The Intrusion of Jimmy by P. G. Wodehouse (e book reader .txt) 📕

were always in pretty good order, but at the sight of this apparition he visibly jumped.

"Great Scott!" he said.

The curtain again became agitated by some unseen force, violently this time, and from its depths a plaintive voice made itself heard.

"Dash it all," said the voice, "I've stuck!"

There was another upheaval, and his lordship emerged, his yellow locks ruffled and upstanding, his face crimson.

"Caught my head in a coat or something," he explained at large. "Hullo, Pitt!"

Pressed rigidly against the wall, Molly had listened with growing astonishment to the movements on the other side of the curtain. Her mystification deepened every moment. It seemed to her that the room was still in darkness. She could hear the sound of breathing; and then the light of the torch caught her eye. Who could this be, and why had he not switched on the regular room lights?

She strained her ears to catch a sound. For a while, she heard nothing except the soft breathing. Then came a voice that she knew well; and, abandoning her hiding-place, she came out into the room, and found Jimmy standing, with the torch in his hand, over some dark object in the corner of the room.

It was a full minute after Jimmy's first exclamation of surprise before either of them spoke again. The light of the torch hurt Molly's eyes. She put up a hand, to shade them. It seemed to her that they had been standing like this for years.

Jimmy had not moved. There was something in his attitude that filled Molly with a vague fear. In the shadow behind the torch, he looked shapeless and inhuman.

"You're hurting my eyes," she said, at last.

"I'm sorry," said Jimmy. "I didn't think. Is that better?" He turned the light from her face. Something in his voice and the apologetic haste with which he moved the torch seemed to relax the strain of the situation. The feeling of stunned surprise began to leave her. She found herself thinking coherently again.

The relief was but momentary. Why was Jimmy in the room at that time? Why had he a torch? What had he been doing? The questions shot from her brain like sparks from an anvil.

The darkness began to tear at her nerves. She felt along the wall for the switch, and flooded the whole room with light.

Jimmy laid down the torch, and stood for a moment, undecided. He had concealed the necklace behind him. Now, he brought it forward, and dangled it silently before the eyes of Molly and his lordship. Excellent as were his motives for being in that room with the necklace in his hand, he could not help feeling, as he met Molly's startled gaze, quite as guilty as if his intentions had been altogether different.

His lordship, having by this time pulled himself together to some extent, was the first to speak.

"I say, you know, what ho!" he observed, not without emotion. "What?"

Molly drew back.

"Jimmy! You were—oh, you can't have been!"

"Looks jolly like it!" said his lordship, judicially.

"I wasn't," said Jimmy. "I was putting them back."

"Putting them back?"

"Pitt, old man," said his lordship solemnly, "that sounds a bit thin."

"Dreever, old man," said Jimmy. "I know it does. But it's the truth."

His lordship's manner became kindly.

"Now, look here, Pitt, old son," he said, "there's nothing to worry about. We're all pals here. You can pitch it straight to us. We won't give you away. We—"

"Be quiet!" cried Molly. "Jimmy!"

Her voice was strained. She spoke with an effort. She was suffering torments. The words her father had said to her on the terrace were pouring back into her mind. She seemed to hear his voice now, cool and confident, warning her against Jimmy, saying that he was crooked. There was a curious whirring in her head. Everything in the room was growing large and misty. She heard Lord Dreever begin to say something that sounded as if someone were speaking at the end of a telephone; and, then, she was aware that Jimmy was holding her in his arms, and calling to Lord Dreever to bring water.

"When a girl goes like that," said his lordship with an insufferable air of omniscience, "you want to cut her—"

"Come along!" said Jimmy. "Are you going to be a week getting that water?"

His lordship proceeded to soak a sponge without further parley; but, as he carried his dripping burden across the room, Molly recovered. She tried weakly to free herself.

Jimmy helped her to a chair. He had dropped the necklace on the floor, and Lord Dreever nearly trod on it.

"What ho!" observed his lordship, picking it up. "Go easy with the jewelry!"

Jimmy was bending over Molly. Neither of them seemed to be aware of his lordship's presence. Spennie was the sort of person whose existence is apt to be forgotten. Jimmy had had a flash of intuition. For the first time, it had occurred to him that Mr. McEachern might have hinted to Molly something of his own suspicions.

"Molly, dear," he said, "it isn't what you think. I can explain everything. Do you feel better now? Can you listen? I can explain everything."

"Pitt, old boy," protested his lordship, "you don't understand. We aren't going to give you away. We're all—"

Jimmy ignored him.

"Molly, listen," he said.

She sat up.

"Go on, Jimmy," she said.

"I wasn't stealing the necklace. I was putting it back. The man who came to the castle with me, Spike Mullins, took it this afternoon, and brought it to me."

Spike Mullins! Molly remembered the name.

"He thinks I am a crook, a sort of Raffles. It was my fault. I was a fool. It all began that night in New York, when we met at your house. I had been to the opening performance of a play called, 'Love, the Cracksman,' one of those burglar plays."

"Jolly good show," interpolated his lordship, chattily. "It was at the Circle over here. I went twice."

"A friend of mine, a man named Mifflin, had been playing the hero in it, and after the show, at the club, he started in talking about the art of burglary—he'd been studying it—and I said that anybody could burgle a house. And, in another minute, it somehow happened that I had made a bet that I would do it that night. Heaven knows whether I ever really meant to; but, that same night, this man Mullins broke into my flat, and