Jimmy remained.
“I shall be delighted–” he had begun. Then, he stopped. In the
doorway was standing a girl–a girl whom he recognized. Her startled
look told him that she, too, had recognized him.
Not for the first time since he had set out from his flat that night
in Spike’s company, Jimmy was conscious of a sense of the unreality
of things. It was all so exactly as it would have happened in a
dream! He had gone to sleep thinking of this girl, and here she was.
But a glance at the man with the revolver brought him back to earth.
There was nothing of the dream-world about the police-captain.
That gentleman, whose back was toward the door, had not observed the
addition to the company. Molly had turned the handle quietly, and
her slippered feet made no sound. It was the amazed expression on
Jimmy’s face that caused the captain to look toward the door.
“Molly!”
The girl smiled, though her face was white. Jimmy’s evening clothes
had reassured her. She did not understand how he came to be there,
but evidently there was nothing wrong. She had interrupted a
conversation, not a conflict.
“I heard the noise and you going downstairs, and I sent the dogs
down to help you, father,” she said. “And, then, after a little, I
came down to see if you were all right.”
Mr. McEachern was perplexed. Molly’s arrival had put him in an
awkward position. To denounce the visitor as a cracksman was now
impossible, for he knew too much. The only real fear of the
policeman’s life was lest some word of his money-making methods
might come to his daughter’s ears.
Quite a brilliant idea came to him.
“A man broke in, my dear,” he said. “This gentleman was passing, and
saw him.”
“Distinctly,” said Jimmy. “An ugly-looking customer!”
“But he slipped out of the window, and got away,” concluded the
policeman.
“He was very quick,” said Jimmy. “I think he may have been a
professional acrobat.”
“He didn’t hurt you, father?”
“No, no, my dear.”
“Perhaps I frightened him,” said Jimmy, airily.
Mr. McEachern scowled furtively at him.
“We mustn’t detain you, Mr.-”
“Pitt,” said Jimmy. “My name is Pitt.” He turned to Molly. “I hope
you enjoyed the voyage.”
The policeman started.
“You know my daughter?”
“By sight only, I’m afraid. We were fellow-passengers on the
Lusitania. Unfortunately, I was in the second-cabin. I used to see
your daughter walking the deck sometimes.”
Molly smiled.
“I remember seeing you–sometimes.”
McEachern burst out.
“Then, you–!”
He stopped, and looked at Molly. The girl was bending over Rastus,
tickling him under the ear.
“Let me show you the way out, Mr. Pitt,” said the policeman,
shortly. His manner was abrupt, but when one is speaking to a man
whom one would dearly love to throw out of the window, abruptness is
almost unavoidable.
“Perhaps I should be going,” said Jimmy.
“Good-night, Mr. Pitt,” said Molly.
“I hope we shall meet again,” said Jimmy.
“This way, Mr. Pitt,” growled McEachern, holding the door.
“Please don’t trouble,” said Jimmy. He went to the window, and,
flinging his leg over the sill, dropped noiselessly to the ground.
He turned and put his head in at the window again.
“I did that rather well,” he said, pleasantly. “I think I must take
up this–sort of thing as a profession. Good-night.”
CHAPTER VIII
AT DREEVER
In the days before he began to expend his surplus energy in playing
Rugby football, the Welshman was accustomed, whenever the monotony
of his everyday life began to oppress him, to collect a few friends
and make raids across the border into England, to the huge
discomfort of the dwellers on the other side. It was to cope with
this habit that Dreever Castle, in the county of Shropshire, came
into existence. It met a long-felt want. In time of trouble, it
became a haven of refuge. From all sides, people poured into it,
emerging cautiously when the marauders had disappeared. In the whole
history of the castle, there is but one instance recorded of a
bandit attempting to take the place by storm, and the attack was an
emphatic failure. On receipt of a ladleful of molten lead, aimed to