uncle's been at her."

Jimmy laughed shortly.

"My dear man, you seem to think your uncle's persuasive influence is
universal. I guess it's confined to you."

"Well, anyhow, I believe that's what's happened. What do you say?"

"Why say anything? There doesn't seem to be much need."

He poured some brandy into a glass, and added a little soda.

"You take it pretty stiff," observed his lordship, with a touch of
envy.

"On occasion," said Jimmy, emptying the glass.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LOCHINVAR METHOD

As Jimmy sat smoking a last cigarette in his bedroom before going to
bed that night, Spike Mullins came in. Jimmy had been thinking
things over. He was one of those men who are at their best in a
losing game. Imminent disaster always had the effect of keying him
up and putting an edge on his mind. The news he had heard that night
had left him with undiminished determination, but conscious that a
change of method would be needed. He must stake all on a single
throw now. Young Lochinvar rather than Romeo must be his model. He
declined to believe himself incapable of getting anything that he
wanted as badly as he wanted Molly. He also declined to believe that
she was really attached to Lord Dreever. He suspected the hand of
McEachern in the affair, though the suspicion did not clear up the
mystery by any means. Molly was a girl of character, not a feminine
counterpart of his lordship, content meekly to do what she was told
in a matter of this kind. The whole thing puzzled him.

"Well, Spike?" he said.

He was not too pleased at the interruption. He was thinking, and he
wanted to be alone.

Something appeared to have disturbed Spike. His bearing was excited.

"Say, boss! Guess what. You know dat guy dat come dis afternoon--de
guy from de village, dat came wit' old man McEachern?"

"Galer?" said Jimmy. "What about him?"

There had been an addition to the guests at the castle that
afternoon. Mr. McEachern, walking in the village, had happened upon
an old New York acquaintance of his, who, touring England, had
reached Dreever and was anxious to see the historic castle. Mr.
McEachern had brought him thither, introduced him to Sir Thomas, and
now Mr. Samuel Galer was occupying a room on the same floor as
Jimmy's. He had appeared at dinner that night, a short, wooden-faced
man, with no more conversation than Hargate. Jimmy had paid little
attention to the newcomer.

"What about him?" he said.

"He's a