“I see. There’s just one other point: Suppose your accomplice does get caught–what then?”
“That,” said Mr. Peters, “is the catch; and it’s just because of that I am offering good pay to my man. We’ll suppose, for the sake of argument, that you accept the contract and get caught. Well, if that happens you’ve got to look after yourself. I couldn’t say a word. If I did it would all come out, and so far as the breaking off of my daughter’s engagement to young Threepwood is concerned, it would be just as bad as though I had tried to get the thing back myself.
“You’ve got to bear that in mind. You’ve got to remember it if you forget everything else. I don’t appear in this business in any way whatsoever. If you get caught you take what’s coming to you without a word. You can’t turn round and say: ‘I am innocent. Mr. Peters will explain all’–because Mr. Peters certainly won’t. Mr. Peters won’t utter a syllable of protest if they want to hang you.
“No; if you go into this, young man, you go into it with your eyes open. You go into it with a full understanding of the risks–because you think the reward, if you are successful, makes the taking of those risks worth while. You and I know that what you are doing isn’t really stealing; it’s simply a tactful way of getting back my own property. But the judge and jury will have different views.”
“I am beginning to understand,” said Ashe thoughtfully, “why you called the job delicate and dangerous.”
Certainly it had been no overstatement. As a writer of detective stories for the British office boy, he had imagined in his time many undertakings that might be so described, but few to which the description was more admirably suited.
“It is,” said Mr. Peters; “and that is why I’m offering good pay. Whoever carries this job through gets one thousand pounds.”
Ashe started.
“One thousand pounds–five thousand dollars!”
“Five thousand.”
“When do I begin?”
“You’ll do it?”
“For five thousand dollars I certainly will.”
“With your eyes open?”
“Wide open!”
A look of positive geniality illuminated Mr. Peters’ pinched features. He even went so far as to pat Ashe on the shoulder.
“Good boy!” he said. “Meet me at Paddington Station at four o’clock on Friday. And if there’s anything more you want to know come round to this address.”
There remained the telling of Joan Valentine; for it was obviously impossible not to tell her. When you have revolutionized your life at the bidding of another you cannot well conceal the fact, as though nothing had happened. Ashe had not the slightest desire to conceal the fact. On the contrary, he was glad to have such a capital excuse for renewing the acquaintance.
He could not tell her, of course, the secret details of the thing. Naturally those must remain hidden. No, he would just go airily in and say:
“You know what you told me about doing something new? Well, I’ve just got a job as a valet.”
So he went airily in and said it.
“To whom?” said Joan.
“To a man named Peters–an American.”
Women are trained from infancy up to conceal their feelings. Joan did not start or otherwise express emotion.
“Not Mr. J. Preston Peters?”
“Yes. Do you know him? What a remarkable thing.”
“His daughter,” said Joan, “has just engaged me as a lady’s maid.”
“What !”
“It will not be quite the same thing as three years ago,” Joan explained. “It is just a cheap way of getting a holiday. I used to know Miss Peters very well, you see. It will be more like traveling as her guest.”
“But–but–” Ashe had not yet overcome his amazement.
“Yes?”
“But what an extraordinary coincidence!”
“Yes. By the way, how did you get the situation? And what put it into your head to be a valet at all? It seems such a curious thing for you to think of doing.”
Ashe was embarrassed.
“I–I–well, you see, the experience will be useful to me, of course, in my writing.”
“Oh! Are you thinking of taking up my line of work? Dukes?”