# Ainslee's Magazine/The Gem Collector/Chapter 16

from Ainslee's magazine, December 1909, pp. 39–41.

### CHAPTER XVI.

Jimmy had gone up to his room to put on the costume he was to wear in the first act at about the time when Spennie was being seized upon by Charteris to act as prompter. As he moved toward the stairs, a square-cut figure appeared.
It was the faithful Galer.
There was nothing in his appearance to betray the detective to the unskilled eye, but years of practice had left Spike with a sort of sixth sense as regarded the force. He could pierce the subtlest disguise. Jimmy had this gift in an almost equal degree, and it had not needed Mr. Galer's constant shadowing of himself to prove to Jimmy the correctness of Spike's judgment. He looked at the representative of Wragge's Detective Agency, Ltd., as he stood before him now, taking in his every detail: the square, unintelligent face; the badly cut clothes; the clumsy heels; the enormous feet.
“And this,” he said to himself, “is the man McEachern thinks capable of tying my hands!” There were moments when the spectacle of Mr. Galer filled Jimmy with an odd sort of fury, a kind of hurt professional pride. The feeling that this espionage was a direct challenge enraged him. Behind this clumsy watcher he saw always the self-satisfied figure of Mr. McEachern. He seemed to hear him chuckling to himself.
“If it wasn't for Molly,” he said to himself, “I'd teach McEachern a lesson. I'm trying to hold myself in, and he sets these fool detectives onto me. I shouldn't mind if he'd chosen somebody who knew the rudiments of the game, but Galer! Galer!
“Well, Mr. Galer,” he said, aloud, “you aren't trying to escape, are you? You're coming in to see the show, aren't you?”
“Oh, yes,” said the detective. “Jest wanted to go upstairs for 'alf a minute. You coming, too?”
“I was going to dress,” said Jimmy, as they went up. “See you later,” he added, at the door. “Hope you'll like the show.”
He went into his room. Mr. Galer passed on.
Jimmy had finished dressing, and had picked up a book to occupy the ten minutes before he would be needed downstairs, when there burst into the room Spike Mullins, in a state of obvious excitement,
“Gee, Mr. Chames!”
“Hello, Spike.”
Spike went to the door, opened it, and looked up and down the passage.
“Mr. Chames,” he said, in a whisper, shutting the door, “there's bin doin's to-night for fair. Me coco's still buzzin', Say, I was to Sir Thomas' dressin' room——”
“What! What were you doing there?”
Spike looked somewhat embarrassed. He grinned apologetically, and shuffled his feet.
“I've got dem, Mr. Chames,” he said.
“Got them? Got what?”
“Dese.”
He plunged his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a glittering mass. Jimmy's jaw dropped as he gazed at Lady Blunt's rope of pearls.
“Two hundred t'ousand plunks,” murmured Spike, gazing lovingly at them. “I says to myself, Mr. Chames ain't got no time to be gettin' after dem himself. He's too busy dese days wit' jollyin' along the swells. So it's up to me, I says, 'cos Mr. Chames'll be tickled to deat', all right, all right, if we can git away wit' dem. So I——”
Jimmy gave tongue with an energy which amazed his faithful follower.
“Spike! You lunatic! Didn't I tell you there was nothing doing when you wanted to take those things the other day?”
“Sure, Mr. Chames. But dose was little dinky t'ings. Dese poils is boids, for fair.”
“Good heavens, Spike, you must be mad. Can't you see—Oh, Lord! Directly the loss of those pearls is discovered, we shall have those detectives after us in a minute. Didn't you know they had been watching us?”
An involuntary chuckle escaped Spike.
“'Scuse me, Mr. Chames, but dat's funny about dem sleut's. Listen. Dey's bin an' arrest each other.”
“What!”
“Dat's right. Dey had a scrap in de dark, each t'inking de odder was after de jools, an' not knowin' dey was bote sleut's, an' now one of dem's bin an' taken de odder off, an' locked him in de cellar.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
Spike giggled at the recollection.
“Listen, Mr. Chames, it's dis way. I'm in de dressin' room, chasin' around wit' dis lantern here for de jool box”—he produced from his other pocket a small bicycle lamp—“and just as I gets a line on it, gee! I hears a footstep comin' down de passage straight for de door. Was to de bad? Dat's right. Gee, I says to m'self, here's one of de sleut' guys what's bin an' got wise to me, and he's comin' in to put de grip on me. So I gets up, an' I blows out de lantern, and I stands dere in de dark, waitin' for him to come in. And den I'm going to get busy before he can see who I am, and jolt him one on de point, and den, while he's down and out, chase meself for de soivants' hall.”
“Yes?” said Jimmy,
“Well, dis guy, he gets to de door, and opens it, and I'm just goin' to butt in, when dere suddenly jumps out from de room on de odder side de passage anodder guy, and gets de rapid strangleholt on dis foist mug. Say, wouldn't dat make you wonder was you on your feet or your coco?”
“Go on. What happened, then?”
“Dey begins to scrap good and hard in de dark. Dey couldn't see me, and I couldn't see dem, but I could hear dem bumpin' about an' sluggin' each odder, all right, all right. And by an' by one of dem puts de odder to de bad, so dat he goes down and takes de count; an' den I hears a click. And I know what dat is. One of de guys has put de irons on de odder guy. Den I hears him strike a light—I'd turned de switch what lights up de passage before I got into de room—and den he says, 'Ah,' he says, 'got youse, have I? Not the boid I expected, but you'll do.' I knew his voice. It was dat mug what calls himself Galer.”
“I suppose I'm the bird he expected,” said Jimmy. “Well?”
“De odder mug was too busy catchin' up wit' his breat' to shoot it back swift, but after he's bin doin' de deep breathin' stunt for a while, he says, 'You mutt,' he says, 'youse to de bad. You've made a break, you have.' He put it different, but dat's what he meant. Den he says that he's a sleut', too, Does de Galer mug give him de glad eye? Not on your life. He says dat dat's de woist tale that's ever bin handed to him. De odder mug says, 'I'm Sir Tummas' vally,' he says. 'Aw, cut it out,' says Galer. 'Sure youse ain't Sir Tummas himself?' 'Show me to him,' says de foist guy, 'den you'll see.' 'Not on your life,' says Galer. 'What! Butt in among de swells what's enjoyin' themselves and spoil their evenin' by showin' dem a face like yours? To de woods! It's youse for de coal cellar, me man, and we'll see what youse has got to say afterward. G'wan!' And off dey went. And I lit me lantern again, got de jools, and chased meself here.”
Jimmy stretched out his hand.
“All very exciting,” he said. “And now you'll just hand me those pearls, and I'll seize the opportunity while the coast is clear to put them back where they belong.”
Only for a moment did Spike hesitate. Then he pulled out the jewels, and placed them in Jimmy's hand. Mr. Chames was Mr. Chames, and what he said went. But his demeanor was tragic, telling eloquently of hopes blighted,
Jimmy took the necklace with a thrill, He was an expert in jewels, and a fine gem affected him much as a fine picture affects the artistic. He went to the light, and inspected them gloatingly.
As he did so, he uttered a surprised exclamation. He ran the jewels through his fingers. He scrutinized them again, more closely this time.
Then he turned to Spike, with a curious smile,
“You'd better be going downstairs,” he said. “I'll just run along and replace them. Where is the box?”
“It's on de floor against de wall, near de window, Mr. Chames.”
“Good. Better give me that lamp.”
There was no one in the passage. He raced softly along it to Sir Thomas Blunt's dressing room,
He lit his lamp, and found the box without difficulty. Dropping the necklace in, he closed down the lid.
“They'll want a new lock, I'm afraid,” he said. “However!”
He rose to his feet.
“Jimmy!” said a startled voice.
He whipped round. The light of the lamp fell on Molly, standing, pale and open-eyed, beside the curtain by the door.