He jumped up. The thought had stung him.

"One moment," he said.

McEachern stopped.

"Well?"

"You're going to tell them that?" asked Jimmy.

"I am."

Jimmy walked up to him.

"Are you also going to tell them why you didn't have me arrested
that night?" he said.

McEachern started. Jimmy planted himself in front of him, and glared
up into his face. It would have been hard to say which of the two
was the angrier. The policeman was flushed, and the veins stood out
on his forehead. Jimmy was in a white heat of rage. He had turned
very pale, and his muscles were quivering. Jimmy in this mood had
once cleared a Los Angeles bar-room with the leg of a chair in the
space of two and a quarter minutes by the clock.

"Are you?" he demanded. "Are you?"

McEachern's hand, hanging at his side, lifted itself hesitatingly.
The fingers brushed against Jimmy's shoulder.

Jimmy's lip twitched.

"Yes," he said, "do it! Do it, and see what happens. By God, if you
put a hand on me, I'll finish you. Do you think you can bully me? Do
you think I care for your size?"

McEachern dropped his hand. For the first time in his life, he had
met a man who, instinct told him, was his match and more. He stepped
back a pace.

Jimmy put his hands in his pockets, and turned away. He walked to
the mantelpiece, and leaned his back against it.

"You haven't answered my question," he said. "Perhaps, you can't?"

McEachern was wiping his forehead, and breathing quickly.

"If you like," said Jimmy, "we'll go down to the drawing-room now,
and you shall tell your story, and I'll tell mine. I wonder which
they will think the more interesting. Damn you," he went on, his
anger rising once more, "what do you mean by it? You come into my
room, and bluster, and talk big about exposing crooks. What do you
call yourself, I wonder? Do you realize what you are? Why, poor
Spike's an angel compared with you. He did take chances. He wasn't
in a position of trust. You--"

He stopped.

"Hadn't you better get out of here, don't you think?" he said,
curtly.

Without a word, McEachern walked to the door, and went out.

Jimmy dropped into a chair with a deep breath. He took up his
cigarette-case, but before he could light a match the gong sounded
from the distance.

He rose, and laughed rather shakily. He felt limp. "As an effort at
conciliating papa," he said, "I'm afraid that wasn't much of a
success."

It was not often that McEachern was visited