"Hullo?"

"Who the devil's that?"

"Who? Spike? Oh, that's my man."

"Your man! Is he always like that? I mean, going on like a frightful music-hall comedian? Dancing, you know! And, I say, what on earth language was that he was talking? I couldn't understand one word in ten."

"Oh, that's American, the Bowery variety."

"Oh, well, I suppose it's all right if you understand it. I can't. By gad," he broke off, with a chuckle, "I'd give something to see him talking to old Saunders, our butler at home. He's got the manners of a duke."

"Spike should revise those," said Jimmy.

"What do you call him?"

"Spike."

"Rummy name, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Short for Algernon."

"He seemed pretty chummy."

"That's his independent bringing-up. We're all like that in America."

"Well, so long."

"So long."

On the bottom step, Lord Dreever halted.

"I say. I've got it!"

"Good for you. Got what?"

"Why, I knew I'd seen that chap's face somewhere before, only I couldn't place him. I've got him now. He's the Johnny who came into the shelter last night. Chap you gave a quid to."

Spike's was one of those faces that, without being essentially beautiful, stamp themselves on the memory.

"You're quite right," said Jimmy. "I was wondering if you would recognize him. The fact is, he's a man I once employed over in New York, and, when I came across him over here, he was so evidently wanting a bit of help that I took him on again. As a matter of fact, I needed somebody to look after my things, and Spike can do it as well as anybody else."

"I see. Not bad my spotting him, was it? Well, I must be off. Good-bye.

Two-fifteen at Paddington. Meet you there. Take a ticket for Dreever if you're there before me."

"Eight. Good-bye."

Jimmy returned to the dining-room. Spike, who was examining as much as he could of himself in the gla.s.s, turned round with his wonted grin.

"Say, who's de gazebo, boss? Ain't he de mug youse was wit' last night?"

"That's the man. We're going down with him to the country to-day, Spike, so be ready."

"On your way, boss. What's dat?"

"He has invited us to his country house, and we're going."

"What? Bot'of us?"

"Yes. I told him you were my servant. I hope you aren't offended."

"Nit. What's dere to be raw about, boss?"

"That's all right. Well, we'd better be packing. We have to be at the station at two."

"Sure."

"And, Spike!"

"Yes, boss?"

"Did you get any other clothes besides what you've got on?"

"Nit. What do I want wit more dan one dude suit?"

"I approve of your rugged simplicity," said Jimmy, "but what you're wearing is a town suit. Excellent for the Park or the Marchioness's Thursday crush, but essentially metropolitan. You must get something else for the country, something dark and quiet. I'll come and help you choose it, now."

"Why, won't dis go in de country?"

"Not on your life, Spike. It would unsettle the rustic mind. They're fearfully particular about that sort of thing in England."

"Dey's to de bad," said the baffled disciple of Beau Brummel, with deep discontent.

"And there's just one more thing, Spike. I know you'll excuse my mentioning it. When we're at Dreever Castle, you will find yourself within reach of a good deal of silver and other things. Would it be too much to ask you to forget your professional instincts? I mentioned this before in a general sort of way, but this is a particular case."

"Ain't I to get busy at all, den?" queried Spike.

"Not so much as a salt-spoon," said Jimmy, firmly. "Now, we'll whistle a cab, and go and choose you some more clothes."

Accompanied by Spike, who came within an ace of looking almost respectable in new blue serge ("Small Gent's"--off the peg), Jimmy arrived at Paddington Station with a quarter of an hour to spare.

Lord Dreever appeared ten minutes later, accompanied by a man of about Jimmy's age. He was tall and thin, with cold eyes and tight, thin lips. His clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man in a thousand. They were the best part of him. His general appearance gave one the idea that his meals did him little good, and his meditations rather less. He had practically no conversation.

This was Lord Dreever's friend, Hargate. Lord Dreever made the introductions; but, even as they shook hands, Jimmy had an impression that he had seen the man before. Yet, where or in what circ.u.mstances he could not remember. Hargate appeared to have no recollection of him, so he did not mention the matter. A man who has led a wandering life often sees faces that come back to him later on, absolutely detached from their context. He might merely have pa.s.sed Lord Dreever's friend on the street. But Jimmy had an idea that the other had figured in some episode which at the moment had had an importance. What that episode was had escaped him. He dismissed the thing from his mind. It was not worth harrying his memory about.

Judicious tipping secured the three a compartment to themselves.

Hargate, having read the evening paper, went to sleep in the far corner. Jimmy and Lord Dreever, who sat opposite each other, fell into a desultory conversation.

After awhile, Lord Dreever's remarks took a somewhat intimate turn.

Jimmy was one of those men whose manner invites confidences. His lordship began to unburden his soul of certain facts relating to the family.