The dressing-gong sounded just as they entered the hall. From a door on the left there emerged two men—a big one and a little one—in friendly conversation. The big man’s back struck Jimmy as familiar.
“Oh, father!” Molly called. And Jimmy knew where he had seen the back before.
“Sir Thomas,” said Molly, “this is Mr. Pitt.”
The little man gave Jimmy a rapid glance—possibly with the object of detecting his more immediately obvious criminal points; then, as if satisfied as to his honesty, became genial.
“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Pitt—very glad,” he said. “We have been expecting you for some time.”
Jimmy explained that he had lost his way.
“Exactly. It was ridiculous that you should be compelled to walk—perfectly ridiculous. It was gross carelessness of my nephew not to let us know that you were coming. My wife told him so in the car.”
“I bet she did,” said Jimmy to himself. “Really,” he said aloud, by way of lending a helping hand to a friend in trouble, “I preferred to walk. I have not been on a country road since I landed in England.” He turned to the big man and held out his hand. “I don’t suppose you remember me, Mr. McEachern. We met in New York.”
“You remember the night Mr. Pitt scared away our burglar, father?” said Molly.
Mr. McEachern was momentarily silent. On his native asphalt there are few situations capable of throwing the New York policeman off his balance. In that favoured clime savoir-faire is represented by a shrewd blow of the fist, and a masterful stroke with the truncheon amounts to a satisfactory repartee. Thus shall you never take a policeman of Manhattan without his answer. In other surroundings Mr. McEachern would have known how to deal with the young man whom with such good reason he believed to be an expert criminal. But another plan of action was needed here. First and foremost of all the hints on etiquette which he had imbibed since he entered this more reposeful life came this maxim, “Never make a scene.” Scenes, he had gathered, were of all things what polite society most resolutely abhorred. The natural man in him must be bound in chains. The sturdy blow must give way to the honeyed word. A cold “Really!” was the most vigorous retort that the best circles would countenance.