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Old boy gave them to me." "Gave them to you? Then, why did you break open the drawer?" "Old boy took them back again when he found out about letter." "Then, they don't belong to you." "Yes. Error! They do. Moral right." Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever's type appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man, his lordship was a negligible quantity.
Women have the Red Indian instinct; and Molly had grown to womanhood in those few minutes. Presently, Lord Dreever's name came up. It caused a momentary pause, and McEachern took advantage of it. It was the cue for which he had been waiting. He hesitated for a moment, for the conversation was about to enter upon a difficult phase, and he was not quite sure of himself. Then, he took the plunge.
A man who has led a wandering life often sees faces that come back to him later on, absolutely detached from their context. He might merely have passed Lord Dreever's friend on the street. But Jimmy had an idea that the other had figured in some episode which at the moment had had an importance. What that episode was had escaped him. He dismissed the thing from his mind.
His mind had not recovered from the effect of Lord Dreever's philosophical remarks. There was something of a cloud on his brain. To judge from his lordship's words, things had been happening behind his back; and the idea of Molly's deceiving him was too strange to be assimilated in an instant. He looked at the valet dully. "What is it?" he asked again.
"Come with me," he said, with awful curtness. His lordship followed, bonelessly. Molly watched them go, and wondered more than ever. There was something behind this. It was not merely the breaking-off of the engagement that had roused Sir Thomas. He was not a just man, but he was just enough to be able to see that the blame was not Lord Dreever's. There had been something more. She was puzzled.
Lord Dreever's was not one of those natures that fret restlessly under debt. During his early career at college, he had endeared himself to the local tradesmen by the magnitude of the liabilities he had contracted with them. It was not the being in debt that he minded. It was the consequences. Hargate, he felt instinctively, was of a revengeful nature.
A board with the legend, "Dreever," in large letters showed that they had reached their destination. The station-master informed Lord Dreever that her ladyship had come to meet the train in the motorcar, and was now waiting in the road outside. Lord Dreever's jaw fell. "Oh, lord!" he said. "She's probably motored in to get the afternoon letters.
If you left, he'd have to, too. What you must do is to go back to London to-morrow. You can easily make some excuse. He'll have to go with you. Then, you can drop him in London, and come back. That's what you must do." A delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread itself over Lord Dreever's face. He began to look like an angry rabbit.
It was not worth harrying his memory about. Judicious tipping secured the three a compartment to themselves. Hargate, having read the evening paper, went to sleep in the far corner. Jimmy and Lord Dreever, who sat opposite each other, fell into a desultory conversation. After awhile, Lord Dreever's remarks took a somewhat intimate turn. Jimmy was one of those men whose manner invites confidences.
If Lord Dreever's statement was correct and Jimmy had really succeeded in winning Molly's affection, this would indeed be a rescue at the eleventh hour. It was with a Nunc-Dimittis air that he felt for his cigar-case, and extended it toward the detective.
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