable conditions to have explained to Sir Thomas's satisfaction
his presence in the dressing-room. As things stood, it was even
harder, for his lordship's last action before seeking cover had been
to fling the necklace from him like a burning coal. For the second
time in ten minutes, it had fallen to the carpet, and it was just as
Jimmy straightened himself after picking it up that Sir Thomas got a
full view of him.
The knight stood in the doorway, his face expressing the most lively
astonishment. His bulging eyes were fixed upon the necklace in
Jimmy's hand. Jimmy could see him struggling to find words to cope
with so special a situation, and felt rather sorry for him.
Excitement of this kind was bad for a short-necked man of Sir
Thomas's type.
With kindly tact, he endeavored to help his host out.
"Good-evening," he said, pleasantly.
Sir Thomas stammered. He was gradually nearing speech.
"What--what--what--" he said.
"Out with it," said Jimmy.
"--what--"
"I knew a man once in South Dakota who stammered," said Jimmy. "He
used to chew dog-biscuit while he was speaking. It cured him--
besides being nutritious. Another good way is to count ten while
you're thinking what to say, and then get it out quick."
"You--you blackguard!"
Jimmy placed the necklace carefully on the dressing-table. Then, he
turned to Sir Thomas, with his hands thrust into his pockets. Over
the knight's head, he could see the folds of the curtain quivering
gently, as if stirred by some zephyr. Evidently, the drama of the
situation was not lost on Hildebrand Spencer, twelfth Earl of
Dreever.
Nor was it lost on Jimmy. This was precisely the sort of situation
that appealed to him. He had his plan of action clearly mapped out.
He knew that it would be useless to tell the knight the true facts
of the case. Sir Thomas was as deficient in simple faith as in
Norman blood. Though a Londoner by birth, he had one, at least, of
the characteristic traits of the natives of Missouri.
To all appearances, this was a tight corner, but Jimmy fancied that
he saw his way out of it. Meanwhile, the situation appealed to him.
Curiously enough, it was almost identical with the big scene in act
three of "Love, the Cracksman," in which Arthur Mifflin had made
such a hit as the debonair burglar.
Jimmy proceeded to give his own idea of what the rendering of a
debonair burglar should be. Arthur Mifflin had lighted a cigarette,
and had shot out smoke-rings and repartee alternately. A cigarette
would have been a great help here, but Jimmy prepared to do his best
without properties.
"So--so, it's you, is it?" said Sir Thomas.
"Who told you?"
"Thief! Low thief!"
"Come, now," protested Jimmy. "Why low? Just because you don't know
me over here, why scorn me? How do you know I haven't got a big