"Molly, my dear," said McEachern huskily, "I to speak to you for a moment."
Jimmy took his lordship by the arm.
"Come along, Dreever," he said. "You can come and sit out with me.
We'll go and smoke on the terrace."
They left the room together.
"What does the old boy want?" inquired his lordship. "Are you and Miss McEachern--?"
"We are," said Jimmy.
"By Jove, I say, old chap! Million congratulations, and all that sort of rot, you know!"
"Thanks," said Jimmy. "Have a cigarette?"
His lordship had to resume his duties in the ballroom after awhile; but Jimmy sat on, smoking and thinking. The night was very still.
Now and then, a sparrow would rustle in the ivy on the castle wall, and somewhere in the distance a dog was barking. The music had begun again in the ball-room. It sounded faint and thin where he sat.
In the general stillness, the opening of the door at the top of the steps came sharply to his ears. He looked up. Two figures were silhouetted for a moment against the light, and then the door closed again. They began to move slowly down the steps.
Jimmy had recognized them. He got up. He was in the shadow. They could not see him. They began to walk down the terrace. They were quite close now. Neither was speaking; but, presently when they were but a few feet away, they stopped. There was the splutter of a match, and McEachern lighted a cigar. In the yellow light, his face was clearly visible. Jimmy looked, and was content.
He edged softly toward the shrubbery at the end of the terrace, and, entering it without a sound, began to make his way back to the house.
CHAPTER XXX
CONCLUSION
The American liner, St. Louis, lay in the Empress Dock at Southampton, taking aboard her passengers. All sorts and conditions of men flowed in an unceasing stream up the gangway.
Leaning over the second-class railing, Jimmy Pitt and Spike Mullins watched them thoughtfully.
Jimmy looked up at the Blue Peter that fluttered from the fore-mast, and then at Spike. The Bowery boy's face was stolid and expressionless. He was smoking a short wooden pipe with an air of detachment.
"Well, Spike," said Jimmy. "Your schooner's on the tide now, isn't it? Your vessel's at the quay. You've got some queer-looking fellow-travelers. Don't miss the two Cingalese sports, and the man in the turban and the baggy breeches. I wonder if they're air-tight. Useful if he fell overboard."
"Sure," said Spike, directing a contemplative eye toward the garment in question. "He knows his business."
"I wonder what those men on the deck are writing. They've been scribbling away ever since we came here. Probably, society journalists. We shall see in next week's papers: 'Among the second-class passengers, we noticed Mr. "Spike" Mullins, looking as cheery as ever.' It's a pity you're so set on going, Spike. Why not change your mind, and stop?"
For a moment, Spike looked wistful. Then, his countenance resumed its woodenness. "Dere ain't no use for me dis side, boss," he said.
"New York's de spot. Youse don't want none of me, now you're married. How's Miss Molly, boss?"
"Splendid, Spike, thanks. We're going over to France by to-night's boat."
"It's been a queer business," Jimmy continued, after a pause, "a deuced-queer business! Still, I've come very well out of it, at any rate. It seems to me that you're the only one of us who doesn't end happily, Spike. I'm married. McEachern's butted into society so deep that it would take an excavating party with dynamite to get him out of it. Molly--well, Molly's made a bad bargain, but I hope she won't regret it. We're all going some, except you. You're going out on the old trail again--which begins in Third Avenue, and ends in Sing Sing. Why tear yourself away, Spike?"
Spike concentrated his gaze on a weedy young emigrant in a blue jersey, who was having his eye examined by the overworked doctor and seemed to be resenting it.
"Dere's nuttin' doin' dis side, boss," he said, at length. "I want to git busy."
"Ulysses Mullins!" said Jimmy, looking at him curiously. "I know the feeling. There's only one cure. I sketched it out for you once, but I guess you'll never take it. Yon don't think a lot of women, do you? You're the rugged bachelor."
"Goils--!" began Spike comprehensively, and abandoned the topic without dilating on it further.
Jimmy lighted his pipe, and threw the match overboard.
The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the water sparkled.
"Dose were great jools, boss," said Spike, thoughtfully.
"I believe you're still brooding over them, Spike."
"We could have got away wit' dem, if youse would have stood fer it.
Dead easy."
"You are brooding over them. Spike, I'll tell you something which will console you a little, before you start out on your wanderings.
It's in confidence, so keep it dark. That necklace was paste."
"What's dat?"
"Nothing but paste. I got next directly you handed them to me. They weren't worth a hundred dollars."
A light of understanding came into Spike's eyes. His face beamed with the smile of one to whom dark matters are made clear.
"So, dat's why you wouldn't stan' fer gittin' away wit' dem!" he exclaimed.