McEachern roused himself.
“I will,” he said.
“It’s the only way,” said Jimmy.
McEachern opened the door, then fell back a pace. Jimmy could hear
voices in the passage outside. He recognized Lord Dreever’s.
McEachern continued to back away from the door.
Lord Dreever entered, with Molly on his arm.
“Hullo,” said his lordship, looking round. “Hullo, Pitt! Here we all
are, what?”
“Lord Dreever wanted to smoke,” said Molly.
She smiled, but there was anxiety in her eyes. She looked quickly at
her father and at Jimmy.
“Molly, my dear,” said McEachern huskily, “I to speak to you for a
moment.”
Jimmy took his lordship by the arm.
“Come along, Dreever,” he said. “You can come and sit out with me.
We’ll go and smoke on the terrace.”
They left the room together.
“What does the old boy want?” inquired his lordship. “Are you and
Miss McEachern–?”
“We are,” said Jimmy.
“By Jove, I say, old chap! Million congratulations, and all that
sort of rot, you know!”
“Thanks,” said Jimmy. “Have a cigarette?”
His lordship had to resume his duties in the ballroom after awhile;
but Jimmy sat on, smoking and thinking. The night was very still.
Now and then, a sparrow would rustle in the ivy on the castle wall,
and somewhere in the distance a dog was barking. The music had begun
again in the ball-room. It sounded faint and thin where he sat.
In the general stillness, the opening of the door at the top of the
steps came sharply to his ears. He looked up. Two figures were
silhouetted for a moment against the light, and then the door closed
again. They began to move slowly down the steps.
Jimmy had recognized them. He got up. He was in the shadow. They
could not see him. They began to walk down the terrace. They were
quite close now. Neither was speaking; but, presently when they were
but a few feet away, they stopped. There was the splutter of a match,
and McEachern lighted a cigar. In the yellow light, his face was
clearly visible. Jimmy looked, and was content.
He edged softly toward the shrubbery at the end of the terrace, and,
entering it without a sound, began to make his way back to the
house.
CHAPTER XXX
CONCLUSION
The American liner, St. Louis, lay in the Empress Dock at
Southampton, taking aboard her passengers. All sorts and conditions
of men flowed in an unceasing stream up the gangway.
Leaning over the second-class railing, Jimmy Pitt and Spike Mullins
watched them thoughtfully.
Jimmy looked up at the Blue Peter that fluttered from the fore-mast,
and then at Spike. The Bowery boy’s face was stolid and
expressionless. He was smoking a short wooden pipe with an air of
detachment.
“Well, Spike,” said Jimmy. “Your schooner’s on the tide now, isn’t
it? Your vessel’s at the quay. You’ve got some queer-looking fellow-
travelers. Don’t miss the two Cingalese sports, and the man in the
turban and the baggy breeches. I wonder if they’re air-tight. Useful
if he fell overboard.”
“Sure,” said Spike, directing a contemplative eye toward the garment
in question. “He knows his business.”
“I wonder what those men on the deck are writing. They’ve been
scribbling away ever since we came here. Probably, society
journalists. We shall see in next week’s papers: ‘Among the second-
class passengers, we noticed Mr. “Spike” Mullins, looking as cheery
as ever.’ It’s a pity you’re so set on. going, Spike. Why not change
your mind, and stop?”
For a moment, Spike looked wistful. Then, his countenance resumed
its woodenness. “Dere ain’t no use for me dis side, boss,” he said.
“New York’s de spot. Youse don’t want none of me, now you’re
married. How’s Miss Molly, boss?”
“Splendid, Spike, thanks. We’re going over to France by to-night’s
boat.”
“It’s been a queer business,” Jimmy continued, after a pause, “a
deuced-queer business! Still, I’ve come very well out of it, at any
rate. It seems to me that you’re the only one of us who doesn’t end
happily, Spike. I’m married. McEachern’s butted into society so deep
that it would take an excavating party with dynamite to get him out
of it. Molly–well, Molly’s made a bad bargain, but I hope she won’t