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"Well, couldn't we?" said Spike doggedly. "It ain't often youse butts into a dead-easy proposition like dis one. We shouldn't have to do a t'ing excep' git busy. De stuff's just lying about, Mr. Chames." "I have noticed it." "Aw, it's a waste to leave it." "Spike," said Jimmy, "I warned you of this. I begged you to be on your guard, to fight against your professional instincts; and you must do it.
The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the water sparkled. "Dose were great jools, Mr. Chames," said Spike thoughtfully. "I believe you're still brooding over them, Spike." "We could have got away wit' dem, if you'd have stood for it. Dead easy." "You are brooding over them. Spike, I'll tell you something which will console you a little before you start out on your wanderings.
Dey had a scrap in de dark, each finking de odder was after de jools, an' not knowin' dey was bote sleut's, an' now one of dem's bin an' taken de odder off, an' locked him in de cellar." "What on earth do you mean?" Spike giggled at the recollection. "Listen, Mr. Chames, it's dis way.
Dis mug's vally to Sir Thomas, dat's him. But he ain't no vally. He's come to see dat no one don't get busy wit de jools. Say, what do you t'ink of dem jools, Mr. Chames?" "Finest I ever saw." "Yes, dat's right. De limit, ain't dey? Ain't youse really " "No, Spike, I am not, thank you very much for inquiring.
For a moment, Spike looked wistful. Then his countenance resumed its woodenness. "Dere ain't no use for me dis side, Mr. Chames," he said. "New York's de spot. Youse don't want none of me, now you're married. How's Miss Molly, Mr. Chames?" "Splendid, Spike; thanks. We're going over to France by to-night's boat." "It's been a queer business," said Jimmy, after a pause. "A deuced rum business.
Spike went to the door, opened it, and looked up and down the passage. "Mr. Chames," he said, in a whisper, shutting the door, "there's bin doin's to-night for fair. Me coco's still buzzin'. Say, I was to Sir Thomas' dressin' room " "What! What were you doing there?" Spike looked somewhat embarrassed. He grinned apologetically, and shuffled his feet. "I've got dem, Mr. Chames," he said.
I've been up to de room, and I've seen de box what de jools is put in at night. We could get at them easy as pullin' de plug out of a bottle. Say, dis is de softest proposition, dis house. Look what I got dis afternoon, Mr. Chames." He plunged his hand into his pocket, and drew it out again. As he unclosed his fingers, Jimmy caught the gleam of precious stones.
"Oh, curse the jewels for the hundredth time!" snapped Jimmy. "Yes, Mr. Chames. But, say, dat must be a boid of a necklace, dat one. You'll be seeing it at de dinner, Mr. Chames." Whatever comment Jimmy might have made on this insidious statement was checked by a sudden bang on the door. Almost simultaneously the handle turned. "P'Chee!" cried Spike. "It's de cop!" Jimmy smiled pleasantly.
What did it matter to Sir James Pitt, baronet, if the whole police force of London stopped and looked at him? "Queer thing, habit," he said, as he made his way across the road. A black figure detached itself from the blacker shadows, and shuffled stealthily to where Jimmy stood on the doorstep. "That you, Spike?" asked Jimmy, in a low voice. "Dat's right, Mr. Chames." "Come on in."
"They'll be sending us ashore in a minute," said Jimmy. "I'd better be moving. Let me know how you're making out, Spike, from time to time. You know the address. And, I say. It's just possible you may find you want a dollar or two, every now and then. When you're going to buy another automobile, for instance. Well, you know where to write for it, don't you?" "T'anks, Mr. Chames.
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