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Updated: May 13, 2025
There had been moments when McEachern's faithful employee had filled Jimmy with an odd sort of fury, a kind of hurt pride, almost to the extent of making him wish that he really could have been the desperado McEachern fancied him. Never in his life before had he sat still under a challenge, and this espionage had been one.
And I may say that it struck me at the time that there was something mighty fishy about the way he got into the castle." McEachern started. So, he had not been the only one to suspect Jimmy's motives in attaching himself to Lord Dreever. "Go on," he said.
"Say, Spike," said Jimmy, "do you know, I spent a whole heap of time before I left New York looking for you?" "Gee! I wish you'd found me! Did youse want me to help on some lay, boss? Is it a bank, or jools?" "Well, no, not that. Do you remember that night we broke into that house uptown the police-captain's house?" "Sure." "What was his name?" "What, de cop's? Why, McEachern, boss." "McWhat?
McEachern was not a ready writer. But he completed it at last to his satisfaction. There was a crisp purity in the style that pleased him. He sealed up the envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. He felt more at ease now.
This time, the visitor was a stranger to him, a dark-faced, clean-shaven man. He did not wear evening clothes, so could not be one of the guests; and Mr. McEachern could not place him immediately. Then, he remembered. He had seen him in Sir Thomas Blunt's dressing-room. This was Sir Thomas's valet. "Might I have a word with you, sir?" "What is it?" asked McEachern, staring heavily.
The picture presented by the other as he heaved and tugged was that of a guilty man trapped. "It's no good, my friend," he said. The voice brought McEachern back to his senses. In the first shock of the thing, the primitive man in him had led him beyond the confines of self-restraint. He had simply struggled unthinkingly. Now, he came to himself again. He shook his manacled hands furiously.
'I'm a sure-'nough sleut', he says. 'I blows into dis house at de special request of Mr. McEachern, de American gent. De odder mug hands de lemon again. 'Tell it to de King of Denmark, he says. 'Dis cop's de limit. Youse has enough gall fer 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."
He thrust the key into Jimmy's hands, and fled. Jimmy unlocked the handcuffs. Mr. McEachern rubbed his wrists. "Ingenious little things," said Jimmy. "I'm much obliged to you," growled Mr. McEachern, without looking up. "Not at all. A pleasure. This circumstantial evidence thing is the devil, isn't it?
"In fact, if you weren't going to be my father-in-law, I doubt if I could bring myself to forgive you. As it is, I overlook it." The policeman's face turned purple. "Only," said Jimmy, with quiet severity, taking a cigar from the box and snipping off the end, "don't let it occur again." He lit the cigar. Mr. McEachern continued to stare fixedly at him.
The necklace had an international reputation. Probably, there was not a prominent thief in England or on the Continent who had not marked it down as a possible prey. It had already been tried for, once. It was big game, just the sort of lure that would draw the type of criminal McEachern imagined Jimmy to be.
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