 CHAPTER XXI. CHICAGO ED. Riverside drive slept. The moon shone on darkened windows and deserted sidewalks. It was past one o'clock in the morning. The wicked forties were still ablaze with light and noisy foxtrotts, but in the virtuous hundreds where Mr. Pett's house stood, respectable slumber reigned. Only the occasional drone of a passing automobile broke the silence, or the love-sick cry of some feline Romeo patrolling a wall-top. Jimmy was awake. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching his father put the finishing touches to his makeup, which was of a shaggy and intimidating nature. The elder-crocker had conceived the outward aspect of Chicago Ed, king of the kidnappers, on broad and impressive lines, and one glance would have been enough to tell the sagacious observer that here was no white-sold comrade for a nocturnal saunter down lonely lanes and out of the way alleys. Mr. Crocker seemed to feel this himself. "'The only trouble is, Jim,' he said, peering at himself in the glass, "'should I scare the boy to death directly, he sees me? Aught not to give him some sort of warning? How? Do you suggest sending him a formal note?' Mr. Crocker surveyed his repellent features doubtfully. "'It's a good deal to spring on a kid at one in the morning,' he said. "'Suppose he has a fit?' "'He's far more likely to give you one. Don't you worry about Ogden, dad. I shouldn't think there was a child alive more equal to handling such a situation.' There was an empty glass standing on a tray on the dressing-table. Mr. Crocker eyed this sadly. "'I wish you hadn't thrown that stuff away, Jim. I could have done with it. I'm feeling nervous.' "'Nonsense, dad. You're all right. I had to throw it away. I'm on the wagon now. But how long I should have stayed on with that smiling up at me? I don't know. I've made up my mind never to lower myself to the level of the beast that perished with the demon rum again, because my future wife has strong views on the subject. But there's no sense in taking chances. Temptation is all very well, but you don't need it on your dressing-table.' "'It was a kindly thought of yours to place it there, dad. But, eh, I didn't put it there. I thought this sort of thing came in your department. Isn't it the butler's job to supply drinks to the nobility and gentry? Well, it doesn't matter. It's now distributed over the neighboring soil, thus removing a powerful temptation from your path. You're better without it.' He looked at his watch. "'Well, it ought to be all right now.' He went to the window. There's an automobile down there. I suppose it's Jerry. I told him to be outside at one sharp and it's nearly half-past. I think you might be starting, dad. Oh, by the way, you had better tell Ogden that you represent a gentleman of the name of Buck McGinnis. It was Buck who got away with him last time, and a firm friendship seems to have sprung up between them. There's nothing like coming with a good introduction.' Mr. Crocker took a final survey of himself in the mirror. Gee, I'd hate to meet myself on a lonely road. He opened the door and stood for a moment listening. From somewhere down the passage came the murmur of a muffled snore. "'Third door on the left,' said Jimmy. Three. Count them. Three. Don't go getting mixed.' Mr. Crocker slid into the outer darkness like a stout ghost, and Jimmy closed the door gently behind him. Having launched his indulgent parent safely on a career of crime, Jimmy switched off the light and returned to the window. Leaning out, he gave himself up for a moment to sentimental musings. The night was very still. Through the trees which flanked the house, the dimmed headlights of what was presumably Jerry Mitchell's hired car shone faintly like enlarged fireflies. A boat of some description was tooting reflectively far down the river. Such was the seductive influence of the time in the scene that Jimmy might have remained there indefinitely, weaving dreams, had he not been under the necessity of making his way down to the library. It was his task to close the French windows after his father and Ogden had passed through, and he proposed to remain hid in the gallery there until the time came for him to do this. It was imperative that he avoid being seen by Ogden. Locking his door behind him he went downstairs. There were no signs of life in the house. Everything was still. He found the staircase leading to the gallery without having to switch on the lights. It was dusty in the gallery, and a smell of old leather enveloped him. He hoped his father would not be long. He lowered himself cautiously to the floor, and resting his head against a convenient shelf, began to wonder how the interview between Chicago Edd and his prey was progressing. Mr. Crocker, meanwhile, massed to the eyes, had crept in fearful silence to the door which Jimmy had indicated. A good deal of the gay enthusiasm with which he had embarked on this enterprise had ebbed away from him. Now that he had become accustomed to the novelty of finding himself once more playing a character part, his intimate respectability began to assert itself. It was one thing to play Chicago Edd at a Broadway theatre, but quite another to give a benefit performance like this. As he tiptoed along the passage, the one thing that presented itself most clearly to him was the appalling outcome of this act of his should anything go wrong. He would have turned back, but for the thought that Jimmy was depending on him and that success would mean Jimmy's happiness. Stimulated by this reflection he opened Ogden's door inch by inch and went in. He stole softly across the room. He had almost reached the bed and had just begun to wonder how on earth now that he was there he could open the proceedings tactfully and without alarming the boy when he was saved the trouble of pondering further on this problem. A light flashed out of the darkness with the suddenness of a bursting bomb and a voice from the same general direction said, hands up! When Mr. Crocker had finished blinking and had adjusted his eyes to the glare he perceived Ogden sitting up in bed with a revolver in his hand. The revolver was resting on his knee and its muzzle pointed directly at Mr. Crocker's ample stomach. Exhaustive as had been the thought which Jimmy's father had given to the possible developments of his enterprise this was a contingency of which he had not dreamed. He was entirely at a loss. Go do that, he said huskily, it might go off. I should worry, replied Ogden coldly. I'm at the right end of it. What are you doing here? He looked fondly at the lethal weapon. I got this with cigarette coupons to shoot rabbits when we went to the country. Here's where I get a chance at something part human. Do you want to murder me? Why not? Mr. Crocker's make-up was trickling down his face in sticky streams. The mask, however, prevented Ogden from seeing this peculiar phenomenon. He was gazing interestingly at his visitor. An idea struck him. Say, did you come to kidnap me? Mr. Crocker felt the same sense of relief which he had sometimes experienced on the stage when memory had failed him during a scene and a fellow actor had thrown him the line. It would be exaggerating to say that he was himself again. He could never be completely at his ease with that pistol pointing at him, but he felt considerably better. He lowered his voice an octave or so and spoke in a husky growl. Ah, jeez it, kid! Nick's on the rough stuff. Keep those hands up, advised Ogden. Sure, sure, growled Mr. Crocker. Can the gun play, Bo? Say, you've certainly grown since the last time we got used. Ogden's matter became magically friendly. Are you want to buck me Guinness Lot? He inquired almost politely. That's right. Mr. Crocker blessed the inspiration which had prompted Jimmy's parting words. I'm with Buck. Why didn't Buck come himself? He's wakin' on another job. To Mr. Crocker's profound relief, Ogden lowered the pistol. I'm strong for Buck, he said conversationally. We're all pals. Did you see the piece in the paper about him kidnapping me last time? I've got it in my press-clipping album. Sure, said Mr. Crocker. Say, listen, if you take me now, Buck's got to come across. I like Buck, but I'm not going to let myself be kidnapped for his benefit. It's fifty-fifty or nothing doing, see? I get you, kid. Well, if that's understood, all right. Give me a minute to get some clothes on, and I'll be with you. Don't make a noise, said Mr. Crocker. Who's making any noise? Say, how did you get in here? True to library windows. I always knew some jig was strolled in that way. It beats me why they didn't have bars fixed on them. There's a buzz wagon outside, waiting. You do it in style, don't you? observed Ogden pulling on his shirt. Who's working this with you? Anyone I know? No, a new guy. Oh, say, I don't remember you if it comes to that. You don't? said Mr. Crocker, a little discomposed. Well, maybe I wouldn't with that mask on. Which of them are you? Chicago Ed's my moniker. I don't remember any Chicago Ed. Well, you will after dis, said Mr. Crocker, happily inspired. Ogden was eyeing him with sudden suspicion. Take that mask off and let's have a look at you. Nothing doing. How am I to know you're on the level? Mr. Crocker played a daring card. All right, he said, making a move towards the door. It's up to you. If you think I'm not on the level, I'll beat it. Here, stop a minute, said Ogden hastily, unwilling that a promising business deal should be abandoned in this summary manner. I'm not seeing anything against you. There's no need to fly off the handle like that. I'll tell Buck I couldn't get you, said Mr. Crocker, moving another step. Here, stop! What's the matter with you? Are you coming with me? Sure, if you get the conditions. Buck's got to slip me half of whatever he gets out of this. That's right, Buck'll slip you half of anything he gets. All right, then. Wait till I've got this shoe on and let's start. Now I'm ready. Beat it quietly. What do you think I was going to do, sing? Step this way, said Mr. Crocker, jacuzzi. They left the room cautiously. Mr. Crocker, for a moment, had a sense of something missing. He had reached the stairs before he realized what it was. Then it dawned upon him that what was lacking was the applause. The scene had deserved a round. Jimmy, vigilant in the gallery, heard the library door open softly and peering over the rail perceived two dim forms in the darkness. One was large, the other small. They crossed the room together. Whispered words reached him. I thought you said you came in this way. Sure! Then why is the shutter closed? I fixed it after I was in. There was a faint scraping sound followed by a click. The darkness of the room was relieved by moonlight. The figures passed through. Jimmy ran down from the gallery and closed the window softly. He had just fastened the shutters. When from the passage outside there came the unmistakable sound of a footstep. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Of Piccadilly Gym By P. G. Whithouse This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Piccadilly Gym Chapter 22 In The Library Jimmy's first emotion on hearing the footstep was the crude instinct of self-preservation. All that he was able to think of at the moment was the fact that he was in a questionable position and one which would require a good deal of explaining away if he were found, and his only sensation was a strong desire to avoid discovery. He made a silent, scrambling leap for the gallery stairs and reached their shelter just as the door opened. He stood there rigid, waiting to be challenged, but apparently he had moved in time for no voice spoke. The door closed so gently as to be almost inaudible, and then there was silence again. The room remained in darkness, and it was this perhaps that first suggested to Jimmy the comforting thought that the intruder was equally desirous of avoiding the scrutiny of his fellows. He had taken it for granted in his first panic that he himself was the only person in that room whose motive for being there would not have borne inspection. But now, safely hidden in the gallery, out of sight from the floor below, he had the leisure to consider the newcomer's movements and to draw conclusions from them. An honest man's first act would surely have been to switch on the lights, and an honest man would hardly have crept so stealthily. It became apparent to Jimmy as he leaned over the rail and tried to pierce the darkness that there was sinister work afoot, and he had hardly reached this conclusion when his mind took a further leap and he guessed the identity of the soft-footed person below. It could be none but his old friend Lord Whizbeach, known to the boys as Gentleman Jack. It surprised him that he had not thought of this before. Then it surprised him that, after the talk they had only a few hours earlier in that very room, Gentleman Jack should have dared to risk this raid. At this moment the blackness was relieved as if by the striking of a match. The man below had brought an electric torch into play, and now Jimmy could see clearly. He had been right in his surmise. It was Lord Whizbeach. He was kneeling in front of the safe. What he was doing to the safe Jimmy could not see, for the man's body was in the way. But the electric torch shone on his face, lighting up grim, serious features, quite unlike the amiable and slightly vacant mask which his lordship was want to present to the world. As Jimmy looked something happened in the pool of light beyond his vision. Gentleman Jack gave a muttered exclamation of satisfaction, and then Jimmy saw that the door of the safe had swung open. The air was full of a penetrating smell of scorched metal. Jimmy was not an expert in these matters, but he had read from time to time of modern burglars and their methods, and he gathered that an oxyacetylene blowpipe, with its flame that cuts steel as a knife cuts cheese, had been at work. Lord Whizbeach flashed the torch into the open safe, plunged his hand in, and drew it out again, holding something. Handling this in a cautious and gingerly manner, he placed it carefully in his breast pocket. Then he straightened himself. He switched off the torch and moved to the window, leaving the rest of his implements by the open safe. He unfastened the shutter, then raised the catch of the window. At this point it seemed to Jimmy that the time had come to interfere. "'Tut, tut," he said in a tone of mild reproof. The effect of the rebuke on Lord Whizbeach was remarkable. He jumped convulsively away from the window, then revolving on his own axis, flashed the torch into every corner of the room. "'Who's that?' he gasped. "'Conscience,' said Jimmy. Lord Whizbeach had overlooked the gallery in his researches. He now turned his torch upwards. The light flooded the gallery on the opposite side of the room from where Jimmy stood. There was a pistol in gentlemen Jack's hand now. It followed the torch uncertainly. Jimmy, lying flat on the gallery floor, spoke again. "'Throw that gun away and the torch, too,' he said. "'I've got you covered.'" The torch flashed above his head, but the raised edge of the gallery rail protected him. "'I'll give you five seconds. If you haven't dropped that gun by then, I shall shoot.'" As he began to count, Jimmy heartily regretted that he had allowed his appreciation of the dramatic to lead him into this situation. It would have been so simple to have roused the house in a prosaic way and avoided this delicate position. Suppose his bluff did not succeed. Suppose the other still clung to his pistol at the end of the five seconds. He wished that he had made it ten instead. Gentleman Jack was an enterprising person, as his previous acts had showed. He might very well decide to take a chance. He might even refuse to believe that Jimmy was armed. He had only Jimmy's word for it. Perhaps he might be as deficient in simple faith as he had proved to be in Norman blood. Jimmy lingered lovingly over his count. "'Four?' he said reluctantly. There was a breathless moment. Then, to Jimmy's unspeakable relief, gun and torch dropped simultaneously to the floor. In an instant Jimmy was himself again. "'Go and stand with your face to that wall,' he said crisply. Hold your hands up. "'Why? I'm going to see how many more guns you've got. I haven't another. I'd like to make sure of that for myself. Get moving.' Gentleman Jack reluctantly obeyed. When he had reached the wall Jimmy came down. He switched on the lights. He felt in the other's pockets and almost at once encountered something hard and metallic. He shook his head reproachfully. "'You are very loose and inaccurate in your statements,' he said. "'Why all these weapons? I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier.' "'Now you can turn around and put your hands down.' Gentleman Jack's appeared to be a philosophical nature. The chagrin consequent upon his failure seemed to have left him. He sat on the arm of a chair and regarded Jimmy without a apparent hostility. He even smiled a faint smile. "'I thought I had fixed you,' he said. "'You must have been smarter than I took you for. I never supposed you would get on to that drink and pass it up.' Understanding of an incident which had perplexed him came to Jimmy. "'Was it you who put that high ball in my room? Was it doped? Didn't you know?' "'Well,' said Jimmy. I never knew before that virtue got its reward so darn quick in this world. I rejected that high ball, not because I suspected it, but out of pure goodness. Because I had made up my mind that I was through with all that sort of thing.' His companion laughed. If Jimmy had had a more intimate acquaintance with the resourceful individual whom the boys called Gentleman Jack, he would have been disquieted by that laugh. It was an axiom among those who knew him well that when Gentleman Jack chuckled in the reflective way he generally had something unpleasant up his sleeve. "'It's your lucky night,' said Gentleman Jack. "'It looks like it. Well, it isn't over yet.' "'Very nearly. You had better go and put that test tube back in what is left of the safe now. Did you think I had forgotten it?' "'What test tube?' "'Come, come, old friend. The one filled with partridges explosive, which you have in your breast pocket.' Gentleman Jack laughed again. Then he moved towards the safe. "'Place it gently on the top shelf,' said Jimmy. The next moment every nerve in his body was leaping and quivering. A great shout split the air. Gentleman Jack, apparently insane, was giving tongue at the top of his voice. "'Help! Help! Help!' The conversation, having been conducted up to this point in undertones, the effect of this unexpected uproar was like an explosion. The cries seemed to echo round the room and shake the very walls. For a moment Jimmy stood paralyzed, staring feebly. Then there was a sudden deafening increase in the din. Something living seemed to writhe and jump in his hand. He dropped it incontinently and found himself gazing in a stupefied way at a round, smoking hole in the carpet. Such had been the effect of Gentleman Jack's unforeseen outburst that he had quite forgotten that he held the revolver, and he had been unfortunate enough at this juncture to pull the trigger. There was a sudden rush and a swirl of action. Something hit Jimmy under the chin. He staggered back, and when he had recovered himself, found himself looking into the muzzle of the revolver, which had nearly blown a hole in his foot a moment back. The sardonic face of Gentleman Jack smiled grimly over the barrel. "'I told you the night wasn't over yet,' he said. The blow under the chin had temporarily dulled Jimmy's mentality. He stood, swallowing and endeavouring to pull himself together and to get rid of a feeling that his head was about to come off. He backed to the desk and steadied himself against it. As he did so, a voice from behind him spoke. "'Was all this?' he turned his head. A curious procession was filing in through the open French window. First came Mr. Crocker, still wearing his hideous mask. Then a heavily bearded individual with round spectacles, who looked like an automobile coming through a haystack. Then Ogden Ford, and finally a sturdy, determined-looking woman with glittering but poorly coordinated eyes, who held a large revolver in her unshaking right hand and looked the very embodiment of the modern female who will stand no nonsense. It was part of the nightmare-like atmosphere which seemed to brood inexorably over this particular night, that this person looked to Jimmy exactly like the partner-mate who had come to him in this room in answer to the bell and who had sent his father to him. Yet how could it be she?' Jimmy knew little of the habits of partner-mates, but surely they did not wander about with revolvers in the small hours. While he endeavored feverishly to find reason in this chaos, the door opened and a motley crowd, roused from sleep by the cries, poured in. Jimmy, turning his head back again to attend to this invasion, perceived Mrs. Pet, Anne, two or three of the geniuses, and Willie Partridge, in various stages of negligee and babbling questions. The woman with the pistol, assuming instant and unquestioned domination of the assembly, snapped out an order. "'Shut that door!' Somebody shut the door. "'Now, what's all this?' she said, turning to gentlemen Jack. End of Chapter 22. Chapter 23. Of Piccadilly Gym, by P. G. Woodhouse. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Piccadilly Gym. Chapter 23. Stirring Times for the Pets. Gentlemen Jack had lowered his revolver and was standing waiting to explain all, with the insufferable look of the man who is just going to say that he has only done his duty and requires no thanks. "'Who are you?' he said. "'Never mind who I am,' said Miss Trimble curtly. Says Pet knows who I am. "'I hope you won't be offended, Lord Whizbeach,' said Mrs. Pet, from the group by the door. I engaged a detective to help you. I really thought you could not manage everything yourself. I hope you do not mind.' "'Not at all, Mrs. Pet. Very wise. I am so glad to hear you say so. An excellent move. Miss Trimble broke in on these amiable exchanges. Was all this? How do you mean help me?' "'Lord Whizbeach most kindly offered to do all he could to protect my nephew's explosive,' said Mrs. Pet. Gentlemen Jack smiled modestly. "'I hope I have been of some slight assistance. I think I came down in the nick of time. Look!' he pointed to the safe. He had just got it open. Luckily I had my pistol with me. I covered him and called for help. In another moment he would have got away.' Miss Trimble crossed to the safe and inspected it with a frown as if she disliked it. She gave a grunt and returned to her place by the window. "'May good job it,' was her comment. Anne came forward. Her face was glowing and her eyes shone. "'Do you mean to say that you found Jimmy breaking into the safe? I never heard anything so absurd.' Mrs. Pet intervened. "'This is not James Crocker, Anne. This man is an impostor who came into the house in order to steal Willie's invention.' She looked fondly at gentlemen Jack. "'Lord Whizbeach told me so. He only pretended to recognize him this afternoon.' A low gurgle proceeded from the open mouth of little Ogden. The proceedings bewildered him. The scene he had overheard in the library between the two men had made it clear to him that Jimmy was genuine and Lord Whizbeach a fraud, and he could not understand why Jimmy did not produce his proofs as before. He was not aware that Jimmy's head was only just beginning to clear from the effects of the blow on the chin. Ogden braced himself for resolute lying in the event of Jimmy calling him as a witness, but he did not intend to have his little business proposition dragged into the open. Anne was looking at Jimmy with horror-struck eyes. For the first time it came to her how little she knew of him and how very likely it was, in the face of the evidence it was almost certain, that he should have come to the house with the intention of stealing Willie's explosive. She fought against it, but a voice seemed to remind her that it was he who had suggested the idea of posing as Jimmy Crocker. She could not help remembering how smoothly and willingly he had embarked on the mad scheme. But had it been so mad? Had it not been a mere cloak for this other venture? If Lord Whizbeach had found him in this room, with the safe blown open, what other explanation could there be? And then, simultaneously with her conviction that he was a criminal, came the certainty that he was the man she loved. It had only needed the spectacle of him in trouble to make her sure. She came to aside with the vague idea of doing something to help him, of giving him her support. Once there she found that there was nothing to do and nothing to say. She put her hand on his and stood waiting helplessly for she knew not what. It was the touch of her fingers which woke Jimmy from his stupor. He came to himself almost with a jerk. He had been mistily aware of what had been said, but speech had been beyond him. Now quite suddenly he was a whole man once more. He threw himself into the debate with energy. Good heavens, he cried. You're all wrong. I found him blowing open the safe. Gentleman Jack smiled superciliously. A likely story. What? I mean to say, it's a bit thin. Ridiculous, said Mrs. Pet. She turned to Miss Trimble with a gesture. Arrest that man. Wait a moment, replied the clear-headed maiden, making her tea thoughtfully with the muzzle of her revolver. Wait a moment. Gotta look into this. Hear both sides these guy's stories. Really! said Gentleman Jack, suavely. It seems somewhat absurd. Nay, mine how absurd sounds! Returned the fair Trimble rebukingly. You close your face, listen to me. That's all you gotta do. I know you didn't do it, cried Anne, tightening her hold on Jimmy's arm. Less of it, please. Less of it! Miss Trimble removed the pistol from her mouth and pointed it at Jimmy. What have you got to say? Talk quick. I happen to be down there. Why? asked Miss Trimble, as if she had touched off a bomb. Jimmy stopped short. He perceived difficulties in the way of explanation. I happen to be down there, he resumes doubly, and that man came into the room with an electric torch and a blowpipe and began working on the safe. The polished tones of Gentleman Jack cut in on his story. Really now, is it worthwhile? He turned to Miss Trimble. I came down here having heard a noise. I did not happen to be here for some unexplained purpose. I was lying awake and something attracted my attention. As Mrs. Pett knows, I was suspicious of this worthy and expected him to make an attempt on the explosive at any moment, so I took my pistol and crept downstairs. When I got here, the safe was open and this man making for the window. Miss Trimble scratched her chin carelessly with the revolver and remained for a moment in thought. Then she turned to Jimmy like a striking rattlesnake. You gotta pull something better than that, she said. I got your number. We caught you with the goods. No, cried Anne. Yes, said Mrs. Pett, the thing is obvious. The best thing I can do, said Gentleman Jack smoothly, is to go and telephone for the police. You think of everything, Lord Whizbeach, said Mrs. Pett. Not at all, said his lordship. Jimmy watched him moving to the door. At the back of his mind there was a dull feeling that he could solve the whole trouble if only he could remember one fact which had escaped him. The effects of the blow he had received still handicapped him. He struggled to remember, but without result. Gentleman Jack reached the door and opened it, and as he did so a shrill yapping hitherto inaudible because of the intervening oak and the raised voices within made itself heard from the passage outside. Gentleman Jack closed the door with a hasty bang. I say, that dog's out there, he said plaintively. The scratching of Ida's busy feet on the wood bore out his words. He looked about him baffled. That dog's out there, he repeated gloomily. Something seemed to give way in Jimmy's brain. The simple fact which had eluded him till now sprang into his mind. Don't let that man get out, he cried. Good Lord! I've only just remembered. You say you found me breaking into the safe? You say you heard a noise and came down to investigate? Well then, what's that test tube of the explosive doing in your breast pocket? He swung round to Miss Trimble. You need take my word or his word. There's a much simpler way of finding out who's the real crook. Search us both. He began to turn out his pockets rapidly. Look here and here and here. Now ask him to do the same. He was pleased to observe a spasm pass across Gentleman Jack's hitherto composed countenance. Miss Trimble was eyeing the latter with sudden suspicion. That's so, she said. Say, Bill, I've forgotten your name. It's up to you to show us. Let's have a look what you've got inside there. Gentleman Jack drew himself up haughtily. I really could not agree, too. Mrs. Pett interrupted indignantly. I never heard of such a thing. Lord Whizbeach is an old friend. Lassavet ordered Miss Trimble, whose left eye was now like the left eye of a basilisk. You've got to show us, Bill, and quick about it. A tired smile played over Gentleman Jack's face. He was the bored aristocrat, mutely protesting against something that wasn't done. He dipped his slender fingers into his pocket. Then, drawing out the test tube and holding it up, he spoke with a drawing calm for which even Jimmy could not help admiring him. Oh, right! The question caused by his action and his words was of the kind usually described as profound. Mrs. Pett uttered a strangled shriek. Willie Partridge yelped like a dog. Sharp exclamations came simultaneously from each of the geniuses. Gentleman Jack waited for the clamor to subside. Then he resumed his gentle drawl. But I'm not done, he explained. And if anybody tries to stop me, it will be his, or her, he bowed politely to Miss Trimble, last act in the world. If anyone makes a move to stop me, I shall drop this test tube and blow the whole damned place to pieces. If his first speech had made a marked impression on his audience, his second paralyzed them. A silence followed as of the tomb. Only the room used to be stilled. "'It's day we are,' said Miss Trimble, as the speaker moved towards the window. She held the revolver poised, but for the first time that night, possibly for the first time in her life, she spoke irresolutely. Superbly competent woman though she was, here was a situation that baffled her. Gentleman Jack crossed the room slowly. The test tube he was level with Miss Trimble, who had lowered her revolver and had drawn to one side, plainly at a loss to know how to handle this unprecedented crisis. When the door flew open. For an instant the face of Howard Bemis the poet was visible. Mrs. Pett, I have telephoned. Then another voice interrupted him. Through the opening the dog Ida, rejoicing in the room, seriously endowed with legs and a tongue, she tore across the room to where Gentleman Jack's ankles waited invitingly. Ever since their first meeting she had wanted a fair chance at those ankles, but someone had always prevented her. "'Damn!' shouted Gentleman Jack. The word was drowned in one vast cataclysm of noise. From every throat in the victim's fingers described a parabola through the air. And flung herself into Jimmy's arms and he held her tight. He shut his eyes. Even as he waited for the end the thought flashed through his mind that if he must die this was the manner of death which he would prefer. The test tube crashed on the writing desk and burst into a million pieces. Jimmy opened his eyes. Things were, he was still alive. The room in which he stood was solid and intact. Nobody was in fragments. There was only one respect in which the scene differed from what it had been a moment before. Then it had contained Gentleman Jack. Now it did not. A great sigh seemed to sweep through the room. There was a long silence. Then, from the direction of the street came the roar of Mr. Trimble. And at that sound the bearded man with the spectacles who had formed part of Miss Trimble's procession uttered a wailing cry. Gee! He's beaded in my bubble! And there was a hired one. The words seemed to relieve the tension in the air. One by one the company became masters of themselves once more. Miss Trimble, that masterly woman, was the first idea that she would be safer there she had flung herself down, and having dusted her skirt with a few decisive dabs of her strong left hand addressed herself once more to business. I let him bluff me with a fake bomb, she commented bitterly. She brooded on this for a moment. Say, shut the door again, someone, and to run this mutt out, I can't think with a yapping going on. Mrs. Pett, pale and her arms, at the same time and removed herself from Jimmy's. She did not look at him. She was feeling oddly shy. Shyness had never been a feeling of hers, but she would have given much now to have been elsewhere. Miss Trimble again took charge of the situation. The sound of the automobile had died away. Gentleman Jack had passed out of their lives. This fact embittered Miss Trimble again. Well, he's gone, she said acidly. Now we can get down to cases again. Say, she addressed Mrs. Pett, who started nervously. The experience of passing through the shadow of the Valley of Death and of finding herself in one piece instead of several thousand had robbed her of all her wanted masterfulness. Say, listen to me, there's been a double game on here in the entertainment. Now we start the second part. You see these ducks? She indicated with a wave of the revolver Mr. Crocker and his bearded comrade. They were trying to kidnap your son. Mrs. Pett uttered a piercing cry. Ogy! Oh, can it! muttered that youth uncomfortably. He foresaw awkward moments ahead and he wished to concentrate his faculties at Chicago Ed. In a few minutes he supposed Ed would be attempting to minimize his own crimes by pretending that he, Ogden, had invited him to come and kidnap him. Stout denial must be his weapon. I have my suspicions, resumed Miss Trimble, that something has gone to be pulled off tonight, and I was waiting outside for her to break loose. This guy here she indicated the bearded plotter who blinked last hour with an automobile. I've been watching right along. I was on to his game. Well, just now I came the kid with his plug ugly here. She turned to Mr. Crocker. Say you, take off the mask. Let's have a look at you. Mr. Crocker reluctantly drew the camber from his face. Gosh! exclaimed Miss Trimble in strong distaste. Say, you've got some kind of plague or what is it? He looked like a colored square and ran a bony finger over his cheek. Make-up, she said, eyeing the stains disgustedly. Grace-paint! Gosh! Skinner! cried Miss's pet. Miss Trimble scanned her victim more closely. So it is, if you do a bit of excavating. She turned to the bearded one, and I guess all this shrubbery is fake if come down to it. She wrenched at the unhappy chin behind it. If this ain't a wig, you'll have a headache to-morrow," observed Miss Trimble, weaving her fingers into his luxuriant head covering and pulling. Who is your luck? Ah, towards a wig. Give me those spectacles. She surveyed the results of her handiwork grimly. Say, Clarence," she remarked, you're a wise guy. You look handsome with them on. Does anyone know this duck? A husband's physical instructor. Miss Trimble turned and walked toward Jimmy, tapping him meaning on the chest with her revolver. Say, this'll get an interesting. This is where you explain, young men, how twice you happened to be down in this room when the crook was just gone was mucking with the safe. Look to me as if you were in with these two. A feeling of being on the verge of one of those crises and the affinity from Anne any longer seemed impossible. He was about to speak when Anne broke in. At Nesta, she said, I can't let this go on any longer. Jerry Mitchell isn't to blame. I told him to kidnap Ogden. There was an awkward silence. Mrs. Pett laughed nervously. I think you had better go to bed, my dear child. You have had a severe shock. You are not yourself. But it's true. I did tell him, didn't I, Jerry? Say, Miss Trimble silenced Jerry with a gesture. You beat it back to your little bed, honey, like your aunt says. You say you told this guy to steal the kid? Well, what about this here skinner? You didn't tell him, did you? I, I, Anne began confusedly. She was utterly unable to account for skinner and it made her task of doing it. Jimmy came to the rescue. He did not like to think how Anne would receive the news, but for her own sake, he must speak now. It would have required a harder hearted man than himself to resist the mute pleading of his father's grease-painted face. Mr. Crocker was a game sport. He would not have said a word without the sign from Jimmy. Even to save himself from a mess, perfectly simple, said Jimmy with an attempt at eriness which broke down miserably under Miss Trimble's eye. Perfectly simple. I really am Jimmy Crocker, you know. He avoided Anne's gaze. I can't think what you were making all this fuss about. The wife sit on a plot to kidnap this boy. That, of course, ha ha might seem at first sight to require a little explanation. Eight minute then. Yes, as a matter of fact I did have the idea of kidnapping Ogden. Wanted to send him to a dog's hospital, if you understand what I mean. He tried to smile a conciliatory smile, but, in covering Miss Trimble's left eye, abandoned the project. He removed a bead of perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief. It struck him as a very curious thing that the simplest explanations can quite difficult to make. Before I go any further I ought to explain one thing. Skinner there is my father. Mrs. Pett gasped. Skinner was my sister's butler in London. In a way of speaking, said Jimmy, that is correct. It's rather a long story. It was this way, you see. Miss Trimble uttered an ejaculation of supreme contempt. I never saw such a lot of babbling crooks in my life. It beats me up when you hope to get pulling this stuff. Say, she indicated Mr. Crocker, this guy's wanted for something over in England. We've got his picture in the office. If you ask me, he'll let out with his spoons or something. Say, she fixed one of the geniuses with her compelling eye. About time he made herself useful. Go and call up the Asterbill on the phone. There's a dame there that's been making inquiries for this duck. She told Anderson's, and Anderson's handed her up any hour of the day or night when they found him. You go get her on the wire and tell her to come right up here in a taxi and identify him. The genius paused at the door. Whom shall I ask for? Mrs. Crocker. Snap, Miss Trimble. This is Bingley Crocker. Tell her we've found the guys you've been looking for. The genius backed out. There was a howl of anguish from the doorway. I beg your pardon, said the genius. Can't you look where you're going? I am exceedingly sorry. Grrr! Mr. Pett entered the room hopping. He was holding one slippered foot in his hand and appeared to be submitting it to some form of massage. It was plain that the usually mild and gentle little man was in a bad temper. He glowered round him at the company assembled. What the devil's the matter here! He demanded. I stood it as long as I could, but a man can't get a week of sleep with this noise going on. Yip, yip, yip! Barked Ida from the shelter of Mrs. Pett's arms. Mr. Pett started violently. Kill that dog! Throw her out! Do something to her! Mrs. Pett was staring blankly at her husband. She had never seen him like this before. It was as if a rapid had turned and growled at her. Coming on top of the crowded sensations of the night, it had the effect of making her feel curiously weak. In all her married life she had never known what fear was. She had coped dauntlessly with the late Mr. Ford, a man of a spirited temperament, and as for the mild Mr. Pett, she had trampled on him. But now she felt afraid. This new Peter intimidated her. End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 of Piccadilly Gym by P. G. Woodhouse This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Piccadilly Gym Chapter 24 Sensational Turning of a Worm To this remarkable metamorphosis in Mr. Peter Pett, several causes had contributed. In the first place, the sudden dismissal of Jerry Mitchell had obliged him to go two days without the physical exercises to which his system had become accustomed, and this had produced a heavy irritable condition of body and mind. He had brooded on the injustice of his lot, until he had almost worked himself up to rebellion. And then, as sometimes happened with him when he was out of sorts, a touch of gout came to add to his troubles. Being a patient man by nature, he might have borne up against these trials had he been granted an adequate night's rest. But, just as he dropped off after tossing restlessly for two hours, things had begun to happen noisily in the library. He awoke to a vague realization of a tumult below. Such was the morose condition of his mind as the result of his misfortune, that at first not even the cries for help could interest him sufficiently to induce him to leave his bed. He knew that walking in his present state would be painful, and he declined to submit to any more pain just because some party unknown was apparently being murdered in his library. It was not until the shrill barking of the dog Ida penetrated right in among his nerve centers and began to tie them into knots that he found himself compelled to descend. Even when he did so, it was in no spirit of kindness. He did not come to rescue anybody or to interfere between any murderer and his victim. He came in a fever of militant wrath to suppress Ida. On the threshold of the library, however, the genius, by treading on his gouty foot, had diverted his anger instead to become more general. He had not ceased to concentrate his venom on Ida. He wanted to assail everybody. What's the matter here? He demanded red-eyed. Isn't somebody going to tell me? Have I got to stop here all night? Who on earth is this? He glared at Miss Trimble. What's she doing with that pistol? He stamped unconsciously with his bad foot and emitted a dry howl of anguish. She is a detective, Peter, said Mrs. Pett timidly. A detective? Why? Where did she come from? Miss Trimble took it upon herself to explain. Mr. Pett says Pett sent for me to watch out so nobody kidnapped her son. Augie explained Mrs. Pett. Miss Trimble was guarding darling Augie. Why? To prevent him being kidnapped, Peter. Mr. Pett glowered at the stout boy. Then his eye was attracted by the forlorn figure of Jerry Mitchell. He started. Was this fellow kidnapping the boy? He asked. Sure, said Miss Trimble, caught him with the goods. He's waiting outside there with a car. I held him and this other guy up with a gun and brought him back. Jerry, said Mr. Pett, it wasn't your fault that you didn't bring it off and I'm going to treat you right. You'd have done it if nobody had butted in to stop you. You'll get the money to start that health farm of yours all right. I'll see to that. Now you run off to bed. There's nothing to keep you here. Say! cried Miss Trimble, outraged. Do you mean to say you aren't going to prosecute? Why aren't I telling you I caught him kidnapping the boy? I told him to kidnap the boy. Snarled Mr. Pett. Peter! Mr. Pett looked like an undersized lion as he faced his wife. He bristled. The recollection of all that he had suffered from Ogden came to strengthen his determination. I've tried for two years to get you to send that boy to a good boarding school and you wouldn't do it. I couldn't stand having him loafing around the house any longer so I told Jerry Mitchell to take him away to a friend of his who keeps a dog's hospital on Long Island and to tell his friend to hold him there till he got some sense into him. Well, you've spoiled that for the moment with your detectives but it still looks good to me. I'll give you a choice. You can either send that boy to a boarding school next week or he goes to Jerry Mitchell's friend. I'm not going to have him in the house any longer loafing in my chair and smoking my cigarettes. Which is it to be? But Peter, well... If I send him to a school he may be kidnapped. Kidnapping can't hurt him. That's what he needs. But anyway, if he is, I'll pay the bill and be glad to do it. Take him off to bed now. Tomorrow you can start looking up schools. Great Godfrey! He hopped to the writing desk and glared disgustedly at the debris on it. Who's been making this mess on my desk? It's hard. It's darned hard. The only room in the house that I asked to have for my own where I can get a little peace and I find it turn into a beer garden and coffee or some damn thing spilled all over my writing desk. That isn't coffee, Peter, said Mrs. Pett mildly. This caveman whom she had married under the impression that he was a gentle domestic pet had taken all the spirit out of her. It's Willy's explosive. Willy's explosive? Lord Whizbeach, I mean the man who pretended to be Lord Whizbeach, dropped it there. Dropped it there? Well, why didn't it explode and blow the place to Hoboken then? Mrs. Pett looked helplessly at Willy who thrust his fingers into his mop of hair and rolled his eyes. There was, fortunately, some slight miscalculation in my formula, Uncle Peter, he said. I shall have to look into it tomorrow, whether the Trinitor told you Mr. Pett uttered a sharp howl. He beat the air with his clenched fists. He seemed to be having a brainstorm. Has this, this fish been living on me all this time? Have I been supporting this, this buzzard in luxury all these years while he fooled about with an explosive that won't explode? He pointed an accusing finger at the inventor. Look into it tomorrow, will you? Yes, you can look into it tomorrow after six o'clock. Until then, you'll be working for the first time in your life working in my office where you ought to have been all along. He surveyed the crowded room belligerently. Now, perhaps you will all go back to bed and let people get a little sleep. Go home," he said to the detective. Miss Trimble stood her ground. She watched Mrs. Pett pass away with Ogden and Willy Partridge had a stampede of geniuses but she declined to move. You've got to cut the rough stuff to Pett, she said calmly. I need my sleep, just as much as everybody else, but I've got to stay here. There's a lady coming right up in a taxi from the astro-bell to identify this gook. She's after him for something. What? Skinner? That's what he calls himself. What's he done? I don't know. The lady'll tell us that. There was a violent ringing at the front doorbell. I guess that's her, said Miss Trimble. Who's going to let her in? I can't go. I will," said Anne. Mr. Pett regarded Mr. Crocker with affection and encouragement. I don't know what you've done, Skinner, he said, but I'll stand by you. You're the best fan I ever met and if I can keep you out of the penitentiary, I will. It isn't the penitentiary, said Mr. Crocker unhappily. A tall, handsome, and determined-looking woman came into the room. She stood in the doorway, looking about her. Her eyes rested on Mr. Crocker. For a moment, she gazed incredulously at his discolored face. She drew a little nearer, peering. Do you identify him, ma'am? said Miss Trimble. Bing Lee. Is that the guy you wanted? It's my husband, said Mrs. Crocker. I can't arrest him for that, said Mrs. Trimble, disgustedly. She thrust her revolver back into the hinterland of her costume. Guess I'll be beating it, she said with a somber frown. She was plainly in no sunny mood. For all the hunk jobs I was ever on, this is the hunkest. I'm told off to watch a gang of crooks and after I've lost a night's sleep doing it, turns out it's a nice jolly family party. She jerked her thumb towards Jimmy. Say, this guy says he's that guy's son. I suppose it's all right. That is my stepson, James Crocker. And uttered a little cry, but it was lost in the middle of the night. I don't know what to say. She uttered a little cry, but it was lost in Mrs. Trimble's stupendous snort. The detective turned to the window. I guess I'll beat it, she observed costically, before it turns out that I'm your little daughter Genevieve. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Of Piccadilly Gym by P. G. Woodhouse This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Piccadilly Gym Chapter 25 Clearly Everybody Happy Mrs. Crocker turned to her husband. Well, Bingley, she said, a steely tinkle in her voice. Well, Eugenia, said Mr. Crocker. A strange light was shining in Mr. Crocker's mild eyes. He had seen a miracle happen that night. He had seen an even more formidable woman than his wife dominated by an even meeker man than himself, and he had been amazed and impressed by the spectacle. It had never even started to occur to him before, but apparently it could be done. A little resolution, a little determination, nothing more was needed. He looked at Mr. Pett, and yet Mr. Pett had crumpled up Eugenia's sister with about three firm speeches. It could be done. What do you have to say, Bingley? Mr. Crocker drew himself up. Just this, he said. I'm an American citizen, and the way I figured it out is that my place is in America. It's no good talking about it, Eugenia. I'm sorry if it upset your plans, but I am not going back to London. He eyed his speechless wife unflatteringly. I'm going to stick on here and see the pennant race out, and after that, I'm going to take in the world series. Mrs. Crocker opened her mouth to speak, closed it, reopened it. Then she found that she had nothing to say. I hope you'll be sensible, Eugenia, and stay on this side, and we can all be happy. I'm sorry to have to take this stand, but you tried me too high. You're a woman, and you don't know what it is to go five years without seeing a ballgame, but take it for me, it's more than any real fan can stand. It nearly killed me, and I'm not going to risk it again. If Mr. Pett will keep me on as his butler, I'll stay here in this house. If he won't, I'll get another job somewhere. But whatever happens, I stick to this side. Mr. Pett uttered a whoop of approval. There's always been a place for you in my house, old man," he cried, when I get a butler who, but Bingley, how can you be a butler? I said Mr. Pett enthusiastically. He's a wonder. He can pull all the starchy stuff as if he lived with a Duke of Hooses for the last forty years, and then go right off and fling a pop-bottle at an umpire. He's all right. The eulogy was wasted on Mrs. Crocker. She burst into tears. It was a new experience for her husband, and he watched her awkwardly, his resolute demeanor crumbling under this unexpected assault. Eugenia. Her eyes. I can't stand it," she sobbed. I've worked and worked all these years, and now just as success has nearly come, Bingley, do come back. It will only be for a little longer. Mr. Crocker stared. A little longer? Why, that Lord Percy Whipple business? I know you must have had excellent reasons for soaking him, Jimmy, but it did put the lid on it. Lord Percy, Affair, there's no chance. There is. There is. It has made no difference at all. Lord Percy came to call next day with a black eye, poor boy, and said that James was a sportsman and that he wanted to know him better. He said he had never felt so drawn towards anyone in his life, and he wanted him to show how he made some blow which he called a right hook. The whole affair has simply endeared James to him, and of course he says that the Duke of Devises read the account of the fight to the Premier that very evening and they both laughed till they nearly got apoplexy. Jimmy was deeply touched. He had not suspected such a sporting spirit in his antagonist. Percy's all right, he said enthusiastically. Dad, you ought to go back. It's only fair. But Jimmy, surely you can understand. There's only a game separating the giants and the Phillies with the Braves coming along just behind and the seasons only half over. Mrs. Crocker looked imploringly at him. It will only be for a little while bingly. Lady Corstaphine, who has means of knowing, says that your name is certain to be in the next honours list. After that you can come back as often as you like. We could spend this summer here at the Winter in England or whatever you pleased. Mr. Crocker capitulated. All right, Eugenia. I'll come. Bingly, we shall have to go back by the next boat, dear. People are beginning to wonder where you are. I've told them that you were taking a rest in the country. But they will suspect something if you don't come back at once. Mr. Crocker's face wore a drawn look. He had never felt so attached to his wife as now when she wept these unexpected tears and begged favours of him with that unfamiliar catch in her voice. On the other hand, a vision rose before him of the polo grounds on a warm afternoon, he crushed it down. Very well, he said. Mr. Pett offered a word of consolation. Maybe you'll be able to run over for the World Series. Mr. Crocker's face cleared. That's true. And I'll cable you the scores every day, Dad, said Jimmy. Mrs. Crocker looked at him with a touch of disapproval clouding the happiness of her face. Are you staying over here, James? There is no reason why you should not come back, too, if you make up your mind to change your habits. I have made up my mind to change them, but I'm going to do it in New York. Mr. Pett is going to give me a job in his office. I'm going to start at the bottom and work my way still further down. Mr. Pett yapped with rapture. He was experiencing something of the emotion of the preacher at the camp meeting who sees the sinner's bench filling up. To have secured Willie Partridge, whom he intended to lead gradually into the realms of high finance by way of envelope addressing, was much. But that Jimmy, with a choice in the matter, should have chosen the office filled him with such content that he only just stopped himself from dancing on his bad foot. Don't worry about me, Dad. I shall do wonders. It's quite easy to make a large fortune. I watched Uncle Pete in his office this morning, and all he does is sit at a mahogany table and tell the office boy to tell collars that he has gone away for the day. I think I ought to rise to great heights in that branch of industry. From the little I have seen of it, it seems to have been made for me. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of Piccadilly Gym by P. G. Whithouse This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Piccadilly Gym Chapter 26 Everybody Happy Jimmy looked at Ann. They were alone. Mr. Pet had gone back to bed, Mrs. Crocker to her hotel. Mr. Crocker was removing his make-up in his room. A silence had followed their departure. This is the end of a perfect day, said Jimmy. Ann took a step towards the door. Don't go. Ann stopped. Mr. Crocker, she said. Jimmy, he corrected. Mr. Crocker repeated Ann firmly. Or Algernon, if you prefer it. May I ask Ann regarded him steadily. May I ask Nearly always, said Jimmy, when people begin with that they are going to say something unpleasant. May I ask why you went to all this trouble to make a fool of me? Why could you not have told me who you were from the start? Have you forgotten all the harsh things you said to me from time to time about Jimmy Crocker? I thought that, if you knew who I was, you would have nothing more to do with me. You were quite right. Surely, though, you won't let a thing like that happen five years ago make so much difference. I shall never forgive you. And yet, a little while ago, when Willie's bomb was about to go off, you flung yourself into my arms. Ann's face flamed. I lost my balance. Why try to recover it? Ann bit her lip. You did a cruel, heartless thing. What does it matter how long ago it was? If you are capable of it then, be reasonable. Don't you admit the possibility of reformation? Take your own case. Five years ago you were a minor poetess. Now you are an amateur kidnapper, a bright, lovable girl at whose approach people lock up their children and sit on the key. As for me, five years ago I was a heartless brute. Now I am a sober, serious businessman, specially called in by your uncle to help jack up his tottering firm. Why not bury the dead past besides I don't want to praise myself I just want to call your attention to it think what I have done for you you admitted yourself that it was my influence that had revolutionized your character but for me you would now be doing worse than write poetry you would be writing verse libre I saved you from that and you spurned me I hate you said Ann Jimmy went to the writing desk and took up a small book put that down I just wanted to read you love's funeral it illustrates my point think of yourself as you are now and remember that it is I who am responsible for the improvement here we are love's funeral my heart is dead and snatched the book from his hands and flung it away it soared up clearing the gallery rails on every floor she stood facing him with sparkling eyes then she moved away I beg your pardon she said stiffly I'd lost my temper it's your hair you're bound to be quick-tempered with hair of that glorious red shade you must marry some nice determined fellow blue-eyed, dark-haired, clean-shaven about five foot eleven with a future in business he will keep you in order Mr. Crocker gently of course kindly lovingly the velvet thingamy rather than the iron what's its name but nevertheless, firmly and was at the door to a girl with irred nature someone with you can quarrel is an absolute necessity of life you and I are affinities ours will be an ideally happy marriage you would be miserable if you had to go through life with a human doormat with welcome written on him you want someone made of sterner stuff you want, as it were, a sparring partner someone with whom you can quarrel happily with a certain knowledge that he will not curl up in a ball for you to kick but will be there with the return wallop I may have my faults he paused expectantly and remained silent no, no, he went on but I am such a man brisk give and take is the foundation of the happy marriage do you remember that beautiful line of Tennyson's we fell out, my wife and I it always conjures up for me a vision of wonderful domestic happiness I seem to see us in our old age you on one side of the radiator I on the other warming our old limbs and thinking of snappy stuff to hand to each other sweetheart still if I were to go out of your life now you would be miserable you would have nobody to quarrel with you would be in the position of the female jaguar of the Indian jungle who, as you doubtless know expresses her affection for her mate by biting him shrewdly in the fleshy part of the leg if she should snap sideways one day and find nothing there of all the things which Anne had been trying to say during this discourse only one succeeded in finding expression to her mortification it was the only weak one in the collection are you asking me to marry you I am I won't you think so now because I am not appearing at my best you see me nervous diffident tongue tied all this will wear off however and you will be surprised and delighted as you begin to understand my true self beneath the surface I speak conservatively I am a corker the door banged behind Anne Jimmy found himself alone he walked thoughtfully to Mr. Pett's armchair and sat down there was a feeling of desolation upon him he lit a cigarette and began to smoke pensively what a fool he had been to talk like that what girl of spirit could possibly stand it if ever there had been a time for being soothing and serious and pleading he's last few minutes and he talked like that ten minutes passed Jimmy sprang from his chair he thought he had heard a footstep he flung the door open the passage was empty he returned miserably to his chair of course she had not come back why should she a voice spoke Jimmy he leaped up again and looked wildly round then he looked up Anne was leaning over the gallery rail Jimmy I've been thinking it over there's something I want to ask you do you admit that you behaved abominably five years ago yes shouted Jimmy and that you've been behaving just as badly ever since yes and that you are really a pretty awful sort of person yes and then it's all right you deserve it deserve it deserve to marry a girl like me I was worried about it but now I see that it's the only punishment bad enough for you she raised her arm here's the dead pass Jimmy go and bury it good night a small book fell squashily at Jimmy's feet he regarded it dully for a moment then with a wild yell which penetrated even to Mr. Pett's bedroom and woke the sufferer just as he was dropping off to sleep for the third time that night he bounded for the gallery stairs at the further end of the gallery a musical laugh sounded and a door closed Anne had gone the end of Piccadilly Jim by PG Woodhouse