A Gentleman of Leisure, P. G. Wodehouse [speld decodable readers .TXT] 📗

or someone. Let us preserve the decencies of debate.”

“I had my suspicions of you. I had my suspicions from the first, when I heard that my idiot of a nephew had made a casual friend in London. So this was what you were! A thief, who⁠—”

“I don’t mind personally,” interrupted Jimmy, “but I hope, if ever you mix with cracksmen, you won’t call them thieves. They are frightfully sensitive. You see, there’s a world of difference between the two branches of the profession, and a good deal of snobbish caste prejudice. Let us suppose that you were an actor-manager. How would you enjoy being called a super? You see the idea, don’t you? You’d hurt their feelings. Now, an ordinary thief would probably use violence in a case like this; but violence, except in extreme cases⁠—I hope this won’t be one of them⁠—is contrary, I understand, to cracksmen’s etiquette. On the other hand, Sir Thomas, candour compels me to add that I have you covered.”

There was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. He thrust the stem earnestly against the lining. Sir Thomas eyed the protuberance apprehensively, and turned a little pale. Jimmy was scowling ferociously. Arthur Mifflin’s scowl in Act III had been much admired.

“My gun,” said Jimmy, “is, as you see, in my pocket. I always shoot from the pocket, in spite of the tailor’s bills. The little fellow is loaded and cocked. He’s pointing straight at your diamond solitaire. That fatal spot! No one has ever been hit in the diamond solitaire and survived. My finger is on the trigger, so I should recommend you not to touch that bell you are looking at. There are other reasons why you shouldn’t, but those I will go into presently.”

Sir Thomas’s hand wavered.

“Do, if you like, of course,” said Jimmy agreeably⁠—“it’s your own house⁠—but I shouldn’t. I am a dead shot at a yard and a half. You wouldn’t believe the number of sitting haystacks I’ve picked off at that distance. I simply can’t miss. On second thoughts, I shan’t fire to kill you. Let us be humane on this joyful occasion. I shall just smash your knees⁠—painful, but not fatal.”

He waggled his pipe suggestively. Sir Thomas blanched. His hand fell to his side.

“Great!” said Jimmy. “After all, why should you be in a hurry to break up this very pleasant little meeting? I’m sure I’m not. Let us chat. How are the theatricals going? Was the duologue a success? Wait till you see our show. Three of us knew our lines at the dress rehearsal.”

Sir Thomas had backed away from the bell, but the retreat was merely for the convenience of the moment. He understood that it might be injurious to press the button just then; but he had recovered his composure by this time, and he saw that ultimately the game must be his.

Jimmy was trapped.

His face resumed its normal hue. Automatically his hands began to move towards his coattails and his feet to spread themselves. Jimmy noted with a smile these signs of restored complacency. He hoped ere long to upset that complacency somewhat.

Sir Thomas addressed himself to making Jimmy’s position clear to him.

“How, may I ask,” he said, “do you propose to leave the castle?”

“Won’t you let me have the motor?” said Jimmy. “But I expect I shan’t be leaving just yet.”

Sir Thomas laughed shortly.

“No,” he said. “No; I fancy not. I am with you there!”

“Great minds,” said Jimmy. “I shouldn’t be surprised if we thought alike on all sorts of subjects. Just think how you came round to my views on ringing the bell. In a flash! But what made you fancy that I intended to leave the castle?”

“I should hardly have supposed that you would be anxious to stay.”

“On the contrary. It’s the one place I have been in in the last two years that I have felt really satisfied with. Usually I want to move on after a week. But I could stop here forever.”

“I am afraid, Mr. Pitt⁠—by the way, an alias, of course?”

“I fear not,” he said. “If I had chosen an alias, it would have been Tressilyan, or Trevelyan, or something. I call Pitt a poor thing in names. I once knew a man called Ronald Cheylesmore. Lucky fellow!”

Sir Thomas returned to the point on which he had been about to touch.

“I am afraid, Mr. Pitt, that you hardly realise your position.”

“No?” said Jimmy, interested.

“I find you in the act of stealing my wife’s necklace⁠—”

“Would there be any use in telling you that I was not stealing it, but putting it back?”

Sir Thomas raised his eyebrows in silence.

“No?” said Jimmy. “I was afraid not. You were saying⁠—”

“I find you in the act of stealing my wife’s necklace,” proceeded Sir Thomas, “and because for the moment you succeed in postponing arrest by threatening me with a revolver⁠—”

An agitated look came into Jimmy’s face.

“Great Scott!” he cried. He felt hastily in his pocket. “Yes,” he said; “as I had begun to fear. I owe you an apology, Sir Thomas,” he went on with manly dignity, producing the briar. “I am entirely to blame. How the mistake arose I cannot imagine, but I find it isn’t a revolver after all.”

Sir Thomas’s cheeks took on a richer tint of purple. He glared dumbly at the pipe.

“In the excitement of the moment, I suppose⁠—” began Jimmy.

Sir Thomas interrupted. The recollection of his needless panic rankled within him.

“You⁠—you⁠—you⁠—”

“Count ten!”

“You⁠—what you propose to gain by this buffoonery I am at a loss⁠—”

“How can you say such savage things?” protested Jimmy. “Not buffoonery! Wit! Esprit! Flow of soul such as circulates daily in the best society.”

Sir Thomas almost leaped towards the bell. With his finger on it, he turned to deliver a final speech.

“I believe you’re insane,” he cried; “but I’ll have no more of it. I have endured this foolery long enough. I’ll⁠—”

“Just one moment,” said Jimmy. “I said just now that there were other reasons besides the revol⁠—well, pipe⁠—why you should not ring that bell.