P G Wodehouse – Piccadilly Jim

She ran to the little staircase, and disappeared. Her voice came from the gallery.

“Here we are. I’ve got it.”

“Shoot,” said Jimmy.

“There’s such a lot of it,” called the voice from above. “Pages and pages. I’m just skimming. Wait a moment.”

A rustling followed from the gallery, then a sneeze.

“This is the dustiest place I was ever in,” said the voice. “It’s inches deep everywhere. It’s full of cigarette ends, too. I must tell uncle. Oh, here it is. Kidnapping–penalties–”

“Hush” called Jimmy. “There’s some one coming.”

The door opened.

“Hello,” said Ogden, strolling in. “I was looking for you. Didn’t think you would be here.”

“Come right in, my little man, and make yourself at home,” said Jimmy.

Ogden eyed him with disfavour.

“You’re pretty fresh, aren’t you?”

“This is praise from Sir Hubert Stanley.”

“Eh? Who’s he?”

“Oh, a gentleman who knew what was what.”

Ogden closed the door.

“Well, I know what’s what, too. I know what you are for one thing.” He chuckled. “I’ve got your number all right.”

“In what respect?”

Another chuckle proceeded from the bulbous boy.

“You think you’re smooth, don’t you? But I’m onto you, Jimmy Crocker. A lot of Jimmy Crocker you are. You’re a crook. Get me? And I know what you’re after, at that. You’re going to try to kidnap me.”

From the corner of his eye Jimmy was aware of Ann’s startled face, looking over the gallery rail and withdrawn hastily. No sound came from the heights, but he knew that she was listening intently.

“What makes you think that?”

Ogden lowered himself into the depths of his favourite easy chair, and, putting his feet restfully on the writing-desk, met Jimmy’s gaze with a glassy but knowing eye.

“Got a cigarette?” he said.

“I have not,” said Jimmy. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Returning, with your permission, to our original subject,” said Jimmy, “what makes you think that I have come here to kidnap you?”

Ogden yawned.

“I was in the drawing-room after lunch, and that guy Lord Wisbeach came in and said he wanted to talk to mother privately. Mother sent me out of the room, so of course I listened at the door.”

“Do you know where little boys go who listen to private conversations?” said Jimmy severely.

“To the witness-stand generally, I guess. Well, I listened, and I heard this Lord Wisbeach tell mother that he had only pretended to recognise you as Jimmy Crocker and that really he had never seen you before in his life. He said you were a crook and that they had got to watch you. Well, I knew then why you had come here. It was pretty smooth, getting in the way you did. I’ve got to hand it to you.”

Jimmy did not reply. His mind was occupied with the contemplation of this dashing counter-stroke on the part of Gentleman Jack. He could hardly refrain from admiring the simple strategy with which the latter had circumvented him. There was an artistry about the move which compelled respect.

“Well, now, see here,” said Ogden, “you and I have got to get together on this proposition. I’ve been kidnapped twice before, and the only guys that made anything out of it were the kidnappers. It’s pretty soft for them. They couldn’t have got a cent without me, and they never dreamed of giving me a rake-off. I’m getting good and tired of being kidnapped for other people’s benefit, and I’ve made up my mind that the next guy that wants me has got to come across. See? My proposition is fifty-fifty. If you like it, I’m game to let you go ahead. If you don’t like it, then the deal’s off, and you’ll find that you’ve a darned poor chance of getting me. When I was kidnapped before, I was just a kid, but I can look after myself now. Well, what do you say?”

Jimmy found it hard at first to say anything. He had never properly understood the possibilities of Ogden’s character before. The longer he contemplated him, the more admirable Ann’s scheme appeared. It seemed to him that only a resolute keeper of a home for dogs would be adequately equipped for dealing with this remarkable youth.

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