The Gem Collector | Page 2

of parts with a hundred pounds in his pocket.
He left for Liverpool that day, and for New York on the morrow.
For the next nine years he is off the stage, which is occupied by his
Uncle John, proceeding from strength to strength, now head partner,
next chairman of the company into which the business had been
converted, and finally a member of Parliament, silent as a wax figure,
but a great comfort to the party by virtue of liberal contributions to its
funds.
It may be thought curious that he should make Jimmy his heir after
what had happened; but it is possible that time had softened his
resentment. Or he may have had a dislike for public charities, the only
other claimant for his wealth. At any rate, it came about that Jimmy,
reading in a Chicago paper that if Sir James Willoughby Pitt, baronet,
would call upon Messrs. Snell, Hazlewood, and Delane, solicitors, of
Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, he would hear of something to his
advantage, had called and heard something very much to his advantage.
Wherefore we find him, on this night of July, supping in lonely
magnificence at the Savoy, and feeling at the moment far less
conscious of the magnificence than of the loneliness.
Watching the crowd with a jaundiced eye, Jimmy had found his
attention attracted chiefly by a party of three a few tables away. The
party consisted of a pretty girl, a lady of middle age and stately
demeanor, plainly her mother, and a light-haired, weedy young man of
about twenty. It had been the almost incessant prattle of this youth and
the peculiarly high-pitched, gurgling laugh which shot from him at
short intervals which had drawn Jimmy's notice upon them. And it was
the curious cessation of both prattle and laugh which now made him
look again in their direction.
The young man faced Jimmy; and Jimmy, looking at him, could see
that all was not well with him. He was pale. He talked at random. A

slight perspiration was noticeable on his forehead.
Jimmy caught his eye. There was a hunted look in it.
Given the time and the place, there were only two things which could
have caused that look. Either the light-haired young man had seen a
ghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money to pay
the check.
Jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. He took a card from his case,
scribbled the words, "Can I help?" on it, and gave it to a waiter to take
to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on collapse.
The next moment the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a
feverish whisper.
"I say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap. It's frightfully
awkward. I've come out with too little money. I hardly like to--What I
mean to say is, you've never seen me before, and----"
"That's all right," said Jimmy. "Only too glad to help. It might have
happened to any one. Will this be enough?"
He placed a five-pound note on the table. The young man grabbed at it
with a rush of thanks.
"I say, thanks fearfully," he said. "I don't know what I'd have done. I'll
let you have it back to-morrow. Here's my card. Blunt's my name.
Spennie Blunt. Is your address on your card? I can't remember. Oh, by
Jove, I've got it in my hand all the time." The gurgling laugh came into
action again, freshened and strengthened by its rest. "Savoy Mansions,
eh? I'll come round to-morrow. Thanks, frightfully, again old chap. I
don't know what I should have done."
He flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil, and Jimmy, having
finished his cigarette, paid his check, and got up to go.
It was a perfect summer night. He looked at his watch. There was time

for a stroll on the Embankment before bed.
He was leaning on the balustrade, looking across the river at the vague,
mysterious mass of buildings on the Surrey side, when a voice broke in
on his thoughts.
"Say, boss. Excuse me."
Jimmy spun round. A ragged man with a crop of fiery red hair was
standing at his side. The light was dim, but Jimmy recognized that hair.
"Spike!" he cried.
The other gaped, then grinned a vast grin of recognition.
"Mr. Chames! Gee, dis cops de limit!"
Three years had passed since Jimmy had parted from Spike Mullins,
Red Spike to the New York police, but time had not touched him. To
Jimmy he looked precisely the same as in the old New York days.
A policeman sauntered past, and glanced curiously at them. He made as
if to stop, then walked on. A few yards away he halted. Jimmy could