“Sir,— On receipt of this, kindly send down one of your smartest men. Instruct him to stay at the village inn in the character of American seeing sights of England and anxious to inspect Dreever Castle. I will meet him in the village and recognise him as old New York friend, and will then give him further instructions.— Yours faithfully, J. McEachern.
“P.S.— Kindly not send a rube, but a really smart man.”
This brief but pregnant letter cost him some pains in its composition. He was not a ready writer, but he completed it at last to his satisfaction. There was a crisp purity in the style which pleased him. He sealed up the envelope and slipped it into his pocket. He felt more at ease now. Such was the friendship that had sprung up between Sir Thomas Blunt and himself as the result of the jewel episode in Paris that he could count with certainty on the successful working of his scheme. The grateful knight would not be likely to allow any old New York friend of his preserver to languish at the village inn. The sleuth-hound would at once be installed at the castle, where, unsuspected by Jimmy, he would keep an eye on the course of events. Any looking after that Mr. James Pitt might require might safely be left in the hands of this expert.
With considerable fervour Mr. McEachern congratulated himself on his astuteness. With Jimmy above stairs and Spike below, the sleuth-hound would have his hands full.
★ 15 ★
Mr. McEachern Intervenes
Life at the castle during the first few days of his visit filled Jimmy with a curious blend of emotions, mainly unpleasant. Fate, in its pro-Jimmy capacity, seemed to be taking a rest. In the first place, the part allotted to him was not that of Lord Herbert, the character who talked to Molly most of the time. The instant Charteris learned from Lord Dreever that Jimmy had at one time actually been on the stage professionally, he decided that Lord Herbert offered too little scope for the new man’s talents.
“Absolutely no good to you, my dear chap,” he said. “It’s just a small dude part. He’s simply got to be a silly ass.”
Jimmy pleaded that he could be a sillier ass than anybody living; but Charteris was firm.
“No,” he said. “You must be Captain Browne—true acting part, the biggest in the piece, full of fat lines. Spennie was to have played it, and we were in for the worst frost in the history of the stage. Now you’ve come it’s all right. Spennie’s the ideal of Lord Herbert. He’s simply got to be himself. We’ve got a success now, my boy. Rehearsal after lunch. Don’t be late.”
And he had gone off to beat up the rest of the company.