Riverside Drive slept. The moon shone on darkened windows anddeserted sidewalks. It was past one o'clock in the morning. Thewicked Forties were still ablaze with light and noisy foxtrots;but in the virtuous Hundreds, where Mr. Pett's house stood,respectable slumber reigned. Only the occasional drone of apassing automobile broke the silence, or the love-sick cry ofsome feline Romeo patrolling a wall-top.
Jimmy was awake. He was sitting on the edge of his bed watchinghis father put the finishing touches to his make-up, which was ofa shaggy and intimidating nature. The elder Crocker had conceivedthe outward aspect of Chicago Ed., King of the Kidnappers, onbroad and impressive lines, and one glance would have been enoughto tell the sagacious observer that here was no white-souledcomrade for a nocturnal saunter down lonely lanes andout-of-the-way alleys.
Mr. Crocker seemed to feel this himself.
"The only trouble is, Jim," he said, peering at himself in theglass, "shan't I scare the boy to death directly he sees me?
Oughtn't I to give him some sort of warning?""How? Do you suggest sending him a formal note?"Mr. Crocker surveyed his repellent features doubtfully.
"It's a good deal to spring on a kid at one in the morning," hesaid. "Suppose he has a fit!""He's far more likely to give you one. Don't you worry aboutOgden, dad. I shouldn't think there was a child alive more equalto handling such a situation."There was an empty glass standing on a tray on thedressing-table. Mr. Crocker eyed this sadly.
"I wish you hadn't thrown that stuff away, Jim. I could have donewith it. I'm feeling nervous.""Nonsense, dad! You're all right! I had to throw it away. I'm onthe wagon now, but how long I should have stayed on with thatsmiling up at me I don't know. I've made up my mind never tolower myself to the level of the beasts that perish with thedemon Rum again, because my future wife has strong views on thesubject: but there's no sense in taking chances. Temptation isall very well, but you don't need it on your dressing-table. Itwas a kindly thought of yours to place it there, dad, but--""Eh? I didn't put it there.""I thought that sort of thing came in your department. Isn't itthe butler's job to supply drinks to the nobility and gentry?
Well, it doesn't matter. It is now distributed over theneighbouring soil, thus removing a powerful temptation from yourpath. You're better without it." He looked at his watch. "Well,it ought to be all right now." He went to the window. "There's anautomobile down there. I suppose it's Jerry. I told him to beoutside at one sharp and it's nearly half-past. I think you mightbe starting, dad. Oh, by the way, you had better tell Ogden thatyou represent a gentleman of the name of Buck Maginnis. It wasBuck who got away with him last time, and a firm friendship seemsto-have sprung up between them. There's nothing like coming witha good introduction."Mr. Crocker took a final survey of himself in the mirror.
"Gee I I'd hate to meet myself on a lonely road!"He opened the door, and stood for a moment listening.
From somewhere down the passage came the murmur of a muffledsnore.
"Third door on the left," said Jimmy. "Three--count 'em!--three.
Don't go getting mixed."Mr. Crocker slid into the outer darkness like a stout ghost, andJimmy closed the door gently behind him.
Having launched his indulgent parent safely on a career of crime,Jimmy switched off the light and returned to the window. Leaningout, he gave himself up for a moment to sentimental musings. Thenight was very still. Through the trees which flanked the housethe dimmed headlights of what was presumably Jerry Mitchell'shired car shone faintly like enlarged fire-flies. A boat of somedescription was tooting reflectively far down the river. Such wasthe seductive influence of the time and the scene that Jimmymight have remained there indefinitely, weaving dreams, had henot been under the necessity of making his way down to thelibrary. It was his task to close the French windows after hisfather and Ogden had passed through, and he proposed to remainhid in the gallery there until the time came for him to do this.
It was imperative that he avoid being seen by Ogden.
Locking his door behind him, he went downstairs. There were nosigns of life in the house. Everything was still. He found thestaircase leading to the gallery without having to switch on thelights.
It was dusty in the gallery, and a smell of old leather envelopedhim. He hoped his father would not be long. He lowered himselfcautiously to the floor, and, resting his head against aconvenient shelf, began to wonder how the interview betweenChicago Ed. and his prey was progressing.
* * * * *Mr. Crocker, meanwhile, masked to the eyes, had crept in fearfulsilence to the door which Jimmy had indicated. A good deal of thegay enthusiasm with which he had embarked on this enterprise hadebbed away from him. Now that he had become accustomed to thenovelty of finding himself once more playing a character part,his intimate respectability began to assert itself. It was onething to play Chicago Ed. at a Broadway theatre, but quite anotherto give a benefit performance like this. As he tip-toed along thepassage, the one thing that presented itself most clearly to himwas the appalling outcome of this act of his, should anything gowrong. He would have turned back, but for the thought that Jimmywas depending on him and that success would mean Jimmy'shappiness. Stimulated by this reflection, he opened Ogden's doorinch by inch and went in. He stole softly across the room.
He had almost reached the bed, and had just begun to wonder howon earth, now that he was there, he could open the proceedingstactfully and without alarming the boy............