A Gentleman of Leisure P. G. Wodehouse (list of ebook readers TXT) 📖

“Mr. Pitt? He brought me a wrap.”

“What was he saying to you?”

The rain of questions gave Molly a sensation of being battered. She felt dazed and a little mutinous. What had she done that she should be assailed like this?

“He was saying nothing,” she said, rather shortly.

“Nothing! What do you mean? What was he saying? Tell me!”

Molly’s voice shook as she replied.

“He was saying nothing,” she repeated. “Do you think I’m not telling you the truth, father? He had not spoken a word for ever so long. We just walked up and down. I was thinking, and I suppose he was, too. At any rate, he said nothing. I⁠—I think you might believe me.”

She began to cry quietly. Her father had never been like this before. It hurt her.

McEachern’s manner changed in a flash. In the shock of finding Jimmy and Molly together on the terrace he had forgotten himself. He had had reason to be suspicious. Sir Thomas Blunt, from whom he had just parted, had told him a certain piece of news which had disturbed him. The discovery of Jimmy with Molly had lent an added significance to that piece of news. He saw that he had been rough. In a moment he was by her side, his great arm round her shoulder, petting and comforting her as he had done when she was a child. He believed her word without question, and his relief made him very tender. Gradually the sobs ceased. She leaned against his arm.

“I’m tired, father,” she whispered.

“Poor little girl. We’ll sit down.”

There was a seat at the end of the terrace. He picked her up as if she had been a baby and carried her to it. She gave a little cry.

“I didn’t mean I was too tired to walk,” she said, laughing tremulously. “How strong you are, father! If I were naughty you could take me up and shake me till I was good, couldn’t you?”

“Of course; and send you to bed, too, so you be careful, young woman.”

He lowered her to the seat. Molly drew the cloak closer round her and shivered.

“Cold, dear?”

“No.”

“You shivered.”

“It was nothing; yes, it was,” she went on quickly.

“It was. Father, will you promise me something?”

“Of course. What?”

“Don’t ever, ever be angry with me like that again, will you? I couldn’t bear it⁠—really I couldn’t. I know it’s stupid of me, but it hurt. You don’t know how it hurt.”

“But my dear⁠—”

“Oh, I know it’s stupid. But⁠—”

“But, my darling, it wasn’t so. I was angry, but it wasn’t with you.”

“With⁠—. Were you angry with Mr. Pitt?”

McEachern saw that he had travelled too far. He had intended that Jimmy’s existence should be forgotten for the time being⁠—he had other things to discuss; but it was too late now. He must go forward.

“I didn’t like to see you out here alone with Mr. Pitt, dear,” he said. “I was afraid⁠—”

He saw that he must go still farther forward. It was more than awkward. He wished to hint at the undesirability of an entanglement with Jimmy without admitting the possibility of it. Not being a man of nimble brain, he found this somewhat beyond his powers.

“I don’t like him,” he said briefly. “He’s crooked.”

Molly’s eyes opened wide. The colour had gone from her face.

“Crooked, father?”

McEachern perceived that he had travelled very much too far, almost to disaster. He longed to denounce Jimmy, but he was gagged. If Molly were to ask the question that Jimmy had asked in the bedroom⁠—that fatal, unanswerable question! The price was too great to pay.

He spoke cautiously, vaguely, feeling his way.

“I couldn’t explain to you, my dear⁠—you wouldn’t understand. You must remember, my dear, that out in New York I was in a position to know a great many queer characters⁠—crooks, Molly. I was working among them.”

“But, father, that night at our house you didn’t know Mr. Pitt. He had to tell you his name.”

“I didn’t know him⁠—then,” said her father slowly; “but⁠—but⁠—” He paused. “But I made inquiries,” he concluded, with a rush, “and found out things.”

He permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. He saw his way now.

“Inquiries?” said Molly. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you suspect him?”

A moment earlier the question might have confused McEachern, but not now. He was equal to it. He took it in his stride.

“It’s hard to say, my dear. A man who has had as much to do with crooks as I have recognises them when he sees them.”

“Did you think Mr. Pitt looked⁠—looked like that?” Her voice was very small. There was a drawn pinched expression on her face. She was paler than ever.

He could not divine her thoughts. He could not know what his words had done⁠—how they had shown her in a flash what Jimmy was to her, and lit up her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hidden there. She knew now. The feeling of comradeship, the instinctive trust, the sense of dependence⁠—they no longer perplexed her. They were signs which she could read.

And he was crooked!

McEachern proceeded. Relief made him buoyant.

“I did, my dear. I can read him like a book. I’ve met scores of his sort. Broadway is full of them. Good clothes and a pleasant manner don’t make an honest man. I’ve run up against a mighty high-toned bunch of crooks in my day. It’s a long time since I gave up thinking that it was only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick ears that needed watching. It’s the innocent Willies who look as if all they could do was to lead the cotillon. This man Pitt’s one of them. I’m not guessing, mind you⁠—I know. I know his line, and all about him. I’m watching him. He’s here on some game. How did he get here? Why, he scraped acquaintance with Lord Dreever in a London restaurant. It’s the commonest trick on the list. If I hadn’t happened to be here when he came I suppose he’d have made his haul by now. Why, he came all prepared for