ten strong men,’ he says. ‘Show me to Mr. McEachern,’ says Galer.
‘He’ll–‘ crouch, is dat it?”
“Vouch?” suggested Jimmy. “Meaning give the glad hand to.”
“Dat’s right. Vouch. I wondered what he meant at de time. ‘He’ll
vouch for me,’ he says. Dat puts him all right, he t’inks; but no,
he’s still in Dutch, ‘cos de vally mug says, ‘Nix on dat! I ain’t
goin’ to chase around de house wit’ youse, lookin’ fer Mr.
McEachern. It’s youse fer de coal-cellar, me man, an’ we’ll see what
youse has to say when I makes me report to Sir Tummas.’ ‘Well, dat’s
to de good,’ says Galer. ‘Tell Sir Tummas. I’ll explain to him.’
‘Not me!’ says de vally. ‘Sir Tummas has a hard evenin’s woik before
him, jollyin’ along de swells what’s comin’ to see dis stoige-piece
dey’re actin’. I ain’t goin’ to worry him till he’s good and ready.
To de coal-cellar fer yours! G’wan!’ an’ off dey goes! An’ I gits
busy ag’in, swipes de jools, an’ chases meself here.”
Jimmy wiped his eyes.
“Have you ever heard of poetic justice, Spike?” he asked. “This is
it. But, in this hour of mirth and good-will, we must not forget–”
Spike interrupted. Pleased by the enthusiastic reception of his
narrative, he proceeded to point out the morals that were to be
deduced there-from.
“So, youse see, boss,” he said, “it’s all to de merry. When dey
rubbers for de jools, an’ finds dem gone, dey’ll t’ink dis Galer guy
swiped dem. Dey won’t t’ink of us.”
Jimmy looked at the speaker gravely.
“Of course,” said he. “What a reasoner you are, Spike! Galer was
just opening the door from the outside, by your account, when the
valet man sprang at him. Naturally, they’ll think that he took the
jewels. Especially, as they won’t find them on him. A man who can
open a locked safe through a closed door is just the sort of fellow
who would be able to get rid of the swag neatly while rolling about
the floor with the valet. His not having the jewels will make the
case all the blacker against him. And what will make them still more
certain that he is the thief is that he really is a detective.
Spike, you ought to be in some sort of a home, you know.”
The Bowery boy looked disturbed.
“I didn’t t’ink of dat, boss,” he admitted.
“Of course not. One can’t think of everything. Now, if you will just
hand me those diamonds, I will put them back where they belong.”
“Put dem back, boss!”
“What else would you propose? I’d get you to do it, only I don’t
think putting things back is quite in your line.”
Spike handed over the jewels. The boss was the boss, and what he
said went. But his demeanor was tragic, telling eloquently of hopes
blighted.
Jimmy took the necklace with something of a thrill. He was a
connoisseur of jewels, and a fine gem affected him much as a fine
picture affects the artistic. He ran the diamonds through his
fingers, then scrutinized them again, more closely this time.
Spike watched him with a slight return of hope. It seemed to him
that the boss was wavering. Perhaps, now that he had actually
handled the jewels, he would find it impossible to give them up. To
Spike, a diamond necklace of cunning workmanship was merely the
equivalent of so many “plunks”; but he knew that there were men,
otherwise sane, who valued a jewel for its own sake.
“It’s a boid of a necklace, boss,” he murmured, encouragingly.
“It is,” said Jimmy; “in its way, I’ve never seen anything much
better. Sir Thomas will be glad to have it back.”
“Den, you’re goin’ to put it back, boss?”
“I am,” said Jimmy. “I’ll do it just before the theatricals. There
should be a chance, then. There’s one good thing. This afternoon’s
affair will have cleared the air of sleuth-hounds a little.”
CHAPTER XXIII
FAMILY JARS
Hildebrand Spencer Poynt de Burgh John Hannasyde Coombe-Crombie,
twelfth Earl of Dreever, was feeling like a toad under the harrow.
He read the letter again, but a second perusal made it no better.