Part 3 (1/2)
valet.”
”Still, me dear----”
”Pat, you're absurd,” laughed Lady Jane. ”I won't have you littering up the house with great, clumsy detectives. You must remember that you aren't in horrid New York now, where everybody you meet wants to rob you. Who is it that you suspect? Who is the--what is the word you're so fond of? Crook. That's it. Who is the crook?”
”I don't want to mention names,” said McEachern cautiously, ”and I cast no suspicions, but who is that pale, thin Willie who came yesterday? The one that says the clever things that n.o.body understands?”
”Lulu Wesson! Why, _Pat_rick! He's the most delightful boy. What _can_ you suspect him of?”
”I don't suspect him of anything. But you'll remimber what I was telling about the sort of boy you want to watch. That's what that boy is. He may be the straightest ever, but if I was told there was a crook in the company, and wasn't put next who it was, he's the boy that would get my vote.”
”What dreadful nonsense you are talking, Pat. I believe you suspect every one you meet. I suppose you will jump to the conclusion that this man whom Spennie is bringing down with him to-day is a criminal of some sort.”
”How's that? Spennie bringing a friend?”
There was not a great deal of enthusiasm in McEachern's voice. His stepson was not a young man whom he respected very highly. Spennie regarded his stepfather with nervous apprehension, as one who would deal with his shortcomings with a vigor and severity of which his mother was incapable. The change of treatment which had begun after her marriage with the American had had an excellent effect upon him, but it had not been pleasant. As Nebuchadnezzar is reported to have said of his vegetarian diet, it may have been wholesome, but it was not good. McEachern, for his part, regarded Spennie as a boy who would get into mischief unless he had an eye fixed upon him. So he proceeded to fix that eye.
”Yes, I must be seeing Harding about getting the rooms ready.
Spennie's friend is bringing his man with him.”
”Who is his friend?”
”He doesn't say. He just says he's a man he met in London.”
”H'm!”
”And what does that grunt mean, I should like to know? I believe you've begun to suspect the poor man already, without seeing him.”
”I don't say I have. But a man can pick up strange people in London.”
”Pat, you're perfectly awful. I believe you suspect every one you meet. What do you suspect me of, I wonder?”
”That's easy answered,” said McEachern. ”Robbery from the person.”
”What have I stolen?”
”Me heart, me dear,” replied McEachern gallantly, with a vast grin.
”After that,” said his wife, ”I think I had better go. I had no idea you could make such pretty speeches. Pat!”
”Well, me dear?”
”Don't send for that detective. It really wouldn't do. If it got about that we couldn't trust our guests, we should never live it down. You won't, will you?”
”Very well, me dear.”
What followed may afford some slight clue to the secret of Mr. Patrick McEachern's rise in the world. It certainly suggests singleness of purpose, which is one of the essentials of success.
No sooner had the door closed behind Lady Jane than he went to his writing table, took pen and paper, and wrote the following letter: