There was silence for a moment.
“How do you come to know Mitchell?” asked Mrs. Pett.
“We knew each other when I was over here working on the -Chronicle-. I saw him fight once or twice. He is an excellent fellow, and used to have a right swing that was a pippin–I should say extremely excellent. Brought it up from the floor, you know.”
“I strongly object to prize-fighters,” said Mrs. Pett, “and I was opposed to Mitchell coming into the house from the first.”
“You wouldn’t let him come back, I suppose?” queried Jimmy tentatively.
“I would not. I would not dream of such a thing.”
“He’s full of remorse, you know.”
“If he has a spark of humanity, I have no doubt of it.”
Jimmy paused. This thing was not coming out as well as it might have done. He feared that for once in her life Ann was about to be denied something on which she had set her heart. The reflection that this would be extremely good for her competed for precedence in his mind with the reflection that she would probably blame him for the failure, which would be unpleasant.
“He is very fond of Ogden really.”
“H’m,” said Mrs. Pett.
“I think the heat must have made him irritable. In his normal state he would not strike a lamb. I’ve known him to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Not strike lambs.”
“Isch,” said Mrs. Pett–the first time Jimmy had ever heard that remarkable monosyllable proceed from human lips. He took it–rightly–to be intended to convey disapproval, scepticism, and annoyance. He was convinced that this mission was going to be one of his failures.
“Then I may tell him,” he said, “that it’s all right?”
“That what is all right?”
“That he may come back here?”
“Certainly not.”
Mrs. Pett was not a timid woman, but she could not restrain a shudder as she watched the plot unfold before her eyes. Her gratitude towards Lord Wisbeach at this point in the proceedings almost became hero-worship. If it had not been for him and his revelations concerning this man before her, she would certainly have yielded to the request that Jerry Mitchell be allowed to return to the house. Much as she disliked Jerry, she had been feeling so triumphant at the thought of Jimmy Crocker coming to her in spite of his step-mother’s wishes and so pleased at having unexpectedly got her own way that she could have denied him nothing that he might have cared to ask. But now it was as if, herself unseen, she were looking on at a gang of conspirators hatching some plot. She was in the strong strategic position of the person who is apparently deceived, but who in reality knows all.
For a moment she considered the question of admitting Jerry to the house. Evidently his presence was necessary to the consummation of the plot, whatever it might be, and it occurred to her that it might be as well, on the principle of giving the schemers enough rope to hang themselves with, to let him come back and play his part. Then she reflected that, with the self-styled Jimmy Crocker as well as the fraudulent Skinner in the house, Lord Wisbeach and the detective would have their hands quite full enough. It would be foolish to complicate matters. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Mr. Sturgis would be arriving soon, if he had really started at once from his office, as he had promised. She drew comfort from the imminence of his coming. It would be pleasant to put herself in the hands of an expert.
Jimmy had paused, mid-way to the door, and was standing there as if reluctant to accept her answer to his plea.
“It would never occur again. What happened yesterday, I mean. You need not be afraid of that.”
“I am not afraid of that,” responded Mrs. Pett tartly.
“If you had seen him when I did–”
“When did you? You landed from the boat this morning, you went to Mr. Pett’s office, and then came straight up here with him. I am interested to know when you did see Mitchell?”
She regretted this thrust a little, for she felt it might put the man on his guard by showing that she suspected something but she could not resist it, and it pleased her to see that her companion was momentarily confused.