The library, Jimmy had his way after Mrs. Pett, was a large room on the ground floor, looking out on the which ran to the south of the house. It had French windows, opening onto a of lawn which ended in a high with a small gate in it, the of these being to create a to a country house than to one in the centre of the city. Mr. Pett's town was full of these surprises.
In one of the room a safe had been let into the wall, a note of incongruity, for the of the wall-space was with of all and sizes, which the and overflowed into a small gallery, by a of stairs and along the north of the room over the door.
Jimmy a at the safe, the doors of which he the test-tube of Partridgite which Willie had from the luncheon-table hid: then transferred his attention to the shelves. A of these nothing which gave promise of away the moments which must the return of Ann. Jimmy's tastes in in the direction of the of modern fiction, and Mr. Pett did not appear to a single that had been later than the eighteenth century—and mostly at that. He to the writing-desk near the window, on which he had of a full of books of a more modern aspect. He one up at and opened it.
He it disgustedly. It was poetry. This man Pett appeared to have a perfect for poetry. One would have it, to look at him. Jimmy had just himself, after another at the shelf, to a vigil, when his was by a name on the of the last in the so that he had to look again to the discovery.
He had been perfectly right. There it was, in gold letters.
THE LONELY HEART
BY
ANN CHESTER
He the from the in a of stupor. Even now he was to give his of the red the of the doubt, and assume that some one else of the same name had it. For it was a in Jimmy's character—one of his many defects—that he and minor and minor poets, when feminine, an affliction. He to that Ann, his Ann, a girl full of the of character, the girl who had been of a to the law by her Jimmy Crocker, also be of The Lonely Heart and other poems. He through the one he came across, and shuddered. It was pure slush. It was the of they up pages with in the when the did not long enough. It was the of which long-haired read alone to other long-haired in English drawing-rooms. It was the of which—to be brief—gave him the Willies. No, it not be Ann who had it.
The next moment the truth was upon him. There was an on the title page.
"To my uncle Peter, with love from the author, Ann Chester."
The room to Jimmy's eyes. He as if a friend had him in his feelings. He as if some loved one had him over the of the with a sandbag. For one moment, in which time still, his to Ann wobbled. It was as if he had her out in some terrible that in her character.
Then his upon the date on the title page, and a of him. The clouds rolled away, and he loved her still. This had been published five years ago.
A of over Jimmy. He did not her now. She had been a child five years ago, old to right from wrong. You couldn't her for at that age. Why, at a stage in his own career he had wanted to be a singer. Everything must be to Youth. It was with a of that he the pages.
As he did so a thing to him. He to have that feeling, which every one has at some time or other, that he had done this very thing before. He was almost that this was not the time he had that on page twenty-seven "A Lament." Why, some of the lines familiar. The people who these this phenomenon, he believed, by some about the of the brain or something. Something about cells, anyway. He that that must be it.
But that was not it. The that he had read all this of vanishing, as is the way on these occasions. He had read this before. He was of it. But when? And where? And above all why? Surely he had not done it from choice.
It was the total of his having done it from choice that his memory in the right direction. There had only been a year or so in his life when he had been to read which he would not have read of his own free will, and that had been when he on the Chronicle. Could it have been that they had him this book of to review? Or—?
And then memory, in its way, having taken all this time to make the part of the journey, the of it with one swoop, and he knew.
And with the came dismay. Worse than dismay. Horror.
"Gosh!" said Jimmy.
He now why he had on the occasion of their meeting in London that he had like Ann's before. The rolled away and he saw clear and stark. He what had at that meeting five years before, to which she had so alluded. He what she had meant that on the boat, when she had one Jimmy Crocker with having her of sentiment. A cold into being about his temples. He that now, as as if it had five minutes ago of five years. He the article for the Sunday Chronicle which he had from the interview, and the with which he had it. He had had a boy's of in those days, the of which like a colt, careless of what it and crushes. He at the of the he had out so on his at the Chronicle office. He himself in from the man he had been, the man who have done a thing like that without or ruth. He had read from the article to an colleague. . . .
A great for Ann up in him. No wonder she the memory of Jimmy Crocker.
It is that would have him further, had he not to turn to page forty-six and read a "Love's Funeral." It was not a long poem, and he had it of two minutes; but by that time a had come upon his mood of self-loathing. He no longer like a particularly murderer. "Love's Funeral" was like a tonic. It and him. It was so absurd, so in every respect. All things, he now perceived, had together for good. Ann had on the that it was his that had out of her the for this of thing. If that was so, then the part he had played in her life had been that of a rescuer. He of her as she was now and as she must have been then to have like this, and he at what he had done. In a manner of speaking the Ann of to-day, the who about the place Ogdens, was his handiwork. It was he who had the minor in her.
The of an old song came to him.
"You me what I am to-day!
I you're satisfied!"
He was more than satisfied. He was proud of himself.
He rejoiced, however, after the of enthusiasm, moderately. There was no the of his of kindness. To Ann Jimmy Crocker was no rescuer, but a of of and vampire. She must learn his identity—or not until he had succeeded by toil, as he he would, in that of the past.
A in on his thoughts. He the book into its place. Ann came in, and the door her.
"Well?" she said eagerly.
Jimmy did not reply for a moment. He was looking at her and how perfect in every way she was now, as she there purged of sentimentality, all with to know how her plans had succeeded. It was his Ann who there, not the author of "The Lonely Heart."
"Did you ask her?"
"Yes. But—"
Ann's fell.
"Oh! She won't let him come back?"
"She refused. I did my best."
"I know you did."
There was a silence.
"Well, this settles it," said Jimmy. "Now you will have to let me help you."
Ann looked troubled.
"But it's such a risk. Something terrible might to you. Isn't a offence?"
"What it matter? They tell me are excellent places nowadays. Concerts, picnics—all that of thing. I shan't mind going there. I have a singing-voice. I think I will try to make the glee-club."
"I we are the law," said Ann seriously. "I told Jerry that nothing to us the of his place to him and being sent to my to me, but I'm to say I said that just to him. Don't you think we ought to know what the is, in case we are caught?"
"It would us to make our plans. If it's a life sentence, I shouldn't worry about my career."
"You see," Ann, "I they would send me to prison, as I'm a relation—though I would go there than to grandmother's. She all alone miles away in the country, and is on discipline—but they might do all of to you, in of my pleadings. I think you had give up the idea, I'm my me away. I didn't think of all this before."
"Never. This thing goes through, or fails over my body. What are you looking for?"
Ann was in a which on a by the window.
"Catalogue," she said briefly, the pages. "Uncle Peter has of law books. I'll look up kidnapping. Here we are. Law Encyclopedia. Shelf X. Oh, that's upstairs. I shan't be a minute."
She ran to the little staircase, and disappeared. Her voice came from the gallery.
"Here we are. I've got it."
"Shoot," said Jimmy.
"There's such a of it," called the voice from above. "Pages and pages. I'm just skimming. Wait a moment."
A from the gallery, then a sneeze.
"This is the place I was in," said the voice. "It's everywhere. It's full of cigarette ends, too. I must tell uncle. Oh, here it is. Kidnapping—penalties—"
"Hush" called Jimmy. "There's some one coming."
The door opened.
"Hello," said Ogden, in. "I was looking for you. Didn't think you would be here."
"Come right in, my little man, and make at home," said Jimmy.
Ogden him with disfavour.
"You're fresh, aren't you?"
"This is from Sir Hubert Stanley."
"Eh? Who's he?"
"Oh, a who what was what."
Ogden closed the door.
"Well, I know what's what, too. I know what you are for one thing." He chuckled. "I've got your number all right."
"In what respect?"
Another from the boy.
"You think you're smooth, don't you? But I'm onto you, Jimmy Crocker. A of Jimmy Crocker you are. You're a crook. Get me? And I know what you're after, at that. You're going to try to me."
From the of his Jimmy was aware of Ann's face, looking over the rail and hastily. No came from the heights, but he that she was intently.
"What makes you think that?"
Ogden himself into the of his easy chair, and, his on the writing-desk, met Jimmy's with a but eye.
"Got a cigarette?" he said.
"I have not," said Jimmy. "I'm sorry."
"So am I."
"Returning, with your permission, to our original subject," said Jimmy, "what makes you think that I have come here to you?"
Ogden yawned.
"I was in the drawing-room after lunch, and that guy Lord Wisbeach came in and said he wanted to talk to mother privately. Mother sent me out of the room, so of I at the door."
"Do you know where little boys go who to private conversations?" said Jimmy severely.
"To the witness-stand generally, I guess. Well, I listened, and I this Lord Wisbeach tell mother that he had only to you as Jimmy Crocker and that he had you in his life. He said you were a and that they had got to watch you. Well, I then why you had come here. It was smooth, in the way you did. I've got to hand it to you."
Jimmy did not reply. His mind was with the of this counter-stroke on the part of Gentleman Jack. He from the strategy with which the had him. There was an about the move which respect.
"Well, now, see here," said Ogden, "you and I have got to together on this proposition. I've been twice before, and the only that anything out of it were the kidnappers. It's soft for them. They couldn't have got a without me, and they of me a rake-off. I'm good and of being for other people's benefit, and I've up my mind that the next guy that wants me has got to come across. See? My is fifty-fifty. If you like it, I'm game to let you go ahead. If you don't like it, then the deal's off, and you'll that you've a of me. When I was before, I was just a kid, but I can look after myself now. Well, what do you say?"
Jimmy it hard at to say anything. He had properly the possibilities of Ogden's before. The longer he him, the more Ann's appeared. It to him that only a of a home for dogs would be for with this youth.
"This is a age," he said.
"You it is," said Ogden. "My middle name is business. Say, are you this on your own, or are you in with Buck Maginnis and his crowd?"
"I don't think I know Mr. Maginnis."
"He's the guy who me the time. He's a rough-neck. Smooth Sam Fisher got away with me the second time. Maybe you're in with Sam?"
"No."
"No, I not. I that he had married and retired from business. I wish you were one of Buck's lot. I like Buck. When he me, I with him and he gave me a time. When I left him, a woman came and me about it for one of the Sunday papers. Sob stuff. Called the piece 'Even Kidnappers Have Tender Hearts Beneath A Rough Exterior.' I've got it in my press-clipping album. It was slush. Buck Maginnis hasn't got any his exterior, but he's a good and I liked him. We used to shoot craps. And he me to chew. I'd be to death to have Buck me again. But, if you're on your own, all right. It's all the same to me, provided you meet me on the terms."
"You are a child."
"Less of it, less of it. I've to without having you fresh. Well, what about it? Talk figures. If I let you take me away, do we up or don't we? That's all you've got to say."
"That's easily settled. I'll give you of I get."
Ogden looked at the writing-desk.
"I wish I have that in writing. But I it wouldn't in law. I I shall have to trust you."
"Honour among thieves."
"Less of the thieves. This is just a proposition. I've got something valuable to sell, and I'm if I'm going to keep it away. I've been too easy. I ought to have of this before. All right, then, that's settled. Now it's up to you. You can think out the of it yourself."
He himself out of the chair, and left the room. Ann, from the gallery, Jimmy meditating. He looked up at the of her step.
"Well, that to make it easy for us, doesn't it?" he said. "It the problem of and means."
"But this is awful. This everything. It isn't safe for you to here. You must go away at once. They've you out. You may be at any moment."
"That's a side-issue. The main point is to put this thing through. Then we can think about what is going to to me."
"But can't you see the you're running?"
"I don't mind. I want to help you."
"I won't let you."
"You must."
"But do be sensible. What would you think of me if I allowed you to this danger—?"
"I wouldn't think any of you. My opinion of you is a thing. Nothing can it. I to tell you on the boat, but you wouldn't let me. I think you're the most perfect, girl in all the world. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. I who you were when we met for a minute that day in London. We were strangers, but I you. You were the girl I had been looking for all my life. Good Heavens, you talk of risks. Can't you that just being with you and speaking to you and that we this thing together is to out any of risk? I'd do anything for you. And you me to out of this thing there is a amount of danger!"
Ann had to the door, and was looking at him with wide eyes. With other men and there had been many—who had said much the same of thing to her since her days she had been and composed—a little sorry, perhaps, but in no as to her own and her ability to their pleadings. But now her was racing, and the had to over her that the and Ann Chester was in of making a of herself. Quite suddenly, without any of warning, she that there was some quality in Jimmy which called to some quality in herself—a something that her know that he and she were mates. She herself hard to where men were concerned. She not have what it was in her that all the men she had met, the men with she had and and yachted, had failed to satisfy: but, since she had the power of self-analysis, she had that it was something which was a solid and part of her composition. She not have put into what quality she in man, but she had always that she would it when she it: and she it now in Jimmy. It was a recklessness, an irresponsibility, a dare-devilry, the to her own lawlessness.
"Ann!" said Jimmy.
"It's too late!"
She had not meant to say that. She had meant to say that it was impossible, out of the question. But her was away with her, on by the of it all. A to have from her eyes, and she now why she had been to Jimmy from the very first. They were mates, and she had away her happiness.
"I've promised to Lord Wisbeach!"
Jimmy stopped dead, as if the had been a physical one.
"You've promised to Lord Wisbeach!"
"Yes."
"But—but when?"
"Just now. Only a minutes ago. When I was him to his hotel. He had asked me to him I left for England, and I had promised to give him his answer when I got back. But when I got back, somehow I couldn't make up my mind. The days by. Something to be me back. He pressed me to say that I would him, and it to go on to be definite, so I said I would."
"You can't love him? Surely you don't—?"
Ann met his frankly.
"Something to have to me in the last minutes," she said, "and I can't think clearly. A little while ago it didn't to much. I liked him. He was good-looking and good-tempered. I that we should along well and be as happy as most people are. That as near perfection as one to nowadays, so—well, that's how it was."
"But you can't him! It's out of the question!"
"I've promised."
"You must your promise."
"I can't do that."
"You must!"
"I can't. One must play the game."
Jimmy for words. "But in this case you mustn't—it's awful—in this special case—" He off. He saw the he was in. He not that without himself. And from that he still shrank. Ann's against Jimmy Crocker might have its in a and grievance, but it had been through the years, and who say how it was now?
Ann came a step him, then paused doubtfully. Then, as if making up her mind, she near and touched his sleeve.
"I'm sorry," she said.
There was a silence.
"I'm sorry!"
She moved away. The door closed her. Jimmy that she had gone. He sat in that chair which was Mr. Pett's favourite, and at the ceiling. And then, how many minutes or hours later he did not know, the of the door-handle him. He from the chair. Was it Ann, come back?
It was not Ann. Round the of the door came the of Lord Wisbeach.
"Oh!" said his lordship, Jimmy.
The itself.
"Come here!" Jimmy.
The appeared again.
"Talking to me?"
"Yes, I was talking to you."
Lord Wisbeach his into the room. He was all that was and unperturbed, but there was a look in the that itself at Jimmy, and he did not move from the door. His rested easily on the him. He did not think it that Jimmy have of his visit to Mrs. Pett, but there had been something in the latter's voice, and he in safety first.
"They told me Miss Chester was here," he said by way of any possible there might be in the situation.
"And what the do you want with Miss Chester, you slimy, second-story-worker, you damned, yegg?" Jimmy.
The not have himself into the that the were spoken in a and spirit. Lord Wisbeach's on the door-handle, and he a little about the cheek-bones.
"What's all this about?" he said.
"You crook!"
Lord Wisbeach looked anxious.
"Don't like that! Are you crazy? Do you want people to hear?"
Jimmy a breath.
"I shall have to away from you," he said more quietly. "There's no what may if I don't. I don't want to kill you. At least, I do, but I had not."
He retired slowly until to a by the writing-desk. To this he himself with a grip. He was to do nothing rash, and the of Gentleman Jack rashness. He against the desk, its with hands. Lord Wisbeach to the door-handle. And in this fashion the proceeded.
"Miss Chester," said Jimmy, himself to speak calmly, "has just been telling me that she has promised to you."
"Quite true," said Lord Wisbeach. "It will be to-morrow." A on his lips, to the that he on Jimmy for a fish-slice, but it unspoken. He was unable at present to Jimmy's emotion. Why Jimmy should object to his being to Ann, he not imagine. But it was plain that for some he had taken the thing to heart, and, as he loved a of fun, Lord Wisbeach that the other was at least six too tall and fifty too to be in his present mood by one of his own physique. "Why not?"
"It won't be to-morrow," said Jimmy. "Because by to-morrow you will be as away from here as you can get, if you have any sense."
"What do you mean?"
"Just this. If you haven't left this house by time to-morrow, I shall you."
Lord Wisbeach was not particularly happy, but he laughed at this.
"You!"
"That's what I said."
"Who do you think you are, to go about people?"
"I to be Mrs. Pett's nephew, Jimmy Crocker."
Lord Wisbeach laughed again.
"Is that the line you are going to take?"
"It is."
"You are going to Mrs. Pett to tell her that you are Jimmy Crocker and that I am a and that you only to me for of your own?"
"Just that."
"Forget it!" Lord Wisbeach had to be in his amusement. He broadly. "I'm not saying it's not good to pull, but it's old now. I'm sorry for you, but I of it you did. I to Mrs. Pett directly after and that line of talk myself. Do you think she'll you after that? I tell you I'm ace-high with that dame. You can't me with her."
"I think I can. For the that I am Jimmy Crocker."
"Yes, you are."
"Exactly. Yes, I am."
Lord Wisbeach tolerantly.
"It was trying the bluff, I guess, but it won't work. I know you'd be to me out of this house, but you've got to make a play than that to do it."
"Don't with the idea that I'm bluffing. Look here." He his and it to Lord Wisbeach. "Read the tailor's label the pocket. See the name. Also the address. 'J. Crocker. Drexdale House. Grosvenor Square. London.'"
Lord Wisbeach up the and looked as directed. His a little sallower, but he still against his conviction.
"That's no proof."
"Perhaps not. But, when you the of the tailor name is on the label, it's likely that he would be in with an impostor, is it? If you want proof, I have no that there are a dozen men on the Chronicle who can identify me. Or are you already?"
Lord Wisbeach capitulated.
"I don't know what game you think you're playing, but I can't see why you couldn't have told me this when we were talking after lunch."
"Never mind. I had my reasons. They don't matter. What is that you are going to out of here to-morrow. Do you that?"
"I you."
"Then that's about all, I think. Don't let me keep you."
"Say, listen." Gentleman Jack's voice was plaintive. "I think you might give a a to out good. Give me time to have a guy in Montreal send me a telling me to go up there right away. Otherwise you might just as well put the on me at once. The old lady I've got in Canada. You don't need to be on a fellow."
Jimmy this point.
"All right. I don't object to that."
"Thanks."
"Don't start anything, though."
"I don't know what you mean."
Jimmy pointed to the safe.
"Come, come, friend of my youth. We have no from each other. I know you're after what's in there, and you know that I know. I don't want to on it, but you'll be to-night in the house, and I think you had make up your mind to it in your room, a sleep to prepare you for your journey. Do you me, old friend?"
"I you."
"That will be all then, I think. Wind a around your and recede."
The door slammed. Lord Wisbeach had his the interview, but he not himself that of them. Jimmy the room and took his from the chair where the other had it. As he did so a voice spoke.
"Say!"
Jimmy round. The room was empty. The thing was to assume an aspect, when the voice spoke again.
"You think you're funny, don't you?"
It came from above. Jimmy had the gallery. He his thither, and the of Ogden over the rail like a gargoyle.
"What are you doing there?" he demanded.
"Listening."
"How did you there?"
"There's a door here that you to from the stairs. I often come here for a cigarette. Say, you think some josher, don't you, telling me you were a kidnapper! You me like an onion. So you're Jimmy Crocker after all? Where was the in all that about taking me away and up the ransom? Aw, you make me tired!"
The was withdrawn, and Jimmy steps by the of a door. Peace in the library.
Jimmy sat in the chair which was Mr. Pett's and which Ogden was to to that gentleman's displeasure. The of events had left him a little dizzy, and he to think over and out what had happened.
The only point which appeared clear to him in a of was the that he had the of Ogden. Everything had itself so and as that until a moment ago; but now that the boy had his identity it was for him to attempt it. He was to accept this fact. Surely, now, there was a way . . .
Quite an plan to him. It the co-operation of his father. And at that he with a start that life had been moving so for him since his return to the house that he had not paid any attention at all to what was as a as any. He had been too to wonder why his father was there.
He the best method of in touch with him. It was out of the question to to the or it was that his father in this new of his. Then the happy him that results might be by the of the bell. It might produce some other unit of the staff. However, it was trying. He the bell.
A moments later the door opened. Jimmy looked up. It was not his father. It was a dangerous-looking female of age, as a parlour-maid, who him with what to his conscience-stricken and suspicion. She had a tight-lipped mouth and brows. Jimmy had a woman who him less at sight.
"Jer ring, S'?"
Jimmy and almost ducked. The had come at him like a projectile.
"Oh, ah, yes."
"J' want anything, s'?"
With an Jimmy his mind to its equilibrium.
"Oh, ah, yes. Would you mind sending Skinner the to me."
"Y's'r."
The vanished. Jimmy out his and at his forehead. He weak and guilty. He as if he had just been of and had been unable to the charge. Such was the magic of Miss Trimble's eye—the left one, which looked directly at its object. Conjecture at the of the which her might have in the of the she despised, had it been of single-barrelled. But of it had itself on a spot some to his right.
Presently the door opened again, and Mr. Crocker appeared, looking like a priest.
