“If he’s your uncle, that passes him. Besides, he once licked the stuffing out of me with a whangee. That forms a bond. Tell me all.”
Jill considered. She had promised to begin at the beginning, but it was difficult to know what was the beginning.
“Have you ever heard of Captain Kidd?” she asked at length.
“You’re wandering from the point, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. Have you heard of Captain Kidd?”
“The pirate? Of course.”
“Well, Uncle Chris is his direct lineal descendant. That really explains the whole thing.”
Wally looked at her enquiringly.
“Could you make it a little easier?” he said.
“I can tell you everything in half a dozen words, if you like. But it will sound awfully abrupt.”
“Go ahead.”
“Uncle Chris has stolen your apartment.”
Wally nodded slowly.
“I see. Stolen my apartment.”
“Of course you can’t possibly understand. I shall have to tell you the whole thing, after all.”
Wally listened with flattering attention as she began the epic of Major Christopher Selby’s doings in New York. Whatever his emotions, he certainly was not bored.
“So that’s how it all happened,” concluded Jill.
For a moment Wally said nothing. He seemed to be digesting what he had heard.
“I see,” he said at last. “It’s a variant of those advertisements they print in the magazines. ‘Why pay rent? Own somebody else’s home!’“
“That does rather sum it up,” said Jill.
Wally burst into a roar of laughter.
“He’s a corker!”
Jill was immensely relieved. For all her courageous bearing, she had not relished the task of breaking the news to Wally. She knew that he had a sense of humor, but a man may have a sense of humor and yet not see anything amusing in having his home stolen in his absence.
“I’m so glad you’re not angry.”
“Of course not.”
“Most men would be.”
“Most men are chumps.”
“It’s so wonderful that it happened to be you. Suppose it had been an utter stranger! What could I have done?”
“It would have been the same thing. You would have won him over in two minutes. Nobody could resist you.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“I can’t help telling the truth. Washington was just the same.”
“Then you don’t mind Uncle Chris giving his dinner-party here tonight?”
“He has my blessing.”
“You really are an angel,” said Jill gratefully. “From what he said, I think he looks on it as rather an important function. He has invited a very rich woman, who has been showing him a lot of hospitality,—a Mrs Peagrim —”
“Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim?”
“Yes? Why, do you know her?”
“Quite well. She goes in a good deal for being Bohemian and knowing people who write and paint and act and so on. That reminds me. I gave Freddie Rooke a letter of introduction to her.”
“Freddie Rooke!”
“Yes. He suddenly made up his mind to come over. He came to me for advice about the journey. He sailed a couple of days before I did. I suppose he’s somewhere in New York by now, unless he was going on to Florida. He didn’t tell me what his plans were.”
Jill was conscious of a sudden depression. Much as she liked Freddie, he belonged to a chapter in her life which was closed and which she was trying her hardest to forget. It was impossible to think of Freddie without thinking of Derek, and to think of Derek was like touching an exposed nerve. The news that Freddie was in New York shocked her. New York had already shown itself a city of chance encounters. Could she avoid meeting Freddie?
She knew Freddie so well. There was not a dearer or a better-hearted youth in the world, but he had not that fine sensibility which pilots a man through the awkwardnesses of life. He was a blunderer. Instinct told her that, if she met Freddie, he would talk of Derek, and, if thinking of Derek was touching an exposed nerve, talking of him would like pressing on that nerve with a heavy hand. She shivered.
Wally was observant.
“There’s no need to meet him, if you don’t want to,” he said.