his house together in New York. And here they were, together again,
at Dreever Castle. To say that the thing struck McEachern as
sinister is to put the matter baldly. There was once a gentleman who
remarked that he smelt a rat, and saw it floating in the air. Ex-
Constable McEachern smelt a regiment of rats, and the air seemed to
him positively congested with them.
His first impulse had been to rush to Jimmy’s room there and then;
but he had learned society’s lessons well. Though the heavens might
fall, he must not be late for dinner. So, he went and dressed, and
an obstinate tie put the finishing touches to his wrath.
Jimmy regarded him coolly, without moving from, the chair in which
he had seated himself. Spike, on the other hand, seemed embarrassed.
He stood first on one leg, and then on the other, as if he were
testing the respective merits of each, and would make a definite
choice later on.
“You scoundrels!” growled McEachern.
Spike, who had been standing for a few moments on his right leg, and
seemed at last to have come to, a decision, hastily changed to the
left, and grinned feebly.
“Say, youse won’t want me any more, boss?” he whispered.
“No, you can go, Spike.”
“You stay where you are, you red-headed devil!” said McEachern,
tartly.
“Run along, Spike,” said Jimmy.
The Bowery boy looked doubtfully at the huge form of the ex-
policeman, which blocked access to the door.
“Would you mind letting my man pass?” said Jimmy.
“You stay–” began McEachern.
Jimmy got up and walked round to the door, which he opened. Spike
shot out. He was not lacking in courage, but he disliked
embarrassing interviews, and it struck him that Jimmy was the man to
handle a situation of this kind. He felt that he himself would only
be in the way.
“Now, we can talk comfortably,” said Jimmy, going back to his chair.
McEachern’s deep-set eyes gleamed, and his forehead grew red, but he
mastered his feelings.
“And now–” said he, then paused.
“Yes?” asked Jimmy.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nothing, at the moment.”
“You know what I mean. Why are you here, you and that red-headed
devil, Spike Mullins?” He jerked his head in the direction of the
door.
“I am here because I was very kindly invited to come by Lord
Dreever.”
“I know you.”
“You have that privilege. Seeing that we only met once, it’s very
good of you to remember me.”
“What’s your game? What do you mean to do?”
“To do? Well, I shall potter about the garden, you know, and shoot a
bit, perhaps, and look at the horses, and think of life, and feed
the chickens–I suppose there are chickens somewhere about–and
possibly go for an occasional row on the lake. Nothing more. Oh,
yes, I believe they want me to act in some theatricals.”
“You’ll miss those theatricals. You’ll leave here to-morrow.”
“To-morrow? But I’ve only just arrived, dear heart.”
“I don’t care about that. Out you go to-morrow. I’ll give you till
to-morrow.”
“I congratulate you,” said Jimmy. “One of the oldest houses in
England.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gathered from what you said that you had bought the Castle. Isn’t
that so? If it still belongs to Lord Dreever, don’t you think you
ought to consult him before revising his list of guests?”
McEachern looked steadily at him. His manner became quieter.
“Oh, you take that tone, do you?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘that tone.’ What tone would you take
if a comparative stranger ordered you to leave another man’s house?”
McEachern’s massive jaw protruded truculently in the manner that had
scared good behavior into brawling East Siders.
“I know your sort,” he said. “I’ll call your bluff. And you won’t
get till to-morrow, either. It’ll be now.”
“‘Why should we wait for the morrow? You are queen of my heart to-
night,” murmured Jimmy, encouragingly.
“I’ll expose you before them all. I’ll tell them everything.”
Jimmy shook his head.
“Too melodramatic,” he said. “‘I call on heaven to judge between
this man and me!’ kind of thing. I shouldn’t. What do you propose to