“Jimmy McGrath, by all that’s wonderful,” cried Anthony. “How in the name of fortune did you get here?”
“That trip of mine into the interior went phut. Then some Dagos came monkeying round. Wanted to buy that manuscript off me. Next thing I as near as nothing got a knife in the back one night. That made me think that I’d handed you out a bigger job than I knew. I thought you might need help, and I came along after you by the very next boat.”
“Wasn’t it splendid of him?” said Virginia. She squeezed Jimmy’s arm. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how frightfully nice he was? You are, Jimmy, you’re a perfect dear.”
“You two seem to be getting along all right,” said Anthony.
“Sure thing,” said Jimmy. “I was snooping round for news of you, when I connected with this dame. She wasn’t at all what I thought she’d be—some swell haughty Society lady that’d scare the life out of me.”
“He told me all about the letters,” said Virginia. “And I feel almost ashamed not to have been in real trouble over them when he was such a knight-errant.”
“If I’d known what you were like,” said Jimmy gallantly, “I’d not have given him the letters. I’d have brought them to you myself. Say, young man, is the fun really over? Is there nothing for me to do?”
“By Jove,” said Anthony, “there is! Wait a minute.”
He disappeared into the house. In a minute or two he returned with a paper package which he cast into Jimmy’s arms.
“Go round to the garage and help yourself to a likely looking car. Beat it to London and deliver that parcel at 17, Everdean Square. That’s Mr. Balderson’s private address. In exchange he’ll hand you a thousand pounds.”