Chapter XVIII: Nick Explains Himself

For a while they drove in silence. Jerry seemed supremely content, dreamily watching the green fields slide by. Nick was far from happy. This thing he had got to say was becoming more terrifying every minute. He'd chased her halfway across England to tell her the truth, and now he'd got her he didn't know how to begin. Surreptitiously he glanced at her. She looked so young, so unused to fear and tragedy.

Then suddenly Jerry spoke, and he was conscious of a guilty sense of relief at this temporary reprieve.

'_Very_ nice bus, Nick.'

'Not too bad, is she?'

'By the way,' she looked at him inquiringly, 'how many cars have you got?'

'Only one. What d'you take me for--Rockefeller?'

'No; but last time I saw you in a car, it was a Bentley.'

'She wasn't mine. I'd borrowed her.'

'Oh!' There was a pause. 'From Michael?'

'Got it in one.'

A worried little frown wrinkled her brow, and she looked straight ahead. Nick smiled at her.

'What is it?' he asked.

'I was only wondering ...' the sentence trailed off.

'About Michael?'

'Yes.'

'He doesn't love me awfully,' said Nick, at a venture.

She glanced at him swiftly, and looked away, as if he had guessed her thoughts too closely.

'It's because I've butted in and kidnapped you, and left him to drive home with Manvers. Who shall blame him?'

'Nonsense!' said Jerry. 'It's something much deeper than that, but I don't know what it is. I wish I did. Do you?'

'I can guess.'

'Then tell me. It's all very odd. I should have said you were just the sort of man he _would_ like.'

Nick laughed aloud at her serious face.

'Oh, he doesn't disapprove of me from his own point of view, but I shrewdly suspect him of thinking I'm not the sort of man for you to like.'

'Why not?'

'Largely because of my profession.'

'What _is_ your profession?'

Nick glanced round with exaggerated caution, and then said in an impressive undertone: 'I'm a burglar!'

Jerry bubbled with laughter.

'Nick, you idiot! Do be serious.'

'My dear, I was never more serious in my life. One of the penalties I have to pay for being a successful liar is that when I tell the cold truth no one believes me. Of course I'm a burglar, but don't tell Sir Toby. He might have me up.'

'Not he! He'd love it. Isn't he a dear?'

'He's a great soul. Have you known him long?'

'Met him for the first time to-day.'

'Heavens! What was Bobby about not to have introduced you years ago?'

'I can't imagine. And, incidentally, it wasn't Bobby that brought me here to-day. It was Michael's brain-wave.'

'Good for Michael! How did he meet ... oh, but Sir Toby's his family lawyer, isn't he? He's known Michael since he was in crawlers and all that.'

'Metaphorically, if not actually. Michael was never in England until a month or two ago.'

'Wasn't he? I didn't know that. I like Michael. Tell me about him.'

Nick had his own reasons for wanting to know about Michael, and he watched the girl's face keenly, but Jerry, serenely unconscious, talked on.

'I don't know much about him myself. Michael isn't given to confidences. Beyond the fact that he's spent his life between Australia and one of the Western Pacific islands, I know nothing of his personal history.'

'But I want to know a lot more,' said Nick. 'Why did he inhabit a Pacific island? I can't see him with flowers in his hair, dancing _hula-hulas_ on the beach.'

'Neither can I,' agreed Jerry, with a chuckle. 'Must he necessarily have done that, if he lived there?'

'The best people do, I believe, but I admit I don't know very much about it. Why did he live there? Do go on, Jerry. Don't interrupt the story with these irrelevancies.'

'Grr! You...!'

'Our friendship progresses,' said Nick. 'Very soon you'll attack me with a spanner.'

'Not while you're driving at sixty. Self-preservation is my long suit. To continue, in spite of your quite fatuous interruptions, Michael's father practically owned this island. He was an Irishman, and a poet, and was frightfully keen on sailing. He married an Australian girl, and they had some marvellous voyages. They both hated civilization, and never bothered about the rest of the world. It accounts for lots of Michael's peculiarities, I think. He's rather a darling, though, and a born brother. When and where did you first meet him, Nick?'

'Three weeks ago, and about thirty miles from here, at a very society-society dance, given by a dear good lady called Hamilton-Browne.'

'Heavens! It doesn't sound in Michael's line.'

'I don't think it was, but I didn't get much chance to talk to him, because he was a guest, whereas I was a waiter.'

Jerry clapped her hands to her ears in despair.

'Nick, this is exactly like a conversation out of "Alice in Wonderland." I'm sorry, but you must explain. I can't bear it any longer.'

Nick bit his lip, and prepared to take the plunge, but once more Jerry forestalled him.

'First of all, suppose you explain this burglary business,' she suggested.

'All right, I'll try. That takes us a long way back. Back to the year of Grace 1920, when I first took to crime.'

'Why did you?'

Nick considered.

'It's rather hard to explain truthfully, because there were so many reasons all working together. In the first place, I had come out of the army with no people, no settled career, and no money beyond my war bonus. I was rather better off than most fellows, because I didn't spend very much leave at home. I used to wander round, you know, poking my nose into other people's business. Spent five days in Brussels once. That was rather exciting.'

'Secret Service, Nick?'

'Sort of. Unofficially. Of course, I was only a "pore blooming infantryman" really, but I knew some fellows in the intelligence, and they were kind to me.' He laughed. 'I've never grown out of pretending, you know. I love dressing-up and being someone else just as much now as I did when I was six.'

Jerry chuckled. 'Go on, Nick.'

'Well, as I was saying, I had more money than most of 'em when I was demobbed, and I meant to have a holiday, and I jolly well had it. Then the others--fellows like me, who'd gone straight from school into the war--began to look for jobs. They didn't find 'em, of course. They were untrained; they'd had four years or so in a position of some responsibility, and employers didn't feel like puttin' 'em to lick stamps. It was far better to get eighteen-year-old boys just starting, with a proper appreciation of the importance of office life. So my pals found themselves in the soup, most of 'em. Some were lucky and got jobs, and tried to like it. Some drifted from doss-house to doss-house, slipping farther down the hill with every move. Some saw that coming, and turned the gas on in the oven--with their heads inside.

'Then I began to get angry. Not for myself exactly--I always had a curious conceit about my ability to survive--but because of all the rot that had been talked in those four years. Here they were, our heroes, our saviours of the world, our gallant defenders, and nobody gave a hoot what happened to them. I was very young then; I couldn't see any explanation in it. Worst of all--and this still makes me unreasonably angry--the men themselves were in an awful way. My batman had been a dockyard matey, and I met him, by accident, one day. He was dying, of sheer starvation. He wasn't the only one, either. They were the salt of the earth, those fellows, and they were starving, while the fat profiteers bought more Rolls-Royces. As I say, I was young and foolish, and it made me angry. I swore I wasn't going to be driven out of England, and at the same time I wasn't going to work like a galley-slave in an office to add to the blighters' peace-time profits. I'd done my whack of slaving, I thought. Still less did I mean to starve. I'd kept their dinners safe for them for four years, and now they could provide me with mine. And they've done it, royally, ever since. The work entailed in collecting the cash was pure fun, and added just that spice of excitement that makes bread-winning worth while. I made quite a lot of money, enough to live on for the rest of my life, if I wanted to stop work, but I don't think I should have given it up if I hadn't found an even more amusing game. I may say that I haven't burgled for over two years now.'

'But weren't you burgling that night at Barton, when you were pretending to be a waiter?'

'Not that time, though Michael thought I was. I went down there to try and get some information.'

'Did you get what you wanted?'

'No; but I overheard a telephone conversation that concerned me rather closely. Then I realised that if I was going to make use of the information my eavesdropping had given me, I would have to be in London before 5 A.M., and as it was past midnight by then, I thought I'd better be going. Unfortunately, the sudden departure of a hired waiter in a fast car looks a bit suspicious. Michael saw me go, and followed in his Bentley. I think he was bored and wanted a bit of sport. Anyway, he jolly nearly caught me--damned good driver, Michael!--but luckily I managed to swop cars with him.'

'How on earth ...' began Jerry, and then another thought struck her, wiping the first question out of her mind.

'_Nick!_ That's why you had been driving all night!'

'Yes.'

'And because of me you had all that for nothing. Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry. I remember you looked at your watch, and seemed in a hurry. And then quite suddenly you weren't in a hurry any longer. Nick, was it frightfully important? I couldn't know, could I?'

'Sweet child, of course you couldn't. And you don't think I regret it, do you?'

'Nick, you--you saved my sanity that morning. I simply don't know what I should have done without you. And they tried to make me think you were the murderer!' Her eyes flashed. 'I never believed it. If they only knew....'

'O God!' Nick's voice was sharp with pain. 'Jerry, darling, for Heaven's sake hear me out. In a way, I am. I've been chasing all over England to find you to-day, to tell you about it, but I don't know how I'm going to do it, now I've got you.'

'I don't understand,' said Jerry, bewildered.

'Tell me this. Do you know why your father was murdered?'

Jerry hesitated for a moment.

'Yes,' she said at last.

'That makes it easier to explain. I am the man who gave him that letter at the club. Will you believe me when I say that I never dreamt I'd be putting him in danger?'

'But....' Jerry stared blankly.

'I told you just now that I gave up burglary for a better game,' said Nick.

'Yes. But what has that to do with it?'

He told her, quietly and without much detail. He told her of the railway smash and the impersonation of Davies. A sparkle of excitement lit her eyes when he described his escape from the meeting of the Fraternity; but when he told of how he had seen her father, and decided to trust him, Nick kept his gaze on the road ahead. It didn't seem quite fair to watch her face just then.

'It was my fault,' he concluded, 'and I shall never forgive myself. I underrated the Chief. But I never dreamt that he would be able to trace your father, and ... Jerry, for God's sake, say you believe me!'

She spoke quietly, but with a curious certainty:

'Of course I do.'

Nick was silent. He could not trust himself to speak. Jerry glanced at him, puzzled by his expression. He realised her perplexity, and made a colossal effort.

'The bus _is_ running well this evening.'

'Pretty poor,' he reflected, with a sardonic smile at his own expense. But Jerry jumped at it.

'She's a lamb, Nick. Will you teach me how to drive, some day?'

'Rather! Would you like to steer? Here's a good straight bit of road.'

'Oh, _may_ I?'

Nick relinquished the wheel, and flung his left arm along the back of the seat, watching her glowing, childlike face. It was dangerous, but he could not resist it. She was so near now, leaning against his shoulder. So near and so lovable, and so utterly unconscious. She did not speak, being entirely absorbed in steering. Nick was silent too, but for other reasons.

At last....

'Nick, here's a car coming. You'd better take her.'

He dropped one hand onto the wheel, and Jerry let it go.

'Oh, Nick, it's heavenly! Do teach me to drive, and then I'll come and fetch you next time you burgle a house, and help you get away quickly. I'd love to be a burglar too. Can't you teach me the trade, and take me into partnership?'

Nick bit his lip.

'The idea doesn't appeal to him,' said Jerry to the speedometer.

'Doesn't.... Good Lord! Jerry, will you marry me?'

She slid away from him, staring wide-eyed.

'My _dear_ Nick!'

Her startled face made him take refuge for them both in nonsense.

'Why not? I'd be an exemplary husband. I'd give up burglary and only rob on the Stock Exchange. I'd catch the nine-fifteen every morning, and be home punctually at half-past six. I'd never swear, and----Gosh! we nearly hit that hen!'

'You ought to have seen it coming. The first thing to cultivate when driving a car is psychic insight into the ways of hens and push-bikes.'

'Very true. As a general rule I have it to a marked degree, but to-day I'm not in the best of form. I'm thinking of something else.'

Jerry looked straight ahead. Nick had a twinkle in his eye as he watched her. He had recovered his balance. As for Jerry, she'd got to get used to the idea, so one had better chaff about it.

'It's extraordinary how falling in love puts one's eye out.'

'It must be a distressing state. I hope I shall remain immune.'

'Oh, but that's worse. It's like not seeing a play that everyone else has seen. They're all discussing it, and you can't.'

He could see her trying not to smile.

'You're talking nonsense, Nick. There's no need for the subject to arise at all.'

'Isn't there? Do you think I'm the sort of chap who suffers in silence?'

The smile broke into a chuckle.

'Nick, you're unique. Let's talk about your crimes. Whom do you burgle?'

'Profiteers, mostly.'

'Robin Hood up to date.'

'Exactly, except that Robin Hood was a bit luckier. Maid Marian----'

'Tell me, are you wanted--is that the word?--by Scotland Yard?'

'Oh, rather! Terribly badly. But, as a matter of fact, I've given up burglary. My career of crime is a thing of the past from now on.'

'Won't life seem awfully tame without it?'

'I don't think so. You see, I took to burglary because I wanted variety and excitement. When I marry you I shall have all I can deal with, without going out to look for it.'

Jerry blinked.

'Did you say "When"?' she asked.

Nick grinned.

'That's one to you,' he admitted.

Jerry gave him a smile.

'Thank you,' she said. 'And now, do you mind awfully if we change the subject?'

'Must we?'

'Please. Think of something else.'

'No--hang it, that's more than you can expect of me.'

'It was said deliberately,' explained Jerry. 'If I think of a topic, you will consider that you have every right to side-track me. If _you_ do, you can't!'

Nick laughed outright.

'_Can't_ I?'

'Please, Nick!'

A Ford van close ahead of them suddenly swung to the right, without warning, and made for a side road. Nick jammed on his brakes to avoid a crash. There was a violent doubleway skid, the two-seater rocked for one agonising moment on two wheels, and then righted herself and sped on.

'Near thing, that,' said Jerry calmly.

Nick looked at her appreciatively.

'There's no doubt about it, you're a courageous child,' he said.

'William used to tell me it wasn't courage, but pure love of danger,' said Jerry. 'As a matter of fact, he was just as bad himself. He adored thrills.'

Nick hesitated.

'Did he ... did he tell you about me?'

'No. You asked him not to, didn't you?'

'Yes. I didn't know you existed; otherwise I shouldn't have put it like that. But how do you know?'

'Because I found his diary. Nick, would you mind stopping for a minute?'

Obediently he pulled in to the side of the road.

'I want you to read this,' said Jerry, pulling some papers out of her pocket. 'I found it yesterday.'

Nick took the crumpled pages in silence. Jerry watched his grave face as he read. Finally he gave them back to her, and their eyes met.

'I wish to God I'd known him,' he said.

'So do I! You would have liked each other. Now, listen to me, Nick. I am William's understudy. What are we going to do about it? By the way, do you know Mr. Robertson?'

'Not personally. He is the Chief.'

'Do you know anything about him besides that?'

'No. That's what I've been trying to find out for the last six months. Are you going to help me, Jerry?'

'Of course I am.'

'I warn you it may mean doing things you don't see a reason for at the moment.'

'I'll obey orders. You're in charge of this show.'

Nick turned to her impulsively, and then pulled himself together and started the car.

'It's safer driving,' he said grimly.

'I expect it is,' agreed Jerry. 'Michael and Bobby might catch us up if we stopped much longer.'

Nick grinned rather wildly, and stood on the gas.

'In the first place,' he went on, 'how many people have you shown that diary to?'

'Michael, Bobby, and Sir Toby.'

'Sir Toby? What made you tell him?'

'Well, Michael was with me when I found it, and later, when Bobby came in, I showed it to him. He's been trying to find out clues and all that sort of thing, you know.' Nick nodded. 'Bobby was frightfully interested, of course, but he got a bit too domineering, and wanted to take the whole thing out of my hands. That made me furious. I know Bobby was only trying to help, but he irritated me. I ticked him off pretty thoroughly, and then said rather pointedly that I wished I had someone of some experience to advise me. Michael suggested Sir Toby; I said I'd let him introduce me, and that if I liked him I'd ask for his advice.'

'Poor Bobby! How did he take that suggestion?'

'Oh, he was all for it. Thought it an admirable plan. He's as fond of Sir Toby as Michael is.'

'I see. Well, what advice did Sir Toby give you?'

'To my immense relief he didn't urge me to hand the matter over to the police. In fact, he seemed to understand absolutely. He pointed out that the bank will probably be watched--I'm certain William would have told the man that the document was there--and asked if I would like him to fetch the paper and keep it safe for me, and if the right man didn't turn up for it before June 10th, he would post it himself.'

Jerry paused, a puzzled frown on her face.

'It seems rather pointless now,' she said, 'but somehow when Sir Toby was talking about it, it seemed to solve all the problems. I wonder if there was something else, some other reason I've forgotten?'

'Never mind,' said Nick reassuringly. 'What did you say?'

'I accepted gratefully. I had no idea I was going to meet the right man so soon. But it doesn't matter. We can easily let him know, and tell him not to fetch the paper, or let him get it for you, whichever you prefer.'

'How was he going to get it?'

'I gave him a note for the bank manager.'

For a few minutes Nick drove in silence. Jerry waited for his decision. Finally he spoke.

'Well, my child, I think somehow we won't let him know just yet, but all the same, we'll fetch the paper first.'

'But he's bound to know as soon as he goes to the bank.'

'Not necessarily. Don't let's hurt old Toby's feelings. Let's get the paper to-night, but leave the envelope, stuck down again. Then he'll be none the wiser, if we tell the bank manager to keep his mouth shut. I'd hate Sir Toby to feel he wasn't trusted.'

'As I said before, this is your show,' said Jerry, 'but there's one flaw in the scheme. We can't get it to-night. The bank will have shut ages ago.'

'Is it the Hampstead branch bank?'

'Yes.'

'Then it's a hundred to one the manager lives on the premises. I think we'll wangle it somehow. Now listen, Jerry; I've got a plan, but you'll have to forgive me if I can't explain much at this stage.'

'Go ahead, Nick. I'll agree to anything you like, on one condition.'

'And that is----?'

'That you'll let me be in at the death.'

Nick looked at her with some surprise. She faced him steadily, and he saw the grim determination in her eyes.

'Right. If it's humanly possible, you shall be,' he said quietly. 'Now look here; after we've got this paper I want to take you to the Stricklands' flat. They're friends of mine, and they're the only other people in the world who know as much about me as you do. Jack Strickland's a C.I.D. man, and the best friend I have. His twin sister Jill is a darling, and I know they'll both understand. Will you come?'

'Rather; but can't I get some clothes from Quebec Street first?'

'Daren't risk it. The house may be watched. Jill will lend you all you need for a day or two.'

'All right.'

'In the second place, I don't want you to communicate with anyone until you see me again and I can tell you what's happening.'

'I don't like that, Nick. Michael and Bobby have been awfully good to me, and they'll be worried.'

'I'll let Michael know. Will that do?'

'Of course.'

'Bless you, Jerry, you're a partner in a thousand! I wish I'd known you eight years ago.'

Jerry laughed.

'You were in your cradle, of course,' went on Nick, 'but you must have been a nice child.'

'William had a hard life with me,' she told him; and then, suddenly, the smile faded out of her eyes and her mouth set hard.

'Well?' said Nick.

She looked up, her small face white through the dusk.

'Nick, are we going to get this man Robertson?'

'I think so,' said Nick quietly, and put out a large hand.

Jerry gripped it tightly.

'I'm glad it was you,' she said.

Nick drove on in silence. For the second time that evening he felt that he could not trust himself to answer.