“Now, if you hear a sudden bang and find yourself disappearing through the roof,” said Jimmy, “that will be it.”
Willie returned and took his place at the table again. But the spirit had gone out of the gathering. The voice of Clarence Renshaw was hushed, and Howard Bemis spoke no more of the influence of Edgar Lee Masters on modern literature. Mrs. Pett left the room, followed by Ann. The geniuses drifted away one by one. Jimmy, having lighted a cigarette and finished his coffee, perceived that he was alone with his old friend, Lord Wisbeach, and that his old friend Lord Wisbeach was about to become confidential.
The fair-haired young man opened the proceedings by going to the door and looking out. This done, he returned to his seat and gazed fixedly at Jimmy.
“What’s your game?” he asked.
Jimmy returned his gaze blandly.
“My game?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“Can the coy stuff,” urged his lordship brusquely. “Talk sense and talk it quick. We may be interrupted at any moment. What’s your game? What are you here for?”
Jimmy raised his eyebrows.
“I am a prodigal nephew returned to the fold.”
“Oh, quit your kidding. Are you one of Potter’s lot?”
“Who is Potter?”
“You know who Potter is.”
“On the contrary. My life has never been brightened by so much as a sight of Potter.”
“Is that true?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you working on your own, then?”
“I am not working at all at present. There is some talk of my learning to be an Asparagus Adjuster by mail later on.”
“You make me sick,” said Lord Wisbeach. “Where’s the sense of trying to pull this line of talk. Why not put your cards on the table? We’ve both got in here on the same lay, and there’s no use fighting and balling the thing up.”
“Do you wish me to understand,” said Jimmy, “that you are not my old friend, Lord Wisbeach?”
“No. And you’re not my old friend, Jimmy Crocker.”
“What makes you think that?”
“If you had been, would you have pretended to recognise me upstairs just now? I tell you, pal, I was all in for a second, till you gave me the high sign.”
Jimmy laughed.
“It would have been awkward for you if I really had been Jimmy Crocker, wouldn’t it?”
“And it would have been awkward for you if I had really been Lord Wisbeach.”
“Who are you, by the way?”
“The boys call me Gentleman Jack.”
“Why?” asked Jimmy, surprised.
Lord Wisbeach ignored the question.
“I’m working with Burke’s lot just now. Say, let’s be sensible about this. I’ll be straight with you, straight as a string.”
“Did you say string or spring?”
“And I’ll expect you to be straight with me.”
“Are we to breathe confidences into each other’s ears?”
Lord Wisbeach went to the door again and submitted the passage to a second examination.
“You seem nervous,” said Jimmy.
“I don’t like that butler. He’s up to something.”
“Do you think he’s one of Potter’s lot?”
“Shouldn’t wonder. He isn’t on the level, anyway, or why did he pretend to recognise you as Jimmy Crocker?”
“Recognition of me as Jimmy Crocker seems to be the acid test of honesty.”
“He was in a tight place, same as I was,” said Lord Wisbeach. “He couldn’t know that you weren’t really Jimmy Crocker until you put him wise–same as you did me–by pretending to know him.” He looked at Jimmy with grudging admiration. “You’d got your nerve with you, pal, coming in here like this. You were taking big chances. You couldn’t have known you wouldn’t run up against some one who really knew Jimmy Crocker. What would you have done if this butler guy had really been on the level?”
“The risks of the profession!”
“When I think of the work I had to put in,” said Lord Wisbeach, “it makes me tired to think of some one else just walking in here as you did.”
“What made you choose Lord Wisbeach as your alias?”
“I knew that I could get away with it. I came over on the boat with him, and I knew he was travelling round the world and wasn’t going to stay more than a day in New York. Even then I had to go some to get into this place. Burke told me to get hold of old Chester and get a letter of introduction from him. And here you come along and just stroll in and tell them you have come to stay!” He brooded for a moment on the injustice of things. “Well, what are you going to do about it, Pal?”