The Gem Collector Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  A black figure detached itself from the blacker shadows, and shuffledstealthily to where Jimmy stood on the doorstep.

  "That you, Spike?" asked Jimmy, in a low voice.

  "Dat's right, Mr. Chames."

  "Come on in."

  He led the way up to his rooms, switched on the electric light, andshut the door. Spike stood blinking at the sudden glare. He twirledhis battered hat in his hands. His red hair shone fiercely.

  Jimmy inspected him out of the corner of his eye, and came to theconclusion that the Mullins finances must be at a low ebb. Spike'scostume differed in several important details from that of theordinary well-groomed man about town. There was nothing of the_flaneur_ about the Bowery boy. His hat was of the soft blackfelt, fashionable on the East Side of New York. It was in poorcondition, and looked as if it had been up too late the night before.A black tail coat, burst at the elbows, stained with mud, was tightlybuttoned across his chest. This evidently with the idea of concealingthe fact that he wore no shirt--an attempt which was not whollysuccessful. A pair of gray flannel trousers and boots out of which twotoes peeped coyly, completed the picture.

  Even Spike himself seemed to be aware that there were points in hisappearance which would have distressed the editor of a men's fashionpaper.

  "'Scuse dese duds," he said. "Me man's bin an' mislaid de trunk wit'me best suit in. Dis is me number two."

  "Don't mention it, Spike," said Jimmy. "You look like a matinee idol.Have a drink?"

  Spike's eye gleamed as he reached for the decanter. He took a seat.

  "Cigar, Spike?"

  "Sure. T'anks, Mr. Chames."

  Jimmy lit his pipe. Spike, after a few genteel sips, threw off hisrestraint and finished the rest of his glass at a gulp.

  "Try another," suggested Jimmy.

  Spike's grin showed that the idea had been well received.

  Jimmy sat and smoked in silence for a while. He was thinking the thingover. He had met Spike Mullins for the first time in rather curiouscircumstances in New York, and for four years the other had followedhim with a fidelity which no dangers or hardships could affect.Whatever "Mr. Chames" did, said, or thought was to Spike the bestpossible act, speech, or reflection of which man was capable. For fouryears their partnership had continued, and then, conducting a littleadventure on his own account in Jimmy's absence, Spike had met withone of those accidents which may happen to any one. The police hadgathered him in, and he had passed out of Jimmy's life.

  What was puzzling Jimmy was the problem of what to do with him nowthat he had reentered it. Mr. Chames was one man. Sir James WilloughbyPitt, baronet, another. On the other hand, Spike was plainly in lowwater, and must be lent a helping hand.

  Spike was looking at him over his glass with respectful admiration.Jimmy caught his eye, and spoke.

  "Well, Spike," he said. "Curious, us meeting like this."

  "De limit," agreed Spike.

  "I can't imagine you three thousand miles away from New York. How doyou know the cars still run both ways on Broadway?"

  A wistful look came into Spike's eye.

  "I t'ought it was time I give old Lunnon a call. De cops seemed likeas if they didn't have no use for me in New York. Dey don't give deglad smile to a boy out of prison."

  "Poor old Spike," said Jimmy, "you've had bad luck, haven't you?"

  "Fierce," agreed the other.

  "But whatever induced you to try for that safe without me? They werebound to get you. You should have waited."

  "Dat's right, boss, if I never says anudder word. I was a farmer forfair at de game wit'out youse. But I t'ought I'd try to do somet'ingso dat I'd have somet'ing to show youse when you come back. So I sayshere's dis safe and here's me, and I'll get busy wit' it, and den Mr.Chames will be pleased for fair when he gets back. So I has a try, anddey gets me while I'm at it. We'll cut out dat part."

  "Well, it's over now, at any rate. What have you been doing since youcame to England?"

  "Gettin' moved on by de cops, mostly. An' sleepin' in de park."

  "Well, you needn't sleep in the park any more, Spike. You can pitchyour moving tent with me. And you'll want some clothes. We'll getthose to-morrow. You're the sort of figure they can fit off the peg.You're not too tall, which is a good thing."

  "Bad t'ing for me, Mr. Chames. If I'd bin taller I'd have stood forbeing a New York cop, and bin buying a brownstone house on FifthAvenue by this. It's de cops makes de big money in old Manhattan,dat's who it is."

  "You're right there," said Jimmy. "At least, partly. I suppose halfthe New York force does get rich by graft. There are honest men amongthem, but we didn't happen to meet them."

  "That's right, we didn't. Dere was old man McEachern."

  "McEachern! Yes. If any of them got rich, he would be the man. He wasthe worst grafter of the entire bunch. I could tell you some storiesabout old Pat McEachern, Spike. If half those yarns were true he mustbe a wealthy man by now. We shall hear of him running for mayor one ofthese days."

  "Say, Mr. Chames, wasn't youse struck on de goil?"

  "What girl?" said Jimmy quietly.

  "Old man McEachern's goil, Molly. Dey used to say dat youse was hersteady."

  "If you don't mind, Spike, friend of my youth, we'll cut out that,"said Jimmy. "When I want my affairs discussed I'll mention it. Tillthen--See?"

  "Sure," said Spike, who saw nothing beyond the fact, dimly realized,that he had said something which had been better left unsaid.

  Jimmy chewed the stem of his pipe savagely. Spike's words seemed tohave touched a spring and let loose feelings which he had kept downfor three years. Molly McEachern! So "they" used to say that he wasengaged to Molly. He cursed Spike Mullins in his heart, well-meaning,blundering Spike, who was now sitting on the edge of his chair drawingsorrowfully at his cigar and wondering what he had done to giveoffense. The years fell away from Jimmy, and he was back in New York,standing at the corner of Forty-second Street with half an hour towait because the fear of missing her had sent him there too early;sitting in Central Park with her while the squirrels came down andbegged for nuts; walking--Damn Spike! They had been friends. Nothingmore. He had never said a word. Her father had warned her against him.Old Pat McEachern knew how he got his living, and could have put hishand on the author of half a dozen burglaries by which the police hadbeen officially "baffled". That had been his strong point. He hadnever left tracks. There was never any evidence. But McEachern knew,and he had intervened stormily when he came upon them together. AndMolly had stood up for him, till her father had apologized confusedly,raging inwardly the while at his helplessness. It was after that----

  "Mr. Chames," said Spike.

  Jimmy's wits returned.

  "Hullo?" he said.

  "Mr. Chames, what's doing here? Put me next to de game. Is it de oldlay? You'll want me wit' youse, I guess?"

  Jimmy laughed, and shut the door on his dreams.

  "I'd quite forgotten I hadn't told you about myself, Spike. Do youknow what a baronet is?"

  "Search me. What's de answer?"

  "A baronet's the noblest work of man, Spike. I am one. Let wealth andcommerce, laws and learning--or is it art and learning?--die, butleave us still our old nobility. I'm a big man now, Spike, I can tellyou."

  "Gee!"

  "My position has also the advantage of carrying a good deal of moneywith it."

  "Plunks!"

  "You have grasped it. Plunks. Dollars. Doubloons. I line up with thethickwads now, Spike. I don't have to work to turn a dishonest pennyany longer."

  The horrid truth sank slowly into the other's mind.

  "Say! What, Mr. Chames? Youse don't need to go on de old lay no more?You're cutting it out for fair?"

  "That's the idea."

  Spike gasped. His world was falling about his ears. Now that he hadmet Mr. Chames again he had looked forward to a long and prosperouspartnership in crime, with always the master mind behind him to directhis movements and check him if he went
wrong. He had looked out uponthe richness of London, and he had said with Bluecher: "What a city toloot!"

  And here was his leader shattering his visions with a word.

  "Have another drink, Spike," said the lost leader sympathetically."It's a shock to you, I guess."

  "I t'ought, Mr. Chames----"

  "I know you did, and I'm very sorry for you. But it can't be helped._Noblesse oblige_, Spike. We of the old aristocracy mustn't do thesethings. We should get ourselves talked about."

  Spike sat silent, with a long face. Jimmy slapped him on the shoulder.

  "After all," he said, "living honestly may be the limit, for all weknow. Numbers of people do it, I've heard, and enjoy themselvestremendously. We must give it a trial, Spike. We'll go out togetherand see life. Pull yourself together and be cheerful, Spike."

  After a moment's reflection the other grinned, howbeit faintly.

  "That's right," said Jimmy Pitt. "You'll be the greatest success everin society. All you have to do is to brush your hair, look cheerful,and keep your hands off the spoons. For in society, Spike, theyinvariably count them after the departure of the last guest."

  "Sure," said Spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensibleprecaution.

  "And now," said Jimmy, "we'll be turning in. Can you manage sleepingon the sofa for one night?"

  "Gee, I've bin sleepin' on de Embankment all de last week. Dis is tode good, Mister Chames."