"No?" said Jimmy. "I'll try and make my meaning clear. Correct me from time to time, if I am wrong. The way I size the thing up is as follows: When you married Lady Julia, I gather that it was, so to speak, up to you to some extent. People knew you were a millionaire, and they expected something special in the way of gifts from the bridegroom to the bride. Now, you, being of a prudent and economical nature, began to wonder if there wasn't some way of getting a reputation for lavishness without actually unbelting to any great extent. Am I right?"

Sir Thomas did not answer.

"I am," said Jimmy. "Well, it occurred to you, naturally enough, that a properly-selected gift of jewelry might work the trick. It only needed a little nerve. When you give a present of diamonds to a lady, she is not likely to call for polarized light and refracting liquids and the rest of the circus. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, she will take the things on trust. Very well. You trotted off to a jeweler, and put the thing to him confidentially. I guess you suggested paste. But, being a wily person, he pointed out that paste has a habit of not wearing well. It is pretty enough when it's new, but quite a small amount of ordinary wear and tear destroys the polish of the surface and the sharpness of the cutting. It gets scratched easily. Having heard this, and reflecting that Lady Julia was not likely to keep the necklace under a gla.s.s case, you rejected paste as too risky. The genial jeweler then suggested white jargoon, mentioning, as I have done, that, after an application or so of the blow-pipe, it's own mother wouldn't know it. If he was a bit of an antiquary, he probably added that, in the eighteenth century, jargoon stones were supposed to be actually an inferior sort of diamond. What could be more suitable? 'Make it jargoon, dear heart,'

you cried joyfully, and all was well. Am I right? I notice that you have not corrected me so far."

Whether or not Sir Thomas would have replied in the affirmative is uncertain. He was opening his mouth to speak, when the curtain at the end of the room heaved, and Lord Dreever burst out like a cannon-ball in tweeds.

The apparition effectually checked any speech that Sir Thomas might have been intending to make. Lying back in his chair, he goggled silently at the new arrival. Even Jimmy, though knowing that his lordship had been in hiding, was taken aback. His attention had become so concentrated on his duel with the knight that he had almost forgotten they had an audience.

His lordship broke the silence.

"Great Scott!" he cried.

Neither Jimmy nor Sir Thomas seemed to consider the observation unsound or inadequate. They permitted it to pa.s.s without comment.

"You old scoundrel!" added his lordship, addressing Sir Thomas. "And you're the man who called me a welsher!" There were signs of a flicker of spirit in the knight's prominent eyes, but they died away. He made no reply.

"Great Scott!" moaned his lordship, in a fervor of self-pity. "Here have I been all these years letting you give me Hades in every shape and form, when all the while--My goodness, if I'd only known earlier!"

He turned to Jimmy.

"Pitt, old man," he said warmly, "I--dash it! I don't know what to say. If it hadn't been for you--I always did like Americans. I always thought it bally rot that that fuss happened in--in--whenever it was. If it hadn't been for fellows like you," he continued, addressing Sir Thomas once more, "there wouldn't have been any of that frightful Declaration of Independence business. Would there, Pitt, old man?"

These were deep problems, too s.p.a.cious for casual examination. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I guess Sir Thomas might not have got along with George Washington, anyway," he said.

"Of course not. Well"--Spennie moved toward the door--"I'm off downstairs to see what Aunt Julia has to say about it all."

A shudder, as if from some electric shock, shook Sir Thomas. He leaped to his feet.

"Spencer," he cried, "I forbid you to say a word to your aunt."

"Oh!" said his lordship. "You do, do you?"

Sir Thomas shivered.

"She would never let me hear the last of it."

"I bet she wouldn't. I'll go and see."

"Stop!"

"Well?"

Sir Thomas dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. He dared not face the vision of Lady Julia in possession of the truth. At one time, the fear lest she might discover the harmless little deception he had practised had kept him awake at night, but gradually, as the days went by and the excellence of the imitation stones had continued to impose upon her and upon everyone else who saw them, the fear had diminished. But it had always been at the back of his mind. Even in her calmer moments, his wife was a source of mild terror to him. His imagination reeled at the thought of what depths of aristocratic scorn and indignation she would plumb in a ease like this.

"Spencer," he said, "I insist that you shall not inform your aunt of this!"

"What? You want me to keep my mouth shut? You want me to become an accomplice in this beastly, low-down deception? I like that!"

"The point," said Jimmy, "is well taken. n.o.blesse oblige, and all that sort of thing. The blood of the Dreevers boils furiously at the idea. Listen! You can hear it sizzling."

Lord Dreever moved a step nearer the door.

"Stop!" cried Sir Thomas again. "Spencer!"

"Well?"

"Spencer, my boy, it occurs to me that perhaps I have not always treated you very well--"

"'Perhaps!' 'Not always!' Great Scott, I'll have a fiver each way on both those. Considering you've treated me like a frightful kid practically ever since you've known me, I call that pretty rich!

Why, what about this very night, when I asked you for a few pounds?"

"It was only the thought that you had been gambling--"

"Gambling! How about palming off faked diamonds on Aunt Julia for a gamble?"

"A game of skill, surely?" murmured Jimmy.

"I have been thinking the matter over," said Sir Thomas, "and, if you really need the--was it not fifty pounds?"

"It was twenty," said his lordship. "And I don't need it. Keep it.

You'll want all you can save for a new necklace."

His fingers closed on the door-handle.

"Spencer, stop!"

"Well?"

"We must talk this over. We must not be hasty."

Sir Thomas pa.s.sed the handkerchief over his forehead.

"In the past, perhaps," he resumed, "our relations have not been quite--the fault was mine. I have always endeavored to do my duty.

It is a difficult task to look after a young man of your age--"

His lordship's sense of his grievance made him eloquent.

"Dash it all!" he cried. "That's just what I jolly well complain of.

Who the d.i.c.kens wanted you to look after me? Hang it, you've kept your eye on me all these years like a frightful policeman! You cut off my allowance right in the middle of my time at college, just when I needed it most, and I had to come and beg for money whenever I wanted to buy a cigarette. I looked a fearful a.s.s, I can tell you!

Men who knew me used to be dashed funny about it. I'm sick of the whole bally business. You've given me a jolly thin time all this while, and now I'm going to get a bit of my own back. Wouldn't you, Pitt, old man?"

Jimmy, thus suddenly appealed to, admitted that, in his lordship's place, he might have experienced a momentary temptation to do something of the kind.

"Of course," said his lordship; "any fellow would."