The Gem Collector | Page 7

jewelry
she always takes about her."
"Oh, Julia!" said Lady Jane, a little disdainfully. Her late husband's
brother Thomas' wife was one of the few people to whom she objected.
And, indeed, she was not alone in this prejudice. Few who had much to
do with her did like Lady Blunt.
"That rope of pearls of hers," said Mr. McEachern, "cost forty thousand
pounds, no less, so they say."
"So she says. But if you were thinking of bringing down a detective to
watch over Julia's necklace, Pat, you needn't trouble. I believe she takes
one about with her wherever she goes, disguised as Thomas' 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 nobody 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:
_To the Manager, Wragge's Detective Agency,_ _Holborn Bars,
London, E. C._
Sir:
With ref'ce to my last of the 28th ult., I should be glad if you would
send down immediately one of your best men. Am making
arrangements to receive him. Shall be glad if you will instruct him as
follows, viz. (a) that he shall stay at the village inn in character of
American seeing sights of England and anxious to inspect the abbey; (b)
that he shall call and ask to see me. I shall then recognize him as old
New York friend, and move his baggage from above inn to the abbey.
Yours faithfully,
P. McEACHERN.
P.S.--Kindly not send a rube, but a real