1 
 
 
 . 
 
 ! iM!!!?!!'!!!!!' 1
 
 " Permit me to introduce an old friend." Page 37
 
 THE 
 
 BLACK BAG 
 
 BY 
 
 LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE 
 
 Author of " The Brass Bowl," " The Romance of 
 Terence O'Rourfce," etc. 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 
 THOMAS FOGARTY 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 Publishers : New York
 
 COPYRIGHT 1908 
 THE BOBBS-MEHRILL COMPANY 
 
 JANTTART
 
 20*5356
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN . . 1 
 
 II "AND SOME THERE BE WHO HAVE ADVEN- 
 
 TURES THRUST UPON THEM" ... 23 
 
 III CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 37 
 
 IV 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. G 51 
 
 V THE MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER . . 70 
 
 VI "BELOW BRIDGE" 92 
 
 VII DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN- 
 RESUMED 118 
 
 VIII MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 144 
 
 IX AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE"; AND BEYOND . . 170 
 
 X DESPERATE MEASURES 185 
 
 XI OFF THE NORE 212 
 
 XII PICARESQUE PASSAGES 227 
 
 XIII A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME . . . 259 
 
 XIV STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 285 
 
 XV REFUGEES . :. ' 306 
 
 XVI TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON .... 323 
 
 XVII ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 360 
 
 XVIII ADVENTURERS' LUCK ..... 390 
 
 XIX i THE UXBRIDGE ROAD .... 410 
 
 ii THE CROWN AND MITRE .... 417 
 
 iii THE JOURNEY'S END . 433
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN 
 
 Upon a certain dreary April afternoon in the 
 year of grace, 1906, the apprehensions of Philip 
 Kirkwood, Esquire, Artist-peintre, were enlivened by 
 the discovery that he was occupying that singularly 
 distressing social position, which may be summed up 
 succinctly in a phrase through long usage grown 
 proverbial : " Alone in London." These three 
 words have come to connote in our understanding so 
 much of human misery, that to Mr. Kirkwood they 
 seemed to epitomize absolutely, if not happily, the 
 various circumstances attendant upon the predic- 
 ament wherein he found himself. Inevitably an ex- 
 tremist, because of his youth, (he had just turned 
 twenty -five), he took no count of mitigating matters, 
 and would hotly have resented the suggestion that his 
 case was anything but altogether deplorable and for- 
 lorn. 
 
 That he was not actually at the end of his 
 1
 
 2 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 resources went for nothing; he held the distinction a 
 quibble, mockingly immaterial, like the store of 
 guineas in his pocket, too insignificant for mention 
 when contrasted with his needs. And his base of 
 supplies, the American city of his nativity, whence 
 
 and not without a glow of pride in his secret 
 heart he was wont to register at foreign hostel- 
 ries, had been arbitrarily cut off from him by one 
 of those accidents sardonically classified by insurance 
 and express corporations as Acts of God. 
 
 Now to one who has lived all his days serenely in 
 accord with the dictates of his own sweet will, taking 
 no thought for the morrow, such a situation 
 naturally seems both appalling and intolerable, at 
 the first blush. It must be confessed that, to begin 
 with, Kirkwood drew a long and disconsolate face 
 over his fix. And in that black hour, primitive of 
 its kind in his brief span, he became conscious of a 
 sinister apparition taking shape at his elbow a 
 shade of darkness which, clouting him on the back 
 with a skeleton hand, croaked hollow salutations in 
 his ear. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Kirkwood, come ! " its mirthless ac- 
 cents rallied him. " Have you no welcome for me? 
 
 you, who have been permitted to live the quarter 
 of a century without making my acquaintance? 
 Surely, now, it's high time we were learning some- 
 thing of one another, you and I!"
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 3 
 
 "But I don't understand," returned Kirkwood 
 blankly. " I don't know you " 
 
 "True! But you shall: I am the Shade of 
 Care " 
 
 " Dull Care ! " murmured Kirkwood, bewildered and 
 dismayed ; for the visitation had come upon him with 
 little presage and no invitation whatever. 
 
 " Dull Care," the Shade assured him. " Dull Care 
 am I and Care that's anything but dull, into the 
 bargain: Care that's like a keen pain in your body, 
 Care that lives a horror in your mind, Care that 
 darkens your days and flavors with bitter poison 
 all your nights, Care that ! 
 
 But Kirkwood would not listen further. Cour- 
 ageously submissive to his destiny, knowing in his 
 heart that the Shade had come to stay, he yet found 
 spirit to shake himself with a dogged air, to lift his 
 chin, set the strong muscles of his jaw, and smile that 
 homely wholesome smile which was his peculiarly. 
 
 " Very well," he accepted the irremediable with 
 grim humor ; " what must be, must. I don't pretend 
 to be glad to see you, but you're free to stay as 
 long as you find the climate agreeable. I warn you 
 I shan't whine. Lots of men, hundreds and hun- 
 dreds of 'em, have slept tight o' nights with you 
 for bedfellow; if they could grin and bear you, I 
 believe I can." 
 
 Now Care mocked him with a sardonic laugh, and
 
 4 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 sought to tighten upon his shoulders its bony grasp ; 
 but Kirkwood resolutely shrugged it off and went 
 in search of man's most faithful dumb friend, to 
 wit, his pipe; the which, when found and filled, he 
 lighted with a spill twisted from the envelope of a 
 cable message which had been vicariously responsi- 
 ble for his introduction to the Shade of Care. 
 
 " It's about time," he announced, watching the 
 paper blacken and burn in the grate fire, " that I was 
 doing something to prove my title to a living." And 
 this was all his valedictory to a vanished competence. 
 " Anyway," he added hastily, as if fearful lest Care, 
 overhearing, might have read into his tone a trace 
 of vain repining, " anyway, I'm a sight better off 
 than those poor devils over there ! I really have a 
 great deal to be thankful for, now that my attention's 
 drawn to it." 
 
 For the ensuing few minutes he thought it all over, 
 soberly but with a stout heart ; standing at a window 
 of his bedroom in the Hotel Pless, hands deep in 
 trouser pockets, pipe fuming voluminously, his gaze 
 wandering out over a blurred infinitude of wet shin- 
 ing roofs and sooty chimney-pots : all of London that 
 a lowering drizzle would let him see, and withal by no 
 means a cheering prospect, nor yet one calculated 
 to offset the disheartening influence of the indomi- 
 table Shade of Care. But the truth is that Kirk- 
 wood's brain comprehended little that his eyes
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 5 
 
 perceived ; his thoughts were with his heart, and that 
 was half a world away and sick with pity for an- 
 other and a fairer city, stricken in the flower of her 
 loveliness, writhing in Promethean agony upon her 
 storied hills. 
 
 There came a rapping at the door. 
 Kirkwood removed the pipe from between his 
 teeth long enough to say " Come in ! " pleasantly. 
 
 The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirk- 
 wood, swinging on one heel, beheld hesitant upon the 
 threshold a diminutive figure in the livery of the Pless 
 pages. 
 
 " Mister Kirkwood? " 
 Kirkwood nodded. 
 " Gentleman to see you, sir." 
 
 Kirkwood nodded again, smiling. " Show him up, 
 please," he said. But before the words were fairly 
 out of his mouth a footfall sounded in the corridor, 
 a hand was placed upon the shoulder of the page, 
 gently but with decision swinging him out of the 
 way, and a man stepped into the room. 
 
 " Mr. Brentwick ! " Kirkwood almost shouted, 
 jumping forward to seize his visitor's hand. 
 
 " My dear boy ! " replied the latter. " I'm de- 
 lighted to see you. 'Got your note not an hour ago, 
 and came at once you see ! " 
 
 " It was mighty good of you. Sit down, please. 
 Here are cigars. . . . Why, a moment ago I
 
 6 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 was the most miserable and lonely mortal on the foot- 
 stool ! " 
 
 " I can fancy." The elder man looked up, smil- 
 ing at Kirkwood from the depths of his arm-chair, 
 as the latter stood above him, resting an elbow on the 
 mantel. " The management knows me," he offered 
 explanation of his unceremonious appearance ; " so I 
 took the liberty of following on the heels of the bell- 
 hop, dear boy. And how are you? Why are you 
 in London, enjoying our abominable spring weather? 
 And why the anxious undertone I detected in your 
 note?" 
 
 He continued to stare curiously into Kirkwood's 
 face. At a glance, this Mr. Brentwick was a man of 
 tallish figure and rather slender; with a countenance 
 thin and flushed a sensitive pink, out of which his 
 eyes shone, keen, alert, humorous, and a trace wist- 
 ful behind his glasses. His years were indeterminate ; 
 with the aspect of fifty, the spirit and the verve of 
 thirty assorted oddly. But his hands were old, deli- 
 cate, fine and fragile; and the lips beneath the 
 drooping white mustache at times trembled, almost 
 imperceptibly, with the generous sentiments that 
 come with mellow age. He held his back straight 
 and his head with an air an air that was not a 
 swagger but the sign-token of seasoned experience in 
 the world. The most carping could have found no 
 flaw in the quiet taste of his attire. To sum up,,
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 7 
 
 Kirkwood's very good friend and his only one 
 then in London Mr. Brentwick looked and was 
 an English gentleman. 
 
 " Why ? " he persisted, as the younger man hesi- 
 tated. " I am here to find out. To-night I leave 
 for the Continent. In the meantime . . ." 
 
 " And at midnight I sail for the States," added 
 Kirkwood. " That is mainly why I wished to see 
 you to say good-by, for the time." 
 
 " You're going home A shadow clouded 
 Brentwick's clear eyes. 
 
 " To fight it out, shoulder to shoulder with my 
 brethren in adversity." 
 
 The cloud lifted. " That is the spirit ! " declared 
 the elder man. " For the moment I did you the in- 
 justice to believe that you were running away. But 
 now I understand. Forgive me. . ... Pardon, 
 too, the stupidity which I must lay at the door of 
 my advancing years ; to me the thought of you as a 
 Parisian fixture has become such a commonplace, 
 Philip, that the news of the disaster hardly stirred 
 me. Now I remember that you are a Californian." 
 
 " I was born in San Francisco," affirmed Kirk- 
 wood a bit sadly. " My father and mother were 
 buried there . . ." 
 
 "And your fortune ?" 
 
 " I inherited my father's interest in the firm of 
 Kirkwood & Vanderlip ; when I came over to study
 
 8 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 painting, I left everything in Vanderlip's hands. 
 The business afforded me a handsome living." 
 " You have heard from Mr. Vanderlip ? " 
 " Fifteen minutes ago." Kirkwood took a cable- 
 form, still damp, from his pocket, and handed it to 
 his guest. Unfolding it, the latter read: 
 
 " Kirkwood, Pless, London. Stay where you are 
 no good coming back everything gone no insurance 
 letter follows vanderlip." 
 
 " When I got the news in Paris," Kirkwood volun- 
 teered, " I tried the banks ; they refused to honor my 
 drafts. I had a little money in hand, enough to 
 see me home, so closed the studio and came across. 
 I'm booked on the Minneapolis, sailing from Tilbury 
 at daybreak; the boat-train leaves at eleven-thirty. 
 I had hoped you might be able to dine with me and 
 see me off." 
 
 In silence Brentwick returned the cable message. 
 Then, with a thoughtful look, " You are sure this is 
 wise? " he queried. 
 
 " It's the only thing I can see." 
 
 " But your partner says " 
 
 " Naturally he thinks that by this time I should 
 have learned to paint well enough to support myself 
 for a few months, until he can get things running 
 again. Perhaps I might." Brentwick supported 
 the presumption with a decided gesture. " But have
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 9 
 
 I a right to leave Vanderlip to fight it out alone? 
 For Vanderlip has a wife and kiddies to support ; 
 I" 
 
 "Your genius ! " 
 
 " My ability, such as it is and that only. It 
 can wait. . . . No ; this means simply that I 
 must come down from the clouds, plant my feet on 
 solid earth, and get to work." 
 
 " The sentiment is sound," admitted Brentwick, 
 " the practice of it, folly. Have you stopped to 
 think what part a rising young portrait-painter can 
 contribute toward the rebuilding of a devastated 
 city?" 
 
 " The painting can wait," reiterated Kirkwood. 
 " I can work like other men." 
 
 " You can do yourself and your genius grave in- 
 justice. And I fear me you will, dear boy. It's in 
 keeping with your heritage of American obstinacy. 
 Now if it were a question of money ' 
 
 " Mr. Brentwick ! " Kirkwood protested vehement- 
 ly. " I've ample for my present needs," he added. 
 
 " Of course," conceded Brentwick with a sigh. 
 " I didn't really hope you would avail yourself of 
 our friendship. Now there's my home in Aspen Vil- 
 las. . . . You have seen it? " 
 
 " In your absence this afternoon your estimable 
 butler, with commendable discretion, kept me with- 
 out the doors," laughed the young man.
 
 10 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " It's a comfortable home. You would not con- 
 sent to share it with me until ? " 
 
 " You are more than good ; but honestly, I must 
 sail to-night. I wanted only this chance to see you 
 before I left. You'll dine with me, won't you? " 
 
 " If you would stay in London, Philip, we would 
 dine together not once but many times ; as it is, I 
 myself am booked for Munich, to be gone a week, on 
 business. I have many affairs needing attention be- 
 tween now and tlje nine-ten train from Victoria. If 
 you will be my guest at Aspen Villas " 
 
 " Please ! " begged Kirkwood, with a little laugh 
 of pleasure because of the other's insistence. " I 
 only wish I could. Another day " 
 
 " Oh, you will make your million in a year, and 
 return scandalously independent. It's in your Amer- 
 ican blood." Frail white fingers tapped an arm of 
 the chair as their owner stared gravely into the fire. 
 " I confess I envy you," he observed. 
 
 " The opportunity to make a million in a year? " 
 chuckled Kirkwood. 
 
 " No. I envy you your Romance." 
 
 " The Romance of a Poor Young Man went out 
 of fashion years ago. . . . No, my dear friend ; 
 my Romance died a natural death half an hour 
 since." 
 
 " There spoke Youth blind, enviable Youth ! 
 On the contrary, you are but turning the
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 11 
 
 leaves of the first chapter of your Romance, Philip." 
 
 " Romance is dead," contended the young man 
 stubbornly. 
 
 " Long live the King ! " Brentwick laughed 
 quietly, still attentive to the fire. " Myself when 
 young," he said softly, " did seek Romance, but never 
 knew it till its day was done. I'm quite sure that is 
 a poor paraphrase of something I have read. In, 
 age, one's sight is sharpened to see Romance in 
 another's life, at least. I say I envy you. You have 
 Youth, unconquerable Youth, and the world before 
 you. ... I must go." 
 
 He rose stiffly, as though suddenly made conscious 
 of his age. The old eyes peered more than a trifle 
 wistfully, now, into Kirkwood's. " You will not 
 fail to call on me by cable, dear boy, if you need 
 anything? I ask it as a favor. . . . I'm glad 
 you wished to see me before going out of my life. 
 One learns to value the friendship of Youth, Philip. 
 Good-by, and good luck attend you." 
 
 Alone once more, Kirkwood returned to his win- 
 dow. The disappointment he felt at being robbed of 
 his anticipated pleasure in Brentwick's company at 
 dinner, colored his mood unpleasantly. His musings 
 merged into vacuity, into a dull gray mist of hope- 
 lessness comparable only to the dismal skies then low- 
 ering over London-town. 
 
 Brentwick was good, but Brentwick was mistaken.
 
 12 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 There was really nothing for Kirkwood to do but to 
 go ahead. But one steamer-trunk remained to be 
 packed ; the boat-train, would leave before midnight, 
 the steamer with the morning tide; by the morrow's 
 noon he would be upon the high seas, within ten days 
 in New York and among friends; and then 
 
 The problem of that afterwards perplexed Kirk- 
 wood more than he cared to own. Brentwick had 
 opened his eyes to the fact that he would be practic- 
 ally useless in San Francisco ; he could not harbor the 
 thought of going back, only to become a charge upon 
 Vanderlip. No; he was resolved that thenceforward 
 he must rely upon himself, carve out his own destiny. 
 But would the art that he had cultivated with such 
 assiduity, yield him a livelihood if sincerely practised 
 with that end in view? Would the mental and 
 physical equipment of a painter, heretofore dilet- 
 tante, enable him to become self-supporting? 
 
 Knotting his brows in concentration of effort to 
 divine the future, he doubted himself, darkly ques- 
 tioning alike his abilities and his temper under trial; 
 neither ere now had ever been put to the test. His 
 eyes became somberly wistful, his heart sore with re- 
 gret of Yesterday his Yesterday of care-free 
 youth and courage, gilded with the ineffable, evan- 
 escent glamour of Romance of such Romance, 
 thrice refined of dross, as only he knows who has 
 wooed his Art with passion passing the love of woman.
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 13 
 
 Far away, above the acres of huddled roofs and 
 chimney-pots, the storm-mists thinned, lifting tran- 
 siently ; through them, gray, fairy -like, the towers of 
 Westminster and the Houses of Parliament bulked 
 monstrous and unreal, fading when again the fugi- 
 tive dun vapors closed down upon the city. 
 
 Nearer at hand the Shade of Care nudged Kirk- 
 wood's elbow, whispering subtly. Romance was in- 
 deed dead ; the world was cold and cruel. 
 
 The gloom deepened. 
 
 In the cant of modern metaphysics, the moment 
 was psychological. 
 
 There came a rapping at the door. 
 
 Kirkwood removed the pipe from between his teeth 
 long enough to say " Come in ! " pleasantly. 
 
 The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirk- 
 wood, turning on one heel, beheld hesitant upon the 
 threshold a diminutive figure in the livery of the 
 Pless pages. 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood?" 
 
 Kirkwood nodded. 
 
 " Gentleman to see you, sir." 
 
 Kirkwood nodded again, smiling if somewhat per- 
 plexed. Encouraged, the child advanced, proffering 
 a silver card- tray at the end of an unnaturally rigid 
 forearm. Kirkwood took the card dubiously be- 
 tween thumb and forefinger and inspected it without 
 prejudice.
 
 ,14. THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " ' George B. Calendar,' " he read. " George B. 
 Calendar ! ' But I know no such person. Sure 
 there's no mistake, young man? " 
 
 The close-cropped, bullet-shaped, British head was 
 agitated in vigorous negation, and " Card for Mis- 
 ter Kirkwood ! " was mumbled in dispassionate ac- 
 cents appropriate to a recitation by rote. 
 
 " Very well. But before you show him up, ask 
 this Mr. Calendar if he is quite sure he wants to see 
 Philip Kirkwood." 
 
 " Yessir." 
 
 The child marched out, punctiliously closing the 
 door. Kirkwood tamped down the tobacco in his 
 pipe and puffed energetically, dismissing the inter- 
 ruption to his reverie as a matter of no consequence 
 an obvious mistake to be rectified by two words with 
 this Mr. Calendar whom he did not know. At the 
 knock he had almost hoped it might be Brentwick, re- 
 turning with a changed mind about the bid to din- 
 ner. 
 
 He regretted Brentwick sincerely. Theirs was a 
 curious sort of friendship extraordinarily close iA 
 view of the meagerness of cither's information about 
 the other, to say nothing of the disparity between 
 their ages. Concerning the elder man Kirkwood 
 knew little more than that they had met on ship- 
 board, " coming over " ; that Brentwick had spent 
 some years in America; that he was an Englishman
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 15 
 
 by birth, a cosmopolitan by habit, by profession a 
 gentleman (employing 1 that term in its most un- 
 compromisingly British significance), and by in- 
 clination a collector of " articles of virtue and big- 
 otry," in pursuit of which he made frequent excur- 
 sions to the Continent from his residence in a quaint 
 quiet street of Old Brompton. It had been during 
 his not infrequent, but ordinarily abbreviated, so- 
 journs in Paris that their steamer acquaintance had 
 ripened into an affection almost filial on the one 
 hand, almost paternal on the other. 
 
 There came a rapping at the door. 
 
 Kirkwood removed the pipe from between his teeth 
 long enough to say " Come in ! " pleasantly. 
 
 The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirk- 
 wood, swinging on one heel, beheld hesitant upon the 
 threshold a rather rotund figure of medium height, 
 clad in an expressionless gray lounge suit, with a 
 brown " bowler " hat held tentatively in one hand, 
 an umbrella weeping in the other. A voice, which 
 was unctuous and insinuative, emanated from the 
 figure. 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood?" 
 
 Kirkwood nodded, with some effort recalling the 
 name, so detached had been his thoughts since the dis- 
 appearance of the page. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Calendar ?" 
 
 " Are you ah busy, Mr. Kirkwood? "
 
 16 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Are you, Mr. Calendar? " Kirkwood's smile 
 robbed the retort of any flavor of incivility. 
 
 Encouraged, the man entered, premising that he 
 would detain his host but a moment, and readily sur- 
 rendering hat and umbrella. Kirkwood, putting the 
 latter aside, invited his caller to the easy chair which 
 Brentwick had occupied by the fireplace. 
 
 *' It takes the edge off the dampness," Kirkwood 
 explained in deference to the other's look of pleased 
 surprise at the cheerful bed of coals. " I'm afraid I 
 could never get acclimated to life in a cold, damp 
 room or a damp cold room such as you British- 
 ers prefer." 
 
 " It is grateful," Mr. Calendar agreed, spreading 
 plump and well cared-for hands to the warmth. 
 " But you are mistaken ; I am as much an American 
 as yourself." 
 
 " Yes ? " Kirkwood looked the man over with 
 more interest, less matter-of-course courtesy. 
 
 He proved not unprepossessing, this unclassifiable 
 Mr. Calendar; he was dressed with some care, his 
 complexion was good, and the fullness of his girth, 
 emphasized as it was by a notable lack of inches, be- 
 spoke a nature genial, easy-going and sybaritic. 
 His dark eyes, heavy-lidded, were active curiously, 
 at times, with a subdued glitter in a face large, 
 round, pink, of which the other most remarkable 
 features were a mustache, close-trimmed and show-
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 17 
 
 ing streaks of gray, a chubby nose, and duplicate 
 chins. Mr. Calendar was furthermore possessed of a 
 polished bald spot, girdled with a tonsure of silvered 
 hair circumstances which lent some factitious dis- 
 tinction to a personality otherwise commonplace. 
 
 His manner might be best described as uneasy with 
 assurance; as though he frequently found it neces- 
 sary to make up for his unimpressive stature by as- 
 suming an unnatural habit of authority. And there 
 you have him; beyond these points, Kirkwood was 
 conscious of no impressions ; the man was apparently 
 neutral-tinted of mind as well as of body. 
 
 " So you knew I was an American, Mr. Calendar? " 
 suggested Kirkwood. 
 
 " 'Saw your name on the register ; we both hail 
 from the same neck of the woods, you know." 
 
 " I didn't know it, and " 
 
 " Yes ; I'm from Frisco, too." 
 
 " And I'm sorry." 
 
 Mr. Calendar passed five fat fingers nervously over 
 his mustache, glanced alertly up at Kirkwood, as if 
 momentarily inclined to question his tone, then again 
 stared glumly into the fire ; for Kirkwood had main-f 
 tained an attitude purposefully colorless. Not to 
 put too fine a point upon it, be believed that his caller 
 was lying; the man's appearance, his mannerisms, his 
 voice and enunciation, while they might have been 
 American, seemed all un-Californian. To one born
 
 18 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and bred in that state, as Kirkwood had been, her sons 
 are unmistakably hall-marked. 
 
 Now no man lies without motive. This one chose 
 to reaffirm, with a show of deep feeling : " Yes ; 
 I'm from Frisco, too. We're companions in mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 " I hope not altogether," said Kirkwood politely. 
 
 Mr. Calendar drew his own inferences from the 
 response and mustered up a show of cheerfulness. 
 " Then you're not completely wiped out? " 
 
 " To the contrary, I was hoping you were less un- 
 happy." 
 
 " Oh ! Then you are ? " 
 
 Kirkwood lifted the cable message from the mantel. 
 " I have just heard from my partner at home," he 
 said with a faint smile ; and quoted : " ' Everything 
 gone ; no insurance.' ' 
 
 Mr. Calendar pursed his plump lips, whistling in- 
 audibly. " Too bad, too bad ! " he murmured sym- 
 pathetically. " We're all hard hit, more or less." 
 He lapsed into dejected apathy, from which Kirk- 
 wood, growing at length impatient, found it neces- 
 sary to rouse him. 
 
 " You wished to see me about something else, I'm 
 sure ? " 
 
 Mr. Calendar started from his reverie. " Eh? 
 
 I was dreaming. I beg pardon. It seems 
 
 hard to realize, Mr. Kirkwood, that this awful ca-
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 19 
 
 tastrophe has overtaken our beloved metropolis ' ; 
 
 The canting phrases wearied Kirkwood; abruptly 
 he cut in. " Would a sovereign help you out, Mr. 
 Calendar? I don't mind telling you that's about the 
 limit of my present resources." 
 
 " Pardon me" Mr. Calendar's moon-like counte- 
 nance darkened ; he assumed a transparent dignity. 
 " You misconstrue my motive, sir." 
 
 " Then I'm sorry." 
 
 " I am not here to borrow. On the other hand, 
 quite by accident I discovered your name upon the 
 register, down-stairs ; a good old Frisco name, if 
 you will permit me to say so. I thought to myself 
 that here was a chance to help a fellow-countryman." 
 Calendar paused, interrogative ; Kirkwood remained 
 interested but silent. " If a passage across would 
 help you, I I think it might be arranged," stam- 
 mered Calendar, ill at ease. 
 
 " It might," admitted Kirkwood, speculative. 
 
 " I could fix it so that you could go over first- 
 class, of course and pay your way, so to speak, by 
 rendering us, me and my partner, a trifling service." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 f< In fact," continued Calendar, warming up to 
 his theme, " there might be something more in it for 
 you than the passage, if if you 're the right man, 
 the man I'm looking for." 
 
 " That, of course, is the question."
 
 20 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Eh? " Calendar pulled up suddenly in a full- 
 winged flight of enthusiasm. 
 
 Kirkwood eyed him steadily. " I said that it is a 
 question, Mr. Calendar, whether or not I am the man 
 you're looking for. Between you and me and the 
 fire-dogs, I don't believe I am. Now if you wish 
 to name your quid pro quo, this trifling service I'm 
 to render in recognition of your benevolence, you 
 may." 
 
 " Ye-es," slowly. But the speaker delayed his 
 reply until he had surveyed his host from head to 
 foot, with a glance both critical and appreciative. 
 
 He saw a man in height rather less than the stock 
 size six-feet so much in demand by the manufacturers 
 of modern heroes of fiction ; a man a bit round- 
 shouldered, too, but otherwise sturdily built, self-con- 
 tained, well-groomed. 
 
 Kirkwood wears a boy's honest face ; no one has 
 ever called him handsome. A few prejudiced persons 
 have decided that he has an interesting countenance; 
 the propounders of this verdict have been, for the 
 most part, feminine. Kirkwood himself has been 
 heard to declare that his features do not fit ; in its 
 essence the statement is true, but there is a very real, 
 if undefinable, engaging quality in their very irregu- 
 larity. His eyes are brown, pleasant, set wide apart, 
 straightforward of expression. 
 
 Now it appeared that, whatever his motive, Mr.
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 21 
 
 Calendar had acted upon impulse in sending his card 
 up to Kirkwood. Possibly he had anticipated a very 
 different sort of reception from a very different sort 
 of man. Even in the light of subsequent events it 
 remains difficult to fathom the mystery of his choice. 
 Perhaps Fate directed it ; stranger things have hap- 
 pened at the dictates of a man's Destiny. 
 
 At all events, this Calendar proved not lacking in 
 penetration ; men of his stamp are commonly endowed 
 with that quality to an eminent degree. Not slow to 
 reckon the caliber of the man before him, the leaven 
 of intuition began to work in his adipose intelligence. 
 He owned himself baffled. 
 
 " Thanks," he concluded pensively ; " I reckon 
 you're right. You won't do, after all. I've wasted 
 your time. Mine, too." 
 
 " Don't mention it." 
 
 Calendar got heavily out of his chair, reaching for 
 his hat and umbrella. " Permit me to apologize for 
 an unwarrantable intrusion, Mr. Kirkwood." He 
 faltered; a worried and calculating look shadowed 
 his small eyes. " I was looking for some one to serve 
 me in a certain capacity " 
 
 " Certain or questionable ? " propounded Kirkwood 
 blandly, opening the door. 
 
 Pointedly Mr. Calendar ignored the imputation. 
 " Sorry I disturbed you. G'dafternoon, Mr. Kirk- 
 wood."
 
 22 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Calendar." A smile twitched the 
 corners of Kirkwood's too-wide mouth. 
 
 Calendar stepped hastily out into the hall. As 
 jhe strode or rather, rolled away, Kirkwood ma- 
 liciously feathered a Parthian arrow. 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Calendar ?" 
 
 The sound of retreating footsteps was stilled and 
 " Yes ? " came from the gloom of the corridor. 
 
 " Were you ever in San Francisco? Really and 
 truly? Honest Injun, Mr. Calendar? " 
 
 For a space the quiet was disturbed by harsh 
 breathing ; then, in a strained voice, " Good day, Mr. 
 Kirkwood " ; and again the sound of departing foot- 
 falls. 
 
 Kirkwood closed the door and the incident simul- 
 taneously, with a smart bang of finality. Laugh- 
 ing quietly he went back to the window with its 
 dreary outlook, now the drearier for lengthening 
 evening shadows. 
 
 " I wonder what his game is, anyway. An ad- 
 venturer, of course; the woods are full of 'em. A 
 queer fish, even of his kind! And with a trick up 
 his sleeve as queer and fishy as himself, no doubt ! "
 
 II 
 
 " AND SOME THERE BE WHO HAVE ADVENTURES^ 
 THRUST UPON THEM " 
 
 The assumption seems not unwarrantable, that 
 Mr. Calendar figuratively washed his hands of Mr. 
 Kirkwood. Unquestionably Mr. Kirkwood con- 
 sidered himself well rid of Mr. Calendar. When the 
 latter had gone his way, Kirkwood, mindful of the 
 fact that his boat-train would leave St. Pancras at 
 half -after eleven, set about his packing and dismissed 
 from his thoughts the incident created by the fat 
 chevalier d'industrie; and at six o'clock, or there- 
 abouts, let himself out of his room, dressed for the 
 evening, a light rain-coat over one arm, in the other 
 hand a cane, the drizzle having ceased. 
 
 A stolid British lift lifted him down to the ground 
 floor of the establishment in something short of five 
 minutes. Pausing in the office long enough to settle 
 his bill and leave instructions to have his luggage 
 conveyed to the boat-train, he received with entire 
 equanimity the affable benediction of the clerk, in 
 whose eyes he still figured as that radiant creature, 
 an American millionaire ; and passed on to the lobby,
 
 24 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 where he surrendered hat, coat and stick to the cloak- 
 room attendant, ere entering the dirn'ng-room. 
 
 The hour was a trifle early for a London dinner, 
 the handsome room but moderately filled with pa- 
 trons. Kirkwood absorbed the fact unconsciously 
 and without displeasure; the earlier, the better: he 
 was determined to consume his last civilized meal (as 
 he chose to consider it) at his serene leisure, to live 
 fully his ebbing moments in the world to which he 
 was born, to drink to its cloying dregs one ultimate 
 draught of luxury. 
 
 A benignant waiter bowed him into a chair by a 
 corner table in juxtaposition with an open window, 
 through which, swaying imperceptibly the closed 
 hangings, were wafted gentle gusts of the London 
 evening's sweet, damp breath. 
 
 Kirkwood settled himself with an inaudible sigh 
 of pleasure. He was dining, for the last time in 
 Heaven knew how long, in a first-class restau- 
 rant. 
 
 With a deferential flourish the waiter brought him 
 the menu-card. He had served in his time many an 
 " American, millionaire " ; he had also served this Mr. 
 Kirkwood, and respected him as one exalted above 
 the run of his kind, in that he comprehended the art 
 of dining. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later the waiter departed rejoicing, 
 his order complete.
 
 ADVENTURES 25 
 
 To distract a conscience whispering of extrava- 
 gance, Kirkwood lighted a cigarette. 
 
 The room was gradually filling with later arrivals ; 
 it was the most favored restaurant in London, and, 
 despite the radiant costumes of the women, its atmos- 
 phere remained sedate and restful. 
 
 A cab clattered down the side street on which the 
 window opened. 
 
 At a near-by table a woman laughed, quietly happy. 
 Incuriously Kirkwood glanced her way. She was 
 bending forward, smiling, flattering her escort with 
 the adoration of her eyes. They were lovers alone in 
 the wilderness of the crowded restaurant. They 
 seemed very happy. 
 
 Kirkwood was conscious of a strange pang of 
 emotion. It took him some time to comprehend that 
 it was envy. 
 
 He was alone and lonely. For the first time he 
 realized that no woman had ever looked upon him as 
 the woman at the adjoining table looked upon her 
 lover. He had found time to worship but one mis- 
 tress his art. 
 
 And he was renouncing her. 
 
 He was painfully conscious of what he had missed, 
 had lost or had not yet found : the love of woman. 
 
 The sensation was curious new, unique in his 
 experience. 
 
 His cigarette burned down to his fingers as he
 
 26 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 sat pondering. Abstractedly he ground its fire out 
 in an ash-tray. 
 
 The waiter set before him a silver tureen, covered. 
 
 He sat up and began to consume his soup, scarce 
 doing it justice. His dream troubled him his 
 dream of the love of woman. 
 
 From a little distance his waiter regarded him, 
 with an air of disappointment. In the course of an 
 hour and a half he awoke, to discover the attendant 
 in the act of pouring very hot and black coffee from 
 a bright silver pot into a demi-tasse of fragile por- 
 celain. Kirkwood slipped a single lump of sugar 
 into the cup, gave over his cigar-case to be filled, 
 then leaned back, deliberately lighting a long and 
 slender panetela as a preliminary to a last lingering 
 appreciation of the scene of which he was a part. 
 
 He reviewed it through narrowed eyelids, lazily ; 
 yet with some slight surprise, seeming to see it with 
 new vision, with eyes from which scales of ignorance 
 had dropped. 
 
 This long and brilliant dining-hall, with its quiet 
 perfection of proportion and appointment, had al- 
 ways gratified his love of the beautiful; to-night it 
 pleased him to an unusual degree. Yet it was the 
 same as ever; its walls tinted a deep rose, with their 
 hangings of dull cloth-of-gold, its lights discrimi- 
 natingly clustered and discreetly shaded, redoubled 
 in half a hundred mirrors, its subdued shimmer of
 
 ADVENTURES 27 
 
 plate and glass, its soberly festive assemblage of cir- 
 cumspect men and women splendidly gowned, its 
 decorously muted murmur of voices penetrated and 
 interwoven by the strains of a hidden string or- 
 chestra caressed his senses as always, yet with a 
 difference. To-night he saw it a room populous 
 with lovers, lovers insensibly paired, man unto woman 
 attentive, woman of man regardful. 
 
 He had never understood this before. This much 
 he had missed in life. 
 
 It seemed hard to realize that one must forego it 
 all for ever. 
 
 Presently he found himself acutely self-conscious. 
 The sensation puzzled him ; and without appearing 
 to do so, he traced it from effect to cause ; and 
 found the cause in a woman a girl, rather, seated 
 at a table the third removed from him, near the 
 farther wall of the room. 
 
 Too considerate, and too embarrassed, to return 
 her scrutiny openly, look for look, he yet felt sure 
 that, however temporarily, he was become the object 
 of her intent interest. 
 
 Idly employed with his cigar, he sipped his coffee. 
 In time aware that she had turned her attention else- 
 where, he looked up. 
 
 At first he was conscious of an effect of disappoint- 
 ment. She was nobody that he knew, even by rep- 
 utation. She was simply a young girl, barely out
 
 28 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 of her teens if as old as that phrase would signify. 
 He wondered what she had found in him to make her 
 think him worth so long a study; and looked again, 
 more keenly curious. 
 
 With this second glance, appreciation stirred the 
 artistic side of his nature, that was already grown 
 impatient of his fretted mood. The slender and 
 girlish figure, posed with such absolute lack of in- 
 trusion against a screen of rose and gilt, moved 
 him to critical admiration. The tinted glow of 
 shaded candles caught glistening on the spun gold 
 of her fair hair, and enhanced the fine pallor of her 
 young shoulders. He saw promise, and something 
 more than promise, in her face, its oval something 
 dimmed by warm shadows that unavailingly sought to 
 blend youth and beauty alike into the dull, rich back- 
 ground. 
 
 In the sheer youth of her (he realized) more than 
 in aught else, lay her chiefest charm. She could be 
 little more than a child, indeed, if he were to judge 
 her by the purity of her shadowed eyes and the ab- 
 sence of emotion- in the calm and direct look which 
 presently she turned upon him who sat wondering at 
 the level, penciled darkness of her brows. 
 
 At length aware that she had surprised his in- 
 terest, Kirkwood glanced aside coolly deliberate, 
 lest she should detect in his attitude anything more 
 than impersonal approval.
 
 ADVENTURES 29 
 
 A slow color burned his cheeks. In his temples 
 there rose a curious pulsing. 
 
 After a while she drew his gaze again, imperiously 
 herself all unaware of the havoc she was wreaking 
 on his temperament. 
 
 He could have fancied her distraught, cloaking an 
 unhappy heart with placid brow and gracious de- 
 meanor; but such a conception matched strangely 
 her glowing youth and spirit. What had she 
 to do with Care? What concern had Black Care, 
 whose gaunt shape in sable shrouds had lurked at 
 his shoulder all the evening, despite his rigid pre- 
 occupation, with a being as charmingly flushed with 
 budding womanhood as this girl? 
 
 " Eighteen ? " he hazarded. " Eighteen, or pos- 
 sibly nineteen, dining at the Pless in a ravishing 
 dinner-gown, and unhappy ? Oh, hardly not 
 she!" 
 
 Yet the impression haunted him, and ere long he 
 was fain to seek confirmation or denial of it in the 
 manner of her escort. 
 
 The latter sat with back to Kirkwood, cutting a 
 figure as negative as his snug evening clothes. One 
 could surmise little from a fleshy thick neck, a round, 
 glazed bald spot, a fringe of grizzled hair, and two 
 bright red ears. 
 
 Calendar ? 
 
 Somehow the fellow did suggest Kirkwood's caller
 
 30 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 of the afternoon. The young man could not have 
 said precisely how, for he was unfamiliar with the 
 aspect of that gentleman's back. None the less the 
 suggestion persisted. 
 
 By now, a few of the guests, theater-bound, for 
 the most part, were leaving. Here and there a table 
 "stood vacant, that had been filled, cloth tarnished, 
 chairs disarranged: in another moment to be trans- 
 formed into its pristine brilliance under the deft at- 
 tentions of the servitors** 
 
 Down an aisle, past the table at which the girl was 
 sitting, came two, making toward the lobby ; the man, 
 a slight and meager young personality, in the lead. 
 Their party had attracted Kirkwood's notice as they 
 entered ; why, he did not remember ; but it was in his 
 mind that then they had been three. Instinctively 
 he looked at the table they had left one placed at 
 some distance from the girl, and hidden from her 
 by an angle in the wall. It appeared that the third 
 member had chosen to dally a few moments over 
 his tobacco and a liqueur-brandy. Kirkwood could 
 see him plainly, lounging in his chair and fumbling 
 the stem of a glass: a heavy man, of somber habit, 
 his black and sullen brows lowering and thoughtful 
 above a face boldly handsome. 
 
 The woman of the trio was worthy of closer atten- 
 tion. Some paces in the wake of her lack-luster 
 esquire, she was making a leisurely progress, trailing
 
 ADVENTURES 31 
 
 the skirts of a gown magnificent beyond dispute, half 
 concealed though it was by the opera cloak whose 
 soft folds draped her shoulders. Slowly, carrying 
 her head high, she approached, insolent eyes reviewing 
 the room from beneath their heavy lids ; a metallic 
 and mature type of dark beauty, supremely self- 
 confident and self-possessed. 
 
 Men turned involuntarily to look after her, not 
 altogether in undiluted admiration. 
 
 In the act of passing behind the putative Calendar, 
 she paused momentarily, bending as if to gather up 
 her train. Presumably the action disturbed her 
 balance; she swayed a little, and in the effort to 
 recover, rested the tips of her gloved fingers upon 
 the edge of the table. Simultaneously (Kirkwood 
 could have sworn) a single word left her lips, a word 
 evidently pitched for the ear of the hypothetical 
 Calendar alone. Then she swept on, imperturbable, 
 assured. 
 
 To the perplexed observer it was indubitably evi- 
 dent that some communication had passed from the 
 woman to the man. Kirkwood saw the fat shoulders 
 of the girl's companion stiffen suddenly as the 
 woman's hand rested at his elbow ; as she moved away, 
 a little rippling shiver was plainly visible in the mus- 
 cles of his back, beneath his coat mute token of 
 relaxing tension. An instant later one plump and 
 mottled hand was carelessly placed where the woman's
 
 32 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 had been; and was at once removed with fingers 
 closed. 
 
 To the girl, watching her face covertly, Kirkwood 
 turned for clue to the incident. He made no doubt 
 that she had observed the passage ; proof of that 
 one found in her sudden startling pallor (of indig- 
 nation?) and in her eyes, briefly alight with some 
 inscrutable emotion, though quickly veiled by low- 
 ered lashes. Slowly enough she regained color and 
 composure, while her vis-a-vis sat motionless, head in- 
 clined as if in thought. 
 
 Abruptly the man turned in his chair to summon 
 a waiter, and exposed his profile. Kirkwood was 
 in no wise amazed to recognize Calendar a badly 
 frightened Calendar now, however, and hardly to be 
 identified with the sleek, glib fellow who had inter- 
 viewed Kirkwood in the afternoon. His flabby cheeks 
 were ashen and trembling, and upon the back of his 
 chair the fat white fingers were drumming inces- 
 santly an inaudible tattoo of shattered nerves. 
 
 " Scared silly ! " commented Kirkwood. " Why? " 
 
 Having spoken to his waiter, Calendar for some 
 seconds raked the room with quick glances, as if 
 seeking an acquaintance. Presumably disappointed, 
 he swung back to face the girl, bending forward to 
 reach her ears with accents low-pitched and con- 
 fidential. She, on her part, fell at once attentive, 
 grave and responsive. Perhaps a dozen sentences
 
 ADVENTURES 33 
 
 passed between them. At the outset her brows con- 
 tracted and she shook her head in gentle dissent; 
 whereupon Calendar's manner became more imper- 
 ative. Gradually, unwillingly, she seemed to yield 
 consent. Once she caught her breath sharply, and, 
 infected by her companion's agitation, sat back, color 
 fading again in the round young cheeks. 
 
 Kirkwood's waiter put in an inopportune appear- 
 ance with the bill. The young man paid it. When 
 he looked up again Calendar had swung squarely 
 about in his chair. His eye encountered Kirkwood's. 
 He nodded pleasantly. Temporarily confused, Kirk- 
 wood returned the nod. 
 
 In a twinkling he had repented ; Calendar had left 
 his chair and was wending his way through the tables 
 toward Kirkwood's. Reaching it, he paused, offer- 
 ing the hand of genial fellowship. Kirkwood ac- 
 cepted it half-heartedly (what else was he to do?) 
 remarking at the same time that Calendar had re- 
 covered much of his composure. There was now a 
 normal coloring in the heavily jowled countenance, 
 with less glint of fear in the quick, dark eyes : and 
 Calendar's hand, even if moist and cold, no longer 
 trembled. Furthermore it was immediately demon- 
 strated that his impudence had not deserted him. 
 
 " Why, Kirkwood, my dear fellow ! " he crowed 
 not so loudly as to attract attention, but in a tone 
 assumed to divert suspicion, should he be overheard.
 
 34 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " This is great luck, you know to find you here." 
 
 " Is it? " returned Kirkwood coolly. He disen- 
 gaged his fingers. 
 
 The pink plump face was contorted in a furtive 
 grimace of deprecation. Without waiting for per- 
 mission Calendar dropped into the vacant chair. 
 
 " My dear sir," he proceeded, unabashed, " I 
 throw myself upon your mercy." 
 
 " The devil you do ! " 
 
 " I must. I'm in the deuce of a hole, and there's 
 no one I know here besides yourself. I I " 
 
 Kirkwood saw fit to lead him on ; partly because, 
 out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of the 
 girl's unconcealed suspense. " Go on, please, Mr. 
 Calendar. You throw yourself on a total stranger's 
 mercy because you're in the deuce of a hole ; and ? " 
 
 " It's this way ; I'm called away on urgent business 
 imperative business. I must go at once. My 
 daughter is with me my daughter ! Think of 
 my embarrassment; I can not leave her here, alone, 
 nor can I permit her to go home unprotected." 
 
 Calendar paused in anxiety. 
 
 " That's easily remedied, then," suggested Kirk- 
 wood. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Put her in a cab at the door." 
 
 "I . . . No. The devil! I couldn't think 
 of it. You won't understand. I "
 
 ADVENTURES 35 
 
 " I do not understand, " amended the younger 
 man politely. 
 
 Calendar compressed his lips nervously. It was | 
 plain that the man was quivering with impatience 
 and half-mad with excitement. He held quiet only 
 long enough to regain his self-control and take coun- 
 sel with his prudence. 
 
 " It is impossible, Mr. Kirkwood. I must ask you 
 to be generous and believe me." 
 
 " Very well ; for the sake of the argument, I do be- 
 lieve you, Mr. Calendar." 
 
 " Hell ! " exploded the elder man in an undertone. 
 Then swiftly, stammering in his haste : " I can't let 
 Dorothy accompany me to the door," he declared. 
 " She I I throw myself upon your mercy ! " 
 
 "What again?" 
 
 " The truth the truth is, if you will have it, 
 that I am in danger of arrest the moment I leave here. 
 If my daughter is with me, she will have to endure 
 the shame and humiliation " 
 
 " Then why place her in such a position ? " Kirk- 
 wood demanded sharply. 
 
 Calendar's eyes burned, incandescent with resent- 
 ment. Offended, he offered to rise and go, but 
 changed his mind and sat tight in hope. 
 
 " I beg of you, sir ' 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Calendar." 
 
 Abruptly Kirkwood's weathercock humor shifted
 
 36 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 amusement yielding to intrigued interest. After 
 all, why not oblige the fellow? What did anything 
 matter, now? What harm, could visit him if he 
 yielded to this corpulent adventurer's insistence? 
 Both from experience and observation he knew this 
 for a world plentifully peopled by soldiers of for- 
 tune, contrivers of snares and pitfalls for the feet 
 of the unwary. On the other hand, it is axiomatic 
 that a penniless man is perfectly safe anywhere. 
 Besides, there was the girl to be considered. 
 
 Kirkwood considered her, forthwith. In the pro- 
 cess thereof, his eyes sought her, perturbed. Their 
 glances clashed. She looked away hastily, crimson 
 to her temples. 
 
 Instantly the conflict between curiosity and 
 caution, inclination and distrust, was at an end. 
 With sudden compliance, the young man rose. 
 
 " I shall be most happy to be of service to your 
 daughter, Mr. Calendar," he said, placing the em- 
 phasis with becoming gravity. And then, the fat 
 adventurer leading the way, Kirkwood strode across 
 the room wondering somewhat at himself, if the 
 whole truth is to be disclosed.
 
 Ill 
 
 CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 
 
 All but purring with satisfaction and relief, Cal- 
 endar halted. 
 
 " Dorothy, my dear, permit me to introduce an old 
 friend Mr. Kirkwood. Kirkwood, this is my 
 daughter." 
 
 " Miss Calendar," acknowledged Kirkwood. 
 
 The girl bowed, her eyes, steady upon his own. 
 " Mr. Kirkwood is very kind," she said gravely. 
 
 " That's right ! " Calendar exclaimed blandly. 
 " He's promised to see you home. Now both of you 
 will pardon my running away, I know." 
 
 " Yes," assented Kirkwood agreeably. 
 
 The elder man turned and hurried toward the main 
 entrance. 
 
 Kirkwood took the chair he had vacated. To his 
 disgust he found himself temporarily dumb. No 
 flicker of thought illuminated the darkness of his 
 confusion. How was he to open a diverting conver- 
 sation with a young woman whom he had met under 
 auspices so extraordinary? Any attempt to gloze 
 the situation, he felt, would be futile. And, some- 
 
 37
 
 38 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 how, he did not care to render himself ridiculous in 
 her eyes, little as he knew her. 
 
 Inanely dumb, he sat watching her, smiling fatu- 
 ously until it was borne in on him that he was 
 staring like a boor and grinning like an idiot. Con- 
 vinced, he blushed for himself; something which 
 served to make him more tongue-tied than ever. 
 
 As for his involuntary protegee, she exhibited such 
 sweet composure that he caught himself wondering if 
 she really appreciated the seriousness of her parent's 
 predicament ; if, for that matter, its true nature were 
 known to her at all. Calendar, he believed, was 
 capable of prevarication, polite and impolite. Had 
 he lied to his daughter? or to Kirkwood? To both, 
 possibly ; to the former alone, not improbably. That 
 the adventurer had told him the desperate truth, 
 Kirkwood was quite convinced; but he now began to 
 believe that the girl had been put off with some fic- 
 titious explanation. Her tranquillity and self-con- 
 trol were remarkable, otherwise; she seemed very 
 young to possess those qualities in such eminent de- 
 gree. 
 
 She was looking wearily past him, her gaze prob- 
 ing some unguessed abyss of thought. Kirkwood 
 felt himself privileged to stare in wonder. Pier 
 naive aloofness of poise gripped his imagination 
 powerfully, the more so, perhaps, since it seemed 
 eloquent of her intention to remain enigmatic, but
 
 39 
 
 by no means more powerfully than the unaided 
 appeal of her loveliness. 
 
 Presently the girl herself relieved the tension of 
 the situation, fairly startling the young man by go- 
 ing straight to the heart of things. Without pref- 
 ace or warning, lifting her gaze to his, " My name 
 is really Dorothy Calendar," she observed. And 
 then, noting his astonishment, " You would be priv- 
 ileged to doubt, under the circumstances," she added. 
 " Please let us be frank." 
 
 "Well," he stammered, "if I didn't doubt, let's 
 say I was unprejudiced." 
 
 His awkward, well-meant pleasantry, perhaps not 
 conceived in the best of taste, sounded in his own ears 
 wretchedly flat and vapid. He regretted it spon- 
 taneously ; the girl ignored it. 
 
 " You are very kind," she iterated the first words 
 he had heard from her lips. " I wish you to under- 
 stand that I, for one, appreciate it." 
 
 " Not kind ; I have done nothing. I am glad. 
 One is apt to become interested when 
 Romance is injected into a prosaic existence." Kirk- 
 wood allowed himself a keen but cheerful glance. 
 
 She nodded, with a shadowy smile. He continued, 
 purposefully, to distract her, holding her with his 
 honest, friendly eyes. 
 
 " Since it is to be confidences " (this she questioned 
 with an all but imperceptible lifting of the eye-
 
 40 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 brows), " I don't mind telling you my own name is 
 really Philip Kirkwood." 
 
 " And you are an old friend of my father's ? " 
 
 He opened his lips, but only to close them without 
 speaking. The girl moved her shoulders with a 
 shiver of disdain. 
 
 " I knew it wasn't so." 
 
 " You know it would be hard for a young man 
 like myself to be a very old friend," he countered 
 lamely. 
 
 " How long, then, have you known each other? " 
 
 "Must I answer?" 
 
 " Please." 
 
 " Between three and four hours." 
 
 " I thought as much." She stared past him, 
 troubled. Abruptly she said : " Please smoke." 
 
 " Shall I? If you wish it, of course . . . " 
 
 She repeated : " Please." 
 
 " We were to wait ten minutes or so," she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 He produced his cigarette-case. 
 
 " If you care to smoke it will seem an excuse." 
 He lighted his cigarette. " And then, you may talk 
 to me," she concluded calmly. 
 
 " I would, gladly, if I could guess what would 
 interest you." 
 
 " Yourself. Tell me about yourself," she com- 
 manded.
 
 CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 41 
 
 " It would bore you," he responded tritely, con- 
 fused. 
 
 " No ; you interest me very much." She made the 
 statement quietly, contemptuous of coquetry. 
 
 " Very well, then ; I am Philip Kirkwood, an 
 American." 
 
 " Nothing more ? " 
 
 " Little worth retailing." 
 
 " I'm sorry." 
 
 " Why ? " he demanded, piqued. 
 
 " Because you have merely indicated that you are 
 a wealthy American." 
 
 "Why wealthy?" 
 
 " If not, you would have some aim in life a call- 
 ing or profession." 
 
 " And you think I have none ? " 
 
 " Unless you consider it your vocation to be a 
 wealthy American." 
 
 " I don't. Besides, I'm not wealthy. In point of 
 fact, I ..." He pulled up short, on the verge 
 of declaring himself a pauper. " I am a painter." 
 
 Her eyes lightened with interest. " An artist? " 
 
 " I hope so. I don't paint signs or houses," he 
 remarked. 
 
 Amused, she laughed softly. " I suspected it," 
 she declared. 
 
 "Not really?" 
 
 " It was your way of looking at things, that
 
 42 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 made me guess it: the painter's way. I have often 
 noticed it." 
 
 "As if mentally blending colors all the time ? " 
 
 " Yes ; that and seeing flaws." 
 
 " I have discovered none," he told her brazenly. 
 
 But again her secret cares were claiming her 
 thoughts, and the gay, inconsequential banter died 
 upon her scarlet lips as a second time her glance 
 ranged away, sounding mysterious depths of anxiety. 
 
 Provoked, he would have continued the chatter. 
 " I have confessed," he persisted. " You know every- 
 thing of material interest about me. And your- 
 self? " 
 
 " I am merely Dorothy Calendar," she answered. 
 
 " Nothing more? " He laughed. 
 
 " That is all, if you please, for the present." 
 
 " I am to content myself with the promise of the 
 future? " 
 
 " The future," she told him seriously, " is to-mor- 
 row; and to-morrow . . ." She moved rest- 
 lessly in her chair, eyes and lips pathetic in their 
 distress. " Please, we will go now, if you are 
 ready." 
 
 " I am quite ready, Miss Calendar." 
 
 He rose. A waiter brought the girl's cloak and 
 put it in Kirkwood's hands. He held it until, 
 smoothing the wrists of her long white gloves, she 
 stood up, then placed the garment upon her white
 
 CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 43 
 
 young shoulders, troubled by the indefinable sense 
 of intimacy imparted by the privilege. She per- 
 mitted him this personal service! He felt that she 
 trusted him, that out of her gratitude had grown 
 a simple and almost childish faith in his generosity 
 and considerateness. 
 
 As she turned to go her eyes thanked him with an 
 unfathomable glance. He was again conscious of 
 that esoteric disturbance in his temples. Puzzled, 
 hazily analyzing the sensation, he followed her to the 
 lobby. 
 
 A page brought him his top-coat, hat and stick; 
 tipping the child from sheer force of habit, he de- 
 sired a gigantic porter, impressively ornate in hotel 
 livery, to call a hansom. Together they passed out 
 into the night, he and the girl. 
 
 Beneath a permanent awning of steel and glass 
 she waited patiently, slender, erect, heedless of the 
 attention she attracted from wayfarers. 
 
 The night was young, the air mild. Upon the 
 sidewalk, muddied by a million feet, two streams of 
 wayfarers flowed incessantly, bound west from Green 
 Park or east toward Piccadilly Circus; a well-dressed 
 throng for the most part, with here and there a man 
 in evening dress. Between the carriages at the curb 
 and the hotel doors moved others, escorting fluttering 
 butterfly women in elaborate toilets, heads bare, skirts 
 daintily gathered above their perishable slippers.
 
 44 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Here and there meaner shapes slipped silently through 
 the crowd, sinister shadows of the city's proletariat, 
 blotting ominously the brilliance of the scene. 
 
 A cab drew in at the block. The porter clapped 
 an arc of wickerwork over its wheel to protect the 
 girl's skirts. She ascended to the seat. 
 
 Kirkwood, dropping sixpence in the porter's palm, 
 prepared to follow; but a hand fell upon his arm, 
 peremptory, inexorable. He faced about, frowning, 
 to confront a slight, hatchet-faced man, somewhat 
 under medium height, dressed in a sack suit and 
 wearing a derby well forward over eyes that were 
 hard and bright. 
 
 " Mr. Calendar? " said the man tensely. " I pre- 
 sume I needn't name my business. I'm from the 
 Yard" 
 
 " My name is not Calendar." 
 
 The detective smiled wearily. " Don't be a fool, 
 Calendar," he began. But the porter's hand fell 
 upon his shoulder and the giant bent low to bring 
 his mouth close to the other's ear. Kirkwood heard 
 indistinctly his own name followed by Calendar's, and 
 the words : " Never fear. I'll point him out." 
 
 " But the woman ? " argued the detective, uncon- 
 vinced, staring into the cab. 
 
 " Am I not at liberty to have a lady dine with me 
 in a public restaurant? " interposed Kirkwood, with- 
 out raising his voice.
 
 CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 45 
 
 The hard eyes looked him up and down without 
 favor. Then : " Beg pardon, sir. I see my mis- 
 take," said the detective brusquely. 
 
 " I am glad you do," returned Kirkwood grimly. 
 " I fancy it will bear investigation." 
 
 He mounted the step. " Imperial Theater," he 
 told the driver, giving the first address that occurred 
 to him; it could be changed. For the moment the 
 main issue was to get the girl out of the range of the 
 detective's interest. 
 
 He slipped into his place as the hansom wheeled 
 into the turgid tide of west-bound traffic. 
 
 So Calendar had escaped, after all ! Moreover, he 
 had told the truth to Kirkwood. 
 
 By his side the girl moved uneasily. " Who was 
 that man ? " she inquired. 
 
 Kirkwood sought her eyes, and found them wholly 
 ingenuous. It seemed that Calendar had not taken 
 her into his confidence, after all. She was, therefore, 
 in no way implicated in her father's affairs. Inex- 
 plicably the young man's heart felt lighter. " A 
 mistake; the fellow took me for some one he knew," 
 he told her carelessly. 
 
 The assurance satisfied her. She rested quietly, 
 wrapped up in personal concerns. Her companion 
 pensively contemplated an infinity of arid and 
 hansom-less to-morrows. About them the city 
 throbbed in a web of misty twilight, the humid fare-
 
 46 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 well of a dismal day. In the air a faint haze swam, 
 rendering the distances opalescent. Athwart the west- 
 ern sky the after-glow of a drenched sunset lay like 
 a wash of rose-madder. Piccadilly's asphalt shone 
 like watered silk, black and lustrous, reflecting a 
 myriad lights in vibrant ribbons- of party-colored 
 radiance. On every hand cab-lamps danced like fire- 
 flies ; the rumble of wheels blended with the hollow 
 pounding of uncounted hoofs, merging insensibly into 
 the deep and solemn roar of London- town. 
 
 Suddenly Kirkwood was recalled to a sense of duty 
 by a glimpse of Hyde Park Corner. He turned to 
 the girl. " I didn't know where you wished to 
 go?" 
 
 She seemed to realize his meaning with surprise, 
 as one, whose thoughts have strayed afar, recalled to 
 an imperative world. 
 
 " Oh, did I forget? Tell him please to drive to 
 Number Nine, Frognall Street, Bloomsbury." 
 
 Kirkwood poked his cane through the trap, repeat- 
 ing the address. The cab wheeled smartly across 
 Piccadilly, swung into Half Moon Street, and 
 thereafter made better time, darting briskly down 
 abrupt vistas of shining pavement, walled in by 
 blank-visaged houses, or round two sides of one of 
 London's innumerable private parks, wherein spring 
 foliage glowed a tender green in artificial light ; now 
 and again it crossed brilliant main arteries of travel,
 
 CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 47 
 
 and eventually emerged from a maze of backways into 
 Oxford Street, to hammer eastwards to Tottenham 
 Court Road. 
 
 Constraint hung like a curtain between the two ; a 
 silence which the young man forbore to moderate, 
 finding more delight that he had cared (or dared) 
 confess to, in contemplation of the pure girlish pro- 
 file so close to him. 
 
 She Seemed quite unaware of him, lost in thought, 
 large eyes sober, lips serious that were fashioned for 
 laughter, round little chin firm with some occult reso- 
 lution. It was not hard to fancy her nerves keyed 
 to a high pitch of courage and determination, nor 
 easy to guess for what reason. Watching always, 
 keenly sensitive to the beauty of each salient line be- 
 trayed by the flying lights, Kirkwood's own con- 
 sciousness lost itself in a profitless, even a perilous 
 labyrinth of conjecture. 
 
 The cab stopped. Both occupants came to their 
 senses with a little start. The girl leaned out over 
 the apron, recognized the house she sought in one 
 swift glance, testified to the recognition with a hushed 
 exclamation, and began to arrange her skirts. Kirk- 
 wood, unheeding her faint-hearted protests, jumped 
 out, interposing his cane between her skirts and the 
 wheel. Simultaneously he received a vivid mental 
 photograph of the locality. 
 
 Frognall Street proved to be one of those by-ways,
 
 48 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 a short block in length, which, hemmed in on all sides 
 by a meaner purlieu, has (even in Bloomsbury!) 
 escaped the sordid commercial eye of the keeper of 
 furnished lodgings, retaining jealously something of 
 the old-time dignity and reserve that were its pride 
 in the days before Society swarmed upon Mayfair 
 and Belgravia. 
 
 Its houses loomed tall, with many windows, mostly 
 lightless materially aggravating that air of 
 isolate, cold dignity which distinguishes the English- 
 man's castle. Here and there stood one less bedrag- 
 gled than its neighbors, though all, without exception, 
 spoke assertively of respectability down-at-thc-heel 
 but fighting tenaciously for existence. Some, van- 
 guards of that imminent day when the boarding- 
 house should reign supreme, wore with shamefaced 
 air placards of estate-agents, advertising their sus- 
 ceptibility to sale or lease. In the company of the 
 latter was Number 9. 
 
 The American noted the circumstance subcon- 
 sciously, at a moment when Miss Calendar's hand, 
 small as a child's, warm and compact in its white 
 glove, lay in his own. And then she was on the side- 
 walk, her face, upturned to his, vivacious with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " You have been so kind," she told him warmly, 
 " that one hardly Joiows how to thank you, Mr. Kirk- 
 wood."
 
 CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER 49 
 
 " I have done nothing nothing at all," he mum- 
 bled, disturbed by a sudden, unreasoning alarm for 
 her. 
 
 She passed quickly to the shelter of the pillared 
 portico. He followed clumsily. On the door-step 
 she turned, offering her hand. He took and retained 
 it. 
 
 " Good night," she said. 
 
 " I'm to understand that I'm dismissed, then? " he 
 stammered ruefully. 
 
 She evaded his eyes. " I thank you I have no 
 further need " 
 
 " You are quite sure? Won't you believe me at 
 your service? " 
 
 She laughed uneasily. " I'm all right now." 
 
 " I can do nothing more? Sure? " 
 
 " Nothing. But you you make me almost sorry 
 I can't impose still further upon your good nature." 
 
 " Please don't hesitate ..." 
 
 " Aren't you very persistent, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 Her fingers moved in his; burning with the reproof, 
 he released them, and turned to her so woebegone a 
 countenance that she repented of her severity. 
 " Don't worry about me, please. I am truly safe 
 now. Some day I hope to be able to thank you ade- 
 quately. Good night I" 
 
 Her pass-key grated in the lock. Opening, the 
 door disclosed a dark and uninviting entry-hall,
 
 50 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 through which there breathed an air heavy with the 
 dank and dusty odor of untenanted rooms. Hesi- 
 tating on the threshold, over her shoulder the girl 
 smiled kindly upon her commandeered esquire; and 
 stepped within. 
 
 He lifted his hat automatically. The door closed 
 with an echoing slam. He turned to the waiting cab, 
 fumbling for change. 
 
 " I'll walk," he told the cabby, paying him off. 
 
 The hansom swept away to a tune of hammering 
 hoofs ; and quiet rested upon the street as Kirkwood 
 turned the nearest corner, in an unpleasant temper, 
 puzzled and discontented. It seemed hardly fair 
 that he should have been dragged into so promising 
 an adventure, by his ears (so to put it), only to be 
 thus summarily called upon to write " Finis " be- 
 neath the incident. 
 
 He rounded the corner and walked half-way to the 
 next street, coming to an abrupt and rebellious pause 
 by the entrance to a covered alleyway, of two minds 
 as to his proper course of action. 
 
 In the background of his thoughts Number 9, 
 Frognall Street, reared its five-story fa9ade, sinister 
 and forbidding. He reminded himself of its un- 
 lighted windows ; of its sign, " To be let " ; of the 
 effluvia of desolation that had saluted him when the 
 door swung wide. A deserted house; and the girl 
 alone in it ! was it right for him to leave her so?
 
 IV 
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 
 
 The covered alleyway gave upon Quadrant Mews ; 
 or so declared a notice painted on the dead wall of the 
 passage. 
 
 Overhead, complaining as it swayed in the wind, 
 hung the smirched and weather-worn sign-board of 
 the Hog-in-the-Pound public house; wherefrom es- 
 caped sounds of such revelry by night as is indulged 
 in by the British working-man in hours of ease. 
 At the curb in front of the house of entertainment, 
 dejected animals drooping between their shafts, two 
 hansoms stood in waiting, until such time as the lords 
 of their destinies should see fit to sally forth and 
 inflict themselves upon a cab-hungry populace. As 
 Kirkwood turned, a third vehicle rumbled up out of 
 the mews. 
 
 Kirkwood can close his eyes, even at this late day, 
 and both see and hear it all again even as he can 
 see the unbroken row of dingy dwellings that lined 
 his way back from Quadrant Mews to Frognall 
 Street corner: all drab and unkempt, all sporting 
 
 51
 
 52 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 in their fan-lights the legend and lure, " Furnished 
 Apartments." 
 
 For, between his curiosity about and his concern 
 for the girl, he was being led back to Number 9, by 
 the nose, as it were,, hardly willingly, at best. Pro- 
 foundly stupefied by the contemplation of his own 
 temerity, he yet returned unfaltering. He who had 
 for so long plumed himself upon his strict super- 
 vision of his personal affairs and equally steadfast 
 unconsciousness of his neighbor's businesses, now 
 found himself in the very act of pushing in where 
 he was not wanted: as he had been advised in well- 
 nigh as many words. He experienced an effect of 
 standing to one side, a witness of his own folly, with 
 rising wonder, unable to credit the strength of the 
 infatuation which was placing him so conspicuously 
 in the way of a snubbing. 
 
 If perchance he were to meet the girl again as she 
 was leaving Number 9, what then? The contin- 
 gency dismayed him incredibly, in view of the fact 
 that it did not avail to make him pause. To the 
 contrary he disregarded it resolutely ; mad, imperti- 
 nent, justified of his unnamed apprehensions, or sim- 
 ply addled, he held on his way. 
 
 He turned up Frognall Street with the manner of 
 one out for a leisurely evening stroll. Simultane- 
 ously, from, the farther corner, another pedestrian 
 debouched into the thoroughfare a mere moving
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 53 
 
 shadow at that distance, brother to blacker shadows 
 that skulked in the fenced areas and unlively entries 
 of that poorly lighted block. The hush was some- 
 thing 1 beyond belief, when one remembered the near- 
 ness of blatant Tottenham Court Road. 
 
 Kirkwood conceived a wholly senseless curiosity 
 about the other wayfarer. The man was walking 
 rapidly, heels ringing with uncouth loudness, cane 
 tapping the flagging at brief intervals. Both 
 sounds ceased abruptly as their cause turned in be- 
 neath one of the porticos. In the emphatic and 
 unnatural quiet that followed, Kirkwood, stepping 
 more lightly, fancied that another shadow followed 
 the first, noiselessly and with furtive stealth. 
 
 Could it be Number 9 into which they had passed? 
 The American's heart beat a livelier tempo at the 
 suggestion. If it had not been Number 9 he was 
 still too far away to tell it was certainly one of the 
 dwellings adjacent thereunto. The improbable pos- 
 sibility (But why improbable?) that the girl was 
 being joined by her father, or by friends, annoyed 
 him with illogical intensity. He mended his own 
 pace, designing to pass whichever house it might be 
 before the door should be closed; thought better of 
 this, and slowed up again, anathematizing himself 
 with much excuse for being the inquisitive dolt that 
 he was. 
 
 Approaching Number 9 with laggard feet, he
 
 54 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 manufactured a desire to light a cigarette, as a cover 
 for his design, were he spied upon by unsuspected 
 eyes. Cane under arm, hands cupped to shield a 
 (vesta's flame, he stopped directly before the portico, 
 turning his eyes askance to the shadowed doorway; 
 and made a discovery sufficiently startling to hold 
 him spellbound and, incidentally, to scorch his gloves 
 before he thought to drop the match. 
 
 The door of Number 9 stood ajar, a black interval 
 an inch or so in width showing between its edge and 
 the jamb. 
 
 Suspicion and alarm set his wits a-tingle. More 
 distinctly he recalled the jarring bang, accompanied 
 by the metallic click of the latch, when the girl had 
 shut herself in and him out. Now, some person or 
 persons had followed her, neglecting the most obvi- 
 ous precaution of a householder. And why? Why 
 but because the intruders did not wish the sound of 
 closing to be audible to her or those within? 
 
 He reminded himself that it was all none of his 
 affair, decided to pass on and go his ways in peace, 
 and impulsively swinging about, marched straight 
 away for the unclosed door. 
 
 "'Old 'ard, guvner!" 
 
 Kirkwood halted on the cry, faltering in inde- 
 cision. Should he take the plunge, or withdraw? 
 Synchronously he was conscious that a man's figure 
 had detached itself from the shadows beneath the
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 55 
 
 nearest portico and was drawing nearer, with every 
 indication of haste, to intercept him. 
 
 " 'Ere now, guvner, yer mykin' a mistyke. You 
 don't live 'ere." 
 
 " How do you know ? " demanded Kirkwood 
 crisply, tightening his grip on his stick. 
 
 Was this the second shadow he had seemed to see 
 the confederate of him who had entered Number 9 ; 
 a sentry to forestall interruption? If so, the fellow 
 lacked discretion, though his determination that the 
 American should not interfere was undeniable. It 
 was with an ugly and truculent manner, if more war- 
 ily, that the man closed in. 
 
 " 7 knows. You clear hout, or " 
 
 He flung out a hand with the plausible design of 
 grasping Kirkwood by the collar. The latter lifted 
 his stick, deflecting the arm, and incontinently landed 
 his other fist forcibly on the fellow's chest. The man 
 reeled back, cursing. Before he could recover Kirk- 
 wood calmly crossed the threshold, closed the door 
 and put his shoulder to it. In another instant, 
 fumbling in the darkness, he found the bolts and 
 drove them home. 
 
 And it was done, the transformation accomplished ; 
 his inability to refrain from interfering had encom- 
 passed his downfall, had changed a peaceable and 
 law-abiding alien within British shores into a busy- 
 body, a trespasser, a misdemeanant, a yes, for all
 
 56 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 he knew to the contrary, in the estimation of the 
 Law, a burglar, prime candidate for a convict's 
 stripes ! 
 
 Breathing hard with excitement he turned and laid 
 his back against the panels, trembling in every muscle, 
 terrified by the result of his impulsive audacity, 
 thunder-struck by a lightning-like foreglimpse of its 
 possible consequences. Of what colossal imprudence 
 had he not been guilty? 
 
 " The devil ! " he whispered. " What an ass, 
 what an utter ass I am ! " 
 
 Behind him the knob was rattled urgently, to an 
 accompaniment of feet shuffling 1 on the stone; and 
 immediately if he were to make a logical deduction 
 from the rasping and scraping sound within the 
 door-casing the bell-pull was violently agitated, 
 without, however, educing any response from the bell 
 itself, wherever that might be situate. After which, 
 as if in despair, the outsider again rattled and jerked 
 the knob. 
 
 Be his status what it might, whether servant of the 
 household, its caretaker, or a night watchman, the 
 man was palpably determined both to get himself in 
 and Kirkwood out, and yet (curious to consider) de- 
 termined to gain his end without attracting undue 
 attention. Kirkwood had expected to hear the 
 knocker's thunder, as soon as the bell failed to give 
 tongue; but it did not sound, although there was a
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 57 
 
 knocker, Kirkwood himself had remarked that anti- 
 quated and rusty bit of ironmongery affixed to the 
 middle panel of the door. And it made him feel sure 
 that something surreptitious and lawless was in proc- 
 ess within those walls, that the confederate without, 
 having failed to prevent a stranger from entering, 
 left unemployed a means so certain-sure to rouse the 
 occupants. 
 
 But his inferential analysis of this phase of the 
 proceedings was summarily abrupted by that identical 
 alarm. In a trice the house was filled with flying 
 echoes, wakened to sonorous riot by the crash and 
 clamor of the knocker ; and Kirkwood stood fully two 
 yards away, his heart hammering wildly, his nerves 
 a-j ingle, much as if the resounding blows had landed 
 upon his own person rather than on stout oaken 
 planking. 
 
 Ere he had time to wonder, the racket ceased, and 
 from the street filtered voices in altercation. Listen- 
 ing, Kirkwood's pulses quickened, and he laughed 
 uncertainly for pure relief, retreating to the door 
 and putting an ear to a crack. 
 
 The accents of one speaker were new in his hear- 
 ing, stern, crisp, quick with the spirit of authority 
 which animates that most austere and dignified limb of 
 the law to be encountered the world over, a London 
 bobby. 
 
 "Now then, my man, what do you want there?
 
 58 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Come now, speak up, and step out into the light, 
 where I can see you." 
 
 The response came in the sniffling snarl of the Lon- 
 don ne'er-do-well, the unemployable rogue Avhose 
 chiefest occupation seems to be to march in the ranks 
 of The Unemployed on the occasion of its annual 
 demonstrations. 
 
 " Le' me alone, carntcher? Ah'm doin' no 'arm, 
 officer, 
 
 " Didn't you hear me? Step out here. Ah, that's 
 better. . . . No harm, eh? Perhaps you'll ex- 
 plain how there's no harm breakin' into unoccupied 
 'ouses ? 
 
 " Gorblimy, 'ow was I to know? 'Ere's a toff 
 'ands me sixpence fer hopenin' 'is cab door to-dye, 
 an', sezee, ' My man,' 'e sez, ' yer've got a 'onest 
 f y ce. Wy don'cher work ? ' sezee. ' 'Ow can I ? ' 
 sez I. * 'Ere 'm I hout of a job these six months, 
 lookin' fer work every dye an' carn't find it.' Sezee, 
 4 Come an' see me this hevenin' at me home, Noine, 
 Frognall Stryte,' 'e sez, an' " 
 
 " That'll do for now. You borrow a pencil and 
 paper and write it down and I'll read it when I've got 
 more time; I never heard the like of it. This 'ouse 
 hasn't been lived in these two years. Move on, and 
 don't let me find you round 'ere again. March, I 
 say!" 
 
 There was more of it more whining explanations
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 59 
 
 artfully tinctured with abuse, more terse commands 
 to depart, the whole concluding with scraping foot- 
 steps, diminuendo, and another perfunctory, rattle of 
 the knob as the bobby, having shoo'd the putative 
 evil-doer off, assured himself that no damage had 
 actually been done. Then he, too, departed, satisfied 
 and self-righteous, leaving a badly frightened but 
 very grateful amateur criminal to pursue his self- 
 appointed career of crime. 
 
 He had no choice other than to continue ; in point 
 of fact, it had been insanity just then to back out, 
 and run the risk of apprehension at the hands of that 
 ubiquitous bobby, who (for all he knew) might be 
 lurking not a dozen yards distant, watchful for just 
 such a sequel. Still, Kirkwood hesitated with the 
 best of excuses. Reassuring as he had found the 
 sentinel's extemporized yarn, proof positive that 
 the fellow had had no more right to prohibit a tres- 
 pass than> Kirkwood to commit one, at the same time 
 he found himself pardonably a prey to emotions of 
 the utmost consternation and alarm. If he feared to 
 leave the house he had no warrant whatever to as- 
 sume that he would be permitted to remain many 
 minutes unharmed within its walls of mystery. 
 
 The silence of it discomfited him beyond measure; 
 it was, in a word, uncanny. 
 
 Before him, as he lingered at the door, vaguely 
 disclosed by a wan illumination penetrating a dusty
 
 60 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and begrimed fan-light, a broad hall stretched in- 
 definitely towards the rear of the building, losing 
 itself in blackness beyond the foot of a flight of 
 stairs. Save for a few articles of furniture, a hall 
 table, an umbrella-stand, a tall dumb clock flanked 
 by high-backed chairs, it was empty. Other than 
 Kirkwood's owni restrained respiration not a sound 
 throughout the house advertised its inhabitation ; not 
 a board creaked beneath the pressure of a foot, not a 
 mouse rustled in the wainscoting or beneath the floors, 
 not a breath of air stirred sighing in the stillness. 
 
 And yet, a tremendous racket had been raised at 
 the front door, within the sixty seconds past! And 
 yet, within twenty minutes two persons, at least, had 
 preceded Kirkwood into the building ! Had they not 
 heard? The speculation seemed ridiculous. Or had 
 they heard and, alarmed, been too effectually hobbled 
 by the coils of their nefarious designs to dare reveal 
 themselves, to investigate the cause of that thunder- 
 ous summons? Or were they, perhaps, aware of 
 Kirkwood's entrance, and lying perdu in some dark 
 corner, to ambush him as he passed? 
 
 True, that were hardly like the girl. True, on 
 the other hand, it were possible that she had stolen 
 away while Kirkwood was hanging in irresolution by 
 the passage to Quadrant Mews. Again, the space 
 of time between Kirkwood's dismissal and his return 
 had been exceedingly brief ; whatever her errand, she
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 61 
 
 could hardly have fulfilled it and escaped. At that 
 moment she might be in the power and at the mercy 
 of him who had followed her; providing he were not 
 friendly. And in that case, what torment and what 
 peril might not be hers? 
 
 Spurred by solicitude, the young man put per- 
 sonal apprehensions in his pocket and forgot them, 
 cautiously picking his way through the gloom to the 
 foot of the stairs. There, by the newel-post, he 
 paused. Darkness walled him about. Overhead the 
 steps vanished in a well of blackness ; he could not 
 even see the ceiling ; his eyes ached with futile effort 
 to fathom the unknown; his ears rang with unre- 
 warded strain of listening. The silence hung invio- 
 late, profound. 
 
 Slowly he began to ascend, a hand following the 
 balusters, the other with his cane exploring the ob- 
 scurity before him. On the steps, a carpet, thick 
 and heavy, muffled his footfalls. He moved noise- 
 lessly. Towards the top the staircase curved, and 
 presently a foot that groped for a higher level failed 
 to find it. Again he halted, acutely distrustful. 
 
 Nothing happened. 
 
 He went on, guided by the balustrade, passing 
 three doors, all open, through which the undefined 
 proportions of a drawing-room and boudoir were 
 barely suggested in a ghostly dusk. By each he 
 paused, listening, hearing nothing.
 
 62 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 His foot struck with a deadened thud against the 
 bottom step of the second flight, and his pulses flut- 
 tered wildly for a moment. Two minutes three 
 he waited in suspense. From above came no sound. 
 He went on, as before, save that twice a step yielded, 
 complaining, to his weight. Toward the top the 
 close air, like the darkness, seemed to weigh more 
 heavily upon his consciousness ; little drops of per- 
 spiration started out on his forehead, his scalp 
 tingled, his mouth was hot and dry, he felt as if 
 stifled. 
 
 Again the raised foot found no level higher than 
 its fellows. He stopped and held his breath, op- 
 pressed by a conviction that some one was near him. 
 Confirmation of this came startlingly an eerie whis- 
 per in the night, so close to him that he fancied he 
 could feel the disturbed air fanning his face. 
 
 " Is it you, Eccles? " 
 
 He had no answer ready. The voice was mascu- 
 line, if he analyzed it correctly. Dumb and stupid 
 he stood poised upon the point of panic. 
 
 " Eccles, is it you? " 
 
 The whisper was both shrill and shaky. As it 
 ceased Kirkwood was half blinded by a flash of light, 
 striking him squarely in the eyes. Involuntarily he 
 shrank back a pace, to the first step from the top. 
 Instantaneously the light was eclipsed. 
 
 " Halt or or I fire! "
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 63 
 
 By now he realized that he had been scrutinized by 
 the aid of an electric hand-lamp. The tremulous 
 whisper told him something else that the speaker 
 suffered from nerves as high-strung as his own. The 
 knowledge gave him inspiration. He cried at a ven- 
 ture, in a guarded voice, " Hands up! " and struck 
 out smartly with his stick. Its ferrule impinged upon 
 something soft but heavy. Simultaneously he heard 
 a low, frightened cry, the cane was swept aside, a 
 blow landed glancingly on his shoulder, and he was 
 carried fairly off his feet by, the weight of a man 
 hurled bodily upon him with staggering force and 
 passion. Reeling, he was borne back and down a 
 step or two, and then, choking on an oath, drop- 
 ped his cane and with one hand caught the balusters, 
 while the other tore ineffectually at wrists of hands 
 that clutched his throat. So, for a space, the two 
 hung, panting and struggling. 
 
 Then endeavoring to swing his shoulders over 
 against the wall, Kirkwood released his grip on the 
 hand-rail and stumbled on the stairs, throwing his 
 antagonist out of balance. The latter plunged down- 
 ward, dragging Kirkwood with him. Clawing, kick- 
 ing, grappling, they went to the bottom, jolted vio- 
 lently by each step; but long before the last was 
 reached, Kirkwood's throat was free. 
 
 Throwing himself off, he got to his feet and 
 grasped the railing for support; then waited, pant-
 
 64 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 i 
 
 ing, trying to get his bearings. Himself painfully 
 shaken and bruised, he shrewdly surmised that his 
 assailant had fared as ill, if not worse. And, in 
 point of fact, the man lay with neither move nor 
 moan, still as death at the American's feet. 
 
 And once more silence had folded its wings over 
 Number 9, Frognall Street. 
 
 More conscious of that terrifying, motionless pres- 
 ence beneath him, than able to distinguish it by power 
 of vision, he endured interminable minutes of trem- 
 bling horror, in a witless daze, before he thought of 
 his match-box. Immediately he found it and struck 
 a light. As the wood caught and the bright small 
 flame leaped in the pent air, he leaned forward, over 
 the body, breathlessly dreading what he must dis- 
 cover. 
 
 The man lay quiet, head upon the floor, legs and 
 hips on the stairs. One arm had fallen over his 
 face, hiding the upper half. The hand gleamed 
 white and delicate as a woman's. His chin was 
 smooth and round, his lips thin and petulant. Be- 
 neath his top-coat, evening dress clothed a short 
 and slender figure. Nothing whatever of his ap- 
 pearance suggested the burly ruffian, the midnight 
 marauder; he seemed little more than a boy old 
 enough to dress for dinner. In his attitude there was 
 something pitifully suggestive of a beaten child) 
 thrown into a corner.
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 65 
 
 Conscience-smitten and amazed Kirkwood stared on 
 until, without warning, the match flickered and went 
 out. Then, straightening up with an exclamation 
 at once of annoyance and concern, he rattled the box ; 
 it made no sound, was empty. In disgust he swore, 
 it was the devil's own luck, that he should run out 
 of vestas at a time so critical. He could not even 
 say whether the fellow was dead, unconscious, or 
 simply shamming. He had little idea of his looks; 
 and to be able to identify him might save a deal of 
 trouble at some future time, since he, Kirkwood, 
 seemed so little able to disengage himself from the 
 clutches of this insane adventure ! And the girl 
 what had become of her? How could he continue 
 to search for her, without lights or guide, through 
 all those silent rooms, whose walls might inclose a 
 hundred hidden dangers in that house of mystery? 
 
 But he debated only briefly. His blood was young, 
 and it was hot; it was quite plain to him that he 
 could not withdraw and retain his self-respect. If 
 the girl was there to be found, most assuredly, 
 he must find her. The hand-lamp that had dazzled 
 him at the head of the stairs should be his aid, now 
 that he thought of it, and providing he was able 
 to find it. 
 
 In the scramble on the stairs he had lost his hat, 
 but he remembered that the vesta's short-lived light 
 had discovered this on the floor beyond the man's
 
 66 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 body. Carefully stepping across the latter he re- 
 covered his head-gear, and then, kneeling, listened 
 with an ear close to the fellow's face. A softly reg- 
 ular beat of breathing reassured him. Half rising, 
 he caught the body beneath the armpits, lifting and 
 dragging it off the staircase ; and knelt again, to feel 
 of each pocket in the man's clothing, partly as an 
 obvious precaution, to relieve him of his advertised 
 revolver against an untimely wakening, partly to 
 see if he had the lamp about him. 
 
 The search proved fruitless. Kirkwood suspected 
 that the weapon, like his own, had existed only in 
 his victim's ready imagination. As for the lamp, in 
 the act of rising he struck it with his foot, and 
 picked it up. 
 
 It felt like a metal tube a couple of inches in 
 diameter, a foot or so in length, passably heavy. He 
 fumbled with it impatiently. " However the dickens," 
 he wondered audibly, " does the infernal machine 
 work? " As it happened, the thing worked with dis- 
 concerting abruptness as his untrained fingers fell 
 hapchance on the spring. A sudden glare again 
 smote him in the face, and at the same instant, from 
 a point not a yard away, apparently, an inarticulate 
 cry rang out upon the stillness. 
 
 Heart in his mouth, he stepped back, lowering the 
 lamp (which impishly went out) and lifting a pro- 
 tecting forearm.
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 67 
 
 " Who's that ? " he demanded harshly. 
 
 A strangled sob of terror answered him, blurred 
 by a swift rush of skirts, and in a breath his shat- 
 tered nerves quieted and a glimmer of common sense 
 penetrated the murk anger and fear had bred in his 
 brain. He understood, and stepped forward, catch- 
 ing blindly at the darkness with eager hands. 
 
 " Miss Calendar ! " he cried guardedly. " Miss Cal- 
 endar, it is I Philip Kirkwood ! " 
 
 There was a second sob, of another caliber than the 
 first; timid fingers brushed his, and a hand, warm 
 and fragile, closed upon his own in a passion of relief 
 and gratitude. 
 
 " Oh, I am so g-glad ! " It was Dorothy Calen- 
 dar's voice, beyond mistake. " I I didn't know 
 what t-to t-think. . . , When the light struck 
 your face I was sure it was you, but when I called, 
 you answered in a voice so strange, not like yours 
 at all ! . . . Tell me," she pleaded, with palpa- 
 ble effort to steady herself ; " what has happened ? " 
 
 " I think, perhaps," said Kirkwood uneasily, again 
 troubled by his racing pulses, " perhaps you can do 
 that better than I." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the voice guiltily ; her fingers trembled 
 on his, and were gently withdrawn. " I was so 
 frightened," she confessed after a little pause, " so 
 frightened that I hardly understand . . . But 
 you ? How did you ? "
 
 68 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " I worried about you," he replied, in a tone ab- 
 surdly apologetic. " Somehow it didn't seem right. 
 It was none of my business, of course, but 
 I couldn't help coming back. This fellow, whoever 
 he is don't worry ; he's unconscious slipped into 
 the house in a manner that seemed to me suspicious. 
 I hardly know why I followed, except that he left the 
 door an open invitation to interference . . ." 
 
 " I can't be thankful enough," she told him warmly, 
 " that you did interfere. You have indeed saved 
 me from . . ." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " I don't know what. If I knew the man " 
 
 " You don't know him ? " 
 
 " I can't even, guess. The light ? " 
 
 She paused inquiringly. Kirkwood fumbled with 
 the lamp, but, whether its rude handling had im- 
 paired some vital part of the mechanism, or whether 
 the batteries through much use were worn out, he 
 was able to elicit only one feeble glow, which was 
 instantly smothered by the darkness. 
 
 " It's no use," he confessed. " The thing's gone 
 wrong." 
 
 " Have you a match ? " 
 
 " I used my last before I got hold of this." 
 
 " Oh," she commented, discouraged. " Have you 
 any notion what he looks like? " 
 
 Kirkwood thought briefly. " Raffles," he replied
 
 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 69 
 
 with a chuckle. " He looks like an amateurish and 
 very callow Raffles. He's in dress clothes, you 
 know." 
 
 " I wonder ! " There was a nuance of profound 
 bewilderment in her exclamation. Then : " He 
 knocked against something in the hall a chair, I 
 presume; at all events, I heard that and put out the 
 light. I was ... in the room above the draw- 
 ing-room, you see. I stole down to this floor was 
 there, in the corner by the stairs when he passed 
 within six inches, and never guessed it. Then, when 
 he got on the next floor, I started on ; but you came 
 in. I slipped into the drawing-room and crouched 
 behind a chair. You went on, but I dared not move 
 until . . . And then I heard some one cry out, 
 and you fell down the stairs together. I hope you 
 were not hurt ? " 
 
 " Nothing worth mention ; but he must have got a 
 pretty stiff knock, to lay him out so completely." 
 Kirkwood stirred the body with his toe, but the man 
 made no sign. " Dead to the world . . . And 
 now, Miss Calendar? " 
 
 If she answered, he did not hear ; for on the heels 
 of his query banged the knocker down below; and 
 thereafter crash followed crash, brewing a deep and 
 sullen thundering to rouse the echoes and send them 
 rolling, like voices of enraged ghosts, through the 
 lonely rooms.
 
 THE MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 
 
 " What's that? " At the first alarm the girl had 
 caught convulsively at Kirkwood's arm. Now, when 
 a pause came in the growling of the knocker, she 
 made him hear her voice; and it was broken and vi- 
 brant with a threat of hysteria. " Oh, what can it 
 mean ? " 
 
 " I don't know." He laid a hand reassuringly 
 over that which trembled on hi* forearm. " The po- 
 lice, possibly." 
 
 " Police ! " she iterated, aghast. " What makes 
 you think ? " 
 
 " A man tried to stop me at the door," he an- 
 swered quickly. " I got in before he could. When 
 he tried the knocker, a bobby came along and stopped 
 him. The latter may have been watching the house 
 since then, it'd be only his duty to keep an eye on 
 it; and Heaven knows we raised a racket, coming 
 head-first down those stairs ! Now we are up against 
 it," he added brightly. 
 
 But the girl was tugging at his hand. " Come ! " 
 70
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 71 
 
 she begged breathlessly. * ' Come ! There is a way ! 
 Before they break in ' 
 
 "But this man ?" Kirkwood hung back, trou- 
 bled. 
 
 "They the police are sure to find and care for 
 him." 
 
 ' ' So they will. ' ' He chuckled. ' ' And serve him 
 right ! He'd have choked me to death, with all the 
 good will in the world ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, do hurry!" 
 
 Turning, she sped light-footed down the staircase 
 to the lower hall, he at her elbow. Here the uproar 
 was loudest deep enough to drown whatever sounds 
 might have been made by two pairs of flying feet. 
 For all that they fled on tiptoe, stealthily, guilty 
 shadows in the night; and at the newel-post swung 
 back into the unbroken blackness which shrouded the 
 fastnesses backward of the dwelling. A sudden 
 access of fury on the part of the alarmist at the 
 knocker, spurred them on with quaking hearts. In 
 half a dozen strides, Kirkwood, guided only by in- 
 stinct and the frou-frou of the girl's skirts as she 
 ran invisible before him, stumbled on the uppermost 
 steps of a steep staircase ; only a hand-rail saved him, 
 and that at the last moment. He stopped short, 
 shocked into caution. From below came a contrite 
 whisper: "I'm so sorry! I should have warned 
 you."
 
 72 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 He pulled himself together, glaring wildly at 
 nothing. " It's all right " 
 
 "You're not hurt, truly? Oh, do come quickly." 
 
 She waited for him at the bottom of the flight 
 happily for him, for he was all at sea. 
 
 " Here your hand let me guide you. This 
 darkness is dreadful . . ." 
 
 He found her hand, somehow, and tucked his into 
 it, confidingly, and not without an uncertain thrill of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Come ! " she panted. " Come ! If they break 
 in" 
 
 Stifled by apprehension, her voice failed her. 
 
 They went forward, now less impetuously, for it was 
 very black ; and the knocker had fallen still. 
 
 " No fear of that," he remarked after a time. 
 " They wouldn't dare break in." 
 
 A fluttering whisper answered him : " I don't 
 know. We dare risk nothing." 
 
 They seemed to explore, to penetrate acres of laby- 
 rinthine chambers and passages, delving deep into 
 the bowels of the earth, like rabbits burrowing in a 
 warren, hounded by beagles. 
 
 Above stairs the hush continued unbroken ; as if 
 the dumb Genius of the Place had cast a spell of 
 silence on the knocker, or else, outraged, had smitten 
 the noisy disturber with a palsy. 
 
 The girl seemed to know her way ; whether guided
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 73 
 
 by familiarity or by intuition, she led on without 
 hesitation, Kirkwood blundering in her wake, be- 
 tween confusion of impression and dawning dismay 
 conscious of but one tangible thing, to which he 
 clung as to his hope of salvation : those firm, friendly 
 fingers that clasped his own. 
 
 It was as if they wandered on for an hour; prob- 
 ably from start to finish their flight took up three 
 minutes, no more. Eventually the girl stopped, re- 
 leasing his hand. He could hear her syncopated 
 breathing before him, and gathered that something 
 was wrong. He took a step forward. 
 
 " What is it? " 
 
 Her full voice broke out of the obscurity start- 
 lingly close, in his very ear. 
 
 " The door the bolts I can't budge them." 
 
 "Let me . . ." 
 
 He pressed forward, brushing her shoulder. She 
 did not draw away, but willingly yielded place to 
 his hands at the fastenings ; and what had proved im- 
 possible to her, to his strong fingers was a matter of 
 comparative ease. Yet, not entirely consciously, he 
 was not quick. As he tugged at the bolts he was 
 poignantly sensitive to the subtle warmth of her at 
 his side ; he could hear her soft dry sobs of excitement 
 and suspense, punctuating the quiet ; and was fright- 
 ened, absolutely, by an impulse, too strong; for ridi- 
 cule, to take her in his arms and comfort her with
 
 74 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 the assurance that, whatever her trouble, he would 
 stand by her and protect her. ... It were fu- 
 tile to try to laugh it off ; he gave over the endeavor. 
 Even at this critical moment he found himself re- 
 peating over and over to his heart the question: 
 " Can this be love? Can this be love? . . ." 
 
 Could it be love at an hour's acquaintance? Ab- 
 surd ! But he could not laugh nor render himself 
 insensible to the suggestion. 
 
 He found that he had drawn the bolts. The girl 
 tugged and rattled at the knob. Reluctantly the door 
 opened inwards. Beyond its threshold stretched ten 
 feet or more of covered passageway, whose entrance 
 framed an oblong glimmering with light. A 
 draught of fresh air smote their faces. Behind them 
 a door banged. 
 
 " Where does this open ? " 
 
 " On the mews," she informed him. 
 
 " The mews ! " He stared in consternation at the 
 pallid oval that stood for her face. " The mews ! 
 But you, in your evening gown, and I " 
 
 " There's no other way. We must chance it. Are 
 you afraid ? " 
 
 Afraid? . . . He stepped aside. She slipped 
 by him and on. He closed the door, carefully re- 
 moving the key and locking it on the outside; then 
 joined the girl at the entrance to the mews, where 
 they paused perforce, she as much disconcerted as he,
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 75 
 
 his primary objection momentarily waxing in force 
 as they surveyed the conditions circumscribing their 
 escape. 
 
 Quadrant Mews was busily engaged in enjoying 
 itself. Night had fallen sultry and humid, and the 
 walls and doorsteps were well fringed and clustered 
 with representatives of that class of London's popu- 
 lation which infests mews through habit, taste, or 
 force of circumstance. 
 
 On the stoops men sprawled at easy length, dis- 
 cussing short, foul cutties loaded with that rank and 
 odoriferous compound which, under the name and in 
 the fame of tobacco, is widely retailed at tuppence 
 the ounce. Their women-folk more commonly squat- 
 ted on the thresholds, cheerfully squabbling; from 
 opposing second-story windows, two leaned perilously 
 forth, slanging one another across the square briskly 
 in the purest billingsgate; and were impartially 
 applauded from below by an audience whose appre- 
 ciation seemed faintly tinged with envy. Squawking 
 and yelling children swarmed over the flags and rude 
 cobblestones that paved the ways. Like incense, 
 heavy and pungent, the rich effluvia of stable-yards 
 swirled in air made visible by its faint burden of 
 mist. 
 
 Over against the entrance wherein Kirkwood and 
 the girl lurked, confounded by the problem of escap- 
 ing undetected through this vivacious scene ; a stable-
 
 76 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 door stood wide, exposing a dimly illumined interior. 
 Before it waited a four-wheeler, horse already hitched 
 in between the shafts, while its driver, a man of lei- 
 surely turn of mind, made lingering inspection of 
 straps and buckles, and, while Kirkwood watched him, 
 turned attention to the carriage lamps. 
 
 The match which he raked spiritedly down his 
 thigh, flared ruddily ; the succeeding paler glow of 
 the lamp threw into relief a heavy beefy mask, with 
 shining bosses for cheeks and nose and chin ; through 
 narrow slits two cunning eyes glittered like dull gems. 
 Kirkwood appraised him with attention, as one in 
 whose gross carcass was embodied their only hope 
 of unannoyed return to the streets and normal sur- 
 roundings of their world. The difficulty lay in at- 
 tracting the man's attention and engaging him 
 without arousing his suspicions or bringing the pop- 
 ulation about their ears. Though he hesitated long, 
 no favorable opportunity presented itself; and in 
 time the Jehu approached the box with the ostensible 
 purpose of mounting and driving off. In this crit- 
 ical situation the American, forced to recognize 
 that boldness must mark his course, took the girl's 
 fate and his own in his hands, and with a quick 
 word to his companion, stepped out of hiding. 
 
 The cabby had a foot upon the step when Kirk- 
 wood tapped his shoulder. 
 
 *' My man "
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 77 
 
 " Lor, lumme ! " cried the fellow in amaze, pivoting 
 on his heel. Cupidity and quick understanding en- 
 livened the eyes which in two glances looked Kirk- 
 wood up and down, comprehending at once both his 
 badly rumpled hat and patent-leather shoes. " S'help 
 me," thickly, " where'd you drop from, guvner? " 
 
 " That's my affair," said Kirkwood briskly. 
 " Are you engaged ? " 
 
 " If you mykes yerself my fare," returned the 
 cabby shrewdly, " I ham." 
 
 " Ten shillings, then, if you get us out of here in 
 one minute and to say Hyde Park Corner in 
 fifteen." 
 
 " Us ? " demanded the fellow aggressively. 
 
 Kirkwood motioned toward the passageway. 
 " There's a lady with me there. Quick now ! " 
 
 Still the man did not move. " Ten bob," he bar- 
 gained ; " an' you runnin' awye with th' stuffy ol* 
 gent's fair darter ? Come now, guvner, is it gen'rous ? 
 Myke it a quid an' " 
 
 " A pound then. Will you hurry ? " 
 
 By way of answer the fellow scrambled hastily up 
 to the box and snatched at the reins. " Ck! Gee-e 
 hup ! " he cried sonorously. 
 
 By now the mews had wakened to the fact of the 
 presence of a " toff " in its midst. His light top- 
 coat and silk hat rendered him as conspicuous as a red 
 Indian in war-paint would have been on Rotten
 
 78 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Row. A cry of surprise was raised, and drowned 
 in a volley of ribald inquiry and chaff. 
 
 Fortunately, the cabby was instant to rein in 
 skilfully before the passageway, and Kirkwood had 
 the door open before the four-wheeler stopped. The 
 girl, hugging her cloak about her, broke cover 
 (whereat the hue and cry redoubled), and sprang into 
 the body of the vehicle. Kirkwood followed, shut- 
 ting the door. As the cab lurched forward he leaned 
 over and drew down the window-shade, shielding the 
 girl from half a hundred prying eyes. At the same 
 time they gathered momentum, banging swiftly if 
 loudly out of the mews. 
 
 An urchin, leaping on the step to spy in Kirk- 
 wood's window, fell off, yelping, as the driver's whip- 
 lash curled about his shanks. 
 
 The gloom of the tunnel inclosed them briefly ere 
 the lights of the Hog-in-the-Pound flashed by and 
 the wheels began to roll more easily. Kirkwood drew 
 back with a sigh of relief. 
 
 " Thank God ! " he said softly. 
 
 The girl had no words. 
 
 Worried by her silence, solicitous lest, the strain 
 ended, she might be on the point of fainting, he let 
 up the shade and lowered the window at her side. 
 
 She seemed to have collapsed in her corner. 
 Against the dark upholstery her hair shone like pale 
 gold in the half-light; her eyes were closed and she
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 79 
 
 held a handkerchief to her lips; the other hand lay 
 limp. 
 
 " Miss Calendar? " 
 
 She started, and something bulky fell from the seat 
 and thumped heavily on the floor. Kirkwood bent to 
 pick it up, and so for the first time was made aware 
 that she had brought with her a small black gladstone 
 bag of considerable weight. As he placed it on the 
 forward seat their eyes met. 
 
 " I didn't know " he began. 
 
 " It was to get that," she hastened to explain,. 
 " that my father sent me . . ." 
 
 " Yes," he assented in a tone indicating his com- 
 plete comprehension. " I trust . . . "he added 
 vaguely, and neglected to complete the observation, 
 losing himself in a maze of conjecture not wholly 
 agreeable. This was a new phase of the adventure. 
 He eyed the bag uneasily. What did it contain? 
 How did he know ? 
 
 Hastily he abandoned that line of thought. He 
 had no right to infer anything whatever, who had 
 thrust himself uninvited into her concerns unin- 
 vited, that was to say, in the second instance, having 
 been once definitely given his conge. Inevitably, how- 
 ever, a thousand unanswerable questions pestered him ; 
 just as, at each fresh facet of mystery disclosed by 
 the sequence of the adventure, his bewilderment deep- 
 ened.
 
 80 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 The girl stirred restlessly. " I have been think- 
 ing," she volunteered in a troubled tone, " that there 
 is absolutely no way I know of, to thank you 
 properly." 
 
 " It is enough if I've been useful," he rose in gal- 
 lantry to the emergency. 
 
 " That," she commented, " was very prettily said. 
 But then I hare never known any one more kind and 
 courteous and and considerate, than you." There 
 was no savor of flattery in the simple and direct state- 
 ment; indeed, she was looking away from him, out 
 of the window, and her face was serious with thought ; 
 she seemed to be speaking of, rather than to, Kirk- 
 wood. " And I have been wondering," she continued 
 with unaffected candor, " what you must be thinking 
 of me." 
 
 " I ? . . . What should I think of you, Miss 
 Calendar? " 
 
 With the air of a weary child she laid her head 
 against the cushions again, face to him, and watched 
 him through lowered lashes, unsmiling. 
 
 " You might be thinking that an explanation is due 
 you. Even the way we were brought together was 
 extraordinary, Mr. Kirkwood. You must be very 
 generous, as generous as you have shown yourself 
 brave, not to require some sort of an explanation of 
 me." 
 
 " I don't see it that way."
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 81 
 
 " I do. . . . You have made me like you very 
 much, Mr. Kirkwood." 
 
 He shot her a covert glance causelessly, for her 
 naivete was flawless. With a feeling of some slight 
 awe he understood this a sensation of sincere rever- 
 ence for the unspoiled, candid, child's heart and mind 
 that were hers. " I'm glad," he said simply ; " very 
 glad, if that's the case, and presupposing I deserve 
 it. Personally," he laughed, " I seem to myself to 
 have been, rather forward." 
 
 " No; only kind and a gentleman." 
 
 " But please ! " he protested. 
 
 " Oh, but I mean it, every word ! Why shouldn't 
 I? In a little while, ten minutes, half an hour, we 
 shall have seen the last of each other. Why should 
 I not tell you how I appreciate all that you have un- 
 selfishly done for me?" 
 
 "If you put it that way, I'm sure I don't know; 
 beyond that it embarrasses me horribly to have you 
 overestimate me so. If any courage has been shown 
 this night, it is yours. . . . But I'm forgetting 
 again." He thought to divert her. "Where shall I 
 tell the cabby to go this time, Miss Calendar?" 
 
 "Craven Street, please," said the girl, and added 
 a house number. "I am to meet my father there, 
 with this, ' ' indicating the gladstone bag. 
 
 Kirkwood thrust head and shoulders out the window 
 and instructed the cabby accordingly; but his ruse
 
 82 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 had been ineffectual, as he found when he sat back 
 again. Quite composedly the girl took up the thread 
 of conversation where it had been broken off. 
 
 "It's rather hard to keep silence, when you've been 
 so good. I don't want you to think me less generous 
 than yourself, but, truly, I can tell you nothing." 
 She sighed a trace resentfully; or so he thought. 
 "There is little enough in this this wretched af- 
 fair, that I understand myself; and that little, I may 
 not tell. . . . I want you to know that. " 
 
 "I understand, Miss Calendar." 
 
 "There's one thing I may say, however. I have 
 done nothing wrong to-night, I believe," she added 
 quickly. 
 
 "I've never for an instant questioned that," he 
 returned with a qualm of shame; for what he said 
 was not true. 
 
 "Thank you . . ." 
 
 The four-wheeler swung out of Oxford Street into 
 Charing Cross Road. Kirkwood noted the fact with 
 a feeling of some relief that their ride was to be so 
 short; like many of his fellow-sufferers from "the 
 artistic temperament,'* he was acutely disconcerted by 
 spoken words of praise and gratitude ; Miss Calendar, 
 unintentionally enough, had succeeded only in render- 
 ing him self-conscious and ill at ease. 
 
 Nor had she fully relieved her mind, nor voiced all 
 that perturbed her. "There's one thing more," she
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 83 
 
 said presently : " my father. I I hope you will 
 think charitably of him." 
 
 " Indeed, I've no reason or right to think other- 
 wise." 
 
 " I was afraid afraid his actions might have 
 seemed peculiar, to-night . . ." 
 
 " There are lots of things I don't understand, Miss 
 Calendar. Some day, perhaps, it will all clear up, 
 this trouble of yours. At least, one supposes it is 
 trouble, of some sort. And then you will tell me 
 the whole story. . . . Won't you? " Kirkwood 
 insisted. 
 
 " I'm. afraid not," she said, with a smile of 
 shadowed sadness. " We are to say good night in a 
 moment or two, and it will be good-by as well. 
 It's unlikely that we shall ever meet again." 
 
 " I refuse positively to take such a gloomy view 
 of the case ! " 
 
 She shook her head, laughing with him, but with 
 shy regret. " It's so, none the less. We are leaving 
 London this very night, my father and I leaving 
 England, for that matter." 
 
 "Leaving England?" he echoed. "You're not 
 by any chance bound for America, are you ? " 
 
 "I . .... can't tell you." 
 
 " But you can tell me this : are you booked on the 
 Minneapolis? " 
 
 " No-o ; it is a quite another boat."
 
 84 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Of course ! " he commented savagely. " It 
 wouldn't be me to have any sort of luck ! " 
 
 She made no reply beyond a low laugh. He stared 
 gloomily out of his window, noting indifferently that 
 they were passing the National Gallery. On their 
 left Trafalgar Square stretched, broad and bare, a 
 wilderness of sooty stone with an air . of mutely toler- 
 ating its incongruous fountains. Through Charing 
 Cross roared a tide-rip of motor-busses and hackney 
 carriages. 
 
 Glumly the young man foresaw the passing of hi& 
 abbreviated romance; their destination was near at 
 hand. Brentwick had been right, to some extent, at 
 least ; it was quite true that the curtain had been rung 
 up that very night, upon Kirkwood's Romance; un- 
 happily, as Brentwick had not foreseen, it was imme 
 diately to be rung down. 
 
 The cab rolled soberly into the Strand. 
 
 " Since we are to say good-by so very soon," sug j 
 gested Kirkwood, " may I ask a parting favor, Miss 
 Calendar? " 
 
 She regarded him with friendly eyes. " You have 
 every right," she affirmed gently. 
 
 " Then please to tell me frankly : are you going 
 into any further danger? " 
 
 " And is that the only boon you crave at my hands, 
 Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 " Without impertinence . . ."
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 85 
 
 For a little time, waiting for him to conclude his 
 vague phrase, she watched him in an expectant si- 
 lence. But the man was diffident to a degree 
 At length, somewhat unconsciously, " I think not," 
 she answered. " No ; there will be no danger await- 
 ing me at Mrs. Hallam's. You need not fear for me 
 any more. . . . Thank you." 
 
 He lifted his brows at the unfamiliar name. " Mrs. 
 Hallam ? " 
 
 " I am going to her house in Craven Street." 
 
 " Your father is to meet you there ? " persist- 
 ently. 
 
 " He promised to." ! 
 
 "But if he shouldn't?" 
 
 " Why ..." Her eyes clouded ; she pursed 
 her lips over the conjectural annoyance. " Why, in 
 that event, I suppose ... It -would be very em- 
 barrassing. You see, I don't know Mrs. Hallam ; I 
 don't know that she expects me, unless my father is 
 already there. They are old friends. ... I 
 could drive round for a while and come back, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 But she made it plain that the prospect did not 
 please her. 
 
 " Won't you let me ask if Mr. Calender is there, be- 
 fore you get out, then? I don't like to be dis- 
 missed," he laughed ; " and, you know, you shouldn't 
 go wandering round all alone."
 
 86 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 The cab drew up. Kirkwood put a hand on the 
 door and awaited her will. 
 
 " It it would be very kind ... I hate to 
 dmpose upon you." 
 
 He turned the knob and got out. " If you'll wait 
 one moment," he said superfluously, as he closed the 
 door. 
 
 Pausing only to verify the number, he sprang up 
 the steps and found the bell-button. 
 
 It was a modest little residence, in nothing more 
 remarkable than its neighbors, unless it was for 
 a certain air of extra grooming: the area railing 
 was sleek with fresh black paint; the doorstep looked 
 the better for vigorous stoning ; the door itself was 
 immaculate, its brasses shining lustrous against 
 red-lacquered woodwork. A soft glow filled the fan- 
 light. Overhead the drawing-room windows shone 
 with a cozy, warm radiance. 
 
 The door opened, framing the figure of a maid 
 sketched broadly in masses of somber black and dead 
 white. 
 I " Can you tell me, is Mr. Calendar here? " 
 
 The servant's eyes left his face, looked past him at 
 the waiting cab, and returned. 
 
 " I'm not sure, sir. If you will please step in." 
 
 Kirkwood hesitated briefly, then acceded. The 
 maid closed the door. 
 
 " What name shall I say, sir? "
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 87 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood." 
 
 " If you will please to wait one moment, sir " 
 
 He was left in the entry hall, the servant hurrying 
 to the staircase and up. Three minutes elapsed; he 
 was on the point of returning to the girl, when the 
 maid reappeared. 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam says, will you kindly step up-stairs, 
 sir." 
 
 Disgruntled, he followed her; at the head of the 
 stairs she bowed him into the drawing-room and again 
 left him to his own resources. 
 
 Nervous, annoyed, he paced the floor from wall to 
 wall, his footfalls silenced by heavy rugs. As the 
 delay was prolonged he began to fume with impa- 
 tience, wondering, half regretting that he had left the 
 girl outside, definitely sorry that he had failed to 
 name his errand more explicitly to the maid. At an- 
 other time, in another mood, he might have accorded 
 more appreciation to the charm of the apartment, 
 which, betraying the feminine touch in every detail 
 of arrangement and furnishing, was very handsome 
 in an unconventional way. But he was quite heedless 
 of externals. 
 
 Wearied, he deposited himself sulkily in an arm- 
 chair by the hearth. 
 
 From a boudoir on the same floor there came mur- 
 murs of two voices, a man's and a woman's. The 
 latter laughed prettily.
 
 88 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Oh, any time ! " snorted the American. " Any 
 time you're through with your confounded flirtation, 
 Mr. George B. Calendar ! " 
 
 The voices rose, approaching. " Good night," 
 said the woman gaily ; " farewell and good luck go 
 with you ! " 
 
 " Thank you. Good night," replied the man more 
 conservatively. 
 
 Kirkwood rose, expectant. 
 
 There was a swish of draperies, and a moment 
 later he was acknowledging the totally unlooked- 
 for entrance of the mistress of the house. He 
 had thought to see Calendar, presuming him to be the 
 man closeted with Mrs. Hallam ; but, whoever that 
 had been, he did not accompany the w.oman. Indeed, 
 as she advanced from the doorway, Kirkwood could 
 hear the man's footsteps on the stairs. 
 
 " This is Mr. Kirkwood ? " The note of inquiry 
 in the well-trained voice a very alluring voice and 
 one pleasant to listen to, he thought made it seem 
 as though she had asked, point-blank, " WJio is Mr. 
 Kirkwood? " 
 
 \ He bowed, discovering himself in the presence of 
 ; an extraordinarily handsome and interesting woman ; 
 a woman of years which as yet had not told upon her, 
 of experience that had not availed to harden her, at 
 least in so far as her exterior charm of personality 
 was involved; a woman, in brief, who bore close in-
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 89 
 
 spection well, despite an elusive effect of maturity, not 
 without its attraction for men. Kirkwood was im- 
 pressed that it would be very easy to learn to like 
 Mrs. Hallam more than well with her approval. 
 
 Although he had not anticipated it, he was not at 
 all surprised to recognize in her the woman who, if he 
 were not mistaken, had slipped to Calendar that warn- 
 ing in the dining-room of the Pless. Kirkwood's 
 state of mind had come to be such, through his ex- 
 periences of the past few hours, that he would have 
 accepted anything, however preposterous, as a com- 
 monplace happening. But for that matter there was 
 nothing particularly astonishing in this rencontre. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Hallam. You were asking for Mr. 
 Calendar? " 
 
 " He was to have been here at this hour, I be- 
 lieve," said Kirkwood. 
 
 "Yes?" There was just the right inflection of 
 surprise in her carefully controlled tone. 
 
 He became aware of an undercurrent of feeling; 
 that the woman was estimating him shrewdly with her 
 fine direct eyes. He returned her regard with admir- 
 ing interest; they were gray-green eyes, deep-set but 
 large, a little shallow, a little changeable, calling to 
 mind the sea on a windy, cloudy day. 
 
 Below stairs a door slammed. 
 
 " I am not a detective, Mrs. Hallam," announced 
 the young man suddenly. " Mr. Calendar required
 
 90 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 a service of me this evening; I am here in natural 
 consequence. If it was Mr. Calendar who left this 
 house just now, I am. wasting time." 
 
 " It was not Mr. Calendar." The fine-lined brows 
 arched in surprise, real or pretended, at his first 
 blurted words, and relaxed ; amused, the woman 
 laughed deliciously. " But I am expecting him any 
 moment ; he was to have been here half an hour since. 
 . . . Won't you wait? " 
 
 She indicated, with a gracious gesture, a chair, and 
 took for herself one end of a davenport. " I'm sure 
 he won't be long, now." 
 
 " Thank you, I will return, if I may." Kirkwood 
 moved toward the door. 
 
 " But there's no necessity " She seemed in- 
 sistent on detaining him, possibly because she ques- 
 tioned his motive, possibly for her own divertisement. 
 
 Kirkwood deprecated his refusal with a smile. 
 " The truth is, Miss Calendar is waiting in a cab, 
 outside. I " 
 
 " Dorothy Calendar ! " Mrs. Hallam rose alertly. 
 " But why should she wait there? To be sure, we've 
 never met; but I have known her father for many 
 years." Her eyes held steadfast to his face ; shallow, 
 flawed by her every thought, like the sea by a cat's- 
 paw he found them altogether inscrutable ; yet received 
 an impression that their owner was now unable to 
 account for him.
 
 MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER 91 
 
 She swung about quickly, preceding him to the 
 door and down the stairs. " I am sure Dorothy will 
 come in to wait, if I ask her," she told Kirkwood in a 
 high sweet voice. " I'm so anxious to know her. It's 
 quite absurd, really, of her to stand on ceremony 
 with me, when her father made an appointment here. 
 I'll run out and ask " 
 
 Mrs. Hallam's slim white fingers turned latch and 
 knob, opening the street door, and her voice died away 
 as she stepped out into the night. For a moment, to 
 Kirkwood, tagging after her with an uncomfortable 
 sense of having somehow done the wrong thing, her 
 figure full fair shoulders and arms rising out of 
 the glittering dinner gown cut a gorgeous silhou- 
 ette against the darkness. Then, with a sudden, im- 
 perative gesture, she half turned towards him. 
 
 " But," she exclaimed, perplexed, gazing to right 
 and left, " but the cab, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 He was on the stoop a second later. Standing be- 
 side her, he stared blankly. 
 
 To the left the Strand roared, the stream of its 
 night-life in high spate; on the right lay the Em- 
 bankment, comparatively silent and deserted, if bril- 
 liant with its high-swung lights. Between the two, 
 quiet Craven Street ran, short and narrow, and wholly 
 innocent of any form of equipage.
 
 VI 
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 
 
 In silence Mrs. Hallam turned to Kirkwood, her 
 pose in itself a question and a peremptory one. Her 
 eyes had narrowed; between their lashes the green 
 showed, a thin edge like jade, cold and calculating. 
 The firm lines of her mouth and chin had hardened. 
 
 Temporarily dumb with consternation, he returned 
 her stare as silently. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam," he stammered, " I " 
 
 She lifted her shoulders impatiently and with a 
 quick movement stepped back across the threshold, 
 where she paused, a rounded arm barring the en- 
 trance, one hand grasping the door-knob, as if to 
 shut him out at any moment. 
 
 " I'm awaiting your explanation," she said coldly. 
 
 He grinned with nervousness, striving to penetrate 
 the mental processes of this handsome Mrs. Hallam. 
 She seemed to regard him with a suspicion which he 
 thought inexcusable. Did she suppose he had spir- 
 ited Dorothy Calendar away and then called to apprise 
 her of the fact? Or that he was some sort of an ad- 
 
 92
 
 "BELOW BRIDGE" 93 
 
 venturer, who had manufactured a plausible yarn to 
 gain him access to her home ? Or harking back to 
 her original theory that he was an emissary from 
 Scotland Yard? . . . Probably she distrusted 
 him on the latter hypothesis. The reflection left him 
 more at ease. 
 
 " I am quite as mystified as you, Mrs. Hallam," 
 he began. " Miss Calendar was here, at this door, 
 in a four-wheeler, not ten minutes ago, and " 
 
 " Then where is she now ? " 
 
 " Tell me where Calendar is," he retorted, inspired, 
 " and I'll try to answer you ! " 
 
 But her eyes were blank. " You mean ? " 
 
 " That Calendar was in this house when I came ; 
 that he left, found his daughter in the cab, and drove 
 off with her. It's clear enough." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken," she said thoughtfully. 
 " George Calendar has not been here this night." 
 
 He wondered that she did not seem to resent his 
 imputation. " I think not " 
 
 " Listen ! " she cried, raising a warning hand ; and 
 relaxing her vigilant attitude, moved forward once 
 more, to peer down toward the Embankment. 
 
 A cab had cut in from that direction and was 
 bearing down upon them with a brisk rumble of 
 hoofs. As it approached, Kirkwood's heart, that had 
 lightened, was weighed upon again by disappoint- 
 ment. It was no foti ^-wheeler, but a hansom, and the
 
 94 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 open wings of the apron, disclosing a white triangle 
 of linen surmounted by a glowing spot of fire, be- 
 trayed the sex of the fare too plainly to allow of 
 further hope that it might be the girl returning. 
 
 At the door, the cab pulled up sharply and a man 
 tumbled hastily out upon the sidewalk. 
 
 " Here ! " he cried throatily, tossing the cabby his 
 fare, and turned toward the pair upon the doorstep, 
 evidently surmising that something was amiss. For 
 he was Calendar in proper person, and a sight to 
 upset in a twinkling Kirkwood's ingeniously builded 
 castle of suspicion. 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam ! " he cried, out of breath. " >S my 
 daughter here? " And then, catching sight of Kirk- 
 wood's countenance : " Why, hello, Kirkwood ! " he 
 saluted him with a dubious air. 
 
 The woman interrupted hastily. " Please come in, 
 Mr. Calendar. This gentleman has been inquiring 
 for you, with an astonishing tale about your daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 " Dorothy ! " Calendar's moon-like visage was 
 momentarily divested of any trace of color. " What 
 of her? " 
 
 " You had better come in," advised Mrs. Hallam 
 brusquely. 
 
 The fat adventurer hopped hurriedly across the 
 threshold, Kirkwood following. The woman shut 
 the door, and turned with back to it, nodding sig-
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE 95 
 
 nificantly at Kirkwood as her eyes met Calendar's. 
 
 " Well, well? " snapped the latter impatiently, 
 turning to the young man. 
 
 But Kirkwood was thinking quickly. For the 
 present he contented himself with a deliberate state- 
 ment of fact : " Miss Calendar has disappeared." It 
 gave him an instant's time. ..." There's 
 something damned fishy ! " he told himself. " These 
 two are playing at cross-purposes. Calendar's no 
 fool; he's evidently a crook, to boot. As for the 
 woman, she's had her eyes open for a number of 
 years. The main thing's Dorothy. She didn't van- 
 ish of her own initiative. And Mrs. Hallam knows, 
 or suspects, more than she's going to tell. I don't 
 think she wants Dorothy found. Calendar does. So 
 do I. Ergo: I'm for Calendar." 
 
 " Disappeared ? " Calendar was barking at him. 
 "How? When? Where?" 
 
 " Within ten, minutes," said Kirkwood. " Here, 
 let's get it straight. . . . With her permission 
 I brought her here in a four-wheeler." He was care- 
 fully suppressing all mention of Frognall Street, and 
 in Calendar's glance read approval of the elision. 
 " She didn't want to get out, unless you were here. 
 I asked for you. The maid showed me up-stairs. I 
 left your daughter in the cab and by the way, I 
 hadn't paid the driver. That's funny, too! Per- 
 haps six or seven minutes after I came in Mrs. Hal'
 
 96 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 lam found out that Miss Calendar was with me and 
 wanted to ask her in. When we got to the door 
 no cab. There you have it all." 
 
 " Thanks it's plenty," said Calendar dryly. He 
 bent his head in thought for an instant, then looked 
 up and fixed Mrs. Hallam with an unprejudiced eye, 
 " I say ! " he demanded explosively. " There wasn't 
 any one here that knew eh? " 
 
 Her fine eyes wavered and fell before his ; and 
 Kirkwood remarked that her under lip was curiously 
 drawn in. 
 
 " I heard a man leave as Mrs. Hallam joined me, v/ 
 he volunteered helpfully, and with a suspicion of 
 malice. " And after that I paid no attention at 
 the time it seems to me I did hear a cab in the 
 street " 
 
 " Ow? " interjected Calendar, eying the woman 
 steadfastly and employing an exclamation of com- 
 bined illumination and inquiry more typically British 
 than anything Kirkwood had yet heard from the man. 
 
 For her part, the look she gave Kirkwood was 
 sharp with fury. It was more; it was a mistake, a 
 flaw in her diplomacy; for Calendar intercepted it. 
 Unceremoniously he grasped her bare arm with his 
 fat hand. 
 
 " Tell me who it was," he demanded in an ugly 
 tone. 
 
 She freed herself with a twist, and stepped back,
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 97 
 
 a higher color in her cheeks, a flash of anger in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Mr. Mulready," she retorted defiantly. " What 
 of that?" 
 
 " I wish I was sure," declared the fat adventurer, 
 exasperated. " As it is, I bet a dollar you've put 
 your foot in it, my lady. I warned you of that black- 
 guard. . . . There! The mischief 'r. done; we 
 won't row over it. One moment. 5 ' He begged it 
 with a wave of his hand; stood ~x>nc3ring briefly, 
 fumbled for his watch, found rnc consulted it. 
 " It's the barest chance," he mutt^-ed. " Perhaps 
 we can make it." 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " asked the woman. 
 
 " Give Mister Mulready a run for his money. 
 Come along, Kirkwood; we haven't a minute. Mrs. 
 Hallam, permit us . . ." She stepped aside and 
 he brushed past her to the door. " Come, Kirk- 
 wood ! " 
 
 He seemed to take Kirkwood's company for 
 granted; and the young man was not inclined to 
 argue the point. Meekly enough he fell in with Cal- 
 endar on the sidewalk. Mrs. Hallam followed them 
 out. " You won't forget ? " she called tentatively. 
 
 " I'll 'phone you if we find out anything." Cal- 
 endar jerked the words unceremoniously over his 
 shoulder as, linking arms with Kirkwood, he drew 
 him swiftly along. They heard her shut the door;
 
 98 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 instantly Calendar stopped. " Look here, did Dor- 
 othy have a a small parcel with her? " 
 
 " She had a gladstone bag." 
 
 " Oh, the devil, the devil ! " Calendar started on 
 again, .muttering distractedly. As they reached the 
 Corner he disengaged his arm. " We've a minute and 
 a half to reach Charing Cross Pier; and I think it's 
 the last boat. You set the pace, will you? But 
 remember I'm an oldish man and and fat." 
 
 They began to run, the one easily, the other lum- 
 bering after like an, old-fashioned square-rigged ship 
 paced by a liner. 
 
 Beneath the railway bridge, in front of the Under- 
 ground station, the cab-rank cried them on with sar- 
 donic view-halloos ; and a bobby remarked them with 
 suspicion, turning to watch as they plunged round 
 the corner and across the wide Embankment. 
 
 The Thames appeared before them, a river of ink 
 on whose burnished surface lights swam in long wind- 
 ing streaks and oily blobs. By the floating pier a 
 County Council steamboat strained its hawsers, snor- 
 ing huskily. Bells were jingling in her engine-room 
 as the two gained the head of the sloping gangway. 
 
 Kirkwood slapped a shilling down on the ticket- 
 window ledge. " Where to? " he cried back to Cal- 
 endar. 
 
 " Cherry Gardens Pier," rasped the winded man. 
 He stumbled after Kirkwood, groaning with exhaus~
 
 "BELOW BRIDGE* 99 
 
 tion. Only the tolerance of the pier employees gained 
 them their end; the steamer was held some seconds 
 for them; as Calendar staggered to its deck, the 
 gangway was jerked in, the last hawser cast off.; 
 The boat sheered wide out on the river, then shot in, 
 arrow-like, to the pier beneath Waterloo Bridge. 
 
 The deck was crowded and additional passengers 
 embarked at every stop. In the circumstances con- 
 versation, save on the most impersonal topics, was 
 impossible; and even had it been necessary or ad- 
 visable to discuss the affair which occupied their 
 minds, where so many ears could hear, Calendar had 
 breath enough neither to answer nor to catechize 
 Kirkwood. They found seats on the forward deck 
 and rested there in grim silence, both fretting under 
 the enforced restraint, while the boat darted, like some 
 illuminated and exceptionally active water insect, 
 from pier to pier. 
 
 As it snorted beneath London Bridge, Calendar's 
 impatience drove him from his seat back to the gang- 
 way. " Next stop," he told Kirkwood curtly ; and 
 rested his heavy bulk against the paddle-box, brood- 
 ing morosely, until, after an uninterrupted run of 
 more than a mile, the steamer swept in, side- wheels 
 backing water furiously against the ebbing tide, to 
 Cherry Gardens landing. 
 
 Sweet name for a locality unsavory beyond cre- 
 dence ! ... As they emerged on the street level
 
 100 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and turned west on Bermondsey Wall, Kirkwood was 
 fain to tug his top-coat over his chest and button it 
 tight, to hide his linen. In a guarded tone he coun- 
 seled his companion to do likewise; and Calendar, 
 after a moment's blank, uncomprehending stare, ac- 
 knowledged the wisdom of the advice with a grunt. 
 
 The very air they breathed was rank with fetid 
 odors bred of the gaunt dark warehouses that lined 
 their way ; the lights were few ; beneath the looming 
 buildings the shadows were many and dense. Here 
 and there dreary and cheerless public houses appeared, 
 with lighted windows conspicuous in a lightless waste. 
 From time to time, as they hurried on, they encoun- 
 tered, and made wide detours to escape contact with 
 knots of wayfarers men debased and begrimed, 
 with dreary and slatternly women, arm in arm, zig- 
 zaging widely across the sidewalks, chorusing with 
 sodden voices the burden of some popularized ballad. 
 The cheapened, sentimental refrains echoed sadly be- 
 tween benighted walls. 
 
 Kirkwood shuddered, sticking close to Calendar's 
 side. Life's naked brutalities had theretofore been 
 largely out of his ken. He had heard of slums, had 
 even ventured to mouth politely moral platitudes on 
 the subject of overcrowding in great centers of popu- 
 lation, but in the darkest flights of imagination had 
 never pictured to himself anything so unspeakably 
 foul and hopeless as this. . . , And they were
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 101 
 
 come hither seeking Dorothy Calendar! He was 
 unable to conceive what manner of villainy could be 
 directed against her, that she must be looked for in 
 such surroundings. 
 
 After some ten minutes' steady walking, Calendar 
 turned aside with a muttered word, and dived down a 
 covered, dark and evil-smelling passageway that 
 seemed to lead toward the river. 
 
 Mastering his involuntary qualms, Kirkwood fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 Some ten or twelve paces from its entrance the pas- 
 sageway swerved at a right angle, continuing three 
 yards or so to end in a blank wall, wherefrom a 
 flickering, inadequate gas-lamp jutted. At this point 
 a stone platform, perhaps four feet square, was dis- 
 covered, from the edge of which a flight of worn and 
 slimy stone steps led down to a permanent boat-land- 
 ing, where another gas-light flared gustily despite the 
 protection of its frame of begrimed glass. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " exclaimed the young man. 
 "What, in Heaven's name, Calendar ?" 
 
 " Bermondsey Old Stairs. Come on." 
 
 They descended to the landing-stage. Beneath 
 them the Pool slept, a sheet of polished ebony, 
 whispering to itself, lapping with small stealthy gur- 
 gles angles of masonry and ancient piles. On the 
 farther bank tall warehouses reared square old-time 
 heads, their uncompromising, rugged profile relieved
 
 102 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 here and there by tapering mastheads. A few, scat- 
 tering, feeble lights were visible. Nothing moved 
 save the river and the wind. 
 
 i The landing itself they found quite deserted ; some- 
 jthing which the adventurer comprehended with a nod 
 which, like its accompanying, inarticulate ejaculation, 
 might have been taken to indicate either satisfaction 
 or disgust. He ignored Kirkwood altogether, for the 
 time being, and presently produced a small, bright 
 object, which, applied to his lips, proved to be a 
 boatswain's whistle. He sounded two blasts, one 
 long, one brief. 
 
 There fell a lull, Kirkwood watching the other and 
 wondering what next would happen. Calendar 
 paced restlessly to and fro upon the narrow landing, 
 now stopping to incline an ear to catch some antici- 
 pated sound, now searching with sweeping glances the 
 black reaches of the Pool. 
 
 Finally, consulting his watch, " Almost ten," he 
 announced. 
 
 "We're m time?" 
 
 "Can't say. . . . Damn! . * . If that 
 infernal boat would only show up " 
 
 He was lifting the whistle to sound a second sum- 
 mons when a rowboat rounded a projecting angle 
 formed by the next warehouse down stream, and 
 with clanking oar-locks swung in toward the landing. 
 On her thwarts two figures, dipping and rising,
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 103 
 
 labored with the sweeps. As they drew in, the man 
 forward shipped his blades, and rising, scrambled 
 to the bows in order to grasp an iron mooring- 
 ring set in the wall. The other awkwardly took in 
 his oars and, as the current swung the stern down- 
 stream, placed a hand palm downward upon the bot- 
 tom step to hold the boat steady. 
 
 Calendar waddled to the brink of the stage, 
 grunting with relief. 
 
 " The other man ? " he asked brusquely. " Has he 
 gone aboard? Or is this the first trip to-night? " 
 
 One of the watermen nodded assent to the latter 
 question, adding gruffly : " Seen nawthin' of 'im, 
 sir." 
 
 " Very good," said Calendar, as if he doubted 
 whether it were very good or bad. " We'll wait a 
 bit." 
 
 " Right-o ! " agreed the waterman civilly. 
 
 Calendar turned back, his small eyes glimmering 
 with satisfaction. Fumbling in one coat pocket he 
 brought to light a cigar-case. " Have a smoke? " 
 he suggested with a show of friendliness. " By 
 Heaven, I was beginnin' to get worried ! " 
 
 "As to what?" inquired Kirkwood pointedly, 
 selecting a cigar. 
 
 He got no immediate reply, but felt Calendar's 
 sharp eyes upon him while he manoeuvered with 
 matches for a light.
 
 104 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 "That's so," it came at length. "You don't 
 know. I kind of forgot for a minute; somehow you 
 seemed on the inside." 
 
 Kirkwood laughed lightly. " I've experienced 
 something of the same sensation in the past few 
 hours." 
 
 " Don't doubt it." Calendar was watching him 
 narrowly. " I suppose," he put it to him abruptly, 
 " you haven't changed your mind? " 
 
 " Changed my mind? " 
 
 " About coming in with me." 
 
 " My dear sir, I can have no mind to change until 
 a plain proposition is laid before me." 
 
 " Hmm ! " Calendar puffed vigorously until it 
 occurred to him to change the subject. " You won't 
 mind telling me what happened to you and Dor- 
 othy? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 Calendar drew nearer and Kirkwood, lowering his 
 voice, narrated briefly the events since he had left the 
 Pless in Dorothy's company. 
 
 Her father followed him intently, interrupting now 
 and again with exclamation or pertinent question ; as, 
 Had Kirkwood been able to see the face of the man 
 in No. 9, Frognall Street? The negative answer 
 seemed to disconcert him. 
 
 " Youngster, you say ? Blam' if I can lay my 
 mind to him! Now if that Mulready "
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 105 
 
 " It would have been impossible for Mulready 
 whoever he is to recover and get to Craven Street 
 before we did," Kirkwood pointed out. 
 
 " Well go on." But when the tale was told, 
 " It's that scoundrel, Mulready ! " the man affirmed 
 with heat. " It's his hand I know him. I might 
 have had sense enough to see he'd take the first chance 
 to hand me the double-cross. Well, this does for him, 
 all right ! " Calendar lowered viciously at the river. 
 " You've been blame' useful," he told Kirkwood as- 
 sertively. " If it hadn't been for you, I don't know 
 where Pd be now, nor Dorothy, either," an 
 obvious afterthought. " There's no particular way I 
 can show my appreciation, I suppose? Money ? " 
 
 " I've got enough to last me till I reach New York, 
 thank you." 
 
 " Well, if the time ever comes, just shout for 
 George B. I won't be wanting. ... I only 
 wish you were with us; but that's out of the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 "Doubtless ..." 
 
 " No two ways about it. I bet anything you've 
 got a conscience concealed about your person. What? 
 You're an honest man, eh? " 
 
 " I don't want to sound immodest," returned Kirk- 
 wood, amused. 
 
 " You don't need to worry about that. . . . 
 But an honest man's got no business in my line." He
 
 106 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 glanced again at his watch. " Damn that Mulready ! 
 I wonder if he was 'cute enough to take another way ? 
 Or did he think . . . The fool ! " 
 
 He cut off abruptly, seeming depressed by the 
 thought that he might have been outwitted; and, 
 clasping hands behind his back, chewed savagely 
 on his cigar, watching the river. Kirkwood found 
 himself somewhat wearied; the uselessness of his 
 presence there struck him with added force. He be- 
 thought him of his boat-train, scheduled to leave a 
 station miles distant, in an hour and a half. If he 
 missed it, he would be stranded in a foreign land, 
 penniless and practically without friends Brent- 
 wick being away and all the rest of his circle of 
 acquaintances on the other side of the Channel. Yet 
 he lingered, in poor company, daring fate that he 
 might see the end of the affair. Why? 
 
 There was only one honest answer to that question. 
 He stayed on because of his interest in a girl whom 
 he had known for a matter of three hours, at most. 
 It was insensate folly on his part, ridiculous from 
 any point of view. But he made no move to go. 
 
 The slow minutes lengthened monotonously. 
 
 There came a sound from the street level. Cal- 
 endar held up a hand of warning. " Here they come ! 
 Steady ! " he said tensely. Kirkwood, listening in- 
 tently, interpreted the noise as a clash of hoofs upon 
 cobbles.
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 107 
 
 Calendar turned to the boat. 
 
 " Sheer off," he ordered. " Drop out of sight. 
 I'll whistle when I want you." 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 The boat slipped noiselessly away with the current 
 and in an instant was lost to sight. Calendar plucked 
 at Kirkwood's sleeve, drawing him into the shadow of 
 the steps. " E-easy," he whispered ; " and, I say, 
 lend me a hand, will you, if Mulready turns ugly ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," assented Kirkwood, with a nonchalance 
 not entirely unassumed. 
 
 The racket drew nearer and ceased ; the hush that 
 fell thereafter seemed only accentuated by the purling 
 of the river. It was ended by footsteps echoing in 
 the covered passageway. Calendar craned his thick 
 neck round the shoulder of stone, reconnoitering the 
 landing and stairway. 
 
 " Thank God ! " he said under his breath. " I was 
 right, after all ! " 
 
 A man's deep tones broke out above. " This way. 
 Mind the steps ; they're a bit slippery, Miss Dor- 
 othy." 
 
 "But my father ?" came the girl's voice, at- 
 tuned to doubt. 
 
 " Oh, he'll be along if he isn't waiting now, in 
 the boat." 
 
 They descended, the man leading. At the foot, 
 without a glance to right or left, he advanced to the
 
 108 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 edge of the stage, leaning out over the rail as if en- 
 deavoring to locate the rowboat. At once the girl 
 appeared, moving to his side. 
 
 " But, Mr. Mulready " 
 
 The girl's words were drowned by a prolonged 
 blast on the boatswain's whistle at her companion's 
 lips ; the shorter one followed in due course. Calen- 
 dar edged forward from Kirkwood's side. 
 
 " But what shall we do if my father isn't here ? 
 Wait?" 
 
 "No; best not to; best to get on the Aleihea as 
 soon as possible, Miss Calendar. We can send the 
 boat back." 
 
 " ' Once aboard the lugger the girl is mine ' eh, 
 Mulready ? to say nothing of the loot ! " 
 
 If Calendar's words were jocular, his tone con- 
 veyed a different impression entirely. Both man and 
 girl wheeled right about to face him, the one with a 
 strangled oath, the other with a low cry. 
 
 " The devil ! " exclaimed this Mr. Mulready. 
 
 " Oh ! My father ! " the girl voiced her recogni- 
 tion of him. 
 
 " Not precisely one and the same person," com- 
 mented Calendar suavely. " But er thanks, 
 just as much. . . . You see, Mulready, when I 
 make an appointment, I keep it." 
 
 " We'd begun to get a bit anxious about you " 
 Mulready began defensively.
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 109 
 
 " So I surmised, from what Mrs. Hallam and Mr. 
 Kirkwood told me. . . . Well?" 
 
 The man found no ready answer. He fell back a 
 pace to the railing, his features working with his 
 deep chagrin. The murky flare of the gas-lamp 
 overhead fell across a face handsome beyond the 
 ordinary but marred by a sullen humor and seamed 
 with indulgence: a face that seemed hauntingly fa- 
 miliar until Kirkwood in a flash of visual memory re- 
 constructed the portrait of a man who lingered over 
 a dining-table, with two empty chairs for company. 
 This, then, was he whom Mrs. Hallam had left at 
 the Pless ; a tall, strong man, very heavy about the 
 chest and shoulders. 
 
 " Why, my dear friend," Calendar was taunting 
 him, "you don't seem overjoyed to see me, for all 
 your wild anxiety ! 'Pen my word, you act as if you 
 hadn't expected me and our engagement so clearly 
 understood, at that ! . . . Why, you fool ! " 
 here the mask of irony was cast. " Did you think 
 for a moment I'd let myself be nabbed by that yap 
 from Scotland Yard? Were you banking on that? 
 I give you my faith I ambled out under his very! 
 nose ! Dorothy, my dear," turning impa- 
 
 tiently from Mulready, " where's that bag ? " 
 
 The girl withdrew a puzzled gaze from Mulready's 
 face, (it was apparent to Kirkwood that this phase 
 of the affair was no more enigmatic to him than to
 
 110 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 her), and drew aside a corner of her cloak, disclos- 
 ing the gladstone bag, securely grasped in one gloved 
 hand. 
 
 " I have it, thanks to Mr. Kirkwood," she said 
 quietly. 
 
 Kirkwood chose that moment to advance from the 
 shadow. Mulready started and fixed him with a trou- 
 bled and unfriendly stare. The girl greeted him with 
 a note of sincere pleasure in her surprise. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Kirkwood ! . . . But I left you 
 at Mrs. Hallam's!" 
 
 Kirkwood bowed, smiling openly at Mulready's dis- 
 comfiture. 
 
 " By your father's grace, I came with him," he 
 said. " You ran away without saying good night, 
 you know, and I'm a jealous creditor." 
 
 She laughed excitedly, turning to Calendar. " But 
 you were to meet me at Mrs. Hallam's ? " 
 
 " Mulready was good enough to try to save me the 
 trouble, my dear. He's an unselfish soul, Mulready. 
 Fortunately it happened that I came along not five 
 minutes after he'd carried you off. How was that, 
 Dorothy?" 
 
 Her glance wavered uneasily between the two, Mul- 
 ready and her father. The former, shrugging to de- 
 clare his indifference, turned his back squarely upon 
 them. She frowned. 
 
 " He came out of Mrs. Hallam's and got into the
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 111 
 
 four-wheeler, saying you had sent him to take your 
 place, and would join us on the Alethea." 
 
 " So-o ! How about it, Mulready ? " 
 
 The man swung back slowly. " What you choose 
 to think," he said after a deliberate pause. 
 
 " Well, never mind ! We'll go over the matter at 
 our leisure on the Alethea." 
 
 There was in the adventurer's tone a menace, bitter 
 and not to be ignored; which Mulready, saw fit to 
 challenge. 
 
 "I think not," he declared; "I think not. I'm 
 weary of your addle-pated suspicions. It'd be plain 
 to any one but a fool that I acted for the best inter- 
 ests of all concerned in this matter. If you're not 
 content to see it in that light, I'm done." 
 
 " Oh, if you want to put it that way, I'm not con- 
 tent, Mr. Mulready," retorted Calendar danger- 
 ously. 
 
 " Please yourself. I bid you good evening and 
 good-by." The man took a step toward the 
 stairs. 
 
 Calendar dropped his right hand into his top-coat 
 pocket. " Just a minute," he said sweetly, and 
 Mulready stopped. Abruptly the fat adventurer's 
 smoldering resentment leaped in flame. " That'll be 
 about all, Mr. Mulready ! 'Bout face, you hound, 
 and get into that boat ! D' you think I'll temporize 
 with you till Doomsday? Then forget it. You're
 
 112 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 wrong, dead wrong. Your bluff's called, and " 
 with an evil chuckle " I hold a full house, Mul- 
 ready, every chamber taken." He lifted meaningly 
 the hand in the coat pocket. " Now, in with you." 
 
 With a grin and a swagger of pure bravado Mul- 
 ready turned and obeyed. Unnoticed of any, save 
 perhaps Calendar himself, the boat had drawn in at 
 the stage a moment earlier. Mulready dropped into 
 it and threw himself sullenly upon the midships 
 thwart. 
 
 " Now, Dorothy, in you go, my dear," continued 
 Calendar, with a self-satisfied wag of his head. 
 
 Half dazed, to all seeming, she moved toward the 
 boat. With clumsy and assertive gallantry her fa- 
 ther stepped before her, offering his hand, his 
 hand which she did not touch ; for, in the act of de- 
 scending, she remembered and swung impulsively back 
 to Kirkwood. 
 
 " Good night, Mr. Kirkwood ; good night, I 
 shan't forget." 
 
 He took her hand and bowed above it ; but when his 
 head was lifted, he still retained her fingers in a lin- 
 gering clasp. 
 
 " Good night," he said reluctantly. 
 
 The crass incongruity of her in that setting smote 
 him with renewed force. Young, beautiful, dainty, 
 brilliant and graceful in her pretty evening gown, she 
 figured strangely against the gloomy background of
 
 " BELOW BRIDGE " 113 
 
 the river, in those dull and mean surroundings of dank 
 stone and rusted iron. She was like (he thought ex- 
 travagantly) a whiff of flower-fragrance lost in the 
 miasmatic vapors of a slough. 
 
 The innocent appeal and allure of her face, up- 
 turned to his beneath the gas-light, wrought com- 
 passionately upon his sensitive and generous heart. 
 He was aware of a little surge of blind rage against 
 the conditions that had brought her to that spot, 
 and against those whom he held responsible for those 
 conditions. 
 
 In a sudden flush of daring he turned and nodded 
 coolly to Calendar. " With your permission," he 
 said negligently ; and drew the girl aside to the angle 
 of the stairway. 
 
 " Miss Calendar " he began ; but was inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 "Here I say!" 
 
 Calendar had started toward him angrily. 
 
 Kirkwood calmly waved him back. " I want a 
 word in private with your daughter, Mr. Calendar," 
 he announced with quiet dignity. " I don't think 
 you'll deny me? I've saved you some slight trouble 
 to-night." 
 
 Disgruntled, the adventurer paused. " Oh all 
 right," he grumbled. " I don't see what . . ." 
 He returned to the boat. 
 
 " Forgive me, Miss Calendar," continued Kirkwood
 
 114 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 nervously. " I know I've no right to interfere, 
 but " 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 " but hasn't this gone far enough?" he flound- 
 ered unhappily. " I can't like the look of things. 
 Are you sure sure that it's all right with you, I 
 mean? " 
 
 She did not answer at once ; but her eyes were kind 
 and sympathetic. He plucked heart of their toler- 
 ance. 
 
 " It isn't too late, yet," he argued. " Let me take 
 you to your friends, you must have friends in the 
 city. But this this midnight flight down the 
 Thames, this atmosphere of stealth and suspicion, 
 this " 
 
 " But my place is with my father, Mr. Kirkwood," 
 she interposed. " I daren't doubt him dare I ? " 
 
 "I . . . suppose not." 
 
 " So I must go with him. . . . I'm glad 
 thank you for caring, dear Mr. Kirkwood. And 
 again, good night." 
 
 " Good luck attend you," he muttered, following 
 her to the boat. 
 
 Calendar helped her in and turned back to Kirk- 
 wood with a look of arch triumph; Kirkwood won- 
 dered if he had overheard. Whether or no, he could 
 afford to be magnanimous. Seizing Kirkwood'a 
 hand, he pumped it vigorously.
 
 BELOW BRIDGE " 115 
 
 " My dear boy, you've been an angel in disguise ! 
 And I guess you think me the devil in masquerade." 
 He chuckled, in high conceit with himself over the 
 turn of affairs. " Good night and and fare thee 
 well ! " He dropped into the boat, seating himself 
 to face the recalcitrant Mulready. " Cast off, 
 there ! " 
 
 The boat dropped away, the oars lifting and fall- 
 ing. With a weariful sense of loneliness and disap- 
 pointment, Kirkwood hung over the rail to watch them 
 out of sight. 
 
 A dozen feet of water lay between the stage and 
 the boat. The girl's dress remained a spot of cheer- 
 ful color; her face was a blur. As the watermen 
 swung the bows down-stream, she looked back, lifting 
 an arm spectral in its white sheath. Kirkwood raised 
 his hat. 
 
 The boat gathered impetus, momentarily diminish- 
 ing in the night's illusory perspective; presently it 
 was little more than a fugitive blot, gliding swiftly in 
 midstream. And then, it was gone entirely, engulfed 
 by the obliterating darkness. 
 
 Somewhat wearily the young man released the rail- 
 ing and ascended the stairs. " And that is the end ! " 
 he told himself, struggling with an acute sense of 
 personal injury. He had been hardly used. For a 
 few hours his life had been lightened by the ineffable 
 glamor of Romance; mystery, and adventure had en-
 
 116 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 gaged him, exorcising for the time the Shade of 
 Care; he had served a fair woman and been associ- 
 ated with men whose ways, however questionable, were 
 the ways of courage, hedged thickly about with per- 
 ils. 
 
 All that was at an end. Prosaic and workaday to- 
 morrows confronted him in endless and dreary per- 
 spective ; and he felt again upon his shoulder the 
 bony hand of his familiar, Care. . . . 
 
 He sighed: "Ah, well!" 
 
 Disconsolate and aggrieved, he gained the street. 
 He was miles from St. Pancras, foot-weary, to all in- 
 tents and purposes lost. 
 
 In this extremity, Chance smiled upon him. The 
 cabby who, at his initial instance, had traveled this 
 weary way from Quadrant Mews, after the manner 
 of his kind, ere turning back, had sought surcease of 
 fatigue at the nearest public; from afar Kirkwood 
 saw the four-wheeler at the curb, and made all haste 
 toward it. 
 
 Entering the gin-mill he found the cabby, soothed 
 him with bitter, and, instructing him for St. Pan- 
 cras with all speed, dropped, limp and listless with 
 fatigue, into the conveyance. 
 
 As it moved, he closed his eyes; the face of 
 Dorothy Calendar shone out from the blank wall of 
 his consciousness, like an illuminated picture cast upon 
 a screen. She smiled upon him, her head high, her
 
 BELOW BRIDGE " 117 
 
 eyes tender and trustful. And he thought that her 
 scarlet lips were sweet with promise and her glance 
 a-brim with such a light as he had never dreamed to 
 know. 
 
 And now that he knew it and desired it, it was too 
 late ; an hour gone he might, by a nod of his head, 
 have cast his fortunes with hers for weal or woe. 
 But now . . . 
 
 Alas and alackaday, that Romance was no more!
 
 VII 
 
 DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN, RESUMED 
 
 From the commanding elevation of the box, " Three 
 'n 5 six," enunciated the cabby, his tone that of a 
 man prepared for trouble, acquainted with trouble, 
 inclined to give trouble a welcome. His bloodshot 
 eyes blinked truculently at his alighted fare. 
 " Three 'n' six," he iterated aggressively. 
 
 An adjacent but theretofore abstracted policeman 
 pricked up his ears and assumed an intelligent ex- 
 pression. * 
 
 " Bermondsey OP Stairs to Sain' Pancras," argued 
 the cabby assertively ; " seven mile by th' radius ; 
 three 'n' six ! " 
 
 Kirkwood stood on the outer station platform, near 
 the entrance to third-class waiting-rooms. Continu- 
 ing to fumble through his pockets for an elusive sov- 
 ereign purse, he looked up mildly at the man. 
 
 " All right, cabby," he said, with pacific purpose ; 
 " you'll get your fare in half a shake." 
 
 " Three 'n' six ! " croaked the cabby, like a blowsy 
 and vindictive parrot. 
 
 The bobby strolled nearer. 
 118
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 119 
 
 " Yes ? " said Kirkwood, mildly diverted. " Why 
 not sing it, cabby?" 
 
 " Lor' lumme ! " The cabby exploded with indig- 
 nation, continuing to give a lifelike imitation of a 
 rumpled parrot. " I 'ad trouble enough wif you at 
 Bermondsey OP Stairs, hover that quid you promised, 
 didn't I? Sing it! My heye!" 
 
 " Quid, cabby?" And then, remembering that he 
 had promised the fellow a sovereign for fast driving 
 from Quadrant Mews, Kirkwood grinned broadly, eyes 
 twinkling; for Mulready must have fallen heir to 
 that covenant. " But you got the sovereign ? You 
 got it, didn't you, cabby ? " 
 
 The driver affirmed the fact with unnecessary heat 
 and profanity and an amendment to the effect that 
 he would hsLve spoiled his fare's sanguinary conk had 
 the outcome been less satisfactory. 
 
 The information proved so amusing that Kirkwood, 
 chuckling, forbore to resent the manner of its de- 
 livery, and, abandoning until a more favorable time 
 the chase of the coy sovereign purse, extracted from 
 one trouser pocket half a handful of large English 
 small change. 
 
 " Three shillings, six-pence," he counted the coins 
 into the cabby's grimy and bloated paw; and added 
 quietly : " The exact distance is rather less than 
 four miles, my man ; your fare, preciselytwo shillings. 
 You may keep the extra eighteen pence, for being
 
 120 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 such a conscientious blackguard, or talk it over with 
 the officer here. Please yourself." 
 
 He nodded to the bobby, who, favorably impressed 
 by the silk hat which Kirkwood, by diligent applica- 
 tion of his sleeve during the cross-town ride, had man- 
 aged to restore to a state somewhat approximating 
 its erstwhile luster, smiled at the cabby a cold, hard 
 smile. Whereupon the latter, smirking in unabashed 
 triumph, spat on the pavement at Kirkwood's feet, 
 gathered up the reins, and wheeled out. 
 
 "A 'ard lot, sir," commented the policeman, jerk- 
 ing his helmeted head towards the vanishing four- 
 wheeler. 
 
 " Right you are," agreed Kirkwood amiably, still 
 tickled by the knowledge that Mulready had been 
 obliged to pay three times over for the ride that ended 
 in his utter discomfiture. Somehow, Kirkwood had 
 conceived no liking whatever for the man ; Calendar 
 he could, at a pinch, tolerate for his sense of humor, 
 but Mulready ! "A surly dog," he thought 
 him. 
 
 Acknowledging the policeman's salute and restor- 
 ing two shillings and a few fat copper pennies to his 
 pocket, he entered the vast and echoing train-shed. 
 In the act, his attention was attracted and immediately 
 riveted by the spectacle of a burly luggage navvy in 
 a blue jumper in the act of making off with a large, 
 folding sign-board, of which the surface was lettered
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 121 
 
 expansively with the advice, in red against a white 
 background : 
 
 BOAT-TRAIN LEAVES ON TEACK 3 
 
 Incredulous yet aghast the young man gave in- 
 stant chase to the navvy, overhauling him with no 
 great difficulty. For your horny-handed British 
 working-man is apparently born with two golden 
 aphorisms in his mouth : " Look before you leap," 
 and " Haste makes waste." He looks continually, 
 seldom, if ever, leaps, and never is prodigal of his 
 leisure. 
 
 Excitedly Kirkwood touched the man's arm with a 
 detaining hand. "Boat-train?" he gasped, point- 
 ing at the board. 
 
 " Left ten minutes ago, thank you, sir." 
 
 " Wel-1, but . . . ! Of course I can get an- 
 other train at Tilbury ? " 
 
 " For yer boat? No, sir, thank you, sir. Won't 
 be another tryne till mornin', sir." 
 
 "Oh-h! . . ." 
 
 Aimlessly Kirkwood drifted away, his mind a 
 blank. 
 
 Sometime later he found himself on the steps out- 
 side the station, trying to stare out of countenance a 
 glaring electric mineral-water advertisement on the 
 farther side of the Euston Road.
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 He was stranded. . . . 
 
 Beyond the spiked iron fence that enhedges the 
 incurving drive, the roar of traffic, human, wheel and 
 hoof, rose high for all the lateness of the hour: 
 sidewalks groaning with the restless contact of hun- 
 dreds of ill-shod feet ; the roadway thundering 
 hansoms, four-wheelers, motor-cars, dwarfed coster- 
 mongers' donkey-carts and ponderous, rumbling, 
 C.-P. motor-vans, struggling for place and progress. 
 For St. Pancras never sleeps. 
 
 The misty air swam luminous with the light of elec- 
 tric signs as with the radiance of some lurid and 
 sinister moon. The voice of London sounded in Kirk- 
 wood's ears, like the ominous purring of a somnolent 
 brute beast, resting, gorged and satiated, ere rising 
 again to devour. To devour 
 
 Stranded! . 
 
 Distracted, he searched pocket after pocket, locat- 
 ing his watch, cigar- and cigarette-cases, match-box, 
 penknife all the minutiae of pocket-hardware af- 
 fected by civilized man ; with old letters, a card-case, 
 a square envelope containing his steamer ticket; but 
 no sovereign purse. His small-change pocket held 
 less than three shillings two and eight, to be exact 
 and a brass key, which he failed to recognize as 
 one of his belongings. 
 
 And that was all. At sometime during the night 
 he had lost (or been cunningly bereft of?) that little
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 123 
 
 purse of chamois-skin containing the three golden 
 sovereigns which he had been husbanding to pay his 
 steamer expenses, and which, if only he had them now, 
 would stand between him and starvation and a night 
 in the streets. 
 
 And, searching his heart, he found it brimming 
 with gratitude to Mulready, for having relieved him 
 of the necessity of settling with the cabby. 
 
 "Vagabond?" said Kirkwood musingly. "Vaga- 
 bond? " He repeated the word softly a number of 
 times, to get the exact flavor of it, and found it little 
 to his taste. And yet . . . 
 
 Pie thrust both hands deep in his trouser pockets 
 and stared purposelessly into space, twisting his eye- 
 brows out of alignment and crookedly, protruding his 
 lower lip. 
 
 If Brentwick were only in town ! But he wasn't, 
 and wouldn't be, within the week. 
 
 " No good waiting here," he concluded. Compos- 
 ing his face, he reentered the station. There were his 
 trunks, of course. He couldn't leave them, standing 
 on the station platform for ever. 
 
 He found the luggage-room and interviewed a me-* 
 chanically courteous attendant, who, as the result of 
 profound deliberation, advised him to try his luck at 
 the lost-luggage room, across the station. He ac- 
 cepted the advice; it was a foregone conclusion that 
 his effects had not been conveyed to the Tilbury dock ;
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 they could not have been loaded into the luggage van 
 without his personal supervision. Still, anything was 
 liable to happen when his unlucky star was in the as- 
 cendant. 
 
 V 
 
 He found them in the lost-luggage room. 
 
 A clerk helped him identify the articles and ulti- 
 mately clucked with a perfunctory note : " Sixpence 
 each, please." 
 
 "I ah pardon?" 
 
 " Sixpence each, the fixed charge, sir. For every 
 twenty-four hours or fraction thereof, sixpence per 
 parcel." 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much," said Kirkwood sweetly. 
 " I will call to-morrow." 
 
 " Very good, sir. Thank you, sir." 
 
 " Five times sixpence is two-and-six," Kirkwood 
 computed, making his way hastily out of the station, 
 lest a worse thing befall him. " No, bless your heart ! 
 not while two and eight represents the sum total 
 of my fortune." 
 
 He wandered out into the night ; he could not linger 
 round the station till dawn ; and what profit to him if 
 he did? Even were he to ransom his trunks, one can 
 scarcely change one's clothing in a public waiting- 
 room. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance a great clock chimed a 
 single stroke, freighted sore with melancholy. It 
 knelled the passing of the half -hour after midnight;
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 125 
 
 a witching hour, when every public shuts up tight, 
 and gentlemen in top-hats and evening dress are 
 doomed to pace the pave till day (barring they have 
 homes or visible means of support) till day, when 
 pawnshops open and such personal effects as watches 
 and hammered silver cigar-cases may be hypothecated. 
 
 Sable garments fluttering, Care fell into step with 
 Philip Kirkwood ; Care the inexorable slipped a skele- 
 ton arm through his and would not be denied; Care 
 the jade clung affectionately to his side, refusing to 
 be jilted. 
 
 " Ah, you thought you would forget me ? " 
 chuckled the fleshless lips by his ear. " But no, my 
 boy ; I'm with you now, for ever and a day. ' Misery 
 loves company/ and it wouldn't be pretty of me to de- 
 sert you in this extremity, would it? Come, let us 
 beguile the hours till dawn with conversation. Here's 
 a sprightly subject: What are you going to do, Mr. 
 Kirkwood? What are you, going to do? " 
 
 But Kirkwood merely shook a stubborn head and 
 gazed straight before him, walking fast through ways 
 he did not recognize, and pretending not to hear. 
 None the less the sense of Care's solicitous query 
 struck like a pain into his consciousness. What was 
 he to do? 
 
 An hour passed. 
 
 Denied the opportunity to satisfy its beast hunger 
 and thirst, humanity goes off to its beds. In that hour
 
 126 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 London quieted wonderfully; the streets achieved an 
 effect of deeper darkness, the skies, lowering, looked 
 down with a blush less livid for the shamelessness of 
 man ; cab ranks lengthened ; solitary footsteps added 
 unto themselves loud, alarming, off ensive echoes ; po- 
 licemen, strolling with lamps blazing on their breasts, 
 became as lightships in a trackless sea ; each new-found 
 street unfolded its perspective like a canyon of mys- 
 tery, arid yet teeming with a hundred masked hazards ; 
 the air acquired a smell more clear and clean, an effect 
 more volatile ; and the night-mist thickened until it 
 studded one's attire with myriads of tiny buttons, 
 bright as diamond dust. 
 
 Through this long hour Kirkwood walked without 
 a pause. 
 
 Another clock, somewhere, clanged resonantly twice. 
 
 The world was very still. . . . 
 
 And so, wandering foot-loose in a wilderness of 
 ways, turning aimlessly, now right, now left, he 
 found himself in a street he knew, yet seemed not to 
 know : a silent, black street one brief block in length, 
 walled with dead and lightless dwellings, haunted by 
 his errant memory; a street whose atmosphere was 
 'heavy with impalpable essence of desuetude ; in 
 two words, Frognall Street. 
 
 Kirkwood identified it with a start and a guilty 
 tremor. He stopped stock-still, in an unreasoning 
 state of semi-panic, arrested by a silly impulse to turn
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 127 
 
 and fly ; as if the bobby, whom he descried approach- 
 ing him with measured stride, pausing now and again 
 to try a door or flash his bull's-eye down an area, were 
 to be expected to identify the man responsible for that 
 damnable racket raised ere midnight in vacant Num- 
 ber 9! 
 
 Oddly enough, the shock of recognition brought 
 him to his senses, temporarily. He was even able 
 to indulge himself in a quiet, sobering grin at his 
 own folly. He passed the policeman with a nod and 
 a cool word in response to the man's good-natured, 
 " Good-night, sir." Number 9 was on the other side 
 of the street; and he favored its blank and dreary 
 elevation with a prolonged and frank stare that 
 profited him nothing, by the way. For a crazy no- 
 tion popped incontinently into his head, and would 
 not be cast forth. 
 
 At the corner he swerved and crossed, still pos- 
 sessed of his devil of inspiration. It would be unfair 
 to him to say that he did not struggle to resist it, for 
 he did, because it was fairly and egregiously asinine; 
 yet struggling, his feet trod the path to which it 
 tempted him. 
 
 "Why," he expostulated feebly, "I might's well' 
 turn back and beat that bobby over the head with my 
 cane! . . ." 
 
 But at the moment his hand was in his change 
 pocket, feeling over that same brass door-key which
 
 ,128 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 earlier he had been unable to account for, and he was 
 informing himself how very easy it would have been 
 for the sovereign purse to have dropped from his 
 waistcoat pocket while he was sliding on his ear down 
 the dark staircase. To recover it meant, at the least, 
 shelter for the night, followed by a decent, comfort- 
 &Ble and sustaining morning meal. Fortified by both 
 he could redeem his luggage, change to clothing more 
 suitable for daylight traveling, pawn his valuables, 
 and enter into negotiations with the steamship com- 
 pany for permission to exchange his passage, with a 
 sum to boot, for transportation on another liner. A 
 most feasible project! A temptation all but irresist- 
 ible! 
 
 But then the risk. . . . Supposing (for 
 the sake of argument.) the customary night-watch- 
 man to have taken up a transient residence in Num- 
 ber 9 ; supposing the police to have entered with him 
 and found the stunned man on the second floor : would 
 the watchman not be vigilant for another nocturnal 
 marauder? would not the police now, more than ever, 
 be keeping a wary eye on that house of suspicious 
 happenings ? 
 
 Decidedly, to reenter it would be to incur a deadly 
 risk. And yet, undoubtedly, beyond question! his 
 sovereign purse was waiting for him somewhere on the 
 second flight of stairs; whileas his means of clan- 
 i destine entry lay warm in his fingers the key to
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 129 
 
 the dark entry, which he had by force of habit 
 pocketed after locking the door. 
 
 He came to the Hog-in-the-Pound. Its windows 
 were dim with low-turned gas-lights. Down the cov- 
 ered alleyway, Quadrant Mews slept in a dusk but fit- 
 fully relieved by a lamp or two round which the 
 friendly mist clung close and thick. 
 
 There would be none to see 
 
 Skulking, throat swollen with fear, heart beating 
 like a snare-drum, Kirkwood took his chance. But- 
 toning his overcoat collar up to his chin and cursing 
 the fact that his hat must stand out like a chimney- 
 pot on a detached house, he sped on tiptoe down the 
 cobbled way and close beneath the house-walls of 
 Quadrant Mews. But, half-way in, he stopped, con- 
 founded by an unforeseen difficulty. How was he to 
 identify the narrow entry of Number 9, whose coun- 
 terparts doubtless communicated with the mews from 
 every residence on four sides of the city block? 
 
 The low inner tenements were yet high enough to 
 hide the rear elevations of Frognall Street houses, and 
 the mist was heavy besides ; otherwise he had made shift 
 to locate Number 9 by ticking off the dwellings from 
 the corner. If he went on, hit or miss, the odds were 
 anything-you-please to one that he would blunder into 
 the servant's quarters of some inhabited house, and 
 be promptly and righteously sat upon by the service- 
 staff, while the bobby was summoned.
 
 130 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Be that as it might he almost lost his head when; 
 he realized this escape was already cut off by the 
 way he had come. Some one, or, rather, some two 
 men were entering the alley. He could hear the 
 tramping and shuffle of clumsy feet, and voices that 
 muttered indistinctly. One seemed to trip over some- 
 thing, and cursed. The other laughed; the voices 
 grew more loud. They were coming his way. He 
 dared no longer vacillate. 
 
 But which passage should he choose? 
 
 He moved on with more haste than discretion. One 
 heel slipped on a cobble time-worn to glassy smooth- 
 ness ; he lurched, caught himself up in time to save 
 a fall, lost his hat, recovered it, and was discovered. 
 A voice, maudlin with drink, hailed and called upon 
 him to stand and give an account of himself, " like 
 a goo' feller." Another tempted him with offers of 
 drink and sociable confabulation. He yielded not; 
 adamantine to the seductive lure, he picked up his 
 heels and ran. Those behind him, remarking with re- 
 sentment the amazing fact that an intimate of the 
 mews should run away from liquor, cursed and made 
 after him, veering, staggering, howling like ravening 
 animals. 
 
 For all their burden of intoxication, they knew 
 the ground by instinct and from long associa- 
 tion. They gained on him. Across the way a win- 
 dow-sash went up with a bang, and a woman screamed.
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN i!31 
 
 Through the only other entrance to the mews a be- 
 lated cab was homing; its driver, getting wind of 
 the unusual, pulled up, blocking the way, and added 
 his advice to the uproar. 
 
 Caught thus between two fires, and with his perse- 
 cutors hard upon him, Kirkwood dived into the 
 nearest black hole of a passageway and in sheer des- 
 peration flung himself, key in hand, against the door 
 at the end. Mark how his luck served him who had 
 forsworn her! He found a keyhole and inserted the 
 key. It turned. So did the knob. The door gave 
 inward. He fell in with it, slammed it, shot the bolts, 
 and, panting, leaned against its panels, in a pit of 
 everlasting night but saved ! for the time being, 
 at all events. 
 
 Outside somebody brushed against one wall, can- 
 noned to the other, brought up with a crash against 
 the door, and, perforce at a standstill, swore from his 
 heart. 
 
 "Gorblimy!" he declared feelingly. "I'd 'a' 
 took my oath I sore 'm run in 'ere ! " And then, in 
 answer to an inaudible question : " No, 'e ain't. 
 Gorn an' let the fool go to 'ell. 'Oo wants 'im to 
 share goo' liker? Not I! . . ." 
 
 Joining his companion he departed, leaving behind 
 him a trail of sulphur-tainted air. The mews quieted 
 gradually. 
 
 Indoors Kirkwood faced unhappily the enigma of
 
 132 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 fortuity, wondering: Was this by any possibility 
 Number 9? 
 
 The key had fitted ; the bolts -had been drawn on 
 the inside ; and while the key had been one of ordinary 
 pattern and would no doubt have proven effectual 
 with any one of a hundred common locks, the finger 
 of probability seemed to indicate that his luck had 
 brought him back to Number 9. 
 
 In spite of all this, he was sensible of little confi- 
 dence ; though this were truly Number 9, his freedom 
 still lay on the knees of the gods, his very life, be- 
 like, was poised, tottering, on a pinnacle of chance. 
 
 In the end, taking heart of desperation, he stooped 
 and removed his shoes ; a precaution which later ap- 
 pealed to his sense of the ridiculous, in view of the 
 racket he had raised in entering, but which at the 
 moment seemed most natural and in accordance with 
 common sense. Then rising, he held his breath, star- 
 ing and listening. About him the pitch darkness was 
 punctuated with fading points of fire, and in his ears 
 was a noise of strange whisperings, very creepy 
 until, gritting his teeth, he controlled his nerves and 
 gradually realized that he was alone, the silence un- 
 disturbed. 
 
 He went forward gingerly, feeling his way like 
 a blind man on strange ground. Ere long he 
 stumbled over a door-sill and found that the walls of 
 the passage had fallen away ; he had entered a room,
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 133 
 
 a black cavern of indeterminate dimensions. Across 
 this he struck at random, walked himself flat against 
 a wall, felt his way along to an open door, and passed 
 through to another apartment as dark as the first. 
 Here, endeavoring to make a circuit of the walls, he 
 succeeded in throwing himself bodily across a bed, 
 which creaked horribly ; and for a full minute lay as 
 he had fallen, scarce daring to think. But nothing 
 followed, and he got up and found a shut door which 
 let him into yet a third room, wherein he barked both 
 shins on a chair; and escaped to a fourth whose at- 
 mosphere was highly flavored with reluctant odors of 
 bygone cookery, stale water and damp plumbing 
 probably the kitchen. Thence progressing over 
 complaining floors through what may have been the 
 servants' hall, a large room with a table in the middle 
 and a number of promiscuous chairs (witness his tor- 
 tured shins!), he finally blundered into the basement 
 hallway. 
 
 By now a little calmer, he felt assured that this 
 was really Number 9, Frognall Street, and a little! 
 happier about it all, though not even momentarily 
 forgetful of the potential police and night-watchman. 
 However, he mounted the steps to the ground floor 
 without adventure and found himself at last in the 
 same dim and ghostly hall which he had entered some 
 six hours before ; the mockery of dusk Admitted by 
 the fan-light was just strong enough to enable him
 
 134 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 to identify the general lay of the land and arrange- 
 ment of furniture. 
 
 More confidently with each uncontested step, he 
 'Continued his quest. Elation was stirring his spirit 
 when he gained the first floor and moved toward the 
 foot of the second flight, approaching the spot 
 whereat he was to begin the search for the missing 
 jpurse. The knowledge that he lacked means of ob- 
 taining illumination deterred him nothing ; he had 
 some hope of finding matches in one of the adjacent 
 rooms, but, failing that, was prepared to ascend 
 the stairs on all fours, feeling every inch of their 
 surface, if it took hours. Ever an optimistic soul, 
 instinctively inclined to father faith with a hope, he 
 felt supremely confident that his search would not 
 prove fruitless, that he would win early release from 
 his temporary straits. 
 
 And thus it fell out that, at the instant he was 
 thinking it time to begin to crawl and hunt, his 
 stockinged feet came into contact with something 
 heavy, yielding, warm something that moved, 
 moaned, and caused his hair to bristle and his flesh to 
 creep. 
 
 We will make allowances for him ; all along he had 
 gone on the assumption that his antagonist of the 
 dark stairway would have recovered and made off with 
 all expedition, in the course of ten or twenty min- 
 utes, at most, from the time of his accident. To find
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 135 
 
 him still there was something entirely outside of 
 Kirkwood's reckoning: he would as soon have 
 thought to encounter say, Calendar, would have 
 preferred the latter, indeed. But this fellow whose 
 disability was due to his own interference, who was 
 reasonably to be counted upon to raise the very deuce 
 and all of a row 1 
 
 The initial shock, however shattering to his 
 equanimity, soon lost effect. The man evidently re- 
 mained unconscious, in fact had barely moved ; while 
 the moan that Kirkwood heard, had been distressingly; 
 faint. 
 
 " Poor devil ! " murmured the young man. " He 
 must be in a pretty bad way, for sure ! " He knelt, 
 compassion gentling his heart, and put one hand to 
 the insentient face. A warm sweat moistened his fin- 
 gers ; his palm was fanned by steady respiration. 
 
 Immeasurably perplexed, the American rose, slipped 
 on his shoes and buttoned them, thinking hard the 
 while. What ought he to do? Obviously flight sug- 
 gested itself, incontinent flight, anticipating the 
 man's recovery. On the other hand, indubitably the 
 latter had sustained such injury that consciousness,* 
 when it came to him, would hardly be reinforced by 
 much aggressive power. Moreover, it was to be re- 
 membered that the one was in that house with quite 
 as much warrant as the other, unless Kirkwood had 
 drawn a rash inference from the incident of the
 
 136 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 ragged sentry. The two of them were mutual, if 
 antagonistic, trespassers; neither would dare bring 
 about the arrest of the other. And then and this 
 was not the least consideration to influence Kirkwood 
 perhaps the fellow would die if he got no atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Kirkwood shut his teeth grimly. " I'm no assas- 
 sin," he informed himself, " to strike and run. If 
 I've maimed this poor devil and there are conse- 
 quences, I'll stand 'em. The Lord knows it doesn't 
 matter a damn to anybody, not even to me, what hap- 
 pens to me ; while Tie may be valuable." 
 
 Light upon the subject, actual as well as figur- 
 ative, seemed to be the first essential ; his mind com- 
 posed, Kirkwood set himself in search of it. The 
 floor he was on, however, afforded him no assistance ; 
 the mantels were guiltless of candles and he discov- 
 ered no matches, either in the wide and silent draw- 
 ing-room, with its ghastly furniture, like mummies in 
 their linen swathings, or in the small boudoir at the 
 back. He was to look either above or below, it 
 seemed. 
 
 After some momentary hesitation, he went up-stairs, 
 his ascent marked by a single and grateful accident ; 
 half-way to the top he trod on an object that clinked 
 underfoot, and, stooping, retrieved the lost purse. 
 Thus was he justified of his temerity; the day was 
 saved that is, to-morrow was.
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 137 
 
 The rooms of the second-floor were bedchambers, 
 broad, deep, stately, inhabited by seven devils of lone- 
 liness. In one, on a dresser, Kirkwood found a stump 
 of candle in a china candlestick ; the two charred ends 
 of matches at its base were only an irritating dis- 
 covery, however evidence that real matches had been 
 the mode in Number 9, at some remote date. Dis- 
 gusted and oppressed by cumulative inquisitiveness, 
 he took the candle-end back to the hall ; he would 
 have given much for the time and means to make a 
 more detailed investigation into the secret of the 
 house. 
 
 Perhaps it was mostly his hope of chancing on 
 some clue to the mystery of Dorothy Calender be- 
 witching riddle that she was! that fascinated his 
 imagination so completely. Aside from her alto- 
 gether, the great house that stood untenanted, yet in 
 such complete order, so self-contained in its dark- 
 ened quiet, intrigued him equally with the train of 
 inexplicable events that had brought him within its 
 walls. Now since his latest entrance his vision 
 had adjusted itself to cope with the obscurity 
 to some extent; and the street lights, meagerly re- 
 flected through the windows from the bosom of a sullen 
 pall of cloud, low-swung above the city, had helped 
 him to piece together many a detail of decoration and 
 furnishing, alike somber and richly dignified. Kirk- 
 wood told himself that the owner, whoever he might
 
 138 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 be, was a man of wealth and taste inherited from 
 another age ; he had found little of meretricious to- 
 day in the dwelling 1 , much that was solid and sedate 
 and homely and Victorian. . . . He could 
 liave wished for more ; a box of early Victorian vestas 
 had been highly acceptable. 
 
 Making his way down-stairs to the stricken man 
 who was quite as he had been Kirkwood bent over 
 and thrust rifling fingers into his pockets, regardless 
 of the wretched sense of guilt and sneakishness im- 
 parted by the action, stubbornly heedless of the possi- 
 bility of the man's awakening to find himself being 
 searched and robbed. 
 
 In the last place he sought, which should (he real- 
 ized) have been the first, to wit, the fob pocket of 
 the white waistcoat, he found a small gold match- 
 box, packed tight with wax vestas; and, berating 
 himself for crass stupidity he had saved a deal of 
 time and trouble by thinking of this before lighted 
 the candle. 
 
 As its golden flame shot up with scarce a tremor, 
 ,pre} 7 ed upon by a perfectly excusable concern, he 
 bent to examine the man's countenance. . . . The 
 arm which had partly hidden it had fallen back into 
 a natural position. It was a young face that gleamed 
 pallid in the candlelight a face unlined, a little 
 vapid and insignificant, with features regular and 
 neat, betraying few characteristics other than the
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 139 
 
 purely negative attributes of a character as yet un- 
 formed, possibly unf ormable ; much the sort of a face 
 that he might have expected to see, remembering 
 those thin and pouting lips that before had impressed 
 him. Its owner was probably little more than twenty. 
 In his attire there was a suspicion of a fop's precise- 
 ness, aside from its accidental disarray ; the cut of 
 his waistcoat was the extreme of the then fashion, 
 the white tie (twisted beneath one ear) an exaggerated 
 *' butterfly," his collar nearly an inch too tall ; and 
 he was shod with pumps suitable only for the danc- 
 ing-floor, a whim of the young-bloods of London of 
 that year. 
 
 " I can't make him out at all ! " declared Kirk- 
 wood. " The son of a gentleman too weak to be- 
 lieve that cubs need licking into shape? Reared to 
 man's estate, so sheltered from the wicked world that 
 he never grew a bark? . . . The sort that never 
 had a quarrel in his life, 'cept Math his tailor? . . . 
 Now what the devil is this thing doing in this mid- 
 night mischief ? . . . Damn!" 
 
 It was most exasperating, the incongruity of the 
 boy's appearance assorted with his double role of 
 persecutor of distressed damsels and nocturnal house- 
 breaker ! 
 
 Kirkwood bent closer above the motionless head, 
 with puzzled eyes striving to pin down some elusive 
 resemblance that he thought to trace in those vacuous
 
 140 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 9 
 
 features a resemblance to some one he had seen, or 
 known, at some past time, somewhere, somehow. 
 
 " I give it up. Guess I'm mistaken. Anyhow, 
 five young Englishmen out of every ten of his class 
 are just as blond and foolish. Now let's see how bad 
 he's hurt." 
 
 With hands strong and gentle, he turned the 
 round, light head. Then, " Ah ! " he commented in 
 the accent of comprehension. For there was an angry 
 looking bump at the base of the skull ; and, the skin 
 having been broken, possibly in collision with the 
 sharp-edged newel-post, a little blood had stained 
 and matted the straw-colored hair. 
 
 Kirkwood let the head down and took thought. 
 Recalling a bath-room on the floor above, thither he 
 went, unselfishly forgetful of his predicament if dis- 
 covered, and, turning on the water, sopped his hand- 
 kerchief until it dripped. Then, returning, he took 
 the boy's head on his knees, washed the wound, pur- 
 loined another handkerchief (of silk, with a giddy 
 border) from the other's pocket, and of this manu- 
 factured a rude but serviceable bandage. 
 , Toward the conclusion of his attentions, the suf- 
 ferer began to show signs of returning animation. 
 He stirred restlessly, whimpered a little, and sighed. 
 And Kirkwood, in consternation, got up. 
 
 " So ! " he commented ruefully. " I guess I am an 
 ass, all right taking all that trouble for you, my
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 141 
 
 friend. If I've got a grain of sense left, this is my 
 cue to leave you alone in your glory." 
 
 He was lingering only to restore to the boy's pock- 
 ets such articles as he had removed in the search for 
 matches, the match-box, a few silver coins, a bulky, 
 sovereign purse, a handsome, plain gold watch, and 
 so forth. But ere he concluded he was aware that 
 the boy was conscious, that his eyes, open and blink- 
 ing in the candlelight, were upon him. 
 
 They were blue eyes, blue and shallow as a doll's, 
 and edged with long, fine lashes. Intelligence, of a 
 certain degree, was rapidly informing them. Kirk- 
 wood returned their questioning glance, transfixed in 
 indecision, his primal impulse to cut-and-run for it 
 was gone ; he had nothing to fear from this child who 
 could not prevent his going whenever he chose to go ; 
 while by remaining he might perchance worm from 
 him something about the girl. 
 
 "You're feeling better?" He was almost sur- 
 prised to hear his own voice put the query. 
 
 " I I think so. Ow, my head ! . . . I say, 
 you chap, whoever you are, what's happened? 
 . . . I want to get up." The boy added peev- 
 ishly : " Help a fellow, can't you ? " 
 
 " You've had a nasty fall," Kirkwood observed 
 evenly, passing an arm beneath the boy's shoulder 
 and helping him to a sitting position. " Do you 
 remember? "
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 The other snuffled childishly and scrubbed across 
 the floor to rest his back against the wall. 
 
 " Why-y ... I remember fallin' ; and then! 
 I woke up and it was all dark and my head 
 achin' fit to split. I presume I went to sleep again. 
 I. . . I say, what're you doing here?" 
 
 Instead of replying, Kirkwood lifted a warning 
 finger. 
 
 " Hush ! " he said tensely, alarmed by noises in! 
 the street. "You don't suppose ?" 
 
 He had been conscious of a carriage rolling up from 
 the corner, as well as that it had drawn up (pre- 
 sumably) before a near-by dwelling. Now the rattle 
 of a key in the hall-door was startlingly audible. 
 Before he could move, the door itself opened with a 
 slam. 
 
 Kirkwood moved toward the stair-head, and drew 
 back with a cry of disgust. " Too late ! " he told 
 himself bitterly ; his escape was cut off. He could run 
 up-stairs and hide, of course, but the boy would in- 
 form against him and 
 
 He buttoned up his coat, settled his hat on his 
 head, and moved near the candle, where it rested on 
 the floor. One glimpse would suffice to show him 
 the force of the intruders, and one move of his foot 
 put out the light; then perhaps he might be 
 able to rush them. 
 
 Below, a brief pause had followed the noise of the
 
 A RUINED GENTLEMAN 143 
 
 door, as if those entering were standing, irresolute, 
 undecided which way to turn ; but abruptly enough 
 the glimmer of candlelight must have been noticed. 
 Kirkwood heard a hushed exclamation, a quick clatter 
 of high heels on the parquetry, pattering feet on 
 the stairs, all but drowned by swish and ripple of 
 silken skirts; and a woman stood at the head of the 
 flight to the American an apparition profoundly 
 amazing as she paused, the light from the floor cast- 
 ing odd, theatric shadows beneath her eyes and over 
 her brows, edging her eyes themselves with brilliant 
 light beneath their dark lashes, showing her lips 
 straight and drawn, and shimmering upon the span- 
 gles of an evening gown, visible beneath the dark 
 cloak which had fallen back from her white, beautiful 
 shoulders.
 
 yin 
 
 MADAME I/INTRIGANTE 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam ! " cried Kirkwood, beneath his 
 breath. 
 
 The woman ignored his existence. Moving swiftly 
 forward, she dropped on both knees by the side of 
 the boy, and caught up one of his hands, clasping 
 it passionately in her own. 
 
 " Fred ! " she cried, a curious break in her tone. 
 " My little Freddie ! Oh, what has happened, 
 dearie? " 
 
 " Oh, hello, Mamma," grunted that young man, 
 submitting listlessly to her caresses and betraying no 
 overwhelming surprise at her appearance there. In- 
 deed he seemed more concerned as to what Kirkwood, 
 an older man, would be thinking, to see him so en- 
 deared and fondled, than moved by any other emotion. 
 Kirkwood could see his shamefaced, sidelong glances; 
 and despised him properly for them. 
 
 But without attending to his response, Mrs. Hallam 
 rattled on in the uneven accents of excitement. " I 
 waited until I couldn't wait any longer, Freddie dear. 
 I had to know had to come. Eccles came home 
 
 144
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 145 
 
 about nine and said that you had told him to wait 
 outside, that some one had followed you in here, and 
 that a bobby had told him to move on. I didn't 
 know what " 
 
 " What's o'clock now? " her son interrupted. 
 
 " It's about three, I think. . . . Have you* 
 hurt yourself, dear? Oh, why didn't you come home? 
 You must 've known I was dying of anxiety ! " 
 
 "Oh, I say! Can't you see I'm hurt? 'Had a 
 nasty fall and must 've been asleep ever since." 
 
 "My precious one! How ?" 
 
 " Can't say, hardly. ... I say, don't paw a 
 chap so, Mamma. ... I brought Eccles along 
 and told him to wait because well, because I didn't 
 feel so much like shuttin' myself up in this beastly 
 old tomb. So I left the door ajar, and told him not 
 to let anybody come in. Then I came up-stairs. 
 There must 've been somebody already in the house; 
 I know I thought there was. It made me feel creepy, 
 rather. At any rate, I heard voices down below, and 
 the door banged, and somebody began hammerin' 
 like fun on the knocker." 
 
 The boy paused, rolling an embarrassed eye up 
 at the stranger. 
 
 " Yes, yes, dear ! " Mrs. Hallam urged him on. 
 
 " Why, I I made up my mind to cut my stick 
 let whoever it was pass me on the stairs, you know. 
 But he followed me and struck me, and then I jumped
 
 146 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 at him, and we both fell down the whole flight. And 
 that's all. Besides, my head's achin' like every- 
 thing." 
 
 "But this man?" 
 
 Mrs. Hallam looked up at Kirkwood, who bowed 
 silently, struggling to hide both his amusement and 
 perplexity. More than ever, now, the case presented 
 a front inscrutable to his wits ; try as he might, he 
 failed to fit an explanation to any incident in which 
 he had figured, while this last development that his 
 antagonist of the dark stairway had been Mrs. Hal- 
 lam's son ! seemed the most astounding of all, baf- 
 fling elucidation completely. 
 
 He had abandoned all thought of flight and es- 
 cape. It was too late; in the brisk idiom of his 
 mother-tongue, he was " caught with the goods on." 
 " May as well face the music," he counseled himself, 
 in resignation. From what he had seen and surmised 
 of Mrs. Hallam, he shrewdly suspected that the tune 
 would prove an exceedingly lively one ; she seemed a 
 woman of imagination, originality, and an able-bodied 
 temper. 
 
 " You, Mr. Kirkwood ! " 
 
 Again he bowed, grinning awry. 
 
 She rose suddenly. " You will be good enough 
 to explain your presence here," she informed him with 
 dangerous serenity. 
 
 " To be frank with you "
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 147 
 
 " I advise that course, Mr. Kirkwood." 
 
 " Thanks, awf'ly. ... I came here, half an 
 hour ago, looking for a lost purse full well, not 
 quite full of sovereigns. It was my purse, by the 
 way." 
 
 Suspicion glinted like foxfire in the cold green 
 eyes beneath her puckered brows. " I do not under- 
 stand," she said slowly and in level tones. 
 
 " I didn't expect you to," returned Kirkwood ; " no 
 more do I. . . . But, anyway, it must be clear 
 to you that I've done my best for this gentleman 
 here." He paused with an interrogative lift of his 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " ' This gentleman ' is my son, Frederick Hallam. 
 But you will explain " 
 
 " Pardon me, Mrs. Hallam ; I shall explain noth- 
 ing, at present. Permit me to point out that your 
 position here like mine is, to say the least, 
 anomalous." The random stroke told, as he could 
 tell by the instant contraction of her eyes of a cat. 
 " It would be best to defer explanations till a more 
 convenient time don't you think ? Then, if you 
 like, we can chant confidences in an antiphonal chorus. 
 Just now your er son is not enjoying himself 
 apparently, and . . . the attention of the police 
 had best not be called to this house too often in one 
 night." 
 
 His levity seemed to displease and perturb the
 
 148 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 woman ; she turned from him with an impatient move- 
 ment of her shoulders. 
 
 " Freddie, dear, do you feel able to walk? " 
 
 "Eh? Oh, I dare say. I don't know. Won- 
 der would your friend ah Mr. Kirkwood, lend 
 me an arm? " 
 
 " Charmed," Kirkwood declared suavely. " If 
 you'll take the candle, Mrs. Hallam " 
 
 He helped the boy to his feet and, while the latter 
 hung upon him and complained querulously, stood 
 waiting for the woman to lead the way with the light ; 
 something which, however, she seemed in no haste to 
 do. The pause at length puzzled Kirkwood, and he 
 turned, to find Mrs. Hallam holding the candlestick 
 and regarding him steadily, with much the same ex- 
 pression of furtive mistrust as that with which she 
 had favored him on her own, door-stoop. 
 
 " One moment," she interposed in confusion ; " I 
 won't keep you waiting ... ;" and, passing 
 with an averted face, ran quickly up-stairs to the sec- 
 ond floor, taking the light with her. Its glow faded 
 from the walls above and Kirkwood surmised that she 
 had entered the front bedchamber. For some mo- 
 ments he could hear her moving about; once, some- 
 thing scraped and bumped on the floor, as if a heavy 
 bit of furniture had been moved ; again there was a 
 resounding thud that defied speculation ; and this was 
 presently followed by a dull clang of metal.
 
 He helped the boy to his feet, 0nd stood waiting. Page 148
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 149 
 
 His fugitive speculations afforded him little -en- 
 lightenment ; and, meantime, young Hallam, leaning 
 partly against the wall and quite heavily on Kirk- 
 wood's arm, filled his ears with puerile oaths and la- 
 mentations; so that, but for the excuse of his really 
 severe shaking-up, Kirkwood had been strongly 
 tempted to take the youngster by the shoulders and 
 kick him heartily, for the health of his soul. 
 
 But eventually it was not really long there 
 came the quick rush of Mrs. Hallam's feet along the 
 upper hall, and the woman reappeared, one hand hold- 
 ing her skirts clear of her pretty feet as she de- 
 scended in a rush that caused the candle's flame to 
 flicker perilously. 
 
 Half-way down, " Mr. Kirkwood ! " she called tem- 
 pestuously. 
 
 " Didn't you find it? " he countered blandly. 
 
 She stopped jerkily at the bottom, and, after a 
 moment of confusion. " Find what, sir? " she asked. 
 
 " What you sought, Mrs. Hallam." 
 
 Smiling, he bore unflinching the prolonged in- 
 spection of her eyes, at once somber with doubt of 
 him and flashing with indignation because of his im- 
 pudence. 
 
 " You knew I wouldn't find it, then ! . . . 
 Didn't you?" 
 
 " I may have suspected you wouldn't." 
 
 Now he was sure that she had been searching for
 
 150 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 the gladstone bag. That, evidently, was the bone of 
 
 contention. Calendar had sent his daughter for it, 
 
 Mrs. Hallam her son; Dorothy had been successful. 
 
 . . But, on the other hand, Calendar and Mrs. 
 
 /Hallam were unquestionably allies. Why, then ? 
 
 " Where is it, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 " Madam, have you the right to know ? " 
 
 Through another lengthening pause, while they 
 faced each other, he marked again the curious con- 
 traction of her under lip. 
 
 " I have the right," she declared steadily. 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 " How can I be sure? " 
 
 " Then you don't know ! " 
 
 " Indeed," he interrupted, " I would be glad to 
 feel that I ought to tell you what I know." 
 
 " What you know ! " 
 
 The exclamation, low-spoken, more an echo of her 
 thoughts than intended for Kirkwood, was accom- 
 panied by a little shake of the woman's head, mute 
 evidence to the fact that she was bewildered by his 
 finesse. And this delighted the young man beyond 
 measure, making him feel himself master of a difficult 
 situation. Mysteries had been woven before his eyes 
 so persistently, of late, that it was a real pleasure to 
 be able to do a little mystifying on his own account. 
 By adopting this reticent and non-committal attitude, 
 he was forcing the hand of a woman old enough to
 
 be 
 
 th. 
 
 151 
 
 ^stress in 
 ikT fas- 
 
 tl 
 
 h 
 
 at 
 
 fc 
 
 a i 
 
 dri 
 
 blq. 
 
 \ 
 at 
 
 stan\ 
 

 
 150 
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 the gladstone bag 
 contention. Cale 
 Mrs. Hallam 
 . . But 
 iHallam wer 
 
 " Where 
 
 " Mad 
 
 Throug 
 faced each 
 traction o 
 
 "I ha 
 " Where is 
 
 " How c 
 
 " Then 
 
 " Indeed 
 feel that I 
 
 " What 
 
 The excl 
 thoughts 
 panied by 
 evidence to 
 finesse. An 
 measure, 
 situation, 
 so persisten 
 be able to d 
 By adoptin 
 he was forci
 
 MADAME L'lNTRIGANTE 151 
 
 be his mother and most evidently a past-mistress in 
 the art of misleading. All of which seemed very fas- 
 cinating to the amateur in adventure. 
 
 The woman would have led again, but young Hal- 
 lam cut in, none too courteously. 
 
 " I say, Mamma, it's no good standing here, pala-> 
 verin' like a lot of flats. Besides, I'm awf 'ly knocked 
 up. Let's get home and have it out there." 
 
 Instantly his mother softened. " My poor boy ! 
 . . . Of course we'll go." 
 
 Without further demur she swept past and down 
 the stairway before them slowly, for their progress 
 was of necessity slow, and the light most needed. 
 Once they were in the main hall, however, she ex- 
 tinguished the candle, placed it on a side table, and 
 passed out through the door. 
 
 It had been left open, as before; and Kirkwood 
 was not at all surprised to see a man waiting on the 
 threshold, the versatile Eccles, if he erred not. He 
 had little chance to identify him, as it happened, for 
 at a word from Mrs. Hallam the man bowed and, 
 following her across the sidewalk, opened the door of 
 a four-wheeler which, with lamps alight and liveried 
 driver on the box, had been waiting at the carriage- 
 block. 
 
 As they passed out, Kirkwood shut the door; and 
 at the same moment the little party was brought up 
 standing by a gruff and authoritative summons.
 
 152 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Just a minute, please, you there ! " 
 
 " Aha ! " said Kirkwood to himself. " I thought 
 so." And he halted, in unfeigned respect for the 
 burly and impressive figure, garbed in blue and brass, 
 helmeted and truncheoned, bull's-eye shining on breast 
 like the Law's unblinking and sleepless eye, barring 
 the way to the carriage. 
 
 Mrs. Hallam showed less deference for the ob- 
 structionist. The assumed hauteur and impatience of 
 her pose was artfully reflected in her voice as she 
 rounded upon the bobby, with an indignant demand: 
 " What is the meaning of this, officer? " 
 
 " Precisely what I wants to know, ma'am," returned 
 the man, unyielding beneath his respectful attitude. 
 " I'm obliged to ask you to tell me what you were 
 doing in that Hiuse. . . . And what's the mat- 
 ter with this 'ere gentleman ? " he added, with a du- 
 bious stare at young Hallam's bandaged head and 
 rumpled clothing. 
 
 " Perhaps you don't understand," admitted Mrs. 
 Hallam sweetly. " Of course I see it's per- 
 fectly natural. The house has been shut up for some 
 time and " 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am; that's just it. There was 
 something wrong going on early in the evening, and 
 I was told to keep an eye on the premises. It's duty, 
 ma'am ; I've got my report to make." 
 
 " The house," said Mrs. Hallam, with the long-
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 153 
 
 suffering patience of one elucidating a perfectly 
 plain proposition to a being of a lower order of in- 
 telligence, " is the property of my son, Arthur Fred- 
 erick Burgoyne Hallam, of Cornwall. This is " 
 " Beg pardon, ma'am, but I was told Colonel George 
 Burgoyne, of Cornwall : 
 
 " Colonel Burgoyne died some time ago. My son 
 is his heir. This is my son. He came to the house 
 this evening to get some property he desired, and 
 it seems tripped on the stairs and fell unconscious. 
 I became worried about him and drove over, accom- 
 panied by my friend, Mr. Kirkwood." 
 
 The policeman looked his troubled state of mind, 
 and wagged a doubtful head over the case. There 
 was his duty, and there was, opposed to it, the fact 
 that all three were garbed in the livery of the well- 
 to-do. 
 
 At length, turning to the driver, he demanded, re- 
 ceived, and noted in his memorandum-book, the license 
 number of the equipage. 
 
 " It's a very unusual case, ma'am," he apologized ; 
 " I hopes you won't 'old it against me. I'm only 
 trying to do my duty " 
 
 " And safeguard our property. You are perfectly 
 justified, officer." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am. And would you mind giving 
 me your cards, please, all of you ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." Without hesitation the woman
 
 154 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 took a little hand-bag from the seat of the carriage 
 and produced a card; her son likewise found his case 
 and handed the officer an oblong slip. 
 
 " I've no cards with me," the American told the 
 policeman ; " my name, however, is Philip Kirkwood, 
 and I'm staying at the Pless." 
 
 " Very good, sir ; thank you." The man penciled 
 the information in his little book. " Thank you, 
 ma'am, and Mr. Hallam, sir. Sorry to have detained 
 you. Good morning." 
 
 Kirkwood helped young Hallam into the carriage, 
 gave Mrs. Hallam his hand, and followed her. The 
 man Eccles shut the door, mounting the box beside 
 the driver. Immediately they were in motion. 
 
 The American got a final glimpse of the bobby, 
 standing in front of Number 9, Frognall Street, and 
 watching them with an air of profound uncertainty. 
 He had Kirkwood's sympathy, therein ; but he had 
 little time to feel with him, for Mrs. Hallam turned 
 upon him very suddenly. 
 
 " Mr. Kirkwood, will you be good enough to tell 
 me who and what you are? " 
 
 The young man smiled his homely, candid smile. 
 " I'll be only too glad!, Mrs. Hallam, when I feel sure 
 you'll do as much for yourself." 
 
 She gave him no answer; it was as if she were 
 choosing words. Kirkwood braced himself to meet 
 the storm; but none ensued. There was rather a
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 155 
 
 lull, which strung itself out indefinitely, to the mo- 
 notonous music of hoofs and rubber tires. 
 
 Young Hallam was resting his empty blond head 
 against the cushions, and had closed his eyes. He 
 seemed to doze; but, as the carriage rolled past the 
 frequent street-lights, Kirkwood could see that the 
 eyes of Mrs. Hallam were steadily directed to his 
 face. 
 
 His outward composure was tempered by some 
 amusement, by more admiration ; the woman's eyes 
 were very handsome, even when hardest and most 
 cold. It was not easy to conceive of her as being 
 the mother of a son so immaturely mature. Why, she 
 must have been at least thirty-eight or -nine! One 
 wondered; she did not look it. ... 
 
 The carriage stopped before a house with lighted 
 windows. Eccles jumped down from the box and 
 scurried to open the front door. The radiance of a 
 hall-lamp was streaming out into the misty night 
 when he returned to release his employers. 
 
 They were returned to Craven Street ! " One more 
 lap round the track ! " mused Kirkwood. " Wonder 
 will the next take me back to Bermondsey Old 
 Stairs." 
 
 At Mrs. Hallam's direction, Eccles ushered him 
 into the smoking-room, on the ground floor in the rear 
 of the dwelling, there to wait while she helped her 
 son np-stairs and to bed. He sighed with pleasure
 
 156 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 at first glimpse of its luxurious but informal com- 
 forts, and threw himself carelessly into a heavily 
 padded lounging-chair, dropping one knee over the 
 other and lighting the last of his expensive cigars, 
 with a sensation of undiluted gratitude; as one com- 
 ing to rest in the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
 land. 
 
 Over his shoulder a home-like illumination was cast 
 by an electric reading-lamp shaded with red silk. At 
 his feet brass fire-dogs winked sleepily in the flutter- 
 ing blaze of a well-tended stove. The walls were 
 hung with deep red, the doors and divans upholstered 
 in the same restful shade. In one corner an old clock 
 ticked soberly. The atmosphere would have proved 
 a potent invitation to reverie, if not to sleep he 
 was very sleepy but for the confusion in the house. 
 
 In its chambers, through the halls, on the stairs, 
 there were hurryings and scurryings of feet and 
 skirts, confused with murmuring voices. Presently, 
 in an adjoining room, Philip Kirkwood heard a 
 maid-servant wrestling hopefully with that most ex- 
 asperating of modern time-saving devices, the tele- 
 phone as countenanced by our English cousins. Her 
 patience and determination won his approval, but 
 availed nothing for her purpose; in the outcome the 
 telephone triumphed and the maid gave up the un- 
 equal contest. 
 
 Later, a butler entered the room ; a short and sturdy
 
 MADAME L'lNTRIGANTE 157 
 
 fellow, extremely ill at ease. Drawing a small ta- 
 boret to the side of Kirkwood's chair, he placed there- 
 on a tray, deferentially imparting the information 
 that " Missis 'Allam 'ad thought 'ow as Mister Kirk- 
 wood might care for a bit of supper." 
 
 " Please thank Mrs. Hallam for me." Kirkwood's 
 gratified eyes ranged the laden tray. There were 
 sandwiches, biscuit, cheese, and a pot of black coffee, 
 with sugar and cream. " It was very kindlj thought 
 of," he added. 
 
 " Very good sir, thank you, sir." 
 
 The man turned to go, shuffling soundlessly. 
 Kirkwood was suddenly impressed with his evasive- 
 ness ; ever since he had entered the room, his counte- 
 nance had seemed turned from the guest. 
 
 " Eccles ! " he called sharply, at a venture. 
 
 The butler halted, thunderstruck. " Ye-es, s-sir? " 
 
 " Turn round, Eccles ; I want a look at you." 
 
 Eccles faced him unwillingly, with a stolid front 
 but shifty eyes. Kirkwood glanced him up and 
 clown, grinning. 
 
 " Thank you, Eccles ; I'll remember you now. 
 You'll remember me, too, won't you? You're a bad 
 actor, aren't you, Eccles?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; thank you, sir," mumbled the man un- 
 happily ; and took instant advantage of the implied 
 permission to go. 
 
 Intensely diverted by the recollection of Eccles'
 
 158 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 abortive attempt to stop him at the door of Number 1 
 9, and wondering now that he came to think of it 
 why, precisely, young Hallam had deemed it neces- 
 sary to travel with a body-guard and adopt such 
 furtive methods to enter into as well as to obtain what 
 was asserted to be his own property, Kirkwood turned 
 active attention to the lunch. 
 
 Thoughtfully he poured himself a cup of coffee, 
 swallowing it hot and black as it came from the silver 
 pot; then munched the sandwiches. 
 
 It was kindly thought of, this early morning re- 
 past; Mrs. Hallam seemed more and more a remark- 
 able woman with each phase of her character that 
 she chose to disclose. At odds with him, she yet 
 took time to think of his creature needs ! 
 
 What could be her motive, not in feeding him, 
 but in involving her name and fortune in an affair 
 so strangely flavored? . . . This opened up a 
 idesert waste of barren speculation. " What's any- 
 body's motive, who figures in this thundering 
 dime-novel?" demanded the American, almost con- 
 temptuously. And for the hundredth time 
 gave it up ; the day should declare it, if so hap he 
 lived to see that day : a distant one, he made no doubt. 
 The only clear fact in his befogged and bemused 
 mentality was that he was at once " broke " and in 
 this business up to his ears. Well, he'd see it through ; 
 j he'd nothing better to do, and there was the girl :
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 159 
 
 Dorothy, whose eyes and lips he had but to close 
 his own eyes to see again as vividly as though she 
 stood before him; Dorothy, whose unspoiled sweet- 
 ness stood out in vivid relief against this moil and 
 toil of conspiracy, like a star of evening shining clear 
 in a stormy sky. 
 
 " Poetic simile : I'm going fast," conceded 
 Kirkwood; but he did not smile. It was becoming 
 quite too serious a matter for laughter. For her 
 sake, he was in the game " for keeps " ; especially in 
 view of the fact that everything his own heart's 
 inclination included seemed to conspire to keep him 
 in it. Of course he hoped for nothing in return ; a 
 pauper who turns squire-of-dames with matrimonial 
 intent is open to the designation, " penniless adven- 
 turer." No ; whatever service he might be to the girl 
 would be ample recompense to him for his labors. 
 'And afterwards, he'd go his way in peace ; she'd soon 
 forget him if she hadn't already. Women (he 
 propounded gravely) are queer: there's no telling 
 anything about them 1 
 
 One of the most unreadable specimens of the sex 
 on which he pronounced this highly original dictum, 
 entered the room just then; and he found himself 
 at once out of his chair and his dream, bowing. 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam." 
 
 The woman nodded and smiled graciously. " Ec- 
 cles has attended to your needs, I hope? Please don't
 
 160 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 stop smoking." She sank into an arm-chair on the 
 other side of the hearth and, probably by accident, 
 out of the radius of illumination from the lamp ; sit- 
 ting 1 sidewise, one knee above the other, her white 
 arms immaculate against the somber background of, 
 shadowed crimson. 
 
 She was very handsome indeed, just then; though 
 a keener light might have proved less flattering. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Kirkwood ? " she opened briskly, with 
 a second intimate and friendly nod; and paused, her 
 pose receptive. 
 
 Kirkwood sat down again, smiling good-natured 
 appreciation of her unprejudiced attitude. 
 
 " Your son, Mrs. Hallarn ? " 
 
 " Oh, Freddie's doing well enough. . . . Fred- 
 die," she explained, " has a delicate constitution and 
 has seen little of the world. Such melodrama as to- 
 night's is apt to shock him severely. We must make 
 allowances, Mr. Kirkwood." 
 
 Kirkwood grinned again, a trace unsympathet- 
 ically ; he was unable to simulate any enthusiasm on 
 the subject of poor Freddie, whom he had sized up 
 with passable acumen as a spoiled and coddled child 
 completely under the thumb of an extremely clever 
 mother. 
 
 " Yes," he responded vaguely ; " he'll be quite fit 
 after a night's sleep, I dare sa}^." 
 
 The woman was watching him keenly beneath her
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 161 
 
 lowered lashes. " I think," she said deliberately, 
 " that it is time we came to an understanding." 
 
 Kirkwood agreed " Yes ? " affably. 
 
 " I purpose being perfectly straightforward. To 
 begin with, I don't place you, Mr. Kirkwood. You, 
 are an unknown quantity, a new factor. Won't you 
 please tell me what you are and . . . Are you 
 a friend of Mr. Calendar's?" 
 
 " I think I may lay claim to that honor, though " 
 to Kirkwood's way of seeing things some little 
 frankness on his own part would be essential if they 
 were to get on " I hardly know him, Mrs. Hallam. 
 I had the pleasure of meeting him only this after- 
 noon." 
 
 She knitted her brows over this statement. 
 
 " That, I assure you, is the truth," he laughed. 
 
 " But ... I really don't understand." 
 
 " Nor I, Mrs. Hallam. Calendar aside, I am Philip 
 Kirkwood, American, resident abroad for some years, 
 a native of San Francisco, of a certain age, unmar- 
 ried, by profession a poor painter." 
 
 "And?" 
 
 " Beyond that? I presume I must tell you, though 
 I confess I'm in doubt. . . ." He hesitated, 
 weighing candor in the balance with discretion. 
 
 " But who are you for? Are you in George Cal- 
 endar's pay? " 
 
 " Heaven f orf end ! " piously. " My sole interest
 
 162 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 at the present moment is to unravel a most entranc- 
 ing mystery " 
 
 " Entitled Dorothy Calendar ' ! Of course. 
 You've known her long? " 
 
 " Eight hours, I believe," he admitted gravely ; 
 ( " less than that, in fact." 
 
 " Miss Calendar's interests will not suffer through, 
 anything you may tell me." 
 
 " Whether they will or no, I see I must swing a 
 looser tongue, or you'll be showing me the door." 
 
 The woman shook her head, amused. " Not until," 
 she told him significantly. 
 
 " Very well, then." And he launched into an 
 abridged narrative of the night's events, as he under- 
 stood them, touching lightly on his own circumstances, 
 the real poverty which had brought him back to 
 Craven Street by way of Frognall. " And there you 
 have it all, Mrs. Hallam." 
 
 She sat in silent musing. Now and again he 
 caught the glint of her eyes and knew that he was 
 being appraised with such trained acumen as only 
 long knowledge of men can give to women. He 
 wondered if he were found wanting. . . . Her 
 Bark head bended, elbow on knee, chin resting lightly 
 in the cradle of her slender, parted fingers, the 
 woman thought profoundly, her reverie ending with 
 a brief, curt laugh, musical and mirthless as the 
 sound of breaking glass.
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 163 
 
 " It is so like Calendar ! " she exclaimed : " so like 
 him that one sees how foolish it was to trust no, not 
 to trust, but to believe that he could ever be thrown: 
 off the scent, once he got nose to ground. So, if we\ 
 suffer, my son and I, I shall have only myself to/ 
 thank ! " 
 
 Kirkwood waited in patient attention till she chose 
 to continue. When she did " Now for my side of the 
 case ! " cried Mrs. Hallam ; and rising, began to pace 
 the room, her slender and rounded figure swaying 
 gracefully, the while she talked. 
 
 " George Calendar is a scoundrel," she said : " a 
 swindler, gambler, what I believe you Americans 
 call a confidence-man. He is also my late husband's 
 first cousin. Some years since he found it convenient 
 to leave England, likewise his wife and daughter. 
 Mrs. Calendar, a country-woman of yours, by the 
 bye, died shortly afterwards. Dorothy, by the merest 
 accident, obtained a situation as private secretary in 
 the household of the late Colonel Burgoyne, of The 
 Cliffs, Cornwall. You follow me? " 
 
 " Yes, perfectly." 
 
 " Colonel Burgoyne died, leaving his estates to my, 
 son, some time ago. Shortly afterwards Dorothy 
 Calendar disappeared. We know now that her father 
 took her away, but then the disappearance seemed 
 inexplicable, especially since with her vanished a great 
 deal of valuable information. She alone knew of the
 
 164 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 location of certain of the old colonel's personal ef- 
 fects. 
 
 " He was an eccentric. One of his peculiarities 
 involved the secreting of valuables in odd places ; he 
 had no faith in banks. Among these valuables were 
 the Burgoyne family jewels quite a treasure, be- 
 lieve me, Mr. Kirkwood. We found no note of them 
 among the colonel's papers, and without Dorothy 
 were powerless to pursue a search for them. We 
 advertised and employed detectives, with no result. 
 It seems that father and daughter were at Monte 
 Carlo at the time." 
 
 " Beautifully circumstantial, my dear lady," com- 
 mented Kirkwood to his inner consciousness. Out- 
 wardly he maintained consistently a pose of impassive 
 gullibility. 
 
 " This afternoon, for the first time, we received 
 news of the Calendars. Calendar himself called upon 
 me, to beg a loan. I explained our difficulty and he 
 promised that Dorothy should send us the informa- 
 jtion by the morning's post. When I insisted, he 
 agreed to bring it himself, after dinner, this even- 
 ing. ... I make it quite clear? " she inter- 
 rupted, a little anxious. 
 
 " Quite clear, I assure you," he assented encourag- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Strangely enough, he had not been gone ten min- 
 utes when my son came in from a conference with
 
 MADAME L'lNTRIGANTE 165 
 
 our solicitors, informing me that at last a memo- 
 randum had turned up, indicating that the heirlooms 
 would be found in a safe secreted behind a dresser 
 in Colonel Burgoyne's bedroom." 
 
 " At Number 9, Frognall Street." 
 
 " Yes. ... I proposed going there at once, 
 but it was late and we were dining at the Pless with 
 an acquaintance, a Mr. Mulready, whom I now recall 
 as a former intimate of George Calendar. To our 
 surprise we saw Calendar and his daughter at a table 
 not far from ours. Mr. Mulready betrayed some agi- 
 tation at the sight of Calendar, and told me that 
 Scotland Yard had a man out with a warrant for 
 Calendar's arrest, on old charges. For old sake's 
 sake, Mr. Mulready begged me to give Calendar a 
 word of warning. I did so foolishly, it seems : Cal- 
 endar was at that moment planning to rob us, Mul- 
 ready aiding and abetting him." 
 
 The woman paused before Kirkwood, looking down 
 upon him. " And so," she concluded, " we have been 
 tricked and swindled. I can scarcely believe it of 
 Dorothy Calendar." 
 
 " I, for one, don't believe it." Kirkwood spoke 
 quietly, rising. " Whatever the culpability of Cal- 
 endar and Mulready, Dorothy was only their hood- 
 winked tool." 
 
 " But, Mr. Kirkwood, she must have known the 
 jewels were not hers."
 
 i!66 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 L 
 
 " Yes," he assented passively, but wholly uncon- 
 
 yinced. 
 
 " And what," she demanded with a gesture of ex- 
 lasperation, " what would you advise ? " 
 / " Scotland Yard," he told her bluntly. 
 
 " But it's a family secret ! It must not appear in 
 the papers. Don't you understand George Cal- 
 endar is my husband's cousin ! " 
 
 " I can think of nothing else, unless you pursue 
 them in person." 
 
 "But whither?" 
 
 " That remains to be discovered ; I can tell you 
 nothing more than I have. . . . May I thank 
 you for your hospitality, express my regrets that I 
 should unwittingly have been made the agent of this 
 disaster, and wish you good night or, rather, good 
 morning, Mrs. Hallam ? " 
 
 For a moment she held him under a calculating 
 glance which he withstood with graceless fortitude. 
 Then, realizing that he was determined not by any 
 Tiieans to be won to her cause, she gave him her hand % 
 ;with a commonplace wish that he might find his af- 
 fairs in better order than seemed probable ; and rang 
 for Eccles. 
 
 The butler showed him out. 
 
 He took away with him two strong impressions ; the 
 one visual, of a strikingly handsome woman in a won- 
 'derful gown, standing under the red glow of a
 
 MADAME L'INTRIGANTE 167 
 
 reading-lamp, in an attitude of intense mental con- 
 centration, her expression plainly indicative of a train 
 of thought not guiltless of vindictiveness ; the other, 
 more mental but as real, he presently voiced to the 
 huge bronze lions brooding over desolate Trafalgar 
 Square. 
 
 " Well," appreciated Mr. Kirkwood with gusto, 
 " she's got Ananias and Sapphira talked to a stand- 
 still, all right ! " He ruminated over this for a mo- 
 ment. " Calendar can lie some, too ; but hardly with 
 her picturesque touch. . . . Uncommon in- 
 genious, / call it. All the same, there were only about 
 a dozen bits of tiling that didn't fit into her mosaic 
 a little bit. ... I think they're all tarred with 
 the same stick all but the girl. And there's some- 
 thing afoot a long sight more devilish and crafty than 
 that shilling-shocker of madam's. . . . Dorothy 
 Calendar's got about as much active part in it as I 
 have. I'm only from California, but they've got to 
 show me, before I'll believe a word against her. 
 Those infernal scoundrels ! . . . 
 Somebody's got to be on the girl's side and I seem 
 to have drawn the lucky straw. . . . Good 
 Heavens ! is it possible for a grown man to fall heels 
 over head in love in two short hours? I don't believe 
 it. It's just interest nothing more. . . . And 
 I'll have to have a change of clothes before I can do 
 anything further."
 
 LL68 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 He bowed gratefully to the lions, in view of their 
 tolerant interest in his soliloquy, and set off very 
 suddenly round the square and up St. Martin's Lane, 
 striking across town as directly as might be for St. 
 Pancras Station. It would undoubtedly be a long 
 walk, but cabs were prohibited by his straitened 
 means, and the busses were all abed and wouldn't be 
 astir for hours. 
 
 He strode along rapidly, finding his way more 
 through intuition than by observation or famil- 
 iarity with London's geography indeed, was scarce 
 aware of his surroundings; for his brain was big 
 with fine imagery, rapt in a glowing dream of knight- 
 errantry and chivalric deeds. 
 
 Thus is it ever and alway with those who in the 
 purity of young hearts rush in where angels fear 
 to tread; if these, Kirkwood and his ilk, be fools, 
 thank God for them, for with such foolishness is life 
 savored and made sweet and sound! To Kirkwood 
 the warp of the world and the woof of it was 
 Romance, and it wrapped him round, a magic 
 mantle to set him apart from all things mean and 
 sordid and render him impregnable and invisible to 
 the haunting Shade of Care. 
 
 Which, by the same token, presently lost track of 
 him entirely, and wandered off to find and bedevil 
 some other poor devil. And Kirkwood, his eyes 
 like his spirit elevated, saw that the clouds of
 
 MADAME ^INTRIGANTE 169 
 
 night were breaking, the skies clearing, that the East 
 pulsed ever more strongly with the dim golden prom- 
 ise of the day to come. And this he chose to take 
 for an omen prematurely, it may be.
 
 AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE " ; AND BEYOND 
 
 I 
 
 Kirkwood wasted little time, who had not much to 
 waste, were he to do that upon whose doing he had 
 set his heart. It irked him sore to have to lose the 
 invaluable moments demanded by certain imperative 
 arrangements, but his haste was such that all was 
 consummated within an hour. 
 
 Within the period of a single hour, then, he had 
 ransomed his luggage at St. Pancras, caused it to 
 be loaded upon a four-wheeler and transferred to a 
 neighboring hotel of evil flavor but moderate tariff, 
 where he engaged a room for a week, ordered an im- 
 mediate breakfast, and retired with his belongings to 
 his room; he had shaved and changed his clothes, 
 selecting a serviceable suit of heavy tweeds, stout 
 shoes, a fore-and-aft cap and a negligee shirt of a 
 deep shade calculated at least to seem clean for a long 
 time ; finally, he had devoured his bacon and eggs, 
 gulped down his coffee and burned his mouth, and, 
 armed with a stout stick, set off hotfoot in the still 
 dim glimmering of early day. 
 
 By this time his cash capital had dwindled to the 
 170
 
 AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE " 171 
 
 sum of two pounds, ten shillings, eight-pence, and 
 would have been much less had he paid for his lodging 
 in advance. But he considered his trunks ample 
 security for the bill, and dared not wait the hour 
 when shopkeepers begin to take down shutters and 
 it becomes possible to realize upon one's jewelry. Be* 
 sides which, he had never before been called upon to 
 consider the advisability of raising money by pledg- 
 ing personal property, and was in considerable doubt 
 as to the right course of procedure in such emer- 
 gency. 
 
 At King's Cross Station on the Underground an 
 acute disappointment awaited him; there, likewise, he 
 learned something about London. A sympathetic 
 bobby informed him that no trains would be running 
 until after five-thirty, and that, furthermore, no busses 
 would begin to ply until half after seven. 
 
 " It's tramp it or cab it, then," mused the young 
 man mournfully, his longing gaze seeking a nearby 
 cab-rank just then occupied by a solitary hansom, 
 driver somnolent on the box. " Officer," he again 
 addressed the policeman, mindful of the English 
 axiom: "When in doubt, ask a bobby." "Officer, 
 when's high-tide this morning? " 
 
 The bobby produced a well-worn pocket-almanac, 
 moistened a massive thumb, and rippled the pages. 
 
 " London Bridge, 'igh tide twenty minutes arfter 
 six, sir," he announced with a glow of satisfaction
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 wholly pardonable in one who combines the functions 
 of perambulating almanac, guide-book, encyclopedia, 
 and conserver of the peace. 
 
 Kirkwood said something beneath his breath a 
 word in itself a comfortable mouthful and wholesome 
 and emphatic. He glanced again at the cab and 
 groaned: "O Lord, I just dassent!" With which, 
 thanking the bureau of information, he set off at a 
 quick step down Grey's Inn Road. 
 
 The day had closed down in brilliance upon the 
 city and the voice of the milkman was to be heard 
 in the land when he trudged, still briskly if a trifle 
 wearily, into Holborn, and held on eastward across 
 the Viaduct and down Newgate Street ; the while add- 
 ling his weary wits with heart-sickening computations 
 of minutes, all going hopelessly to prove that he would 
 be late, far too late even presupposing the unlikely. 
 The unlikely, be it known, was that the Aleihea would 
 not attempt to sail before the turn of the tide. 
 
 For this was his mission, to find the Aleihea before 
 she sailed. Incredible as it may appear, at five 
 o'clock, or maybe earlier, on the morning of the twen- 
 ty-second of April, 1906, A. D., Philip Kirkwood, 
 normally a commonplace but likable young American 
 in full possession of his senses, might have been seen 
 (and by some was seen) plodding manfully through 
 Cheapside, London, England, engaged upon a quest 
 as mad, forlorn, and gallant as any whose chronicle
 
 AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE " 173 
 
 ever inspired the pen of a Malory or a Froissart. In 
 brief he proposed to lend his arm and courage to be 
 the shield and buckler of one who might or might not 
 be a damsel in distress ; according as to whether Mrs. 
 Hallam had spoken soothly of Dorothy Calendar, or. 
 Kirkwood's own admirable faith in the girl were jus- 
 tified of itself. 
 
 Proceeding upon the working hypothesis that Mrs. 
 Hallam was a polished liar in most respects, but had 
 told the truth, so far as concerned her statement to 
 the effect that the gladstone bag contained valuable 
 real property (whose ownership remained a moot 
 question, though Kirkwood was definitely committed 
 to the belief that it was none of Mrs. Hallam's or her 
 son's ) : he reasoned that the two adventurers, with 
 Dorothy and their booty, would attempt to leave Lon- 
 don by a water route, in the ship, Aleihea, whose name 
 had fallen from their lips at Bermondsey Old Stairs. 
 
 Kirkwood's initial task, then, would be to find the 
 needle in the haystack the metaphor is poor: more 
 properly, to sort out from the hundreds of vessels, 
 of all descriptions, at anchor in midstream, moored 
 to the wharves of 'long-shore warehouses, or in^ 
 the gigantic docks that line the Thames, that one 
 called Aletliea; of which he was so deeply mired in 
 ignorance that he could not say whether she were 
 tramp-steamer, coastwise passenger boat, one of the 
 liners that ply between Tilbury and all the world,
 
 174 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Channel ferry-boat, private yacht (steam or sail) a 
 schooner, four-master, square-rigger, barque or brig- 
 antine. 
 
 A task to stagger the optimism of any but one 
 equipped with the sublime impudence of Youth ! 
 Even Kirkwood was disturbed by some little awe when 
 Tie contemplated the vast proportions of his under- 
 taking. None the less doggedly he plugged ahead, 
 and tried to keep his mind from vain surmises as to 
 what would be his portion when eventually he should 
 find himself a passenger, uninvited and unwelcome, 
 upon the Alethea. . . . 
 
 London had turned over once or twice, and was 
 pulling the bedclothes over its head and grumbling 
 about getting up, but the city was still sound asleep 
 when at length he paused for a minute's rest in front 
 of the Mansion House, and realized with a pang of 
 despair that he was completely tuckered out. There 
 was a dull, vague throbbing in his head; weights 
 pressed upon his eyeballs until they ached ; his mouth 
 was hot and tasted of yesterday's tobacco; his feet 
 were numb and heavy ; his joints were stiff ; he yawned 
 frequently. 
 
 With a sigh he surrendered to the flesh's frailty. 
 An early cabby, cruising up from Cannon Street sta- 
 tion on the off-chance of finding some one astir in 
 the city, aside from the doves and sparrows, suffered 
 the surprise of his life when Kirkwood hailed him.
 
 AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE " 175 
 
 His face was blank with amazement when he reined 
 in, and his eyes bulged when the prospective fare, 
 on impulse, explained his urgent needs. Happily 
 he turned out a fair representative of his class, an 
 intelligent and unfuddled cabby. 
 
 " Jump in, sir," he told Kirkwood cheerfully, as 
 soon as he had assimilated the latter's demands. " I 
 knows precisely wotcher wants. Leave it all to me." 
 
 The admonition was all but superfluous ; Kirkwood 
 was unable, for the time being, to do aught else than 
 resign his fate into another's guidance. Once in the 
 cab he slipped insensibly into a nap, and slept soundly 
 on, as reckless of the cab's swift pace and continuous 
 jouncing as of the sunlight glaring full in his tired 
 young face. 
 
 He may have slept twenty minutes ; he awoke faint 
 with drowsiness, tingling from head to toe from fa- 
 tigue, and in distress of a queer qualm in the pit 
 of his stomach, to find the hansom at rest and the 
 driver on the step, shaking his fare with kindly de- 
 termination. " Oh, a' right," he assented surlily, and 
 by sheer force of will made himself climb out to the 
 sidewalk; where, having rubbed his eyes, stretched 
 enormously and yawned discourteously in the face 
 of the East End, he was once more himself and a 
 hundred times refreshed into the bargain. Con- 
 tentedly he counted three shillings into the cabby's 
 palm the fare named being one-and-six.
 
 176 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 b 
 
 " The shilling over and above the tip's for finding 
 me the waterman and boat," he stipulated. 
 
 " Right-o. You'll mind the 'orse a minute, sir ? " 
 
 Kirkwood nodded. The man touched his hat and 
 disappeared inexplicably. Kirkwood, needlessly at- 
 taching himself to the reins near the animal's head, 
 pried his sense of observation open and became alive 
 to the fact that he stood in a quarter of London as 
 strange to him as had been Bermondsey Wall. 
 
 To this day he can not put a name to it; he sur- 
 mises that it was Wapping. 
 
 Ramshackle tenements with sharp gable roofs lined 
 either side of the way. Frowsy women draped them- 
 selves over the window-sills. Pallid and wasted paro- 
 dies on childhood contested the middle of the street 
 with great, slow drays, drawn by enormous horses. 
 On the sidewalks twin streams of masculine humanity, 
 flowed without rest, both bound in the same direction : 
 dock laborers going to their day's work. Men of 
 every nationality known to the world (he thought) 
 passed him in his short five-minute wait by the horse's 
 head; Britons, brown East Indians, blacks from Ja- 
 maica, swart Italians, Polaks, Russian Jews, wire- 
 drawn Yankees, Spaniards, Portuguese, Greeks, even 
 a Nubian or two: uniform in these things only, that 
 their backs were bent with toil, bowed beyond mend- 
 ing, and their faces stamped with the blurred type- 
 stamp of the dumb laboring brute. A strangely;
 
 AGAIN BELOW BRIDGE " 177 
 
 hideous procession, they shambled on, for the most 
 part silent, all uncouth and unreal in the clear morn- 
 ing glow. 
 
 The outlander was sensible of some relief when 
 his cabby popped hurriedly out of the entrance to a 
 tenement, a dull-visaged, broad-shouldered waterman 
 ambling more slowly after. 
 
 " Nevvy of mine, sir," announced the cabby ; " and 
 a f ust-ryte waterman ; knows the river like a book, he 
 do." 
 
 The nephew touched his forelock sheepishly. 
 
 " Thank you," said Kirkwood ; and, turning to the 
 man, " Your boat? " he asked with the brevity of 
 "weariness. 
 
 " This wye, sir." 
 
 At his guide's heels Kirkwood threaded the crowd 
 and, entering the tenement, stumbled through a 
 gloomy and unsavory passage, to come out at last 
 upon a scanty, unrailed veranda overlooking the river. 
 Ten feet below, perhaps, foul waters purred and 
 eddied round the piles supporting the rear of the 
 building. On one hand a ladder-like flight of rickety 
 steps descended to a floating stage to which a heavy' 
 rowboat lay moored. In the latter a second water- 
 man was seated bailing out bilge with a rusty can. 
 
 " 'Ere we are, sir," said the cabman's nephew, 
 pausing at the head of the steps. " Now, where's it 
 to be?"
 
 178 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 The American explained tersely that he had a mes- 
 sage to deliver a friend, who had shipped aboard a 
 vessel known as the Aleihea^ scheduled to sail at flood- 
 tide ; further than which deponent averred naught. 
 
 The waterman scratched his head. " A 'ard job, 
 sir; not knowin' wot kind of a boat she are mykes it 
 'arder." He waited hopefully. 
 
 " Ten shillings," volunteered Kirkwood promptly ; 
 " ten shillings if you get me aboard her before she 
 weighs anchor; fifteen if I keep you out more than 
 an hour, and still you put me aboard. After that 
 we'll make other terms." 
 
 The man promptly turned his back to hail his 
 mate. " 'Arf a quid, Bob, if we puts this gent 
 aboard a wessel name o' Allyiheer afore she syles 
 at turn o' tide." 
 
 In the boat the man with the bailing can turned 
 up an impassive countenance. " Coom down," he 
 clenched the bargain; and set about shipping the 
 sweeps. 
 
 Kirkwood crept down the shaky ladder and depos- 
 ited himself in the stern of the boat ; the younger 
 boatman settled himself on the midship thwart. 
 ' " Ready? " 
 
 " Ready," assented old Bob from the bows. He 
 cast off the painter, placed one sweep against the edge 
 of the stage, and with a vigorous thrust pushed off; 
 then took his seat.
 
 AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE " 179 
 
 Bows swinging down-stream, the boat shot out from 
 the shore. 
 
 " How's the tide? " demanded Kirkwood, his im- 
 patience growing. 
 
 " On th' turn, sir," he was told. 
 
 For a long moment broadside to the current, the 
 boat responded to the sturdy pulling of the port 
 sweeps. Another moment, and it was in full swing, 
 the watermen bending lustily to their task. Under 
 their unceasing urge, the broad-beamed, heavy craft, 
 aided by the ebbing tide, surged more and more rap- 
 idly through the water ; the banks, grim and unsightly, 
 with their towering, impassive warehouses broken by 
 toppling wooden tenements, slipped swiftly up-stream. 
 Ship after ship was passed, sailing vessels in the 
 majority, swinging sluggishly at anchor, drifting 
 slowly with the river, or made fast to the goods- 
 stages of the shore; and in keen anxiety lest he 
 should overlook the right one, Kirkwood searched their 
 bows and sterns for names, which in more than one 
 case proved hardly legible. 
 
 The Alethea was not of their number. 
 
 In the course of some ten minutes, the watermen 
 drove the boat sharply inshore, bringing her up along- 
 side another floating stage, in the shadow of another 
 tenement both so like those from which they had 
 embarked that Kirkwood would have been unable to 
 distinguish one from another.
 
 180 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 In the bows old Bob lifted up a stentorian voice, 
 summoning one William. 
 
 Recognizing that there was some design in this, 
 the passenger subdued his disapproval of the delay, 
 and sat quiet. 
 
 In answer to the third ear-racking hail, a man, 
 clothed simply in dirty shirt and disreputable trous- 
 ers, showed himself in the doorway above, rubbing the 
 sleep out of a red, bloated countenance with a mighty 
 and grimy fist. 
 
 " 'Ello," he said surlily. Wot's th' row? " 
 
 " 'Oo," interrogated old Bob, holding the boat 
 steady by grasping the stage, " was th' party wot 
 engyged yer larst night, Bill? " 
 
 " Party name o* Allyiheer" growled the drowsy, 
 one. "W'y?" 
 
 " Party 'ere's lookin' for 'im. Where'll I find this 
 'Allytheer? " 
 
 " Best look sharp 'r yer won't find 'im," retorted 
 the one above. " 'E "was at anchor off Bow Creek 
 larst night." 
 
 Kirkwood's heart leaped in hope. " What sort 
 of a vessel was she? " he asked, half rising in his 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Brigantine, sir." 
 
 " Thank you! " replied Kirkwood explosively, 
 resuming his seat with uncalculated haste as old Bob, 
 deaf to the amenities of social intercourse in an
 
 AGAIN "BELOW BRIDGE" 181}' 
 
 emergency involving as much as ten-bob, shoved off! 
 again. 
 
 And again the boat was flying down in midstream, 
 the leaden waters, shot with gold of the morning 
 sun, parting sullenly beneath its bows. 
 
 The air was still, heavy and tepid ; the least exertion 
 brought out beaded moisture on face and hands. In 
 the east hung a turgid sky, dull with haze, through 
 which the mounting sun swam like a plaque of brass ; 
 overhead it was clear and cloudless, but besmirched 
 as if the polished mirror of the heavens had been 
 fouled by the breath of departing night. 
 
 On the right, ahead, Greenwich Naval College 
 loomed up, the great gray-stone buildings beyond the 
 embankment impressively dominating the scene, in 
 happy relief against the wearisome monotony of the 
 river-banks ; it came abreast ; and ebbed into the back- 
 wards of the scene. 
 
 The watermen straining at the sweeps, the boat 
 sped into Blackwall Reach, Bugsby Marshes a splash 
 of lurid green to port, dreary Cubitt Town and the 
 West India Docks to starboard. Here the river ran 
 thick with shipping. 
 
 "Are we near?" Kirkwood would know; and by 
 way of reply had a grunt of the younger water- 
 man. 
 
 Again, " Will we make it? " he asked. 
 
 The identical grunt answered him ; he was free to
 
 ,182 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 interpret it as he would ; young William as old 
 Bob named him had no breath for idle words. 
 Kirkwood subsided, controlling his impatience to the 
 best of his ability ; the men, he told himself again and 
 t again, were earning their pay, whether or not they, 
 gained the goal of his desire. . . . Their labors 
 were titanic; on their temples and foreheads the 
 knotted veins stood out like discolored whip-cord ; their 
 faces were the shade of raw beef, steaming with 
 iweat; their eyes protruded with the strain that set 
 their jaws like vises; their chests heaved and shrank 
 like bellows ; their backs curved, straightened, and 
 bent again in rhythmic unison as tiring to the eye 
 as the swinging of a pendulum. 
 
 Hugging the marshy shore, they rounded the 
 Blackwall Point. Young William looked to Kirk- 
 wood, caught his eye, and nodded. 
 
 " Here? " 
 
 Kirkwood rose, balancing himself against the leap 
 and sway of the boat. 
 
 " Sumwhere's . . . 'long ... o' 'ere." 
 
 From right to left his eager glance swept the 
 river's widening reach. Vessels were there in abun- 
 dance, odd, unwieldy, blunt-bowed craft with huge, 
 rakish, tawny sails ; long strings of flat barges, pyr- 
 amidal mounds of coal on each, lashed to another 
 and convoyed by panting tugs ; steam cargo boats, 
 battered, worn, rusted sore through their age-old
 
 AGAIN " BELOW BRIDGE " 183 
 
 paint; a steel leviathan of the deep seas, half cargo, 
 half passenger boat, warping reluctantly into the 
 mouth of the Victoria Dock tidal basin, but no 
 brigantine, no sailing vessel of any type. 
 
 The young man's lips checked a cry that was half 
 a sob of bitter disappointment. He had entered into 
 the spirit of the chase heart and soul, with an en- 
 thusiasm that was strange to him, when he came to 
 look back upon the time; and to fail, even though 
 failure had been discounted a hundredfold since the 
 inception of his mad adventure, seemed hard, very 
 hard. 
 
 He sat down suddenly. " She's gone ! " he cried 
 in a hollow gasp. 
 
 The boatmen eased upon their oars, and old Bob 
 stood up in the bows, scanning the river-scape with 
 keen eyes shielded by a level palm. Young William 
 drooped forward suddenly, head upon knees, and 
 breathed convulsively. The boat drifted listlessly, 
 with the current. 
 
 Old Bob panted : " 'Dawn't see nawthin' 
 o' 'er." He resumed his seat. 
 
 " There's no hope, I suppose? " 
 
 The elder waterman shook his head. " 'Carn't sye. 
 
 Might be round nex' bend might be 
 
 passin' Purfleet. . . . 'Point is me an* 
 
 young Wilyum 'ere carn't do no more 'n we 'as. 
 
 We be wore out.'* 
 
 N.
 
 184 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Yes," Kirkwood assented, disconsolate. " You've 
 certainly earned your pay." Then hope revived ; he 
 was very young in heart, you know. " Can't you 
 suggest something ? I've got to catch that ship ! " 
 
 Old Bob wagged his head in slow negation ; young 
 William lifted his. 
 
 " There's a rylewye runs by Woolwich," he ven- 
 tured. " Yer might tyke tryne an' go to Sheerness, 
 sir. Yer'd be positive o* passin' 'er if she didn't 
 syle afore 'igh-tide. 'Ire a boat at Sheerness an' put 
 out an' look for 'er." 
 
 " How f ar's Woolwich ? " Kirkwood demanded in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Mile," said the elder man. " Tyke yer for five- 
 bob extry." 
 
 " Done ! " 
 
 Young William dashed the sweat from his eyes, 
 wiped his palms on his hips, and fitted the sweeps 
 again to the wooden tholes. Old Bob was as ready. 
 With an inarticulate cry they gave way.
 
 DESPEIIATE MEASURES 
 
 Old Bob seemed something inclined toward op- 
 timism, when the boat lay alongside a landing-stage 
 at Woolwich, and Kirkwood had clambered ashore. 
 
 " Yer'll mebbe myke it," the waterman told him 
 with a weatherwise survey of the skies. " Wind's 
 freshenin' from the east'rds, an' that'll 'old J er back 
 a bit, sir." 
 
 " Arsk th' wye to th* Dorkyard Styshun," youngi 
 William volunteered. " 'Tis th' shortest walk, sir. 
 I 'opes yer catches 'er. . . Thanky, sir." 
 
 He caught dextrously the sovereign which Kirk- 
 wood, in ungrudging liberality, spared them of his 
 store of two. The American nodded acknowledg- 
 ments and adieux, with a faded smile deprecating his 
 chances of winning the race, sorely handicapped as 
 he was. He was very, very tired, and in his heart 
 suspected that he would fail. But, if he did, he 
 would at least be able to comfort himself that it was 
 not for lack of trying. He set his teeth on that 
 covenant, in grim determination ; either there was 
 a strain of the bulldog latent in the Kirkwood breed 
 
 185
 
 186 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 or else his infatuation gripped him more strongly 
 than he guessed. 
 
 Yet he suspected something of its power; he knew 
 that this was altogether an insane proceeding, and 
 that the lure that led him on was Dorothy Calendar. 
 A strange dull light glowed in his weary eyes, 
 on the thought of her. He'd go through fire and 
 water in her service. She was costing him dear, per- 
 haps was to cost him dearer still ; and perhaps there'd 
 be for his guerdon no more than a " Thank you, Mr. 
 Kirkwood ! " at the end of the passage. But that 
 would be no less than his deserts ; he was not to forget 
 that he was interfering unwarrantably; the girl was 
 in her father's hands, surely safe enough there 
 to the casual mind. If her partnership in her 
 parent's fortunes were distasteful, she endured 
 it passively, without complaint. 
 
 He decided that it was his duty to remind himself, 
 from time to time, that his main interest must be in 
 the game itself, in the solution of the riddle; what- 
 ever should befall, he must look for no reward for his 
 gratuitous and self-appointed part. Indeed he was 
 all but successful in persuading himself that it was 
 the fascination of adventure alone that drew him on. 
 
 Whatever the lure, it was inexorable; instead of 
 doing as a sensible person would have done re- 
 turning to London for a long rest in his hotel room, 
 ere striving to retrieve his shattered fortunes Philip
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 187 
 
 Kirkwood turned up the village street, intent only to 
 find the railway station and catch the first available 
 train for Sheerness, were that an early one or a late. 
 
 A hapchance native whom he presently encountered, 
 furnished minute directions for reaching the Dock- 
 yard Station of the Southeastern and Chatham Rail- 
 way, adding comfortable information to the effect 
 that the next east-bound train would pass through in 
 ten minutes; if Kirkwood would mend his pace he 
 could make it easily, with time to spare. 
 
 Kirkwood mended his pace accordingly, but, con- 
 trary to the prediction, had no time to spare at all. 
 Even as he stormed the ticket-grating, the train was 
 thundering in at the platform. Therefore a nervous 
 ticket agent passed him out a first-class ticket instead 
 of the third-class he had asked for; and there was no 
 time wherein to have the mistake rectified. Kirkwood 
 planked down the fare, swore, and sprinted for the 
 carriages. 
 
 The first compartment whose door he jerked 
 violently open, proved to be occupied, and was, more- 
 over, not a smoking-car. He received a fleeting im- 
 pression of a woman's startled eyes, staring into his 
 own through a thin mesh of veiling, fell off the run- 
 ning-board, slammed the door, and hurled himself to- 
 wards the next compartment. Here happier fortune 
 attended upon his desire ; the box-like section was un- 
 tenanted, and a notice blown upon the window-glass
 
 188 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 announced that it was " 2nd Class Smoking." Kirk- 
 wood promptly tumbled in ; and when he turned to 
 shut the door the coaches were moving. 
 
 A pipe helped him to bear up while the train was 
 making its two other stops in the Borough of Wool- 
 wich: a circumstance so maddening to a man in a 
 hurry, that it set Kirkwood's teeth on edge with sheer 
 impatience, and made him long fervently for the 
 land of his birth, where they do things differently 
 where the Board of Directors of a railway company 
 doesn't erect three substantial passenger depots in the 
 course of a mile and a half of overgrown village, 
 It consoled him little that none disputed with him 
 his lonely possession of the compartment, that he had 
 caught the Sheerness train, or that he was really 
 losing no time; a sense of deep dejection had settled 
 down upon his consciousness, with a realization of 
 how completely a fool's errand was this of his. He 
 felt foredoomed to failure; he was never to see 
 Dorothy Calendar again ; and his brain seemed numb 
 with disappointment. 
 
 Rattling and swaying, the train left the town be- 
 hind. 
 
 Presently he put aside his pipe and stared blankly 
 out at a reeling landscape, the pleasant, homely, 
 smiling countryside of Kent. A deeper melancholy 
 tinted his mind: Dorothy Calendar was for ever lost 
 to him.
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 189 
 
 The trucks drummed it out persistently he 
 thought, vindictively : " Lost! "... Lost! 
 For ever lost! . . . " 
 
 And he had made was then making a damned 
 fool of himself. The trucks had no need to din that 
 into his thick skull by their ceaseless iteration ; he knew 
 it, would not deny it. ... 
 
 And it was all his own fault. He'd had his chance, 
 Calendar had offered him it. If only he had closed 
 with the fat adventurer ! 
 
 Before his eyes field and coppice, hedge and home- 
 stead, stream and flowing highway, all blurred and 
 ran streakily into one another, like a highly impres- 
 sionistic water-color. He could make neither head 
 nor tail of the flying views, and so far as coherent 
 thought was concerned, he could not put two ideas 
 together. Without understanding distinctly, he 
 presently did a more wise and wholesome thing : which 
 was to topple limply over on the cushions and fall 
 fast asleep. 
 
 After a long time he seemed to realize rather hazily 
 that the carriage-door had been opened to admit 
 somebody. Its smart closing bang shocked him 
 awake. He sat up, blinking in confusion, hardly 
 conscious of more, to begin with, than that the train 
 had paused and was again in full flight. Then, his 
 senses clearing, he became aware that his solitary
 
 190 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 companion, just entered, was a woman. She was 
 seated over across from him, her back to the engine, 
 in an attitude which somehow suggested a highly, 
 nonchalant frame of mind. She laughed, and im- 
 mediately her speaking voice was high and sweet in 
 his hearing. 
 
 " Really, you know, Mr. Kirkwood, I simply 
 couldn't contain my impatience another instant." 
 
 Kirkwood gasped and tried to re-collect his wits. 
 
 " Beg pardon I've been asleep," he said stupidly. 
 
 " Yes. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, but, you 
 know, you must make allowances for a woman's 
 nerves." 
 
 Beneath his breath the bewildered man said: 
 " The deuce ! " and above it, in a stupefied tone : 
 "Mrs. Hallam!" 
 
 She nodded in a not unfriendly fashion, smiling 
 brightly. " Myself, Mr. Kirkwood ! Really, our 
 predestined paths are badly tangled, just now; aren't 
 they? Were you surprised to find me in here, with 
 you ? Come now, confess you were ! " 
 
 He remarked the smooth, girlish freshness of her 
 cheeks, the sense and humor of her mouth, the veiled 
 gleam of excitement in her eyes of the changing sea ; 
 and saw, as well, that she was dressed for traveling, 
 sensibly but with an air, and had brought a small 
 hand-bag with her. 
 
 " Surprised and delighted," he replied, recovering,
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 191 
 
 with mendacity so intentional and obvious that the 
 woman laughed aloud. 
 
 " I knew you'd be ! . . . You see, I had the 
 carriage ahead, the one you didn't take. I was so 
 disappointed when you flung up to the door and 
 away again ! You didn't see me hanging half out 
 the window to watch where you went, did you? 
 That's how I discovered that your discourtesy was 
 unintentional, that you hadn't recognized me, by 
 the fact that you took this compartment, right behind 
 my own." 
 
 She paused invitingly, but Kirkwood, grown wary, 
 contented himself with picking up his pipe and care- 
 fully knocking out the dottle on the window-ledge. 
 
 " I was glad to see you*," she affirmed; " but only 
 partly because you were you, Mr. Kirkwood. The 
 other and major part was because sight of you con- 
 firmed my own secret intuition. You see, I'm quite 
 old enough and wise enough to question even my own 
 intuitions." 
 
 " A woman wise enough for that is an adult< 
 prodigy," he ventured cautiously. 
 
 " It's experience and age. I insist upon the age ; 
 J the mother of a grown-up boy ! So I deliberately 
 ran after you, changing when we stopped at Newing- 
 ton. You might've escaped me if I had waited until 
 we got to Queensborough." 
 
 Again she paused in open expectancy. Kirkwood,
 
 192 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 perplexed, put the pipe in his pocket, and assumed 
 a factitious look of resignation, regarding her 
 askance with that whimsical twist of his eyebrows. 
 
 " For you are going to Queensborough, aren't you, 
 Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 "Queensborough?" he echoed blankly; and, in 
 fact, he was at a loss to follow her drift. " No, Mrs. 
 Hallam ; I'm not bound thene." 
 
 Her surprise was apparent^ she made no effort to 
 conceal it. " But," she faltered, " if not there " 
 
 " 'Give you my word, Mrs. Hallam, I have no in- 
 tention whatever of going to Queensborough," Kirk- 
 wood protested. 
 
 " I don't understand." The nervous drumming of 
 a patent-leather covered toe, visible beneath the hem 
 of her dress, alone betrayed a rising tide of im- 
 patience. " Then my intuition was at fault ! " 
 
 " In this instance, if it was at all concerned with 
 my insignificant affairs, yes most decidedly at 
 fault." 
 
 She shook her head, regarding him with grave sus- 
 picion. " I hardly know whether to believe you. 
 I think ..." * 
 
 Kirkwood's countenance displayed an added shade 
 of red. After a moment, " I mean no discourtesy," 
 he began stiffly, " but " 
 
 " But you don't care a farthing whether I believe 
 you or not? "
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 193 
 
 He caught her laughing eye, and smiled, the flush 
 subsiding. 
 
 "Very well, then ! Now let us see : Where are you 
 bound? " 
 
 Kirkwood looked out of the window. 
 
 " I'm convinced it's a rendezvous . . . ? " 
 
 Kirkwood smiled patiently at the landscape. 
 
 " Is Dorothy Calendar/so very, very beautiful, Mr. 
 Kirkwood ? " with a trace of malice. 
 
 Ostentatiously Kirkwood read the South Eastern 
 and Chatham's framed card of warning, posted just 
 above Mrs. Hallam's head, to all such incurable 
 lunatics as are possessed of a desire to travel on the 
 running-boards of railway carriages. 
 
 " You are going to meet her, aren't you ? " 
 
 He gracefully concealed a yawn. 
 
 The woman's plan of attack took another form. 
 " Last night, when you told me your story, I believed 
 you." 
 
 He devoted himself to suppressing the temptingly 
 obvious retort, and succeeded ; but though he left it 
 unspoken, the humor of it twitched the corners of his 
 mouth; and Mrs. Hallam was observant. So that 
 her next attempt to draw him out was edged with 
 temper. 
 
 " I believed you an American but a gentleman ; it 
 appears that, if you ever were the latter, you've fallen 
 so low that you willingly cast your lot with thieves."
 
 194 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 .. 
 
 Having exhausted his repertoire of rudenesses, Kirk- 
 wood took to twiddling his thumbs. 
 
 " I want to ask you if you think it fair to me or 
 my son, to leave us in ignorance of the place where 
 you are to meet the thieves who stole our my son's 
 jewels? " 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam," he said soberly, " if I am going 
 to meet Mr. Calendar or Mr. Mulready, I have no 
 assurance of that fact." 
 
 There was only the briefest of pauses, during which 
 she analyzed this ; then, quickly, " But you hope 
 to? " she snapped. 
 
 He felt that the only adequate retort to this would 
 be a shrug of his shoulders ; doubted his ability to 
 carry one off ; and again took refuge in silence. 
 
 The woman abandoned a second plan of siege, with 
 a readiness that did credit to her knowledge of 
 mankind. She thought out the next very carefully, 
 before opening with a masked battery. 
 
 " Mr. Kirkwood, can't we be friends this aside? " 
 
 " Nothing could please me more, Mrs. Hallam ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry if I've annoyed you " 
 
 " And I, too, have been rude." 
 
 " Last night, when you cut away so suddenly, you 
 prevented my making you a proposal, a sort of a 
 business proposition . . . " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " To come over to our side "
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 195 
 
 " I thought so. That was why I went." 
 " Yes ; I understood. But this morning, when 
 you've had time to think it over ? " 
 
 " I have no choice in the matter, Mrs. Hallam." 
 The green eyes darkened ominously. " You mean 
 I am to understand, then, that you're against us, 
 that you prefer to side with swindlers and scoundrels, 
 all because of a " 
 
 She discovered him eying her with a smile of such 
 inscrutable and sardonic intelligence, that the words 
 died on her lips, and she crimsoned, treasonably to 
 herself. For he saw it; and the belief he had con- 
 ceived while attending to her tissue of fabrication, 
 earlier that morning, was strengthened to the point 
 of conviction that, if anything had been stolen by 
 anybody, Mrs. Hallam and her son owned it as little 
 as Calendar. 
 
 As for the woman, she felt she had steadily lost, 
 rather than gained, ground; and the flash of anger 
 that had colored her cheeks, lit twin beacons in her 
 eyes, which she resolutely fought down until they 
 faded to mere gleams of resentment and determination. 
 But she forgot to control her lips ; and they are the 
 truest indices to a woman's character and temper- 
 ament ; and Kirkwood did not overlook the circum- 
 stance that their specious sweetness had vanished, 
 leaving them straight, set and hard, quite the reverse 
 of attractive.
 
 196 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " So," she said slowly, after a silent time, " you 
 are not for Queensborough ! The corollary of that 
 admission, Mr. Kirkwood, is that you are for Sheer- 
 ness." 
 
 " I believe," he replied wearily, " that there are no 
 other stations on this line, after Newington." 
 
 " It follows, then, that that I follow." And in 
 answer to his perturbed glance, she added : " Oh, I'll 
 grant that intuition is sometimes a poor guide. But 
 if you meet George Calendar, so shall I. Nothing 
 can prevent that. You can't hinder me." 
 
 Considerably amused, he chuckled. " Let us talk 
 of other things, Mrs. Hallam," he suggested pleas- 
 antly. " How is your son ? " 
 
 At this juncture the brakes began to shriek and 
 grind upon the wheels. The train slowed ; it stopped ; 
 and the voice of a guard could be heard admonishing 
 passengers for Queensborough Pier to alight and take 
 the branch line. In the noise the woman's response 
 was drowned, and Kirkwood was hardly enough con- 
 cerned for poor Freddie to repeat his question. 
 
 When, after a little, the train pulled out of the 
 junction, neither found reason to resume the conver- 
 sation. During the brief balance of the journey Mrs. 
 Hallam presumably had food for thought; she 
 frowned, pursed her lips, and with one daintily gloved 
 forefinger followed a seam of her tailored skirt ; while 
 Kirkwood sat watching and wondering how to rid
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 197 
 
 himself of her, if she proved really as troublesome as 
 she threatened to be. 
 
 Also, he wondered continually what it was all 
 about. Why did Mrs. Hallam suspect him of design- 
 ing to meet Calendar at Queensborough ? Had she 
 any tangible ground for believing that Calendar 
 could be found in Queensborough? Presumably she 
 had, since she was avowedly in. pursuit of that 
 gentleman, and, Kirkwood inferred, had booked for 
 Queensborough. Was he, then, running away from 
 Calendar and his daughter to chase a will-o'-the-wisp 
 of his credulous fancy, off Sheerness shore? 
 
 Disturbing reflection. He scowled over it, then 
 considered the other side of the face. Presuming 
 Mrs. Hallam to have had reasonably dependable as- 
 surance that Calendar would stop in Queensborough, 
 would she so readily have abandoned her design to 
 catch him, there, on the mere supposition that Kirk- 
 wood might be looking for him in Sheerness? That 
 did not seem likely, to one who esteemed Mrs. Hallam's 
 acumen as highly as Kirkwood did. He brightened 
 up, forgot that his was a fool's errand, and began 
 again to project strategic plans into a problematic 
 future. 
 
 A sudden jolt interrupted this pastime, and the 
 warning screech of the brakes informed that he had 
 no time to scheme, but had best continue on the plan 
 of action that had brought him thus far that is,
 
 198 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 trust to his star and accept what should befall with- 
 out repining. 
 
 He rose, opened the door, and holding it so, turned. 
 
 " I regret, Mrs. Hallam," he announced, smiling- 
 his crooked smile, " that a pressing engagement is 
 about to prohibit my 'squiring you through the ticket- 
 gates. You understand, I'm sure." 
 
 His irrepressible humor proved infectious; and 
 Mrs. Hallam's spirit ran as high as his own. She 
 was smiling cheerfully when she, too, rose. 
 
 " I also am in some haste," she averred demurely, 
 gathering up her hand-bag and umbrella. 
 
 A raised platform shot in beside the carriage, and 
 the speed was so sensibly moderated that the train 
 seemed to be creeping rather than running. Kirk- 
 wood flung the door wide open and lowered himself 
 to the running-board. The end of the track was 
 in sight and a man who has been trained to board 
 San Francisco cable-cars fears to alight from no 
 moving vehicle. He swung off, got his balance, and 
 ran swiftly down the platform. 
 
 A cry from a bystander caused him to glance over 
 his shoulder; Mrs. Hallam was then in the act of 
 alighting. As he looked the flurry of skirts subsided 
 and she fell into stride, pursuing. 
 
 Sleepy Sheerness must have been scandalized, that 
 day, and its gossips have acquired ground for many 
 an uncharitable surmise.
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 199 
 
 Kirkwood, however, was so fortunate as to gain the 
 wicket before the employee there awoke to the situ- 
 ation. Otherwise, such is the temper of British petty 
 officialdom, he might have detained the fugitive. As 
 it was, Kirkwood surrendered his ticket and ran out 
 into the street with his luck still a dominant factor in 
 the race. For, looking back, he saw that Mrs. 
 Hallam had been held up at the gate, another victim 
 of British red-tape; her ticket read for Queens- 
 borough, she was attempting to alight one station 
 farther down the line, and while undoubtedly she was 
 anxious to pay the excess fare, Heaven alone knew 
 when she would succeed in allaying the suspicions and 
 resentment of the ticket-taker. 
 
 " That's good for ten minutes' start ! " Kirkwood 
 crowed. " And it never occurred to me ! " 
 
 Before the station he found two hacks in waiting, 
 with little to choose between them ; neither was of a 
 type that did not seem to advertise its pre-Victorian 
 fashioning, and to neither was harnessed an animal 
 that deserved anything but the epithet of screw. 
 Kirkwood took the nearest for no other reason than 
 because it was the nearest, and all but startled the 
 driver off his box by offering double-fare for a brisk 
 pace and a simple service at the end of the ride. Suc- 
 cinctly he set forth his wants, jumped into the anti- 
 quated four-wheeler, and threw himself down upon 
 musty, dusty cushions to hug himself over the joke
 
 200 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and bless whatever English board of railway directors 
 it was that first ordained that tickets should be 
 taken up at the end instead of the outset of a jour- 
 ney. 
 
 It was promptly made manifest that he had fur- 
 ther cause for gratulation. The cabby, recovering 
 from his amazement, was plying an indefatigable 
 whip and thereby eliciting a degree of speed from his 
 superannuated nag, that his fare had by no means 
 hoped for, much less anticipated. The cab rocked 
 and racketed through Sheerness' streets at a pace 
 which is believed to be unprecedented and unrivaled; 
 its passenger, dashed from side to side, had all he 
 could do to keep from battering the vehicle to pieces 
 with his head ; while it was entirely out of the question 
 to attempt to determine whether or not he was being 
 pursued. He enjoyed it all hugely. 
 
 In a period of time surprisingly short, he saw, 
 from fleeting glimpses of the scenery to be obtained 
 through the reeling windows, that they were thread- 
 ing the outskirts of the town ; synchronously, whether 
 by design or through actual inability to maintain it, 
 the speed was moderated. And in the course of a few 
 more minutes the cab stopped definitely. 
 
 Kirkwood clambered painfully out, shook himself 
 together and the bruises out of his bones, and looked 
 fearfully back. 
 
 Aside from a slowly settling cloud of dust, the road
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 201 
 
 ran clear as far as he could see to the point, in 
 fact, where the town closed in about it. 
 
 He had won; at all events in so much as to win 
 meant eluding the persevering Mrs. Hallam. But to 
 what end? 
 
 Abstractedly he tendered his lonely sovereign to 
 the driver, and without even looking at it, crammed 
 the heavy weight of change into his pocket ; an over- 
 sight which not only won him the awe-struck admi- 
 ration of the cabby, but entailed consequences ( it may 
 be) he little apprehended. It was with an absent- 
 minded nod that he acquiesced in the man's announce- 
 ment that he might arrange about the boat for 
 him. Accordingly the cabby disappeared ; and Kirk- 
 wood continued to stare about him, eagerly, hopefully. 
 
 He stood on the brink of the Thames estuary, there 
 a possible five miles from shore to shore ; from his 
 feet, almost, a broad shingle beach sloped gently to 
 the water. 
 
 On one hand a dilapidated picket-fence enclosed the 
 door-yard of a fisherman's cottage, or, better, hovel, 
 if it need be accurately described at the door 
 of which the cabby was knocking. 
 
 The morning was now well-advanced. The sun 
 rode high, a sphere of tarnished flame in a void of 
 silver-gray, its thin cold radiance striking pallid 
 sparks from the leaping crests of wind-whipped waves. 
 In the east a wall of vapor, dull and lusterless, had
 
 202 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 taken body since the dawn, masking the skies and 
 shutting down upon the sea like some vast curtain; 
 and out of the heart of this a bitter and vicious wind 
 played like a sword. 
 
 To the north, Shoeburyness loomed vaguely, like 
 a low-drifted bank of cloud. Off to the right the 
 Nore Lightship danced, a tiny fleck of warm crimson 
 in a wilderness of slatey-blue waters, plumed with a 
 myriad of vanishing white-caps. 
 
 Up the shelving shore, small, puny wavelets dashed 
 in impotent fury, and the shingle sang unceasingly 
 its dreary, syncopated monotone. High and dry, a 
 few dingy boats lay canted wearily upon their broad, 
 swelling sides, a couple of dories, apparently in 
 daily use ; a small sloop yacht, dismantled and plainly 
 beyond repair; and an oyster-smack also out of com- 
 mission. About them the beach was strewn with a 
 litter of miscellany, nets, oars, cork buoys, bits of 
 wreckage and driftwood, a few fish too long forgotten 
 and (one assumed) responsible in part for the foreign 
 wealth of the atmosphere. 
 
 Some little distance offshore a fishing-boat, cat- 
 rigged and not more than twenty-feet over all, swung 
 bobbing at her mooring, keen nose searching into the 
 wind; at sight of which Kirkwood gave thanks, for 
 his adventitious guide had served him well, if that 
 boat were to be hired by any manner of persuasion. 
 
 But it was to the farther reaches of the estuary
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 203 
 
 that he gave more prolonged and most anxious heed, 
 scanning narrowly what shipping was there to be seen. 
 Far beyond the lightship a liner was riding the waves 
 with serene contempt, making for the river's mouth 
 and Tilbury Dock. Nearer in, a cargo boat was 
 standing out upon the long trail, the white of riven 
 waters showing clearly against her unclean freeboard. 
 Out to east a little covey of fishing-smacks, red sails 
 well reefed, were scudding before the wind like 
 strange affrighted water-fowl, and bearing down past 
 a heavy-laden river barge. The latter, with tarpaulin 
 battened snugly down over the cockpit and the seas 
 dashing over her wash-board until she seemed under 
 water half the time, was forging stodgily London- 
 wards, her bargee at the tiller smoking a placid pipe. 
 
 But a single sailing vessel of any notable tonnage 
 was in sight; and when he saw her Kirkwood's heart 
 became buoyant with hope, and he began to tremble 
 with nervous eagerness. For he believed her to be 
 the Aleihea. 
 
 There's no mistaking a ship brigantine-rigged for 
 any other style of craft that sails the seas. 
 
 From her position when first he saw her, Kirkwood 
 could have fancied she was tacking out of the mouth 
 of the Medway; but he judged that, leaving the 
 Thames' mouth, she had tacked to starboard until 
 well-nigh within hail of Sheerness. Now, having pre- 
 sumably gone about, she was standing out toward the
 
 204 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Nore, boring doggedly into the wind. He would have 
 given a deal for glasses wherewith to read the name 
 upon her bows, but was sensible of no hampering 
 doubts ; nor, had he harbored any, would they have 
 .deterred him. He had set his heart upon the win- 
 'ning of his venture, had come too far, risked far too 
 much, to suffer anything now to stay his hand and 
 stand between him and Dorothy Calendar. What- 
 ever the further risks and hazards, though he should 
 take his life in his hands to win to her side, he would 
 struggle on. He recked nothing of personal danger; 
 a less selfish passion ran molten in his veins, moving 
 him to madness. 
 
 Fascinated, he fixed his gaze upon the reeling brig- 
 antine, and for a space it was as if by longing he had 
 projected his spirit to her slanting deck, and were 
 there, pleading his case with the mistress of his 
 heart . . . 
 
 Voices approaching brought him back to shore. 
 He turned, resuming his mask of sanity, the better to 
 confer with the owner of the cottage and boats a 
 heavy, keen-eyed fellow, ungracious and truculent of 
 ihabit, and chary of his words ; as he promptly demon- 
 strated. 
 
 " I'll hire your boat," Kirkwood told him, " to put 
 me aboard that brigantine, off to leeward. We ought 
 to start at once." 
 
 The fisherman shifted his quid of tobacco from
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 205 
 
 cheek to cheek, grunted inarticulately, and swung de- 
 liberately on his heel, displaying a bull neck above a 
 pair of heavy shoulders. 
 
 " Dirty weather," he croaked, facing back from his 
 survey of the eastern skies before the American found , 
 out whether or not he should resent his insolence. 
 
 " How much? " Kirkwood demanded curtly, an- 
 noyed. 
 
 The man hesitated, scowling blackly at the heel- 
 ing vessel, momentarily increasing her distance from 
 shore. Then with a crafty smile, " Two pound'," he 
 declared. 
 
 The American nodded. " Very well," he agreed 
 simply. " Get out your boat." 
 
 The fisherman turned away to shamble noisily over 
 the shingle, huge booted heels crunching, toward one 
 of the dories. To this he set his shoulder, shoving 
 it steadily down, the beach until only the stern was 
 dry. 
 
 Kirkwood looked back, for the last time, up the 
 road to Sheerness. Nothing moved upon it. He 
 was rid of Mrs. Hallam, if face to face with a 
 sterner problem. He had a few pence over ten shil- 
 lings in his pocket, and had promised to pay the 
 man four times as much. He would have agreed to 
 ten times the sum demanded ; for the boat he must and 
 would have. But he had neglected to conclude his 
 bargain, to come to an understanding as to the
 
 206 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 method of payment; and he felt more than a little 
 dubious as to the reception the fisherman would give 
 his proposition, sound as he, Kirkwood, knew it to be. 
 
 In the background the cabby loitered, gnawed by 
 insatiable curiosity. 
 
 The fisherman turned, calling over his shoulder: 
 " If ye'd catch yon vessel, come ! " 
 
 With one final twinge of doubt the task of pla- 
 cating this surly dog was anything but inviting 
 the American strode to the boat and climbed in, tak- 
 ing the stern seat. The fisherman shoved off, wading 
 out thigh-deep in the spiteful waves, then threw him- 
 self in over the gunwales and shipped the oars. Bows 
 swinging offshore, rocking and dancing, the dory be- 
 gan to forge slowly toward the anchored boat. In 
 their faces the wind beat gustily, and small, slapping 
 waves, breaking against the sides, showered them with 
 fine spray. 
 
 In time the dory lay alongside the cat-boat, the 
 fisherman with a gnarled hand grasping the latter's 
 gunwale to hold the two together. With some diffi- 
 culty Kirkwood transhipped himself, landing asprawl 
 in the cockpit, amid a tangle of cordage slippery 
 with scales. The skipper followed, with clumsy ex- 
 pertness bringing the dory's painter with him and 
 hitching it to a ring-bolt abaft the rudder-head. 
 Then, pausing an instant to stare into the East with 
 somber eyes, he shipped the tiller and bent to the
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 207 
 
 halyards. As the sail rattled up, flapping wildly, 
 Kirkwood marked with relief for it meant so much 
 time saved that it was already close reefed. 
 
 But when at least the boom was thrashing over- 
 head and the halyards had been made fast to their 
 cleats, the fisherman again stood erect, peering dis- 
 trustfully at the distant wall of cloud. 
 
 Then, in two breaths : " Can't do it," he decided ; 
 " not at the price." 
 
 " Why ? " Kirkwood stared despairingly after the 
 brigantine, that was already drawn far ahead. 
 
 " Danger," growled the fellow, " wind." 
 
 At a loss completely, Kirkwood found no words. 
 He dropped his head, considering. 
 
 " Not at the price," the sullen voice iterated ; and 
 he looked up to find the cunning gaze upon him. 
 
 " How much, then? " 
 
 " Five poun' I'll have no less, for riskin' my life 
 this day." 
 
 " Impossible. I haven't got it." 
 
 In silence the man unshipped the tiller and moved 
 toward the cleats. 
 
 " Hold on a minute." 
 
 Kirkwood unbuttoned his coat and, freeing the 
 chain from his waistcoat buttonholes, removed his 
 watch. . . . As well abandon them altogether; 
 he had designed to leave them as security for the 
 two pounds, and had delayed stating the terms only
 
 208 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 for fear lest they be refused. Now, too late as ever, 
 he recognized his error. But surely, he thought, it 
 should be apparent even to that low intelligence that 
 the timepiece alone was worth more than the boat 
 itself. 
 
 " Will you take these? " he offered. " Take and 
 keep them only set me aboard that ship ! " 
 
 Deliberately the fisherman weighed the watch and 
 chain in his broad, hard palm, eyes narrowing to 
 mere slits in his bronzed mask. 
 
 " How much? " he asked slowly. 
 
 " Eighty pounds, together ; the chain alone cost 
 me twenty." 
 
 The shifty, covetous eyes ranged from the treasure 
 in his hand to the threatening east. A puff of 
 wind caught the sail and sent the boom athwartships, 
 like a mighty flail. Both men ducked instinctively, 
 to escape a braining. 
 
 " How do I know? " objected the skipper. 
 
 " I'm telling you. If you've got eyes, you can 
 see," retorted Kirkwood savagely, seeing that he had 
 erred in telling the truth ; the amount he had named 
 was too great to be grasped at once by this crude, 
 cupidous brain. 
 
 " How do I know? " the man repeated. Neverthe- 
 less he dropped watch and chain into his pocket, then 
 with a meaning grimace extended again his horny, 
 greedy palm.
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 209 
 
 "What . . .?" 
 
 " Hand over th' two pound' and we'll go." 
 
 " I'll see you damned first ! " 
 
 A flush of rage blinded the young man. The 
 knowledge that the Aletliea was minute by minute 
 slipping beyond his reach seemed to madden him. 
 White-lipped and ominously quiet he rose from his 
 seat on the combing, as, without answer, the fisher- 
 man, crawling out on the overhand, began to haul in 
 the dory. 
 
 " Ashore ye go," he pronounced his ultimatum, mo- 
 tioning Kirkwood to enter the boat. 
 
 The American turned, looking for the Alethea, or 
 for the vessel that he believed bore that name. She 
 was nearing the light-ship when he found her, and 
 as he looked a squall blurred the air between them, 
 blotting the brigantine out with a smudge of rain. 
 The effect was as if she had vanished, as if she were 
 for ever snatched from his grasp ; and with Dorothy 
 aboard her Heaven alone knew in what need of 
 him! 
 
 Mute and blind with despair and wrath, he turned 
 upon the man and caught him by the collar, forc-j 
 ing him out over the lip of the overhang. They 
 were unevenly matched, Kirkwood far the slighter, but 
 strength came to him in the crisis, physical strength 
 and address such as he had not dreamed was at his 
 command. And the surprise of his onslaught proved
 
 210 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 an ally of unguessed potency. Before he himself 
 knew it he was standing on the overhang and had 
 shifted his hold to seize the fellow about the waist ; 
 then, lifting him clear of the deck, and aided by a 
 lurch of the cat-boat, he cast him bodily into the 
 dory. The man, falling, struck his head against one 
 of the thwarts, a glancing blow that stunned him 
 temporarily. Kirkwood himself dropped as if shot, 
 a trailing reef -point slapping his cheek until it stung 
 as the boom thrashed overhead. It was as close a 
 call as he had known; the knowledge sickened him a 
 little. 
 
 Without rising he worked the painter loose and 
 cast the dory adrift; then crawled back into the cock- 
 pit. No pang of compassion disturbed him as he 
 abandoned the fisherman to the mercy of the sea; 
 though the fellow lay still, uncouthly distorted, in 
 the bottom of the dory, he was in no danger; the 
 wind and waves together would carry the boat ashore. 
 For that matter, the man was even then re- 
 covering, struggling to sit up. 
 
 Crouching to avoid the boom, Kirkwood went for- 
 ward to the bows, and, grasping the mooring cable, 
 drew it in, slipping back into the cockpit to get a 
 stronger purchase with his feet. It was a struggle; 
 the boat pulled sluggishly against the wind, the cable 
 inching in jealously. And behind him he could hear 
 A voice bellowing inarticulate menaces, and knew that
 
 DESPERATE MEASURES 
 
 in another moment the fisherman would be at his oars. 
 
 Frantically he tugged and tore at the slimy rope, 
 hauling with a will and a prayer. It gave .more 
 readily, towards the end, but he seemed to have fought 
 with it for ages when at last the anchor tripped and he 
 got it in. 
 
 Immediately he leaped back to the stern, fitted in 
 the tiller, and seizing the mainsheet, drew the boom 
 in till the wind should catch in the canvas. In the 
 dory the skipper, bending at his oars> was not two 
 yards astern. 
 
 He was hard aboard when, the sail filling with a 
 bang, Kirkwood pulled the tiller up ; and the cat-boat 
 slid away, a dozen feet separating them in a breath. 
 
 A yell of rage boomed down the wind, but he 
 paid no heed. Careless alike of the dangers he had 
 passed and those that yawned before him, he trimmed 
 the sheet and stood away on the port tack, heading 
 directly for the Nore Lightship.
 
 XI 
 
 OFF THE NORE 
 
 Kirkwood's anger cooled apace; at worst it had 
 been a flare of passion incandescent. It was sel- 
 dom more. His brain clearing, the temperature of 
 his judgment quickly regained its mean, and he saw 
 his changes without distortion, weighed them without 
 exaggeration. 
 
 Leaning against the combing, feet braced upon 
 the slippery and treacherous deck, he clung to tiller 
 and mainsheet and peered ahead with anxious eyes, a 
 pucker of daring graven deep between his brows. 
 
 A mile to westward, three or more ahead, he could 
 see the brigantine standing close in under the Essex 
 shore. At times she was invisible; again he could 
 catch merely the glint of her canvas, white against 
 the dark loom of the littoral, toned by a mist of 
 flying spindrift. He strained his eyes, watching for 
 the chance which would take place in the rake of her 
 masts and sails, when she should come about. 
 
 For the longer that manoeuver was deferred, the 
 better was his chance of attaining his object. It 
 was a forlorn hope. But in time the brigantine,
 
 OFF THE NORE 213 
 
 to escape Maplin Sands, would be forced to tack and 
 stand out past the lightship, the wind off her port 
 bows. Then their courses would intersect. It re- 
 mained to be demonstrated whether the cat-boat was 
 speedy enough to arrive at this point of contact 
 in advance of, or simultaneously with, the larger 
 vessel. Every minute that the putative Aletliea put 
 off coming about brought the cat-boat nearer that 
 goal, but Ivirkwood could do no more than hope and 
 try to trust in the fisherman's implied admission that 
 it could be done. It was all in the boat and the way, 
 she handled. 
 
 He watched her anxiously, quick to approve her 
 merits as she displayed them. He had sailed small 
 craft before frail center-board cat-boats, handy 
 and swift, built to serve in summer winds and pro- 
 tected waters: never such an one as this. Yet he 
 liked her. 
 
 Deep bosomed she was, with no center-board, de- 
 pendent on her draught and heavy keel to hold her 
 on the wind; stanch and seaworthy, sheathed with 
 stout plank and ribbed with seasoned timber, designed 
 to keep afloat in the wickedest weather brewed by the 
 foul-tempered German Ocean. Withal her lines were 
 fine and clean ; for all her beam she was calculated to 
 nose narrowly into the wind and make a pretty pace 
 as well. A good boat: he had the grace to give the 
 credit to his luck.
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Her disposition was more fully disclosed as they 
 drew away from the beach. Inshore with shoaling 
 water, the waves had been choppy and spiteful but 
 lacking force of weight. Farther out, as the bottom 
 fell away, the rollers became more uniform and power- 
 ful ; heavy sweeping seas met the cat-boat, from their 
 hollows looming mountainous to the man in the tiny 
 cockpit ; who was nevertheless aware that to a steamer 
 they would be negligible. 
 
 His boat breasted them gallantly, toiling sturdily 
 up the steep acclivities, poising breathlessly on foam- 
 crested summits for dizzy instants, then plunging 
 headlong down the deep green swales ; and left a boil- 
 ing wake behind her,: urging ever onward, hugging 
 the wind in her wisp of blood-red sail, and boring into 
 it, pulling at the tiller with the mettle of a race-horse 
 slugging at the bit. 
 
 Offshore, too, the wind stormed with added 
 strength, or, possibly, had freshened. For minutes 
 on end the leeward gunwales would run green, and 
 now and again the screaming, pelting squalls that 
 scoured the estuary would heel her over until the 
 water cascaded in over the lee combing, and the rud- 
 der, lifted clear, would hang idle until, smitten by 
 some racing billow, the tiller would be all but torn 
 from Kirkwood's hands. Again and again this hap- 
 pened; and those were times of trembling. But al- 
 ways the cat-boat righted, shaking the clinging
 
 OFF THE NORE 
 
 waters from her and swinging her stem into the wind 
 again ; and there would follow an abbreviated breath- 
 ing spell, during which Kirkwood was at liberty to 
 dash the salt spray from his eyes and search the wind- 
 harried waste for the brigantine. Sometimes he 
 found her, sometimes not. 
 
 Long after he had expected her to, she went about 
 and they began to close in upon each other. He 
 could see that even with shortened canvas she was 
 staggering drunkenly under the fierce impacts of the 
 wind. For himself, it was nip-and-tuck, now, and 
 no man in his normal sense would have risked a six- 
 pence on the boat's chance to live until she crossed the 
 brigantine's bows. 
 
 Time out of reckoning he was forced to kneel in 
 the swimming cockpit, steering with one hand, using 
 the bailing-dish with the other, and keeping his eyes 
 religiously turned to the bellying patch of sail. It 
 was heartbreaking toil; he began reluctantly to con- 
 cede that it could not last much longer. And if he 
 missed the brigantine he would be lost; mortal 
 strength was not enough to stand the unending strain 
 upon every bone, muscle and sinew, required to keep 
 the boat upon her course ; though for a time it might 
 cope with and solve the problems presented by each 
 new, malignant billow and each furious, howling 
 squall, the end inevitably must be failure. To strug- 
 gle on would be but to postpone the certain end
 
 216 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 save and except the possibility of his gain- 
 ing the brigantine within the period of time strictly 
 and briefly limited by his powers of endurance. 
 
 Long since he had become numb with cold from 
 incessant drenchings of icy spray, that piled in over 
 tJie windward counter, keeping the bottom ankle-deep 
 regardless of his laborious but intermittent efforts 
 with the bailing dish. And the two, brigantine and 
 cockle-shell, were drawing together with appalling de- 
 liberation. 
 
 A dozen times he was on the point of surrender, as 
 often plucked up hope; as the minutes wore on and 
 he kept above water, he began to believe that 
 if he could stick it out his judgment and seamanship 
 would be justified . . . though human ingenuity 
 backed by generosity could by no means contrive 
 adequate excuse for his foolhardiness. 
 
 But that was aside, something irreparable. Wan 
 and grim, he fought it out. 
 
 But that his voice stuck in his parched throat, he 
 could have shouted in his elation, when eventually he 
 gained the point of intersection an eighth of a mile 
 ahead of the brigantine and got sight of her wind- 
 ward freeboard as, most slowly, the cat-boat forged 
 across her course. 
 
 For all that, the moment of his actual triumph was 
 not yet ; he had still to carry off successfully a scheme 
 that for sheer audacity of conception and contempt
 
 OFF THE NORE 217 
 
 for danger, transcended all that, had gone before. 
 
 Holding the cat-boat on for a time, he brought her 
 about handsomely a little way beyond the brigantine' s 
 course, and hung in the eye of the wind, the leach 
 flapping and tightening with reports like rifle-shots, 
 and the water sloshing about his calves bail- 
 ing-dish now altogether out of mind while he 
 watched the onconu'ng vessel, his eyes glistening with 
 anticipation. 
 
 She was footing it smartly, the brigantine lying 
 down to it and snoring into the wind. Beneath her 
 stem waves broke in snow-white showers, whiter than 
 the canvas of her bulging jib broke and, gnash- 
 ing their teeth in impotent fury, swirled and eddied 
 down her sleek dark flanks. Bobbing, courtesying, 
 she plunged onward, shortening the interval with 
 mighty, leaping bounds. On her bows, with each in- 
 stant, the golden letters of her name grew larger and 
 more legible until Aleiheal he could read it 
 plain beyond dispute. 
 
 Joy welled in his heart. He forgot all that he 
 had undergone in the prospect of what he proposed 
 still to do in the name of the only woman the world 
 held for him. Unquestioning he had come thus far in 
 her service; unquestioning, by her side, he was pre- 
 pared to go still farther, though all humanity should 
 single her out with accusing fingers. 
 
 They were watching him, aboard the brigantine;
 
 218 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 he could see a line of heads above her windward 
 rail. Perhaps she was of their number. He waved 
 an audacious hand. Some one replied, a great shout 
 shattering itself unintelligibly against the gale. He 
 neither understood nor attempted to reply ; his every 
 faculty was concentrated on the supreme moment now 
 at hand. 
 
 Calculating the instant to a nicety, he paid off the 
 sheet and pulled up the tiller. The cat-boat pivoted 
 on her heel; with a crack her sail flapped full and 
 rigid ; then, with the untempered might of the wind 
 behind her, she shot like an arrow under the brigan- 
 tine's bows, so close that the bowsprit of the latter 
 first threatened to impale the sail, next, the bows 
 plunging, crashed down a bare two feet behind the 
 cat-boat's stern. 
 
 Working in a frenzy of haste, Kirkwood jammed! 
 the tiller hard alee, bringing the cat about, and, 
 trimming the mainsheet as best he might, found him- 
 self racing under the brigantine's leeward quarter, 
 water pouring in generously over the cat's. 
 
 Luffing, he edged nearer, handling his craft as 
 though intending to ram the larger vessel, foot by 
 foot shortening the little interval. When it was four 
 feet, he would risk the jump; he crawled out on the 
 overhang, crouching on his toes, one hand light upon 
 the tiller, the other touching the deck, ready . . . 
 ready . . .
 
 OFF THE NORE 219 
 
 Abruptly the Aleihea shut off the wind; the sail 
 flattened and the cat dropped back. In a second the 
 distance had doubled. In anguish Kirkwood uttered 
 an exceeding bitter cry. Already he was falling far 
 off her counter 
 
 A shout reached him. He was dimly conscious of 
 a dark object hurtling through the air. Into the 
 cockpit, splashing, something dropped a coil of 
 rope. He fell forward upon it, into water eighteen 
 inches deep ; and for the first time realized that, but 
 for that line, he had gone to his drowning in another 
 minute. The cat was sinking. 
 
 As he scrambled to his feet, clutching the life- 
 line, a heavy wave washed over the water-logged craft 
 and left it all but submerged; and a smart tug on 
 the rope added point to the advice which, reaching 
 his ears in a bellow like a bull's, penetrated the panic 
 of his wits. 
 
 " Jump ! Jump, you fool! " 
 
 In an instant of coherence he saw that the brigan- 
 tine was luffing; none the less much of the line had 
 already been paid out, and there was no reckoning 
 when the end would be reached. Without time to 
 make it fast, he hitched it twice round his waist 
 and chest, once round an arm, and, grasping it above 
 his head to ease its constriction when the tug should 
 come, leaped on the combing and overboard. A 
 green roaring avalanche swept down upon him and
 
 220 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 the luckless cat-boat, overwhelming both simultan- 
 eously. 
 
 The agony that was his during the next few min- 
 utes can by no means be exaggerated. With such 
 crises the human mind is not fitted adequately to cope ; 
 it retains no record of the supreme moment beyond 
 a vague and incoherent impression of poignant, soul- 
 racking suffering. Kirkwood underwent a prolonged 
 interval of semi-sentience, his mind dominated and 
 oppressed by a deathly fear of drowning and a dead- 
 ening sense of suffocation, with attendant tortures 
 as of being broken on the wheel limb rending 
 from limb ; of compression of his ribs that threatened 
 momentarily to crush in his chest ; of a world a-welter 
 with dim swirling green half-lights alternating with 
 flashes of blinding white; of thunderings in his ears 
 like salvoes from a thousand cannon 
 
 And his senses were blotted out in blackness. 
 
 Then he was breathing once more, the keen clean 
 air stabbing his lungs, the while he swam unsup- 
 ported in an ethereal void of brilliance. His mouth 
 was full of something that burned, a liquid hot, acrid, 
 and stinging. He gulped, swallowed, slobbered, 
 choked, coughed, attempted to sit up, was aware that 
 he was the focal center of a ring of glaring, burning 
 eyes, like eyes of ravening beasts ; and fainted. 
 
 His next conscious impression was of standing up,
 
 OFF THE NORE 221 
 
 supported by friendly arms on either side, while some- 
 body was asking him if he could walk a step or two. 
 
 He lifted his head and let it fall in token of as- 
 sent, mumbling a yes; and looked round him with 
 eyes wherein the light of intelligence burned more 
 clear with every second. By degrees he catalogued 
 and comprehended his weirdly altered circumstances 
 and surroundings. 
 
 He was partly seated, partly held up, on the edge 
 of the cabin sky-light, an object of interest to some 
 half-dozen men, seafaring fellows all, by their habit, 
 clustered round between him and the windward rail. 
 Of their number one stood directly before him, 
 dwarfing his companions as much by his air of com- 
 mand as by his uncommon height: tall, thin-faced 
 and sallow, with hollow weather-worn cheeks, a mouth 
 like a crooked gash from ear to ear, and eyes like 
 dying coals, with which he looked the rescued up and 
 down in one grim, semi-humorous, semi-speculative 
 glance. In hands both huge and red he fondled 
 tenderly a squat brandy flask whose contents had 
 apparently been employed as a first aid to the 
 drowning. 
 
 As Kirkwood's gaze encountered his, the man 
 smiled sourly, jerking his head to one side with a 
 singularly derisive air. 
 
 " Hi, matey ! " he blustered. " 'Ow goes it now ? 
 Feelin' 'appier, eigh ? "
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Some, thank you . . . more like a drowned 
 rat." Kirkwood eyed him sheepishly. " I suppose 
 you're the man who threw me that line? I'll have 
 to wait till my head clears up before I can thank you 
 properly." 
 
 " Don't mention it." He of the lantern jaws 
 stowed the bottle away with jealous care in one of his 
 immense coat pockets, and seized Kirkwood's hand in 
 a grasp that made the young man wince. " You're 
 syfe enough now. My nyme's Stryker, Capt'n 
 Wilyum Stryker. . . . Wot's the row? Lookin' 
 for a friend? " he demanded suddenly, as Kirkwood's 
 attention wandered. 
 
 For the memory of the errand that had brought 
 him into the hands of Captain William Stryker had 
 come to the young man very suddenly ; and his eager 
 eyes were swiftly roving not alone the decks but the 
 wide world besides, for sight or sign of his heart's 
 desire. 
 
 After luffing to pick him up, the brigantine had 
 been again pulled off on the port tack. The fury of 
 the gale seemed rather to have waxed than waned, 
 and the Aleihea was bending low under the relentless 
 fury of its blasts, driving hard, with leeward chan- 
 nels awash. Under her port counter, a mile away, 
 the crimson light-ship wallowed in a riot of breaking 
 combers. Sheerness lay abeam, five miles or more. 
 Ahead the northeast headland of the Isle of Sheppey
 
 OFF THE NORE 
 
 was bulking large and near. The cat-boat had van- 
 ished. . . . 
 
 More important still, no one aboard the brigantine 
 resembled in the remotest degree either of the Cal- 
 endars, father or daughter, or even Mulready, the 
 black-avised. 
 
 " I sye, 're you lookin' for some one you know ? " 
 
 " Yes your passengers. I presume they're be- 
 low?" 
 
 " Passengers ! " 
 
 A hush fell upon the group, during which Kirk- 
 wood sought Stryker's eye in pitiful pleading; and 
 Stryker looked round him blankly. 
 
 " Where's Miss Calendar ? " the young man de- 
 manded sharply. " I must see her at once ! " 
 
 The keen and deep-set eyes of the skipper clouded 
 as they returned to Kirkwood's perturbed counte- 
 nance. " Wot 're you talking about? " he demanded 
 brusquely. 
 
 " I must see Miss Calendar, or Calendar himself, 
 or Mulready." Kirkwood paused, and, getting no 
 reply, grew restive under Stryker's inscrutable re- 
 gard. " That's why I came aboard," he amended, 
 blind to the absurdity of the statement ; " to see er 
 Calendar." 
 
 " Well ... I'm damned ! " 
 
 Stryker managed to infuse into his tone a deal of 
 suspicious contempt.
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 "Why?" insisted Kirkwood, nettled but still un- 
 comprehending. 
 
 " D'you mean to tell me you came off from wher- 
 ever in 'ell you did come from intendin' to board 
 this wessel and find a party nymed Calendar? " 
 
 " Certainly I did. Why ? " 
 
 " Well ! " cried Mr. Stryker, rubbing his hands to- 
 gether with an air oppressively obsequious, " I'm 
 sorry to hin-form you you've come to the wrong 
 shop, sir ; we don't stock no Calendars. We're in the 
 'ardware line, we are. You might try next door, or 
 I dessay you'll find what you want at the stytioner's, 
 round the corner." 
 
 A giggle from his audience stimulated him. " If," 
 he continued acidly, " I'd a-guessed you was such a 
 damn' fool, blimmy if I wouldn't 've let you 
 drownd ! " 
 
 Staggered, Kirkwood bore his sarcastic truculence 
 without resentment. 
 
 " Calendar," he stammered, trying to explain, 
 " Calendar said " 
 
 ' " I carn't 'elp wot Calendar said. Mebbe 'e did 
 myke an engygement with you, an' you've gone and 
 went an* forgot the dyte. Mebbe it's larst year's 
 calendar you're thinkin' of. You Johnny " ( to a 
 lout of a boy in the group of seamen), " you run 
 an' fetch this gentleman Whitaker's for Nineteen-six. 
 Look sharp, now ! "
 
 OFF THE NORE 225 
 
 " But ! " With an effort Kirkwood mustered 
 up a show of dignity. " Am I to understand," he 
 said, as calmly as he could, " that you deny know- 
 ing George B. Calendar and his daughter Dorothy 
 and" 
 
 " I don't 'ave to. Listen to me, young man." 
 For the time the fellow discarded his clumsy facetious- 
 ness. " I'm Wilyum Stryker, Capt'n Stryker, mars- 
 ter and 'arf-owner of this wessel, and wot I says 
 'ere is law. We don't carry no passengers. D'ye 
 understand me?" aggressively. "There ain't no 
 pusson nymed Calendar aboard the Allytheer, an' 
 never was, an' never will be ! " 
 
 " What name did you say ? " Kirkwood inquired. 
 
 " This ship? The Allytheer; registered from Liv- 
 erpool; bound from London to Hantwerp, in cargo. 
 Any think else? " 
 
 Kirkwood shook his head, turning to scan the sea- 
 scape with a gloomy gaze. As he did so, and re- 
 marked how close upon the Sheppey headland the 
 brigantine had drawn, the order was given to go 
 about. For the moment he was left alone, wretchedly 
 wet, shivering, wan and shrunken visibly with the 
 knowledge that he had dared greatly for nothing. 
 But for the necessity of keeping up before Stryker 
 and his crew, the young man felt that he could gladly 
 have broken down And wept for sheer vexation and 
 disappointment.
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Smartly the brigantine luffed and wore about, heel- 
 ing deep as she spun away on the starboard tack. 
 
 Kirkwood staggered round the skylight to the 
 windward rail. From this position, looking forward, 
 he could see that they were heading for the open sea, 
 Foulness low over the port quarter, naught before 
 them but a brawling waste of leaden-green and dirty 
 white. Far out one of the sidewheel boats of the 
 Queensborough-Antwerp line was heading directly 
 into the wind and making heavy weather of it. 
 
 Some little while later, Stryker again approached 
 him, perhaps swayed by an unaccustomed impulse of 
 compassion; which, however, he artfully concealed. 
 Blandly ironic, returning to his impersonation of the 
 shopkeeper, " Nothink else we can show you, sir? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 " I presume you couldn't put me ashore? " Kirk- 
 wood replied ingenuously. 
 
 In supreme disgust the captain showed him his 
 back. " 'Ere, you ! " he called to one of the crew. 
 " Tyke this awye tyke 'im below and put 'im to 
 bed; give 'im a drink and dry 'is clo's. Mebbe Vll 
 be better when 'e wykes up. 'E don't talk sense now, 
 that's sure. If you arsk me, I sye Vs balmy and no 
 'ope for 'im."
 
 XII 
 
 PICARESO.UE PASSAGES 
 
 Contradictory to the hopeful prognosis of Captain 
 Stryker, his unaccredited passenger was not " better " 
 when, after a period of oblivious rest indefinite in 
 duration, he awoke. His subsequent assumption of 
 listless resignation, of pacific acquiescence in the dic- 
 tates of his destiny, was purely deceptive thin ice 
 of despair over profound depths of exasperated re- 
 bellion. 
 
 Blank darkness enveloped him when first he opened 
 eyes to wonder. Then gradually as he stared, piec- 
 ing together unassorted memories and striving to 
 quicken drowsy wits, he became aware of a glimmer 
 that waxed and waned, a bar of pale bluish light 
 striking across the gloom above his couch ; and by 
 dint of puzzling divined that this had access by a 
 port. Turning his head upon a stiff and unyielding 
 pillow, he could discern a streak of saffron light lin- 
 ing the sill of a doorway, near by his side. The one 
 phenomenon taken with the other confirmed a there- 
 tofore somewhat hazy impression that his dreams were 
 dignified by a foundation of fact; that, in brief, he 
 
 227
 
 228 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 was occupying a cabin-bunk aboard the good ship 
 Alethea. 
 
 Overhead, on the deck, a heavy thumping of hurry- 
 ing feet awoke him to keener perceptiveness. 
 
 Judging from the incessant rolling and pitching of 
 the brigantine, the crashing thunder of seas upon her 
 sides, the eldrich shrieking of the gale, as well as from 
 the chorused groans and plaints of each individual 
 bolt and timber in the frail fabric that housed his for- 
 tunes, the wind had strengthened materially during 
 his hours of f orgetf ulness however many the latter 
 might have been. 
 
 He believed, however, that he had slept long, deeply 
 and exhaustively. He felt now a little emaciated 
 mentally and somewhat absent-bodied so he put it 
 to himself. A numb languor, not unpleasant, held 
 him passively supine, the while he gave himself over 
 to speculative thought. 
 
 A wild night, certainly; probably, by that time, 
 the little vessel was in the middle of the North Sea 
 ,. . . bound for Antwerp! 
 ; " Oh-h," said Kirkwood vindictively, " hell! " 
 
 So he was bound for Antwerp ! The first color of 
 resentment ebbing from his thoughts left him rather 
 interested than excited by the prospect. He found 
 that he was neither pleased nor displeased. He pre- 
 sumed that it would be no more difficult to raise money 
 on personal belongings in Antwerp than anywhere
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 229 
 
 else ; it has been observed that the first flower of civi- 
 lization is the rum-blossom, the next, the conventional- 
 ized fleur-de-lis of the money-lender. There would 
 be pawnshops, then, in Antwerp ; and Kirkwood was 
 confident that the sale or pledge of his signet-ring, 
 scarf-pin, match-box and cigar-case, would provide 
 him with money enough for a return to London, by 
 third-class, at the worst. There . . . well, all 
 events were on the knees of the gods ; he'd squirm out 
 of his troubles, somehow. As for the other matter, 
 the Calendar affair, he presumed he was well rid of 
 it, with a sigh of regret. It had been a most entic- 
 ing mystery, you know ; and the woman in the case 
 was extraordinary, to say the least 
 
 The memory of Dorothy Calendar made him sigh 
 again, this time more violently: a sigh that was own 
 brother to (or at any rate descended in a direct line 
 from) the furnace sigh of the lover described by the 
 melancholy Jaques. And he sat up, bumped his 
 head, groped round until his hand fell upon a door- 
 knob, opened the door, and looked out into the blowsy 
 emptiness of the ship's cabin proper, whose gloomy 
 confines were made visible only by the rays of a dingy 
 and smoky lamp swinging violently in gimbals from 
 a deck-beam. 
 
 Kirkwood's clothing, now rough-dried and warped 
 wretchedly out of shape, had been thrown carelessly 
 on a transom near the door. He got up, collected
 
 230 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 them, and returning to his berth, dressed at leisure, 
 thinking heavily, disgruntled in a humor as evil 
 as the after-taste of bad brandy in his mouth. 
 
 When dressed he went out into the cabin, closing 
 the door upon his berth, and for lack of anything bet- 
 ter to do, seated himself on the thwartships transom, 
 against the forward bulkhead, behind the table. 
 Above his head a chronometer ticked steadily and 
 loudly, and, being consulted, told him that the time 
 of day was twenty minutes to four; which meant that 
 he had slept away some eighteen or twenty hours. 
 That was a solid spell of a rest, when he came to think 
 of it, even allowing that he had been unusually and 
 pardonably fatigued when conducted to his berth. 
 He felt stronger now, and bright enough and 
 enormously hungry into the bargain. 
 
 Abstractedly, heedless of the fact that his tobacco 
 would be water-soaked and ruined, he fumbled in his 
 pockets for pipe and pouch, thinking to soothe the 
 pangs of hunger against breakfast-time; which was 
 probably two hours and a quarter ahead. But his 
 pockets were empty every one of them. He as- 
 similated this discovery in patience and cast an eye 
 about the room, to locate, if possible, the missing 
 property. But naught of his was visible. So he 
 rose and began a more painstaking search. 
 
 The cabin was at once tiny, low-ceiled, and de- 
 pressingly gloomy. Its furniture consisted entirely
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 231 
 
 in a chair or two, supplementing the transoms and 
 lockers as resting-places, and a center-table covered 
 with a cloth of turkey-red, whose original aggressive- 
 ness had been darkly moderated by libations of liquids, 
 principally black coffee, and burnt offerings of grease 
 and tobacco-ash. Aside from the companion-way 
 to the deck, four doors opened into the room, two 
 probably giving upon the captain's and the mate's 
 quarters, the others on pseudo state-rooms one of 
 which he had j ust vacated closets large enough to 
 contain a small bunk and naught beside. The bulk- 
 heads and partitions were badly broken out with a 
 rash of pictures from illustrated papers, mostly 
 offensive. Kirkwood was interested to read a half- 
 column clipping from a New York yellow journal, de- 
 scriptive of the antics of a drunken British sailor 
 who had somehow found his way to the bar-room of 
 the Fifth Avenue Hotel; the paragraph exploiting 
 the fact that it had required four policemen in addi- 
 tion to the corps, of porters to subdue him, was 
 strongly underscored in red ink; and the news-story 
 wound up with the information that in police court the 
 man had given his name as William Stranger and 
 cheerfully had paid a fine of ten dollars, alleging his 
 entertainment to have been cheap at the price. 
 
 While Kirkwood was employed in perusing this illu- 
 minating anecdote, eight be)ls sounded, and, from 
 the commotion overhead, the watch changed. A
 
 \ 
 
 232 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 little later the companion-way door slammed open 
 and shut, and Captain Stryker or Stranger ; which- 
 ever you please fell down, rather than descended, 
 the steps. 
 
 Without attention to the American he rolled into 
 the mate's room and roused that personage. Kirk- 
 wood heard that the name of the second-in-command 
 was 'Obbs, as well as that he occupied the star- 
 board state-room aft. After a brief exchange of 
 comment and instruction, Mr. 'Obbs appeared in the 
 shape of a walking pillar of oil-skins capped by a 
 sou'wester, and went on deck ; Stryker, following him 
 out of the state-room, shed his own oilers in a clammy 
 heap upon the floor, opened a locker from which he 
 brought forth a bottle and a dirty glass, and, turn- 
 ing toward the table, for the first time became sensible 
 of Kirkwood's presence. 
 
 " Ow, there you are, eigh, little bright-eyes ! " he 
 exclaimed with surprised animation. 
 
 " Good morning, Captain Stryker," said Kirkwood, 
 rising. " I want to tell you " 
 
 But Stryker waved one great red paw impatiently, 
 with the effect of sweeping aside and casting into the 
 discard Kirkwood's intended speech of thanks ; nor 
 would he hear him further. 
 
 " Did you 'ave a nice little nap ? " he interrupted. 
 " Come up bright and smilin', eigh? Now I guess " 
 the emphasis made it clear that the captain
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 233 
 
 believed himself to be employing an Americanism; 
 and so successful was he in his own esteem that he 
 could not resist the temptation to improve upon the 
 imitation " Na-ow I guess yeou're abaout right 
 ready, ben't ye, to hev a drink, sonny? " 
 
 " No, thank you," said Kirkwood, smiling toler- 
 antly. " I've got any amount of appetite . . ." 
 
 " 'Ave you, now ? " Stryker dropped his mimicry 
 and glanced at the clock. " Breakfast," he an- 
 nounced, " will be served in the myne dinin' saloon at 
 eyght a. m. Passingers is requested not to be lyte at 
 tyble." 
 
 Depositing the bottle on the said table, the cap- 
 tain searched until he found another glass for Kirk- 
 wood, and sat down. 
 
 " Do you good," he insinuated, pushing the bottle 
 gently over. 
 
 " No, thank you," reiterated Kirkwood shortly, a 
 little annoyed. 
 
 Stryker seized his own glass, poured out a strong 
 man's dose of the fiery concoction, gulped it down, 
 and sighed. Then, with a glance at the American's 
 woebegone countenance (Kirkwood was contemplating 
 a four-hour wait for breakfast, and, consequently, 
 looking as if he had lost his last friend), the captain 
 bent over, placing both hands palm down before him 
 and wagging his head earnestly. 
 
 " Please," he implored, " Please don't let me hin-
 
 234 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 terrupt ;" and filled his pipe, pretending a pensive 
 detachment from his company. 
 
 The fumes of burning shag sharpened the tooth of 
 desire. Kirkwood stood it as long as he could, then 
 surrendered with an : " If you've got any more of 
 that tobacco, Captain, I'd be glad of a pipe." 
 
 An intensely contemplative expression crept into 
 the captain's small blue eyes. 
 
 " I only got one other pyper of this 'ere 'baccy," 
 he announced at length, " and I carn't get no more 
 till I gets 'ome. I simply couldn't part with it 
 hunder 'arf a quid." 
 
 Kirkwood settled back with a hopeless lift of his 
 shoulders. Abstractedly Stryker puffed the smoke his 
 way until he could endure the deprivation no longer. 
 
 " I had about ten shillings in my pocket when I 
 came aboard, captain, and ... a few other arti- 
 cles." 
 
 " Ow, yes ; so you 'ad, now you mention it." 
 
 Stryker rose, ambled into his room, and returned 
 with Kirkwood's possessions and a fresh paper of 
 shag. While the young man was hastily filling, light- 
 ing, and inhaling the first strangling but delectable 
 whiff, the captain solemnly counted into his own palm 
 all the loose change except three large pennies. The 
 latter he shoved over to Kirkwood in company with 
 a miscellaneous assortment of articles, which the Amer- 
 ican picked up piece by piece anp! began to bestow
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 235 
 
 about liis clothing. When through, he sat back, trou- 
 bled and disgusted. Stryker met his regard blandly. 
 
 " Anything I can do? " he inquired, in suave con- 
 cern. 
 
 " Why . . . there leas a black pearl scarf- 
 pin " 
 
 " W'y, don't you remember? You gave that to 
 me, 'count of me 'avin syved yer life. 'Twas me 
 throwed you that line, you know." 
 
 " Oh," commented Kirkwood briefly. The pin had 
 been among the most valuable and cherished of his 
 belongings. 
 
 " Yes," nodded the captain in reminiscence. " You 
 don't remember? Likely 'twas the brandy singing 
 in yer 'ead. You pushes it into my 'ands, al- 
 most weepin', you was, and sez, sez you, * Stryker,' 
 you sez, ' tyke this in triflin' toking of my gratichood ; 
 I wouldn't hinsult you,' you sez, ' by hofferin' you 
 money, but this I can insist on yer acceptin', and 
 no refusal,' says you." 
 
 " Oh," repeated Kirkwood. 
 
 " If I for a ninstant thought you wasn't sober when 
 you done it ... But no ; you're a gent if there 
 ever was one, and I'm not the man to offend you." 
 
 " Oh, indeed." 
 
 The captain let the implication pass, perhaps on 
 the consideration that he could afford to ignore it; 
 and said no more. The pause held for several
 
 236 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 minutes, Kirkwood having fallen into a mood of 
 grave distraction. Finally Captain Stryker thought- 
 fully measured out a second drink, limited only by 
 the capacity of the tumbler, engulfed it noisily, and 
 got up. 
 
 " Guess I'll be turnin' in," he volunteered affably, 
 yawning and stretching. 
 
 " I was about to ask you to do me a service 
 ." began Kirkwood. 
 
 " Yes ? " with the rising inflection of mockery. 
 
 Kirkwood quietly produced his cigar-case, a gold 
 match-box, gold card-case, and slipped a signet ring 
 from his finger. "Will you buy these?" he asked. 
 " Or will you lend me five pounds and hold them as 
 security ? " 
 
 Stryker examined the collection with exaggerated 
 interest strongly tinctured with mistrust. " I'll buy 
 'em," he offered eventually, looking up. 
 
 " That's kind of you " 
 
 " Ow, they ain't much use to me, but Bill Stryker's 
 allus willin' to accommodate a friend. . . . Four 
 quid, you said ? " 
 
 "Five . . ." 
 
 " They ain't wuth over four to me." 
 
 " Very well ; make it four," Kirkwood assented 
 contemptuously. 
 
 The captain swept the articles into one capacious 
 fist, pivoted on one heel at the peril of his neck, and
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 237 
 
 lumbered unsteadily off to his room. Pausing at the 
 door he turned back in inquiry. 
 
 " I sye, 'ow did you come to get the impression 
 there was a party named Almanack aboard this wes- 
 sel?" 
 
 "Calendar" 
 
 " 'Ave it yer own wye," Stryker conceded grace- 
 fully. 
 
 "There isn't, is there?" 
 
 " You 'eard me." 
 
 " Then," said Kirkwood sweetly, " I'm sure you 
 wouldn't be interested." 
 
 The captain pondered this at leisure. " You 
 seemed pretty keen abaht seein' 'im," he remarked 
 conclusively. 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " Seems to me I did 'ear the nyme sumw'eres 
 nfore." The captain appeared to wrestle with an 
 obdurate memory. " Ow ! " he triumphed. " I 
 know. 'E was a chap up Manchester wye. Keeper 
 in a loonatic asylum, 'e was. 'That yer party? " 
 
 " No," said Kirkwood wearily. 
 
 " I didn't know but mebbe 'twas. Excuse me. 
 'Thought as 'ow mebbe you'd escyped from 'is tender 
 care, but, fmdin' the world cold, chynged yer mind 
 and wanted to gow back." 
 
 Without waiting for a repty he lurched into his 
 room and banged the door to. Kirkwood, divided be-
 
 2S8 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 tween amusement and irritation, heard him stumbling 
 about for some time ; and then a hush fell, grateful 
 enough while it lasted ; which was not long. For no 
 sooner did the captain sleep than a penetrating snore 
 , added itself unto the cacophony of waves and wind 
 and tortured ship. 
 
 Kirkwood, comforted at first by the blessed tobacco, 
 lapsed insensibly into dreary meditations. Coming 
 after the swift movement and sustained excitement of 
 the eighteen hours preceding his long sleep, the 
 monotony of shipboard confinement seemed irksome to 
 a maddening degree. There was absolutely nothing 
 he could discover to occupy his mind. If there were 
 books aboard, none was in evidence; beyond the re- 
 port of Mr. Stranger's Manhattan night's entertain- 
 ment the walls were devoid of reading matter; and a 
 round of the picture gallery proved a diversion weari- 
 ful enough when not purely revolting. 
 
 Wherefore Mr. Kirkwood stretched himself out on 
 the transom and smoked and reviewed his adventures 
 in detail and seriatim, and was by turns indignant, 
 sore, anxious on his own account as well as on Dor- 
 othy's, and out of all patience with himself. Mysti- 
 fied he remained throughout, and the edge of his 
 curiosity held as keen as ever, you may believe. 
 
 Consistently the affair presented itself to his fancy 
 in the guise of a puzzle-picture, which, though you 
 study it never so diligently, remains incomprehensi-
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 239 
 
 ble, until by chance you view it from an unexpected 
 angle, when it reveals itself intelligibly. It had not 
 yet been his good fortune to see it from the right view- 
 point. To hold the metaphor, he walked endless cir- 
 cles round it, patiently seeking, but ever failing to 
 find the proper perspective. . . . Each inci- 
 dent, however insignificant, in connection with it, he 
 handled over and over, examining its every facet, 
 bright or dull, as an expert might inspect a clever 
 imitation of a diamond ; and like a perfect imitation 
 it defied analysis. 
 
 Of one or two things he was convinced; for one, 
 that Stryker was a liar worthy of classification with 
 Calendar and Mrs. Hallam. Kirkwood had not only 
 the testimony of his sense to assure him that the ship's 
 name, Alethea (not a common one, by the bye), had 
 been mentioned by both Calendar and Mulready dur- 
 ing their altercation on Bermondsey Old Stairs, but 
 he had the confirmatory testimony of the sleepy 
 waterman, William, who had directed Old Bob and 
 Young William to the anchorage off Bow Creek. 
 That there should have been two vessels of the same 
 unusual name at one and the same time in the Port 
 of London, was a coincidence too preposterous alto- 
 gether to find place in his calculations. 
 
 His second impregnable conclusion was that those 
 whom he sought had boarded the Alethea, but had 
 left her before she tripped her anchor. That they
 
 240 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 were not stowed away aboard her seemed unquestion- 
 able. The brigantine was hardly large enough for 
 the presence of three persons aboard her to be long 
 kept a secret from an inquisitive fourth, unless, 
 indeed, they lay in hiding in the hold; for which, 
 once the ship got under way, there could be scant 
 excuse. And Kirkwood did not believe himself a 
 person of sufficient importance in Calendar's eyes, to 
 make that worthy endure the discomforts of a 'tween- 
 decks imprisonment throughout the voyage, even to 
 escape recognition. 
 
 With every second, then, he was traveling farther 
 from her to whose aid he had rushed, impelled by mo- 
 tives so hot-headed, so innately chivalric, so unthink- 
 ingly gallant, so exceptionally idiotic! 
 
 Idiot ! Kirkwood groaned with despair of his ina- 
 bility to fathom the abyss of his self-contempt. There 
 seemed to be positively no excuse for him. Stryker 
 had befriended him indeed, had he permitted him to 
 drown. Yet he had acted for the best, as he saw it. 
 The fault lay in himself: an admirable fault, that 
 of harboring and nurturing generous and compas- 
 sionate instincts. But, of course, Kirkwood couldn't 
 see it that way. 
 
 " What else could I do ? " he defended himself 
 against the indictment of common sense. " I 
 couldn't leave her to the mercies of that set of rogues ! 
 . . . And Heaven knows I was given every reason
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 
 
 to believe she would be aboard this ship! Why, she 
 herself told me that she was sailing. . ! " 
 
 Heaven knew, too, that this folly of his had cost 
 him a pretty penny, first and last. His watch was 
 gone beyond recovery, his homeward passage for- 
 feited ; he no longer harbored illusions as to the 
 steamship company presenting him with another berth 
 in lieu of that called for by that water-soaked slip of 
 paper then in his pocket courtesy of Stryker. He 
 had sold for a pittance, a tithe of its value, his per- 
 sonal jewelry, and had spent every penny he could call 
 his own. With the money Stryker was to give him he 
 would be able to get back to London and his third- 
 rate hostelry, but not with enough over to pay that 
 one week's room-rent, or ... 
 
 " Oh, the devil ! " he groaned, head in hands. 
 
 The future loomed wrapped in unspeakable dark- 
 ness, lightened by no least ray of hope. It had been 
 bad enough to lose a comfortable living through a 
 gigantic convulsion of Nature; but to think that he 
 had lost all else through his own egregious folly, to 
 find himself reduced to the kennels ! 
 
 Sc Care found him again in those weary hours, 
 came and sat by his side, slipping a grisly hand in his 
 and tightening its grip until he could have cried out 
 with the torment of it; the while whispering insidi- 
 ously subtile, evil things in his ear. And he had not 
 even Hope to comfort him ; at any previous stage
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 he had been able to distil a sort of bitter-sweet sat- 
 isfaction from the thought that he was suffering for 
 the love of his life. But now now Dorothy was 
 lost, gone like the glamour of Romance in the search- 
 ing light of day. 
 
 Stryker, emerging from his room for breakfast, 
 found the passenger with a hostile look in his eye and 
 a jaw set in ugly fashion. His eyes, too, were the 
 abiding-place of smoldering devils ; and the captain, 
 recognizing them, considerately forbore to stir them 
 up with any untimely pleasantries. To be sure, he 
 was autocrat in his own ship, and Kirkwood's stand- 
 ing aboard was nil; but then there was just enough 
 yellow in the complexion of Stryker's soul to incline 
 him to sidestep trouble whenever feasible. And be- 
 sides, he entertained dark suspicions of his guest 
 suspicions he scarce dared voice even to his inmost 
 heart. 
 
 The morning meal, therefore, passed off in con- 
 strained silence. The captain ate voraciously and 
 vociferously, pushed back his chair, and went on deck 
 to relieve the mate. The latter, a stunted little Cock- 
 ney with a wizened countenance and a mind as foul 
 as his tongue, got small change of his attempts to 
 engage the passenger in conversation on topics that 
 he considered fit for discussion. After the sixth or 
 eighth snubbing he rose in dudgeon, discharged a 
 poisonous bit of insolence, and retired to his berth,
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 
 
 leaving Kirkwood to finish his breakfast in peace; 
 which the latter did literally, to the last visible scrap 
 of food and the ultimate drop of coffee, poor as both 
 were in quality. 
 
 To the tune of a moderating wind, the morning 
 wearied away. Kirkwood went on deck once, for dis- 
 traction from the intolerable monotony of it all, got a 
 sound drenching of spray, with a glimpse of a dark 
 line on the eastern horizon, which he understood to be 
 the low littoral of Holland, and was glad to dodge 
 below once more and dry himself. 
 
 He had the pleasure of the mate's company at din- 
 ner, the captain remaining on deck until Hobbs had 
 finished and gone up to relieve him ; and by that time 
 Kirkwood likewise was through. 
 
 Stryker blew down with a blustery show of cheer. 
 " Well, well, my little man! " (It happened that he 
 topped Kirkwood's stature by at least five inches.) 
 " Enj'yin' yer sea trip? " 
 
 " About as much as you'd expect," snapped Kirk- 
 wood. 
 
 " Ow? " The captain began to shovel food into 
 his face. ( The author regrets he has at his command 
 no more delicate expression that is literal and il- 
 lustrative.) Kirkwood watched him, fascinated with 
 suspense ; it seemed impossible that the man could con- 
 tinue so to employ his knife without cutting his throat 
 from the inside. But years of such manipulation
 
 244 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 had made him expert, and his guest, keenly disap- 
 pointed, at length ceased to hope. 
 
 Between gobbles Stryker eyed him furtively. 
 
 " 'Treat you all right? " he demanded abruptly. 
 
 Kirkwood started out of a brown study. " What? 
 Who ? Why, I suppose I ought to be indeed, I am 
 grateful," he asserted. " Certainly you saved my 
 life, and" 
 
 " Ow, I don't mean that." Stryker gathered the 
 imputation into his paw and flung it disdainfully to 
 the four winds of Heaven. " Bless yer 'art, you're 
 welcome; I wouldn't let no dorg drownd, 'f I could 
 'elp it. No," he declared, " nor a loonatic, neither." 
 
 He thrust his plate away and shifted sidewise in 
 his chair. " I 'uz just wonderin'," he pursued, pick- 
 ing his teeth meditatively with a pen-knife, " 'ow 
 they feeds you in them a^-ylums. 'Avin' never been 
 inside one, myself, it's on'y natural I'd be cur'us. 
 There was one of them institootions near 
 where I was borned Birming'am, that is. I used 
 to see the loonies playin' in the grounds. I remem- 
 ber just as well ! . . . One of 'em and me struck 
 up quite an acquaintance " 
 
 " Naturally he'd take to you on sight." 
 
 " Ow? Strynge 'ow we 'it it off, eigh? . . . 
 You myke me think of 'im. Young chap, 'e was, the 
 livin' spi*t-'n-himage of you. It don't happen, does 
 it, you're the same man ? "
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 245 
 
 " Oh, go to the devil ! " 
 
 " Naughty ! " said the captain serenely, wagging a 
 reproving forefinger. " Bad, naughty word. You'll 
 be sorry when you find out wot it means. 
 Only 'e was allus plannin* to run awye and drownd 
 'is-self." . . . 
 
 He wore the joke threadbare, even to his own taste, 
 and in the end got heavily to his feet, starting for 
 the companionway. " Land you this arternoon," he 
 remarked casually, " come three o'clock or there- 
 abahts. Per'aps later. I don't know, though, as 
 I 'ad ought to let you loose." 
 
 Kirkwood made no answer. Chuckling, Stryker 
 went on deck. 
 
 In the course of an hour the American followed 
 him. 
 
 Wind and sea alike had gone down wonderfully 
 since daybreak a circumstance undoubtedly in 
 great part due to the fact that they had won in under 
 the lee of the mainland and were traversing shal- 
 lower waters. On either hand, like mist upon the 
 horizon, lay a streak of gray, a shade darker than 
 the gray of the waters. The Alethea was within the 
 wide jaws of the Western Scheldt. As for the wind, 
 it had shifted several points to the northwards; the 
 brigantine had it abeam and was lying down to it 
 and racing to port with slanting deck and singing 
 cordage.
 
 246 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Kirkwood approached the captain, who, acting as 
 his own pilot, was standing by the wheel and barking 
 sharp orders to the helmsman. 
 
 " Have you a Bradshaw on board? " asked the 
 young man. 
 
 " Steady ! " This to the man at the wheel ; then 
 to Kirkwood: " Wot's that, me lud? " 
 
 Kirkwood repeated his question. Stryker eyed him 
 suspiciously for a thought. 
 
 " Wot d'you want it for? " 
 
 " I want to see when I can get a boat back to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " Hmm. . . . Yes, you'll find a Bradshaw in 
 the port-locker, near the for'ard bulk'ead. Run along 
 now and pl'y and mind you don't go tearin' out 
 the pyges to myke pyper boatses to go sylin' in." 
 
 Kirkwood went below. Like its adjacent rooms, 
 the cabin was untenanted; the watch was the mate's, 
 and Stryker a martinet. Kirkwood found the desig- 
 nated locker and, opening it, saw first to his hand 
 the familiar bulky red volume with its red garter. 
 Taking it out he carried it to a chair near the com- 
 panionway, for a better reading light: the skylight 
 being still battened down. 
 
 The strap removed, the book opened easily, as if 
 by force of habit, at the precise table he had wished 
 to consult; some previous client had left a marker 
 between the pages, and not an ordinary book-marl^
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 247 
 
 by any manner of means. Kirkwood gave utterance 
 to a little gasp of amazement, and instinctively 
 glanced up at the companionway, to see if he were 
 observed. 
 
 He was not, but for safety's sake he moved far- 
 ther back into the cabin and out of the range of 
 vision of any one on deck ; a precaution which was al- 
 most immediately justified by the clumping of heavy 
 feet upon the steps as Stryker descended in pursuit 
 of the ever-essential drink. 
 
 " 'Find it ? " he demanded, staring blindly with 
 eyes not yet focused to the change from light to gloom 
 at the young man, who was sitting with the guide 
 open on his knees, a tightly clenched fist resting on 
 the transom at either side of him. 
 
 In reply he received a monosyllabic affirmative; 
 Kirkwood did not look up. 
 
 " You must be a howl," commented the captain, 
 making for the seductive locker. 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A howl, readin' that fine print there in the dark. 
 W'y don't you go over to the light? . . . I'll 
 'ave to 'ave them shutters tyken off the winders." 
 This was Stryker's amiable figure of speech, fre- 
 quently employed to indicate the coverings of the 
 skylight. 
 
 " I'm all right." Kirkwood went on studying the 
 book.
 
 248 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Stryker swigged off his rum and wiped his lips with 
 the back of a red paw, hesitating a moment to watch 
 his guest. 
 
 " Mykes it seem more 'ome-like for you, I expect," 
 he observed. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " W'y, Bradshaw's first-cousin to a halmanack, 
 ain't 'e ? Can't get one, take t'other next best 
 thing. Sorry I didn't think of it sooner ; like my pas- 
 sengers to feel comfy. . . . Now don't you go 
 trapsein' off to gay Paree and squanderin' wot money 
 you got left. You 'ear? " 
 
 " By the way, Captain ! " Kirkwood looked up 
 at this, but Stryker was already half-way up the 
 companion. 
 
 Cautiously the American opened his right fist and 
 held to the light that which had been concealed, close 
 wadded in his grasp, a square of sheer linen edged 
 with lace, crumpled but spotless, and diffusing in 
 the unwholesome den a faint, intangible fragrance, 
 the veriest wraith of that elusive perfume which he 
 would never again inhale without instantly recalling 
 that night ride through London in the intimacy of 
 a cab. 
 
 He closed his eyes and saw her again, as clearly 
 as though she stood before him, hair of gold massed 
 above the forehead of snow, curling in adorable 
 tendrils at the nape of her neck, lips like scarlet
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 249 
 
 splashed upon the immaculate whiteness of her skin, 
 head poised audaciously in its spirited, youthful al- 
 lure, dark eyes smiling the least trace sadly beneath 
 the level brows. 
 
 Unquestionably the handkerchief was hers ; if proof 
 other than the assurance of his heart were requisite, 
 he had it in the initial delicately embroidered in one 
 corner: a D, for Dorothy! . . . He looked 
 again, to make sure ; then hastily folded up the treas- 
 ure-trove and slipped it into a breast pocket of his 
 coat. 
 
 No; I am not sure that it was not the left-hand 
 pocket. 
 
 Quivering with excitement he bent again over the 
 book and studied it intently. After all, he had not 
 been wrong! He could assert now, without fear of 
 refutation, that Stryker had lied. 
 
 Some one had wielded an industrious pencil on the 
 page. It was, taken as a whole, fruitful of clues. 
 Its very heading was illuminating: 
 
 LONDON to VLISSINGEN (BLUSHING) AND BBEDA ; 
 
 which happened to be the quickest and most direct 
 route between London and Antwerp. Beneath it, in 
 the second column from the right, the pencil had put 
 a check-mark against: 
 
 QUEENSBOROUGH . . . DEP . . . HalO.
 
 250 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 And now he saw it clearly dolt that he had been 
 not to have divined it ere this ! The Aleihea had run 
 in to Queensborough, landing her passengers there, 
 that they might make connection with the eleven-ten 
 ^morning boat for Flushing, the very side-wheel 
 steamer, doubtless, which he had noticed beating out 
 in the teeth of the gale just after the brigantine had 
 picked him up. Had he not received the passing 
 impression that the Alethea, when first he caught sight 
 of her, might have been coming out of the Medway, 
 on whose eastern shore is situate Queensborough Pier? 
 Had not Mrs. Hallam, going upon he knew not what 
 information or belief, been bound for Queensborough, 
 with design there to intercept the fugitives? 
 
 Kirkwood chuckled to recall how, all unwittingly, 
 he had been the means of diverting from her 
 chosen course that acute and resourceful lady; then 
 again turned his attention to the tables. 
 
 A third check had been placed against the train 
 for Amsterdam scheduled to leave Antwerp at 6:3& 
 p. m. Momentarily his heart misgave him, when he 
 '.saw this, in fear lest Calendar and Dorothy should 
 have gone on from Antwerp the previous evening; 
 but then he rallied, discovering that the boat-train 
 from Flushing did not arrive at Antwerp till after 
 ten at night; and there was no later train thence for 
 Amsterdam. Were the latter truly their purposed 
 destination, they would have stayed overnight and be
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 251 
 
 leaving that very evening on the 6 :32. On the other 
 hand, why should they wait for the latest train, rather 
 than proceed by the first available in the morning? 
 Why but because Calendar and Mulready were to 
 wait for Stryker to join them on the Alethea? 
 
 Very well, then ; if the wind held and Stryker knew 
 his business, there would be another passenger on that 
 train, in addition to the Calendar party. 
 
 Making mental note of the fact that the boat-train 
 for Flushing and London was scheduled to leave Ant- 
 werp daily at 8 :21 p. m., Kirkwood rustled the leaves 
 to find out whether or not other tours had been 
 planned, found evidences of none, and carefully re- 
 stored the guide to the locker, lest inadvertently the 
 captain should pick it up and see what Kirkwood had 
 seen. 
 
 An hour later he went on deck. The skies had 
 blown clear and the brigantine was well in land-bound 
 waters and still footing a rattling pace. The river- 
 banks had narrowed until, beyond the dikes to right 
 and left, the country-side stretched wide and flat, a 
 plain of living green embroidered with winding roads 
 and quaint Old- World hamlets whose red roofs shone 
 like dull fire between the dark green foliage of 
 dwarfed firs. 
 
 Down with the Scheldt's gray shimmering flood 
 were drifting little companies of barges, sturdy and 
 snug both fore and aft, tough tanned sails burning
 
 252 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 in the afternoon sunlight. A long string of canal- 
 boats, potted plants flowering saucily in their neatly 
 curtained windows, proprietors expansively smoking 
 on deck, in the bosoms of their very large families, 
 was being mothered up-stream by two funny, cluck- 
 ing tugs. Behind the brigantine a travel-worn At- 
 lantic liner was scolding itself hoarse about the right 
 of way. Outward bound, empty cattle boats, rough 
 and rusty, were swaggering down to the sea, with the 
 careless, independent thumbs-in-armholes air of so 
 many navvies off the job. 
 
 And then lifting suddenly above the level far-off 
 sky-line, there appeared a very miracle of beauty; 
 the delicate tracery of the great Cathedral's spire of 
 frozen lace, glowing like a thing of spun gold, set 
 against the sapphire velvet of the horizon. 
 
 Antwerp was in sight. 
 
 A troublesome care stirring in his mind, Kirkwood 
 looked round the deck; but Stryker was very busy, 
 entirely too preoccupied with the handling of his 
 ship to be interrupted with impunity. Besides, there 
 was plenty of time. 
 
 More slowly now, the wind falling, the brigantine 
 crept up the river, her crew alert with sheets and 
 halyards as the devious windings of the stream 
 rendered it necessary to trim the canvas at varying 
 angles to catch the wind. 
 
 Slowly, too, in the shadow of that Mechlin spire,
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 253 
 
 the horizon grew rough and elevated, taking shape 
 in the serrated profile of a thousand gables and a 
 hundred towers and cross-crowned steeples. 
 
 Once or twice, more and more annoyed as the time 
 of their association seemed to grow more brief, Kirk- 
 wood approached the captain; but Stryker continued 
 to be exhaustively absorbed in the performance of 
 his duties. 
 
 Up past the dockyards, where spidery masts stood 
 in dense groves about painted funnels, and men. 
 swarmed over huge wharves like ants over a crust of 
 bread; up and round the final, great sweeping bend 
 of the river, the Alethea made her sober way, ever 
 with greater slowness ; until at length, in the rose 
 glow of a flawless evening, her windlass began to 
 clank like a mad thing and her anchor bit the river- 
 bed, near the left bank, between old Forts Isabella 
 and Tete de Flandre, frowned upon from the right 
 by the grim pile of the age-old Steen castle. 
 
 And again Kirkwood sought Stryker, his carking 
 query ready on his lips. But the captain impatiently 
 waved him aside. 
 
 " Don't you bother me now, me lud juke! Wyte 
 until I gets done with the custom hofficer." 
 
 Kirkwood acceded, perforce; and bided his time 
 with what tolerance he could muster. 
 
 A pluttering customs launch bustled up to the 
 Alethea's side, discharged a fussy inspector on the
 
 254 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 brigantine's deck, and panted impatiently until he, 
 the examination concluded without delay, was again 
 aboard. 
 
 Stryker, smirking benignly and massaging his lips 
 with the back of his hand, followed the official on 
 deck, nodded to Kirkwood an intimation that he was 
 prepared to accord him an audience, and strolled for- 
 ward to the waist. The American, mastering his re- 
 sentment, meekly followed; one can not well afford 
 to be haughty when one is asking favors. 
 
 Advancing to the rail, the captain whistled in one 
 of the river-boats ; then, while the waterman waited, 
 faced his passenger. 
 
 " Now, yer r'yal 'ighness, wot can I do for you 
 afore you goes ashore? " 
 
 " I think you must have forgotten," said Kirk- 
 wood quietly. " I hate to trouble you, but there's 
 that matter of four pounds." 
 
 Stryker's face was expressive only of mystified 
 vacuity. " Four quid? I dunno as I know just wot 
 you means." 
 
 " You agreed to advance me four pounds on those 
 things of mine. . . ." 
 
 " Ow-w ! " Illumination overspread the hollow- 
 jowled countenance. Stryker smiled cheerfully. 
 " Garn with you ! " he chuckled. " You will 'ave yer 
 little joke, won't you now? I declare I never see a 
 loony with such affecsh'nit, pl'yful wyes ! "
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 255 
 
 Kirkwood's eyes narrowed. " Stryker," he said 
 steadily, " give me the four pounds and let's have no 
 more nonsense ; or else hand over my things at once." 
 
 " Daffy," Stryker told vacancy, with conviction 
 " Lor' luv me if I sees 'ow he ever 'ad sense enough 
 to escype. W'y, yer majesty!" and he bowed, 
 ironic. " I 'ave given you yer quid." 
 
 " Just about as much as I gave you that pearl pin," 
 retorted Kirkwood hotly. " What the devil do you 
 mean 
 
 " W'y, yer ludship, four pounds jus pyes yer 
 passyge; / thought you understood." 
 
 " My passage ! But I can come across by steamer 
 for thirty shillings, first-class 
 
 " Aw, but them steamers ! Tricky, they is, and 
 unsyfe. . . . No, yer gryce, the W. Stryker 
 Packet Line Lim'ted, London to Antwerp, charges 
 four pounds per passyge and no reduction for return 
 fare." 
 
 Stunned by his effrontery, Kirkwood stared in si- 
 lence. 
 
 "Any complynts," continued the captain, looking 
 over Kirkwood's head, " must be lyde afore the Board 
 of Directors in writin' not more'n thirty dyes 
 arfter " 
 
 " You damned scoundrel ! " interpolated Kirkwood 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Stryker's mouth closed with a snap; his features
 
 256 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 s 
 
 froze in a cast of wrath; cold rage glinted in his 
 small blue eyes. " W'y," he bellowed, " you bloomin* 
 loonatic, d'ye think you can sye that to Bill Stryker 
 on 'is own wessel ! " 
 
 He hesitated a moment, then launched a heavy fist 
 at Kirkwood's face. Unsurprised, the young man 
 side-stepped, caught the hard, bony wrist as the cap- 
 tain lurched by, following his wasted blow, and with 
 a dexterous twist laid him flat on his back, with a 
 sounding thump upon the deck. And as the infu- 
 riated scamp rose which he did with a bound that 
 placed him on his feet and in defensive posture; as 
 though the deck had been a spring-board Kirkwood 
 leaped back, seized a capstan-bar, and faced him with 
 a challenge. 
 
 " Stand clear, Stryker ! " he warned the man 1 
 tensely, himself livid with rage. " If you move a 
 step closer I swear I'll knock the head off your shoul- 
 ders ! Not another inch, you contemptible whelp, or 
 I'll brain you! . . . That's better," he contin- 
 ued as the captain, caving, dropped his fists and 
 moved uneasily back. " Now give that boatman 
 money for taking me ashore. Yes, I'm going and 
 if we ever meet again, take the other side of the way, 
 Stryker!" 
 
 Without response, a grim smile wreathing his thin, 
 hard lips, Stryker thrust one hand into his pocket, 
 and withdrawing a coin, tossed it to the waiting
 
 PICARESQUE PASSAGES 257 
 
 waterman. Whereupon Kirkwood backed warily to 
 the rail, abandoned the capstan-bar and dropped over 
 the side. 
 
 Nodding to the boatman, " The Steen landing 
 quickly," he said in French. 
 
 Stryker, recovering, advanced to the rail and waved 
 him a derisive bon voyage. 
 
 " By-by, yer hexcellency. I 'opes it may soon be 
 my pleasure to meet you again. You've been a real 
 privilege to know ; I've hen j oy ed yer comp'ny some- 
 thin' immense. Don't know as I ever met such a 
 rippin', Ay Number One, all-round, entertynin' ass, 
 afore ! " 
 
 He fumbled nervously about his clothing, brought 
 to light a rag of cotton, much the worse for service, 
 and ostentatiously wiped from the corner of each eye 
 tears of grief at parting. Then, as the boat swung 
 toward the farther shore, Kirkwood's back was to 
 the brigantine, and he was little tempted to turn and 
 invite fresh shafts of ridicule. 
 
 Rapidly, as he was ferried across the busy Scheldt, 
 the white blaze of his passion cooled ; but the biting 
 irony of his estate ate, corrosive, into his soul. Hol- 
 low-eyed he glared vacantly into space, pale lips un- 
 moving, his features wasted with despair. 
 
 They came to the landing-stage and swung broad- 
 side on. Mechanically the American got up and 
 disembarked.' As heedless of time and place he moved
 
 258 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 up the Quai to the gangway and so gained the es- 
 planade; where pausing he thrust a trembling hand 
 into his trouser pocket. 
 
 The hand reappeared, displaying in its outspread 
 palm three big, round, brown, British pennies. Star- 
 ing down at them, Kirkwood's lips moved. 
 
 " Bed rock ! " he whispered huskily.
 
 xin 
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 
 
 Without warning or presage the still evening air 
 was smitten and made softly musical by the pealing 
 of a distant chime, calling vespers to its brothers 
 in Antwerp's hundred belfries ; and one by one, far 
 and near, the responses, broke out, until it seemed as 
 if the world must be vibrant with silver and brazen 
 melody ; until at the last the great bells in the Cathe- 
 dral spire stirred and grumbled drowsily, then woke 
 to such ringing resonance as dwarfed all the rest and 
 made it seem as nothing. 
 
 Like the beating of a mighty heart heard through 
 the rushing clamor of the pulses, a single deep- 
 throated bell boomed solemnly six heavy, rumbling 
 strokes. 
 
 Six o'clock! Kirkwood roused out of his dour 
 brooding. The Amsterdam express would leave at 
 6:32, and he knew not from what station. 
 
 Striding swiftly across the promenade, he entered 
 a small tobacco shop and made inquiry of the pro- 
 prietress. His cornraajdd of French was tolerable;
 
 260 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 he experienced no difficulty in comprehending the 
 good woman's instructions. 
 
 Trains for Amsterdam, she said, left from the Gare 
 Centrale, a mile or so across the city. M'sieur had 
 plenty of time, and to spare. There was the tram 
 line, if m'sieur did not care to take a fiacre. If he 
 would go by way of the Vielle Bourse he would dis- 
 cover the tram cars of the Rue Kipdorp. M'sieur 
 was most welcome. 
 
 Monsieur departed with the more haste since he 
 was unable to repay this courtesy with the most 
 trifling purchase; such slight matters annoyed Kirk- 
 wood intensely. Perhaps it was well for him that he 
 had the long walk to help him work off the fit of 
 nervous exasperation into which he was plunged every 
 time his thoughts harked back to that jovial black- 
 guard, Stryker. . . . He was quite calm when, 
 after a brisk walk of some fifteen minutes, he reached 
 the station. 
 
 A public clock reassured him with the information 
 that he had the quarter of an hour's leeway ; it was 
 only seventeen minutes past eighteen o'clock (Belgian 
 railway time, always confusing). Inquiring his way 
 to the Amsterdam train, which was already waiting 
 at the platform, he paced its length, peering brazenly 
 in at the coach windows, now warm with hope, now 
 shivering with disappointment, realizing as he could 
 not but realize that, all else aside, his only chance of
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 261 
 
 rehabilitation lay in meeting Calendar. But in none 
 of the coaches or carriages did he discover any one 
 even remotely resembling the fat adventurer, his 
 daughter, or Mulready. 
 
 Sa/isfied that they had not yet boarded the train, 
 he stood aside, tortured with forebodings, while 
 anxiously scrutinizing each individual of the throng 
 of intending travelers. . . . Perhaps they had 
 been delayed by the Alethea's lateness in making 
 port very likely ; perhaps they purposed taking not 
 this but a later train; perhaps they had already left 
 the city by an earlier, or had returned to England. 
 
 On time, the bell clanged its warning; the guards 
 bawled theirs ; doors were hastily opened and slammed ; 
 the trucks began to groan, couplings jolting as the 
 engine chafed in constraint. The train and Kirk- 
 wood moved simultaneously out of opposite ends of the 
 station, the one to rattle and hammer round the east- 
 ern boundaries of the city and straighten out at top 
 speed on the northern route for the Belgian line, the 
 other to stroll moodily away, idle hands in empty \ 
 pockets, bound aimlessly anywhere it didn't mat- 
 ter! 
 
 Nothing whatever mattered in the smallest degree. 
 Ere now the outlook had been dark ; but this he felt 
 to be the absolute nadir of his misfortunes. Pres- 
 ently after a while as soon as he could bring 
 himself to it he would ask the way and go to the
 
 262 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 American Consulate. But just now, low as the tide 
 of chance had ebbed, leaving him stranded on the 
 flats of vagabondage, low as showed the measure of 
 his self-esteem, he could not tolerate the prospect of 
 begging for assistance help which would in all 
 likelihood be refused, since his story was quite too pre- 
 posterous to gain credence in official ears that daily 
 are filled with the lamentations of those whose motives 
 do not bear investigation. And if he chose to elimi- 
 nate the strange chain of events which had landed 
 him in Antwerp, to base his plea solely on the fact 
 that he was a victim of the San Francisco disaster 
 . he himself was able to smile, if sourly, an- 
 ticipating the incredulous consular smile with which 
 he would be shown the door. 
 
 No; that he would reserve as a last resort. True, 
 he had already come to the Jumping-off Place; to 
 the Court of the Last Resort alone could he now 
 appeal. But . . . not yet; after a while he 
 could make his petition, after he had made a familiar 
 of the thought that he must armor himself with 
 callous indifference to rebuff, to say naught of the 
 waves of burning shame that would overwhelm him 
 when he came to the point of asking charity. 
 
 He found himself, neither knowing nor caring how 
 he had won thither, in the Place Verte, the vast ven- 
 erable pile of the Cathedral rising on his right, hotels 
 and quaint Old-World dwellings with peaked roofs
 
 and gables and dormer windows, inclosing the other 
 sides of the square. The chimes (he could hear none 
 but those of the Cathedral) were heralding the hour 
 of seven. Listless and preoccupied in contemplation 
 of his wretched case he wandered purposelessly half 
 round the square, then dropped into a bench on its 
 outskirts. 1 
 
 It was some time later that he noticed, with a casual, 
 indifferent eye, a porter running out of the Hotel de 
 Flandre, directly opposite, and calling a fiacre In to 
 the carnage block. 
 
 As languidly he watched a woman, very becom- 
 ingly dressed, follow the porter down to the curb. 
 
 The fiacre swung in, and the woman dismissed the 
 porter before entering the vehicle; a proceeding so 
 unusual that it fixed the onlooker's interest. He sat 
 rigid with attention ; the woman seemed to be giving 
 explicit and lengthy directions to the driver, who 
 nodded and gesticulated his comprehension. 
 
 The woman was Mrs. Hallam. 
 
 The first blush of recognition passed, leaving Kirk- 
 wood without any amazement. It was an easy mat-, 
 ter to account for her being where she was. Thrown 
 off the scent by Kirkwood at Sheerness, the previous 
 morning, she had missed the day boat, the same whichi 
 had ferried over those whom she pursued. Return- 
 ing from Sheerness to Queensborough, however, she 
 had taken the night boat for Flushing and Antwerp,
 
 264 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and not without her plan, who was not a woman to 
 waste her strength aimlessly ; Kirkwood believed that 
 she had had from the first a very definite campaign 
 in view. In that campaign Queensborough Pier had 
 been the first strategic move; the journey to Antwerp, 
 apparently, the second ; and the American was im- 
 pressed that he was witnessing the inception of the 
 third decided step. . . . The conclusion of this 
 process of reasoning was inevitable: Madam would 
 bear watching. 
 
 Thus was a magical transformation brought about. 
 Instantaneously lassitude and vain repinings were re- 
 placed by hopefulness and energy. In a twinkling 
 the young man was on his feet, every nerve a-thrill 
 with excitement. 
 
 Mrs. Hallam, blissfully ignorant of this surveillance 
 over her movements, took her place in the fiacre. The 
 'driver clucked to his horse, cracked his whip, and 
 started off at a slow trot: a pace which Kirkwood 
 imitated, keeping himself at a discreet distance to the 
 rear of the cab, but prepared to break into a run 
 whenever it should prove necessary. 
 
 Such exertion, however, was not required of him. 
 Evidently Mrs. Hallam was in no great haste to 
 reach her destination ; the speed of the fiacre remained 
 extremely moderate; Kirkwood found a long, brisk 
 stride fast enough to keep it well in sight. 
 
 Round the green square, under the beautiful walls
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 265 
 
 of Notre Dame d'Anvers, through Grande Place and 
 past the Hotel de Ville, the cab proceeded, dogged by 
 what might plausibly be asserted the most persistent 
 and infatuated soul that ever crossed the water; and 
 so on into the Quai Van Dyck, turning to the left 
 at the old Steen dungeon and, slowing to a walk, 
 moving soberly up the drive. 
 
 Beyond the lip of the embankment, the Scheldt 
 flowed, its broad shining surface oily, smooth and 
 dark, a mirror for the incandescent glory of the skies. 
 Over on the western bank old Tete de Flandre lifted 
 up its grim curtains and bastions, sable against the 
 crimson, rampart and parapet edged with fire. Busy 
 little side-wheeled ferry steamers spanked the waters 
 noisily and smudged the sunset with, dark drifting 
 trails of smoke ; and ever and anon a rowboat would 
 slip out of shadow to glide languidly with the cur- 
 rent. Otherwise the life of the river was gone; 
 and at their moorings the ships swung in great quiet- 
 ness, riding lights glimmering like low wan stars. 
 
 In the company of the latter the young man marked 
 down the Alethea; a sight which made him uncon- 
 sciously clench both fists and teeth, reminding him 
 of that rare wag, Stryker. 
 
 To his way of thinking the behavior of the fiacre 
 was quite unaccountable. Hardly had the horse 
 paced off the length of two blocks on the Quai ere it 
 was guided to the edge of the promenade and brought
 
 266 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 to a stop. And the driver twisted the reins round 
 his whip, thrust the latter in its socket, turned side- 
 wise on the box, and began to smoke and swing his 
 heels, surveying the panorama of river and sunset 
 .with complacency a cabby, one would venture, 
 without a care in the world and serene in the assurance 
 of a generous pour-boire when he lost his fare. But 
 as for the latter, she made no move ; the door of the 
 cab remained closed, like its occupant's mind, a mys- 
 tery to the watcher. 
 
 Twilight shadows lengthened, darkling, over the 
 land ; street-lights flashed up in long, radiant ranks. 
 Across the promenade hotels and shops were lighted 
 up ; people began to gather round the tables beneath 
 the awnings of an open-air cafe. In the distance, 
 somewhere, a band swung into the dreamy rhythm of 
 a haunting waltz. Scattered couples moved slowly, 
 arm in arm, along the riverside walk, drinking in the 
 fragrance of the night. Overhead stars popped out 
 in brilliance and dropped their reflections to swim 
 lazily on spellbound waters. . . . And still the 
 fiacre lingered in inaction, still the driver lorded it 
 aloft, in care-free abandon. 
 
 In the course of time this inertia, where he had 
 looked for action, this dull suspense when he had 
 forecast interesting developments, wore upon the 
 watcher's nerves and made him at once impatient and 
 suspicious. Now that he had begun to doubt, he
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 267 
 
 conceived it as quite possible that Mrs. Hallam (who 
 was capable of anything) should have stolen out of 
 the cab by the other and, to him, invisible door. To 
 resolve the matter, finally, he took advantage of the 
 darkness, turned up his coat collar, hunched up his 
 shoulders, hid his hands in pockets, pulled the visor 
 of his cap well forward over his eyes, and slouched 
 past the fiacre. 
 
 Mrs. Hallam sat within. He could see her profile 
 clearly silhouetted against the light; she was bend- 
 ing forward and staring fixedly out of the window, 
 across the driveway. Mentally he calculated the di- 
 rection of her gaze, then moved away and followed 
 it with his own eyes ; and found himself staring at 
 the fa9ade of a third-rate hotel. Above its roof the 
 gilded letters of a sign, catching the illumination 
 from below, spelled out the title of " Hotel du Com- 
 merce." 
 
 Mrs. Hallam was interested in the Hotel du Com- 
 merce ? 
 
 Thoughtfully Kirkwood fell back to his former 
 point of observation, now the richer by, another ob- 
 ject of suspicion, the hostelry. Mrs. Hallam was 
 waiting and watching for some one to enter or to leave 
 that establishment. It seemed a reasonable inference 
 to draw. Well, then, so was Kirkwood, no less than 
 the lady ; he deemed it quite conceivable that their 
 objects were identical.
 
 268 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 He started to beguile the time by wondering what 
 she would do, if ... 
 
 Of a sudden he abandoned this line of speculation, 
 and catching his breath, held it, almost afraid to 
 credit the truth that for once his anticipations were 
 being realized under his very eyes. 
 
 Against the lighted doorway of the Hotel du Com- 
 merce, the figures of two men were momentarily 
 sketched, as they came hurriedly forth; and of the 
 two, one was short and stout, and even at a distance 
 seemed to bear himself with an accent of assertiveness, 
 while the other was tall and heavy of shoulder. 
 
 Side by side they marched in step across the em- 
 bankment to the head of the Quai gangway, descend- 
 ing without pause to the landing-stage. Kirkwood, 
 hanging breathlessly over the guard-rail, could hear 
 their footfalls ringing in hollow rhythm on the planks 
 of the inclined way, could even discern Calendar's 
 unlovely profile in dim relief beneath one of the water- 
 side lights; and he recognized unmistakably Mul- 
 ready's deep voice, grumbling inarticulately. 
 
 At the outset he had set after them, with intent to 
 accost Calendar; but their pace had been swift and 
 his irresolute. He hung fire on the issue, dreading 
 to reveal himself, unable to decide which were the 
 better course, to pursue the men, or to wait and dis- 
 cover what Mrs. Hallam was about. In the end he 
 waited ; and had his disappointment for recompense.
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 239 
 
 For Mrs. Hallam did nothing intelligible. Had 
 she driven over to the hotel, hard upon the departure 
 of the men, he would have believed that she was seek- 
 ing Dorothy, and would, furthermore, have elected 
 to crowd their interview, if she succeeded in obtain- 
 ing one with the girl. But she did nothing of the 
 sort. For a time the fiacre remained as it had been 
 ever since stopping; then, evidently admonished by 
 his fare, the driver straightened up, knocked out his 
 pipe, disentangled reins and whip, and wheeled the 
 equipage back on the way it had come, disappearing 
 in a dark side street leading eastward from the 
 embankment. 
 
 Kirkwood was, then, to believe that Mrs. Hallam, 
 having taken all that trouble and having waited for 
 the two adventurers to appear, had been content with 
 sight of them? He could hardly believe that of the 
 woman ; it wasn't like her. 
 
 He started across the driveway, after the fiacre, 
 but it was lost in a tangle of side streets before he 
 could make up his mind whether it was worth while 
 chasing or not ; and, pondering the woman's singular 
 action, he retraced his steps to the promenade rail. \ 
 
 Presently he told himself he understood. Dorothy 
 was no longer of her father's party; he had a sus- 
 picion that Mulready's attitude had made it seem ad- 
 visable to Calendar either to leave the girl behind, 
 in England, or to segregate her from his associates
 
 270 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 in Antwerp. If not lodged in another quarter of 
 the city, or left behind, she was probably traveling 
 on ahead, to a destination which he could by no means 
 guess. And Mrs. Hallam was looking for the girl; 
 if there were really jewels in that gladstone bag, 
 Calendar would naturally have had no hesitation 
 about intrusting them to his daughter's care; and 
 Mrs. Hallam avowedly sought nothing else. How: 
 the woman had found out that such was the case, 
 Kirkwood did not stop to reckon; unless he explained 
 it on the proposition that she was a person of re- 
 markable address. It made no matter, one way or 
 the other; he had lost Mrs. Hallam; but Calendar 
 and Mulready he could put his finger on ; they had 
 undoubtedly gone off to the Aleihea to confer again 
 with Stryker, that was, unless they proposed sail- 
 ing on the brigantine, possibly at turn of tide that 
 night. 
 
 Panic gripped his soul and shook it, as a terrier 
 shakes a rat, when he conceived this frightful propo- 
 sition. 
 
 In his confusion of mind he evolved spontaneously 
 an entirely new hypothesis: Dorothy had already been 
 spirited aboard the vessel; Calendar and his confed- 
 erate, delaying to join her from enigmatic motives, 
 were now aboard; and presently the word would be, 
 Up-anchor and away ! 
 
 Were they again to elude him? Not, he swore, if
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 271 
 
 he had to swim for it. And he had no wish to swim. 
 The clothes he stood in, with what was left of his self- 
 respect, were all that he could call his own on that 
 side of the North Sea. Not a boatman on the Scheldt 
 would so much as consider accepting three English 
 pennies in exchange for boat-hire. In brief, it began 
 to look as if he were either to swim or ... to 
 steal a boat. 
 
 Upon such slender threads of circumstance depends 
 our boasted moral health. In one fleeting minute 
 Kirkwood's conception of the law of meum et tuum, 
 its foundations already insidiously undermined by a 
 series of cumulative misfortunes, toppled crashing to 
 its fall; and was not. 
 
 He was wholly unconscious of the change. Be- 
 neath him, in a space between the quays bridged by 
 the gangway, a number of rowboats, a putative score, 
 lay moored for the night and gently rubbing against 
 each other with the soundless lift and fall of the 
 river. For all that Kirkwood could determine to 
 the contrary, the lot lay at the mercy of the public ; 
 nowhere about was he able to discern a figure in any- 
 thing resembling a watchman. 
 
 Without a quiver of hesitation moments were 
 invaluable, if what he feared were true he strode 
 to the gangway, passed down, and with absolute non- 
 chalance dropped into the nearest boat, stepping from 
 one to another until he had gained the outermost.
 
 272 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 To his joy he found a pair of oars stowed beneath 
 the thwarts. 
 
 If he had paused to moralize which he didn't 
 upon the discovery, he would have laid it all at the 
 door of his lucky star; and would have been wrong. 
 We who have never stooped to petty larceny know 
 that the oars had been placed there at the direction 
 of his evil genius bent upon facilitating his descent 
 into the avernus of crime. Let us, then, pity the 
 poor young man without condoning his offense. 
 
 Unhitching the painter he set one oar against the 
 gunwale of the next boat, and with a powerful thrust 
 sent his own (let us so call it for convenience) stern- 
 first out upon the river; then sat him composedly 
 down, fitted the oars to their locks, and began to 
 pull straight across-stream, trusting to the current 
 to carry him down to the Alethea. He had already 
 marked down that vessel's riding-light; and that not 
 without a glow of gratitude to see it still aloft and 
 in proper juxtaposition to the river-bank; proof 
 that it had not moved. 
 
 He pulled a good oar, reckoned his distance pret- 
 tily, and shipping the blades at just the right mo- 
 ment, brought the little boat in under the brigantine's 
 counter with scarce a jar. An element of surprise 
 he held essential to the success of his plan, whatever 
 that might turn out to be. 
 
 Standing up, he caught the brigantine's after-rail
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 273 
 
 with both hands, one of which held the painter of 
 the purloined boat, and lifted his head above the deck 
 line. A short survey of the deserted after-deck gave 
 him further assurance. The anchor-watch was not 
 in sight; he may have been keeping well forward 
 by Stryker's instructions, or he may have crept offj 
 for forty winks. Whatever the reason for his ab- 
 sence from the post of duty, Kirkwood was relieved 
 not to have him to deal with; and drawing himself 
 gently in over the rail, made the painter fast, and 
 stepped noiselessly over toward the lighted oblong 
 of the companionway. A murmur of voices from 
 below comforted him with the knowledge that he had 
 not miscalculated, this time; at last he stood within 
 striking distance of his quarry. 
 
 The syllables of his surname ringing clearly in 
 his ears and followed by Stryker's fleering laugh, 
 brought him to a pause. He flushed hotly in the 
 darkness ; the captain was retailing with relish some 
 of his most successful witticisms at Kirkwood's ex- 
 pense. ..." You'd ought to J ve seed the wye 
 J e looked at me ! " concluded the raconteur in a gale 
 of mirth. 
 
 Mulready laughed with him, if a little uncertainly. 
 Calendar's chuckle was not audible, but he broke the 
 pause that followed. 
 
 " I don't know," he said with doubting emphasis. 
 " You say you landed him without a penny in his
 
 274 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 pocket? I don't call that a good plan at all. Of 
 course, he ain't a factor, but . . . Well, it 
 might've been as well to give him his fare home. 
 He might make trouble for us, somehow. ... I 
 don't mind telling you, Cap'n, that you're an ass." 
 
 The tensity of certain situations numbs the sensi- 
 bilities. Kirkwood had never in his weirdest dreams 
 thought of himself as an eavesdropper; he did not 
 think of himself as such in the present instance; he 
 merely listened, edging nearer the skylight, of which 
 the wings were slightly raised, and keeping as far 
 as possible in shadow. 
 
 " Ow, I sye ! " the captain was remonstrating, ag- 
 grieved. " 'Ow was I to know 'e didn't 'ave it in 
 for you? First off, when 'e comes on board (I'll 
 sye this for 'im, 'e's as plucky as they myke 'em), 
 I thought 'e was from the Yard. Then, when I see 
 wot a bally hinnocent 'e was, I mykes up my mind 
 'e's just some one you've been ply in' one of your 
 little gymes on, and 'oo was lookin' to square 'is 
 account. So I did 'im proper." 
 
 " Evidently," assented Calendar dryly. " You're 
 a bit of a heavy-handed brute, Stryker. Personally 
 I'm kind of sorry for the boy ; he wasn't a bad sort, 
 as his kind runs, and he was no fool, from what little 
 I saw of him. . . .1 wonder what he wanted." 
 
 " Possibly," Mulready chimed in suavely, " you 
 can explain what you wanted of him, in the first
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 275 
 
 place. How did you come to drag him into this 
 business? " 
 
 "Oh, that!" Calendar laughed shortly. "That 
 was partly accident, partly inspiration. I happened 
 to see his name on the Pless register; he'd put him- 
 self down as from 'Frisco. I figured it out that he 
 would be next door to broke and getting desperate, 
 ready to do anything to get home; and thought we 
 might utilize him to smuggle some of the stuff into the 
 States. Once before, if you'll remember no; that 
 was before we got together, Mulready I picked up 
 a fellow-countryman on the Strand. He was down 
 and out, jumped at the job, and we made a neat 
 little wad on it." 
 
 " The more fool you, to take outsiders into your 
 confidence," grumbled Mulready. 
 
 "Ow?" interrogated Calendar, mimicking Stryk- 
 er's accent inimitably. " Well, you've got a heap to 
 learn about this game, Mul; about the first thing is 
 that you must trust Old Man Know-it-all, which is 
 me. I've run more diamonds into the States, in one 
 way or another, in my time, than you ever pinched 
 out of the shirt-front of a toff on the Empire Prom., 
 before they made the graft too hot for you and you 
 came to take lessons from me in the gentle art of liv- 
 ing easy." 
 
 " Oh, cut that, cawn't you? " 
 
 " Delighted, dear boy. . . . One of the first
 
 276 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 principles, next to profiting by the admirable example 
 I set you, is to make the fellows in your own line 
 trust you. Now, if this boy had taken on with me, 
 I could have got a bunch of the sparklers on my mere 
 say-so, from old Morganthau up on Finsbury Pave- 
 ment. He does a steady business hoodwinking the 
 Customs for the benefit of his American clients 
 and himself. And I'd 've made a neat little profit 
 besides : something to fall back on, if this fell through. 
 I don't mind having two strings to my bow." 
 
 " Yes," argued Mulready ; " but suppose this 
 Kirkwood had taken on with you and then peached? " 
 
 " That's another secret ; you've got to know your 
 man, be able to size him up. I called on this chap 
 for that very purpose; but I saw at a glance he 
 wasn't our man. He smelt a nigger in the wood- 
 pile and most politely told me to go to the devil. 
 But if he had come in, he'd 've died before he squealed. 
 I know the breed; there's honor among gentlemen 
 that knocks the honor of thieves higher'n a kite, the 
 old saw to the contrary nothing doing. 
 You understand me, I'm sure, Mulready ? " he con- 
 cluded with envenomed sweetness. 
 
 " I don't see yet how Kirkwood got anything to 
 do with Dorothy." 
 
 " Miss Calendar to you, Mister Mulready ! " 
 snapped Calendar. "There, there, now! Don't get 
 excited. ... It was when the Hallam passed me
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 277 
 
 word that a man from the Yard was waiting on the 
 altar steps for me, that Kirkwood came in. He was 
 dining close by ; I went over and worked on his feel- 
 ings until he agreed to take Dorothy off my hands. 
 If I had attempted to leave the place with her, they'd 
 've spotted me for sure. . . . My compliments 
 to you, Dick Mulready." 
 
 There came the noise of chair legs scraped harshly 
 on the cabin deck. Apparently Mulready had leaped 
 to his feet in a rage. 
 
 " I've told you " he began in a voice thick with 
 passion. 
 
 " Oh, sit down ! " Calendar cut in contemptuously. 
 " Sit down, d'you hear? That's all over and done 
 with. We understand each other now, and you won't 
 try any more monkey-shines. It's a square deal and 
 a square divide, so f ar's I'm concerned ; if we stick to- 
 gether there'll be profit enough for all concerned. Sit 
 down, Mul, and have another slug of the captain's 
 bum rum." 
 
 Although Mulready consented to be pacified, Kirk- 
 wood got the impression that the man was far gone 
 in drink. A moment later he heard him growl " Chin- 
 chin ! " antiphonal to the captain's " Cheer-o ! " 
 
 " Now, then," Calendar proposed, " Mr. Kirkwood 
 aside peace be with him ! let's get down to cases." 
 
 " Wot's the row? " asked the captain. 
 
 " The row, Cap'n, is the Hallam female, who has
 
 278 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 unexpectedly shown up in Antwerp, we have reason 
 to believe with malicious intent and a private de- 
 tective to add to the gaiety of nations." 
 
 " Wot's the odds ? She carn't 'urt us without lyin' 
 iup trouble for 'erself." 
 
 " Damn little consolation to us when we're work- 
 ing it out in Dartmoor." 
 
 " Speak for yourself," grunted Mulready surlily. 
 
 " I do," returned Calendar easily ; " we're both in 
 the shadow of Dartmoor, Mul, my boy ; since you 
 choose to take the reference as personal. Sing Sing, 
 however, yawns for me alone; it's going to keep on 
 yawning, too, unless I miss my guess. I love my 
 native land most to death, but . . ." 
 
 " Ow, blow that ! " interrupted the captain irritably. 
 " Let's 'ear about the 'Allam. Wot 're you afryd 
 of?" 
 
 " 'Fraid she'll set up a yell when she finds out we're 
 planting the loot, Cap'n. She's just that vindictive; 
 you'd think she'd be satisfied with her end of the 
 stick, but you don't know the Hallam. That milk- 
 and-water offspring of hers is the apple of her eye, 
 and Freddie's going to collar the whole shooting- 
 match or madam will kick over the traces." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, she's queered us here. We can't do any- 
 thing if my lady is going to camp on our trail and 
 tell everybody we're shady customers, can ^ve? The
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 279 
 
 question now before the board is : Where now, and 
 how? " 
 
 " Amsterdam," Mulready chimed in. " I told you 
 that in the beginning." 
 
 "But how?" argued Calendar. "The Lord 
 knows I'm willing but ... we can't go by rail, 
 thanks to the Hallam. We've got to lose her first of 
 all." 
 
 " But wot I'm arskin' is, wot's the matter with " 
 
 "The Alethea, Cap'n? Nothing, so far as Dick 
 and I are concerned. But my dutiful daughter is 
 prejudiced; she's been so long without proper pater- 
 nal discipline," Calendar laughed, " that she's rather 
 high-spirited. Of course I might overcome her ob- 
 jections, but the girl's no fool, and every ounce of 
 pressure I bring to bear just now only helps make 
 her more restless and suspicious." 
 
 " You leave her to me," Mulready interposed, with 
 a brutal laugh. " I'll guarantee to get her aboard, 
 or . . ." 
 
 " Drop it, Dick ! " Calendar advised quietly. " And 
 go a bit easy with that bottle for five minutes, can't 
 ;-ou? " 
 
 " Well, then," Stryker resumed, apparently con- 
 curring in Calendar's attitude, " w'y don't one of you 
 tyke the stuff, go off quiet and dispose of it to a 
 proper fence, and come back to divide. I don't see 
 w'y that"
 
 280 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " Naturally you wouldn't," chuckled Calendar. 
 " Few people besides the two of us understand the 
 depth of affection existing between Dick, here, and 
 me. We just can't bear to get out of sight of each 
 other. We're sure inseparable since night before 
 hast. Odd, isn't it? " 
 
 " You drop it ! " snarled Mulready, in accents so 
 ugly that the listener was startled. " Enough's 
 enough and ' 
 
 " There, there, Dick ! All right ; I'll behave," Cal- 
 endar soothed him. " We'll forget and say no more 
 about it." 
 
 "Well, see you don't." 
 
 " But 'as either of you a plan ? " persisted Stryker. 
 
 " I have," replied Mulready ; " and it's the sim- 
 plest and best, if you could only make this long-lost 
 parent here see it." 
 
 "Wot is it?" 
 
 Mulready seemed to ignore Calendar and address 
 himself to the captain. He articulated with some dif- 
 ficulty, slurring his words to the point of indistinct- 
 ness at times. 
 
 " Simple enough," he propounded solemnly. 
 *' We've got the gladstone bag here ; Miss Dolly's 
 at the hotel that's her papa's bright notion ; he 
 thinks she's to be trusted . . . Now then, what's 
 the matter with weighing anchor and slipping quietly 
 out to sea ? "
 
 ' A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 281 
 
 " Leavin' the dootiful darter? " 
 
 " Cert'n'y. She's only a drag any way. 'Better 
 off without her. . . . Then we can wait our time 
 and get highest market prices 
 
 " You forget, Dick," Calendar put it, " that there's 
 a thousand in it for each of us if she's kept out of 
 England for six weeks. A thousand's five thousand 
 in the land I hail from ; I can use five thousand in 
 my business." 
 
 " Why can't you be content with what you've 
 got?" demanded Mulready wrathfully. 
 
 " Because I'm a seventh son of a seventh son ; I can 
 see an inch or two beyond my nose. If Dorothy ever 
 finds her way back to England she'll spoil one of 
 the finest fields of legitimate graft I ever licked my 
 lips to look at. The trouble with you, Mul, is you're 
 too high-toned. You want to play the swell mobs- 
 man from post to finish. A quick touch and a clean 
 getaway for yours. Now, that's all right ; that has 
 its good points, but you don't want to underestimate 
 the advantages of a good blackmailing connection. 
 If I can keep Dorothy quiet long enough, I 
 look to the Hallam and precious Freddie to be a great 
 comfort to me in my old age." 
 
 " Then, for God's sake," cried Mulready, " go to 
 the hotel, get your brat by the scruff of her pretty 
 neck and drag her aboard. Let's get out of this." 
 
 " I won't," returned Calendar inflexibly.
 
 282 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 i 
 
 The dispute continued, but the listener had heard 
 enough. He had to get away and think, could no 
 longer listen ; indeed, the voices of the three black- 
 guards below came but indistinctly to his ears, as if 
 from a distance. He was sick at heart and ablaze 
 with indignation by, turns. Unconsciously he was 
 trembling violently in every limb; swept by alternate 
 waves of heat and cold, feverish one minute, shiver- 
 ing the next. All of which phenomena were due solely 
 to the rage that welled inside his heart. 
 
 Stealthily he crept away to the rail, to stand grasp- 
 ing it and staring across the water with unseeing eyes 
 at the gay old city twinkling back with her thousand 
 eyes of light. The cool night breeze, sweeping down 
 unhindered over the level Netherlands from the bleak 
 North Sea, was comforting to his throbbing temples. 
 By degrees his head cleared, his rioting pulses sub- 
 sided, he could think ; and he did. 
 
 Over there, across the water, in the dingy and dis- 
 reputable Hotel du Commerce, Dorothy waited in her 
 room, doubtless the prey of unnumbered nameless ter- 
 rors, while aboard the brigantine her fate was being 
 decided by a council of three unspeakable scoundrels, 
 one of whom, professing himself her father, openly 
 declared his intention of using her to further his self- 
 ish and criminal ends. 
 
 His first and natural thought, to steal away to her 
 and induce her to accompany him back to England,
 
 A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME 283 
 
 Kirkwood perforce discarded. He could have wept 
 over the realization of his unqualified impotency. He 
 had no money, not even cab-fare from the hotel to 
 the railway station. Something subtler, more crafty, 
 had to be contrived to meet the emergency. And there 
 was one way, one only ; he could see none other. Tem- 
 porarily he must make himself one of the company 
 of her enemies, force himself upon them, ingratiate 
 himself into their good graces, gain their confidence, 
 then, when opportunity offered, betray them. And 
 the power to make them tolerate him, if not receive 
 him as a fellow, the knowledge of them and their plans 
 that they had unwittingly given him, was his. 
 
 And Dorothy was waiting. 
 
 He swung round and without attempting to muffle 
 his footfalls strode toward the companionway. He 
 must pretend he had just come aboard. 
 
 Subconsciously he had been aware, during his time 
 of pondering, that the voices in the cabin had been 
 steadily gaining in volume, rising louder and yet 
 more loud, Mulready's ominous, drink-blurred accents 
 dominating the others. There was a quarrel afoot; 
 as soon as he gave it heed, Kirkwood understood that 
 Mulready, in the madness of his inflamed brain, was 
 forcing the issue while Calendar sought vainly to 
 calm and soothe him. 
 
 The American arrived at the head of the com- 
 panionway at a critical juncture. As he moved to
 
 284 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 descend some low, cool-toned retort of Calendar's 
 seemed to enrage his confederate beyond reason. He 
 yelped aloud with wrath, sprang to his feet, knocking 
 over a chair, and leaping back toward the foot of the 
 steps, flashed an adroit hand behind him and found 
 his revolver. 
 
 " I've stood enough from you ! " he screamed, his 
 voice oddly clear in that moment of insanity. 
 *' You've played with me as long as you will, you 
 hulking American hog! And now I'm going to 
 show " 
 
 As he held his fire to permit his denunciation to 
 bite home, Kirkwood, appalled to find himself stand- 
 ing on the threshold of a tragedy, gathered himself 
 together and launched through the air, straight for 
 the madman's shoulders. 
 
 As they went down together, sprawling, Mulready's 
 head struck against a transom and the revolver fell 
 from his limp fingers.
 
 XIV 
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 
 
 Prepared as he had been for the shock, Kirkwood 
 was able to pick himself up quickly, uninjured, Mul- 
 ready's revolver in his grasp. 
 
 On his feet, straddling Mulready's insentient body, 
 he confronted Calendar and Stryker. The face of 
 the latter was a sickly green, the gift of his fright. 
 The former seemed coldly composed, already recover- 
 ing from his surprise and bringing his wits to bear 
 upon the new factor which had been so uncere- 
 moniously injected into the situation. 
 
 Standing, but leaning heavily upon a hand that 
 rested flat on the table, in the other he likewise held 
 a revolver, which he had apparently drawn in self-de- 
 fense, at the crisis of Mulready's frenzy. Its muzzle 
 was deflected. He looked Kirkwood over with a cool 
 gray eye, the color gradually returning to his fat, 
 clean-shaven cheeks, replacing the pardonable pallor 
 which had momentarily rested thereon. 
 
 As for Kirkwood, he had covered the fat adventurer 
 before he knew it. Stryker, who had been standing 
 immediately in the rear of Calendar, immediately 
 
 285
 
 286 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 cowered and cringed to find himself in the line of fire. 
 
 Of the three conscious men in the brigantine's 
 cabin, Calendar was probably the least confused or 
 excited. Stryker was palpably unmanned. Kirk- 
 wood was tingling with a sense of mastery, but col- 
 lected and rapidly revolving the combinations for the 
 reversed conditions which had been brought about by] 
 Mulready's drunken folly. His elation was apparent 
 in his shining, boyish eyes, as well as in the bright 
 color that glowed in his cheeks. When he decided 
 to speak it was with rapid enunciation, but clearly and 
 concisely. 
 
 " Calendar," he began, " if a single shot is fired 
 about this vessel the river police will be buzzing 
 round your ears in a brace of shakes." 
 
 The fat adventurer nodded assent, his eyes con- 
 tracting. 
 
 " Very well ! " continued Kirkwood brusquely. 
 " You must know that I have personally nothing to 
 fear from the police; if arrested, I wouldn't be de- 
 tained a day. On the other hand, you . . . 
 Hand me that pistol, Calendar, butt first, please. 
 Look sharp, my man ! If you don't . . . " 
 
 He left the ellipsis to be filled in by the corpulent 
 blackguard's intelligence. The latter, gray eyes 
 still intent on the younger man's face, wavered, 
 plainly impressed, but still wondering. 
 
 " Quick ! I'm not patient to-night . . . "
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 287 
 
 No longer was Calendar of two minds. In the face 
 of Kirkwood's attitud" there was but one course to 
 be followed : that of obedience. Calendar surrendered 
 an untenable position as gracefully as could be wished. 
 
 " I guess you know what you mean by this," he 
 said, tendering the weapon as per instructions ; " I'm 
 doggoned if I do. . . . You'll allow a certain 
 latitude in consideration of my relief; I can't say we 
 were anticipating this ah Heaven-sent visita- 
 tion." 
 
 Accepting the revolver with his left hand and set- 
 tling his forefinger on the trigger, Kirkwood beamed 
 with pure enjoyment. He found the deference of the 
 older man, tempered Ihough it was by his indomitable 
 swagger, refreshing in the extreme. 
 
 " A little appreciation isn't exactly out of place, 
 come to think of it," he commented, adding, with an 
 eye for the captain : " Stryker, you bold, bad butter- 
 fly, have you got a gun concealed about your unclean 
 person? " 
 
 The captain shook visibly with contrition. " No, 
 Mr. Kirkwood," he managed to reply in a voice 
 singularly lacking in his wonted bluster. 
 
 " Say ' sir ' ! " suggested Kirkwood. 
 
 " No, Mr. Kirkwood, sir," amended Stryker 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Now come round here and let's have a look at 
 you. Please stay where you are, Calendar.
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Why, Captain, you're shivering from head to foot! 
 Not ill are you, you wag? Step over to the table 
 there, Stryker, and turn out your pockets ; turn 'em 
 incide out and let's see what you carry in the way of 
 offensive artillery. And, Stryker, don't be rash; 
 don't do anything you'd be sorry for afterwards." 
 
 " No fear of that," mumbled the captain, meekly 
 shambling toward the table, and, in his anxiety to 
 give no cause for unpleasantness, beginning to empty 
 Lis pockets on the way. 
 
 " Don't forget the ' sir,* Stryker. And, Stryker, 
 if you happen to think of anything in the line of one 
 of your merry quips or jests, don't strain yourself 
 holding in ; get it right off your chest, and you'll feel 
 better." 
 
 Kirkwood chuckled, in high conceit with himself, 
 watching Calendar out of the corner of his eye, but 
 with his attention centered on the infinitely diverting 
 spectacle afforded by Stryker, whose predacious hands 
 were trembling violently as, one by one, they brought 
 to light the articles of which he had despoiled his 
 erstwhile victim. 
 
 " Come, come, Stryker ! Surely you can think of 
 something witty, surely you haven't exhausted the 
 possibilities of that almanac joke ! Couldn't you ring 
 another variation on the lunatic wheeze? Don't 
 hesitate out of consideration for me, Captain; I'm 
 joke proof perhaps you've noticed? "
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 289 
 
 Stryker turned upon him an expression at once 
 ludicrous, piteous and hateful. " That's all, sir," he 
 snarled, displaying his empty palms in token of his 
 absolute tractability. 
 
 " Good enough. Now right about face quick ! 
 Your back's prettier than your face, and besides, I 
 want to know whether your hip-pockets are empty. 
 I've heard it's the habit of you gentry to pack guns 
 in your clothes. . . . None? That's all right, 
 then. Now roost on the \ransom, over there in the 
 corner, Stryker, and don't move. Don't let me hear 
 a word from you. Understand ? " 
 
 Submissively the captain retired to the indicated 
 spot. Kirkwood turned to Calendar; of whose atti- 
 tude, however, he had not been for an instant un- 
 mindful. 
 
 " Won't you sit down, Mr. Calendar? " he sug- 
 gested pleasantly. " Forgive me for keeping you 
 waiting." 
 
 For his own part, as the adventurer dropped pas- 
 sively into his chair, Kirkwood stepped over Mul- 
 ready and advanced to the middle of the cabin, at the 
 same time thrusting Calendar's revolver into his own 
 coat pocket. The other, Mulready's, he nursed sig- 
 nificantly with both hands, while he stood temporarily 
 quiet, surveying the fleshy face of the prime factor 
 in the intrigue. 
 
 A quaint, grim smile played about the American's
 
 290 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 lips, a smile a little contemptuous, more than a little 
 inscrutable. In its light Calendar grew restive and 
 lost something of his assurance. His feet shifted un- 
 easily beneath the table and his dark eyes wavered, 
 evading Kirkwood's. At length he seemed to find 
 the suspense unendurable. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded testily. "What d'you 
 want of me? " 
 
 " I was just wondering at you, Calendar. In the 
 last few days you've giten me enough cause td 
 wonder, as you'll admit." 
 
 The adventurer plucked up spirit, deluded by Kirk- 
 wood's pacific tone. " I wonder at you, Mr. Kirk- 
 wood," he retorted. " It was good of you to save my 
 life and" 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that ! Perhaps it had been 
 more humane " 
 
 Calendar owned the touch with a wry grimace. 
 " But I'm damned if I understand this high-handed 
 attitude of yours ! " he concluded heatedly. 
 
 " Don't you ? " Kirkwood's humor became less ap- 
 parent, the smile sobering. " You will," he told the 
 man, adding abruptly : " Calendar, where's your 
 daughter? " 
 
 The restless eyes sought the companionway. 
 
 " Dorothy," the man lied spontaneously, without a 
 tremor, "is with friends in England. Why? Did 
 you want to see her? "
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 
 
 " I rather expected to." 
 
 " Well, I thought it best to leave her home, after 
 all." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear she's in safe hands," commented 
 Kirkwood. 
 
 The adventurer's glance analyzed his face. " Ah," 
 he said slowly, " I see. You followed me on Doro- 
 thy's account, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 " Partly ; partly on my. own. Let me put it to 
 -you fairly. When you forced yourself upon me, back 
 there in London, you offered me some sort of employ- 
 ment; when I rejected it, you used me to your advan- 
 tage for the furtherance of your purposes (which I 
 confess I don't understand), and made me miss my 
 steamer. Naturally, when I found myself penniless 
 and friendless in a strange country, I thought again 
 of your offer; and tried to find you, to accept it." 
 
 " Despite the fact that you're an honest man, Kirk- 
 wood ? " The fat lips twitched with premature en- 
 joyment. 
 
 " I'm a desperate man to-night, whatever I may 
 have been yesterday." The young man's tone was 
 both earnest and convincing. " I think I've shown 
 that by my pertinacity in hunting you down." 
 
 " Well yes." Calendar's thick fingers caressed 
 his lips, trying to hide the dawning smile. 
 " Is that offer still open? " 
 His nonchalance completely restored by the very]
 
 292 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 naivete of the proposition, Calendar laughed openly 
 and with a trace of irony. The episode seemed to be 
 turning out better than he had anticipated. Gently 
 his mottled fat fingers played about his mouth and 
 chins as he looked Kirkwood up and down. 
 
 " I'm sorry," he replied, " that it isn't now. 
 You're too late, Kirkwood ; I've made other arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 " Too bad." Kirkwood's eyes narrowed. " You 
 force me to harsher measures, Calendar." 
 
 Genuinely diverted, the adventurer laughed a sec- 
 ond time, tipping back in his chair, his huge frame 
 shaking with ponderous enjoyment. " Don't do any- 
 thing you'd be sorry for," he parroted, sarcastical, the 
 young man's recent admonition to the captain. 
 
 " No fear, Calendar. I'm just going to use my 
 advantage, which you won't dispute," the pistol 
 described an eloquent circle, gleaming in the lamplight 
 " to levy on you a little legitimate blackmail. Don't 
 be alarmed ; I shan't hit you any harder than I have 
 to." 
 
 " What? " stammered Calendar, astonished. 
 " What in hell are you driving at? " 
 
 " Recompense for my time and trouble. You've 
 cost me a pretty penny, first and last, with your nasty 
 little conspiracy whatever it's all about. Now, 
 needing the money, I purpose getting some of it back. 
 I shan't precisely rob you, but this is a hold-up, all
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 293 
 
 right. . . . Stryker," reproachfully, " I don't 
 see my pearl pin." 
 
 " I got it 'ere," responded the sailor hastily, fum- 
 bling with his tie. 
 
 " Give it me, then." Kirkwood held out his hand 
 and received the trinket. Then, moving over to the 
 table, the young man, while abating nothing of his 
 watchfulness, sorted out his belongings from the mass 
 of odds and ends Stryker had disgorged. The tale 
 of them was complete ; the captain had obeyed him 
 faithfully. Kirkwood looked up, pleased. 
 
 " Now see here, Calendar ; this collection of truck 
 that I was robbed of by this resurrected Joe Miller 
 here, cost me upwards of a hundred and fifty. I'm 
 going to sell it to you at a bargain say fifty dol- 
 lars, two hundred and fifty francs." 
 
 "The juice you are!" Calendar's eyes opened 
 wide, partly in admiration. " D'you realize that 
 this is next door to highway robbery, my young 
 friend? " 
 
 " High-seas piracy, if you prefer," assented Kirk- 
 wood with entire equanimity. " I'm going to have 
 the money, and you're going to give it up. The 
 transaction by any name would smell no sweeter, Cal- 
 endar. Come fork over ! " 
 
 " And if I refuse? " 
 
 " I wouldn't refuse, if I were you." 
 
 "Why not?"
 
 294 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " The consequences would be too painful." 
 " You mean you'd puncture me with that gun? " 
 " Not unless you attack or attempt to follow me. I 
 jinean to say that the Belgian police are notoriously a 
 most efficient body, and that I'll make it my duty and 
 pleasure to introduce 'em to you, if you refuse. But 
 you won't," Kirkwood added soothingly, " will you, 
 Calendar? " 
 
 " No." The adventurer had become suddenly 
 thoughtful. " No, I won't. 'Glad to oblige you." 
 
 He tilted his chair still farther back, straightening 
 out his elephantine legs, inserted one fat hand into his 
 trouser pocket and with some difficulty extracted a 
 combined bill-fold and coin-purse, at once heavy with 
 gold and bulky with notes. Moistening thumb and 
 forefinger, " How'll you have it? " he inquired with 
 a lift of his cunning eyes ; and when Kirkwood had 
 advised him, slowly counted out four fifty-franc notes, 
 placed them near the edge of the table, and weighted 
 them with five ten-franc pieces. And, " 'That all? " 
 ,he asked, replacing the pocket-book. 
 
 " That will be about all. I leave you presently to 
 your unholy devices, you and that gay dog, over 
 there." The captain squirmed, reddening. " Just 
 by way of precaution, however, I'll ask you to wait in 
 here till I'm off." Kirkwood stepped backwards to 
 the door of the captain's room, opened it and removed 
 the key from the inside. " Please take Mulready in
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 295 
 
 with you," he continued. " By the time you get out, 
 I'll be clear of Antwerp. Please don't think of re- 
 fusing me, I really mean it ! " 
 
 The latter clause came sharply as Calendar seemed 
 to hesitate, his weary, wary eyes glimmering with 
 doubt. Kirkwood, watching him as a cat her prey, 
 intercepted a lightning-swift sidelong glance that 
 shifted from his face to the port lockers, forward. 
 But the fat adventurer was evidently to a consider- 
 able degree deluded by the very child-like simplicity of 
 Kirkwood's attitude. If the possibility that his alter- 
 cation with Mulready had been overheard, crossed 
 his mind, Calendar had little choice other than to ac- 
 cept the chance. Either way he moved, the risk was 
 great ; if he refused to be locked in the captain's 
 room, there was the danger of the police, to which 
 Kirkwood had convincingly drawn attention ; if he 
 accepted the temporary imprisonment, he took a risk 
 with the gladstone bag. On the other hand, he had 
 estimated Kirkwood's honesty as thorough-going, 
 from their first interview ; he had appraised him as a 
 gentleman and a man of honor. And he did not be- 
 lieve the young man knew, after all. . . . Per-) 
 plexed, at length he chose the smoother way, and with 
 an indulgent lifting of eyebrows and fat shoulders, 
 rose and waddled over to Mulready. 
 
 " Oh, all right," he conceded with deep toleration in, 
 his tone for the idiosyncrasies of youth. " It's all the
 
 296 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 same to me, beau." He laughed a nervous laugh. 
 " Come along and lend us a hand, Stryker." 
 
 The latter glanced timidly at Kirkwood, his eyes 
 pleading for leave to move ; which Kirkwood accorded 
 with an imperative nod and a fine flourish of the revol- 
 ver. Promptly the captain sprang to Calendar's 
 assistance ; and between the two of them, the one tak- 
 ing Mulready's head, the other his feet, they lugged 
 him quickly into the stuffy little state-room. Kirk- 
 wood, watching and following to tJ^e threshold, in- 
 serted the key. 
 
 " One word more," he counseled, a hand on the knob. 
 " Don't forget I've warned you what'll happen if 
 you try to break even with me." 
 
 " Never fear, little one ! " Calendar's laugh was 
 nervously cheerful. " The Lord knows you're wel- 
 come." 
 
 " Thank you 'most to death," responded Kirk- 
 wood politely. " Good-by and good-by to you, 
 Stryker. 'Glad to have humored your desire to meet 
 me soon again." 
 
 Kirkwood, turning the key in the lock, withdrew it 
 and dropped it on the cabin table ; at the same time 
 he swept into his pocket the money he had extorted of 
 Calendar. Then he paused an instant, listening; 
 from the captain's room came a sound of murmurs and 
 scuffling. He debated what they were about in there 
 but time pressed. Not improbably they were
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 297 
 
 crowding for place at the keyhole, he reflected, as he 
 crossed to the port locker forward. 
 
 He had its lid up in a twinkling, and in another 
 had lifted out the well-remembered black gladstone 
 bag. 
 
 This seems to have been his first compound larceny. 
 
 As if stimulated by some such reflection he sprang 
 for the companionway, dropping the lid of the locker 
 with a bang which must have been excruciatingly edi- 
 fying to the men in the captain's room. Whatever 
 their emotions, the bang was mocked by a mighty kick, 
 shaking the door; which, Kirkwood reflected, opened 
 outward and was held only by the frailest kind of a 
 lock : it would not hold long. 
 
 Spurred onward by a storm of curses, Stryker's 
 voice chanting infuriated cacophony with Calendar's, 
 Kirkwood leapt up the companionway even as the 
 second tremendous kick threatened to shatter the pan- 
 els. Heart in mouth, a chill shiver of guilt running 
 up and down his spine, he gained the deck, cast loose 
 the painter, drew in his rowboat, and dropped over 
 the side; then, the gladstone bag nestling between 
 his feet, sat down and bent to the oars. 
 
 And doubts assailed him, pressing close upon the 
 ebb of his excitement doubts and fears innumer- 
 able. 
 
 There was no longer a distinction to be drawn be- 
 tween himself and Calendar; no more could he esteem
 
 298 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 i 
 
 himself a better and more honest man than that ac- 
 complished swindler. He was not advised as to the 
 Belgian code, but English law, he understood, made 
 no allowance for the good intent of those caught in 
 possession of stolen property ; though he was acting 
 with the most honorable motives in the world, the law, 
 if he came within its cognizance, would undoubtedly 
 place him on Calendar's plane and judge him by the 
 same standard. To all intents and purposes he was 
 a thief, and thief he would remain until the glad- 
 stone bag with its contents should be restored to its 
 rightful owner. 
 
 Voluntarily, then, he had stepped from the ranks 
 of the hunters to those of the hunted. He now feared 
 police interference as abjectly as did Calendar and his 
 set of rogues ; and Kirkwood felt wholly warranted in 
 assuming that the adventurer, with his keen intelli- 
 gence, would not handicap himself by ignoring this 
 point. Indeed, if he were to be judged by what 
 Kirkwood had inferred of his character, Calendar 
 would let nothing whatever hinder him, neither fear of 
 bodily hurt nor danger of apprehension at the hands 
 of the police, from making a determined and savage 
 play to regain possession of his booty. 
 
 Well! (Kirkwood set his mouth savagely) Calen- 
 dar should have a run for his money ! 
 
 For the present he could compliment himself with 
 the knowledge that he had outwitted the rogues, had
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 299 
 
 lifted the jewels and probably two-thirds of their arm- 
 ament; he had also the start, the knowledge of their 
 criminal guilt and intent, and his own plans, to com- 
 fort him. As for the latter, he did not believe that 
 Calendar would immediately fathom them ; so he took 
 heart of grace and tugged at the oars with a will, 
 pulling directly for the city and permitting the cur- 
 rent to drift him down-stream at its pleasure. There 
 could be no more inexcusable folly than to return to 
 the Quai Steen landing and (possibly) the arms of 
 the despoiled boat-owner. 
 
 At first he could hear crash after splintering crash 
 sounding dully muffled from the cabin of the Alethea: 
 a veritable devil's tattoo beaten out by the feet of the 
 prisoners. Evidently the fastening was serving him 
 better than he had dared hope. But as the black 
 rushing waters widened between boat and brigantine, 
 the clamor aboard the latter subsided, indicating that 
 Calendar and Stryker had broken out or been released 
 by the crew. In ignorance as to whether he were seen 
 or being pursued, Kirkwood pulled on, winning in un- 
 der the shadow of the quais and permitting the boat to 
 drift down to a lonely landing on the edge of the 
 dockyard quarter of Antwerp. 
 
 Here alighting, he made the boat fast and, sooth- 
 ing his conscience with a surmise that its owner would 
 find it there in the morning, strode swiftly over to 
 the tram-line that runs along the embankment, swung
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 aboard an adventitious car and broke his first ten- 
 franc piece in order to pay his fare. 
 
 The car made a leisurely progress up past the old 
 Steen castle and the Quai landing, Kirkwood sitting 
 quietly, the gladstone bag under his hand, a searching 
 gaze sweeping the waterside. No sign of the ad- 
 venturers rewarded him, but it was now all chance, 
 all hazard. He had no more heart for confidence. 
 
 They passed the Hotel du Commerce. Kirkwood 
 stared up at its windows, wondering . . . 
 
 A little farther on, a disengaged fiacre, its driver 
 alert for possible fares, turned a corner into the es- 
 planade. At sight of it Kirkwood, inspired, hopped 
 nimbly off the tram-car and signaled the cabby. The 
 latter pulled up and Kirkwood started to charge him 
 with instructions ; something which he did haltingly, 
 hampered by a slight haziness of purpose. While 
 thus engaged, and at rest in the stark glare of the 
 street-lamps, with no chance of concealing himself, he 
 was aware of a rising tumult in the direction of the 
 landing, and glancing round, discovered a number of 
 people running toward him. With no time to wonder 
 whether or no he was really the object of the hue-and- 
 cry, he tossed the driver three silver francs. 
 
 " Gare Centrale ! " he cried. " And drive like the 
 devil ! " 
 
 Diving into the fiacre he shut the door and stuck his 
 head out of the window, taking observations. A
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 301 
 
 ragged fringe of silly rabble was bearing down upon 
 them, with one or two gendarmes in the forefront, and 
 a giant, who might or might not be Stryker, a close 
 second. Furthermore, another cab seemed to have 
 been requisitioned for the chase. His heart misgave 
 him momentarily ; but his driver had taken him at his 
 word and generosity, and in a breath the fiacre had 
 turned the corner on two wheels, and the glittering 
 reaches of the embankment, drive and promenade, were 
 blotted out, as if smudged with lamp-black, by the 
 obscurity of a narrow and tortuous side street. 
 
 He drew in his head the better to preserve his brains 
 against further emergencies. 
 
 After a block or two Kirkwood picked up the glad- 
 stone bag, gently opened the door, and put a foot 
 on the step, pausing to look back. The other cab 
 was pelting after him with all the enthusiasm of a 
 hound on a fresh trail. He reflected that this mad 
 progress through the thoroughfares of a civilized 
 city would not long endure without police interven- 
 tion. So he waited, watching his opportunity. The 
 fiacre hurtled onward, the driver leaning forward 
 from his box to urge the horse with lash of whip and 
 tongue, entirely unconscious of his fare's intentions. 
 
 Between two streets the mouth of a narrow and 
 darksome byway flashed into view. Kirkwood threw 
 wide the door, and leaped, trusting to the night to 
 hide his stratagem, to luck to save his limbs. Neither
 
 302 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 failed him ; in a twinkling he was on all fours in the 
 mouth of the alley, and as he picked himself up, the 
 second fiacre passed, Calendar himself poking a round 
 bald poll out of the window to incite his driver's cu- 
 pidity with promises of redoubled fare. 
 
 Kirkwood mopped his dripping forehead and whis- 
 tled low with dismay; it seemed that from that in- 
 stant on it was to be a vendetta with a vengeance. 
 Calendar, as he had foreseen, was stopping at nothing. 
 
 At a dog trot he sped down the alley to the next 
 street, on which he turned back more sedately 
 toward the river, debouching on the esplanade just 
 one block from the Hotel du Commerce. As he swung 
 past the serried tables of a cafe, whatever fears he had 
 harbored were banished by the discovery that the ex- 
 citement occasioned by the chase had already sub- 
 sided. Beneath the garish awnings the crowd was 
 laughing and chattering, eating and sipping its 
 bock with complete unconcern, heedless altogether of 
 the haggard and shabby young man carrying a black 
 hand-bag, with the black Shade of Care for company 
 and a blacker threat of disaster dogging his foot- 
 steps. Without attracting any attention whatever, 
 indeed, he mingled with the strolling crowds, making 
 his way toward the Hotel du Commerce. Yet he was 
 not at all at ease; his uneasy conscience invested the 
 gladstone bag with a magnetic attraction for the 
 public eye. To carry it unconcealed in his hand
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 303 
 
 furnished him with a sensation as disturbing as though 
 its worn black sides had been stenciled STOLEN ! in 
 letters of flame. He felt it rendered him a cynosure 
 of public interest, an object of suspicion to the wide 
 cold world, that the gaze which lit upon the bag trav- 
 eled to his face only to espy thereon the brand of 
 guilt. 
 
 For ease of mind, presently, he turned into a con- 
 venient shop and spent ten invaluable francs for a 
 hand satchel big enough to hold the gladstone bag. 
 
 With more courage, now that he had the hateful 
 thing under cover, he found and entered the Hotel du 
 Commerce. 
 
 In the little closet which served for an office, over a 
 desk visibly groaning with the weight of an enormous 
 and grimy registry book, a sleepy, fat, bland and 
 good-natured woman of the Belgian bourgeoisie pre- 
 sided, a benign and drowsy divinity of even-tempered 
 courtesy. To his misleading inquiry for Monsieur 
 Calendar she returned a cheerful permission to seek 
 that gentleman for himself. 
 
 " Three flights, M'sieu ', in the front ; suite sev- 
 enteen it is. M'sieu' does not mind walking up?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 M'sieu' did not in the least, though by no strain of 
 the imagination could it be truthfully said that he 
 walked up those steep and redolent stairways of the 
 Hotel du Commerce d'Anvers. More literally, he
 
 304 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 flew with winged feet, spurning each third padded 
 step with a force that raised a tiny cloud of fine white 
 dust from the carpeting. 
 
 Breathless, at last he paused at the top of the third 
 flight. His heart was hammering, his pulses drumming 
 like wild things ; there was a queer constriction in his 
 throat, a fire of hope in his heart alternating with the 
 ice of doubt. Suppose she were not there! What 
 if he were mistaken, what if he had misunderstood, 
 what if Mulready and Calendar had referred to an- 
 other lodging-house? 
 
 Pausing, he gripped the balustrade fiercely, forcing 
 his self-control, forcing himself to reflect that the girl 
 (presuming, for the sake of argument, he were pres- 
 ently to find her) could not be expected to understand 
 how ardently he had discounted this moment of meet- 
 ing, or how strangely it affected him.. Indeed, he 
 himself was more than a little disturbed by the latter 
 phenomenon, though he was no longer blind to its 
 cause. But he was not to let her see the evidences of 
 his agitation, lest she be frightened. 
 
 Slowly schooling himself to assume a masque of 
 illuding self-possession and composure, he passed 
 down the corridor to the door whose panels wore the 
 painted legend, 17 ; and there knocked. 
 
 Believing that he overheard from within a sudden 
 startled exclamation, he smiled patiently, tolerant of 
 her surprise.
 
 STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS 305 
 
 Burning with impatience as with a fever, he en- 
 dured a long minute's wait. 
 
 Misgivings were prompting him to knock again and 
 summon her by name, when he heard footfalls on the 
 other side of the door, followed by a click of the lock. 
 The door was opened grudgingly, a bare six inches. 
 
 Of the alarmed expression in the eyes that stared 
 into his, he took no account. His face lengthened a 
 little as he stood there, dumb, panting, staring; and 
 his heart sank, down, deep down into a gulf of dis- 
 appointment, weighted sorely with chagrin. 
 
 Then, of the two the first to recover countenance, he 
 doffed his cap and bowed. 
 
 " Good evening, Mrs. Hallam," he said with a 
 rueful smile.
 
 XV 
 
 REFUGEES 
 
 Now, if Kirkwood's emotion was poignant, Mrs. 
 Hallam's astonishment paralleled, and her relief tran- 
 scended it. In order to understand this it must be re- 
 membered that while Mr. Kirkwood was aware of the 
 lady's presence in Antwerp, on her part she had known 
 nothing of him since he had so ungallantly fled her 
 company in Sheerness. She seemed to anticipate that 
 either Calendar or one of his fellows would be dis- 
 covered at the door, to have surmised it without! 
 any excessive degree of pleasure. 
 
 Only briefly she hesitated, while her surprise swayed! 
 her ; then with a hardening of the eyes and a curt little 
 nod, " I'm sorry," she said with decision, " but I am 
 busy and can't see you now, Mr. Kirkwood " ; and at- 
 tempted to shut the door in his face. 
 
 Deftly Kirkwood forestalled her intention by in- 
 serting both a foot and a corner of the newly pur- 
 chased hand-bag between the door and the jamb. He 
 had dared too greatly to be thus dismissed. " Pardon 
 me," he countered, unabashed, " but I wish to speak 
 with Miss Calendar." 
 
 306
 
 REFUGEES 307 
 
 " Dorothy," returned the lady with spirit, " is 
 engaged . . ." 
 
 She compressed her lips, knitted her brows, and 
 with disconcerting suddenness thrust one knee against 
 the obstructing hand-bag; Kirkwood, happily, an- 
 ticipated the movement just in time to reinforce the 
 bag with his own knee ; it remained in place, the door 
 standing open. 
 
 The woman flushed angrily; their glances crossed, 
 her eyes flashing with indignation ; but Kirkwood's 
 held them with a level and unyielding stare. 
 
 " I intend," he told her quietly, " to see Miss Cal- 
 endar. It's useless your trying to hinder me. We 
 may as well understand each other, Madam, and I'll 
 tell you now that if you wish to avoid a scene " 
 
 "Dorothy!" the. woman called over her shoulder; 
 " ring for the porter." 
 
 " By all means," assented Kirkwood agreeably. 
 " I'll send him for a gendarme." 
 
 " You insolent puppy ! " 
 
 " Madam, your wit disarms me " 
 
 " What is the matter, Mrs. Hallam ? " interrupted a 
 voice from the other side of the door. " Who is it? " 
 
 " Miss Calendar ! " cried Kirkwood hastily, raising 
 his voice. 
 
 " Mr. Kirkwood ! " the reply came on the instant. 
 She knew his voice ! " Please, Mrs. Hallam, I will 
 see Mr. Kirkwood."
 
 308 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " You have no time to waste with him, Dorothy," 
 said the woman coldly. " I must insist " 
 
 " But you don't seem to understand ; it is Mr. Kirk- 
 wood ! " argued the girl, as if he were ample excuse 
 for any imprudence! 
 
 Kirkwood's scant store of patience was by this time 
 rapidly becoming exhausted. " I should advise you 
 not to interfere any further, Mrs. Hallam," he told 
 her in a tone low, but charged with meaning. 
 
 How much did he know? She eyed him an instant 
 longer, in sullen suspicion, then swung open the door, 
 yielding with what grace she could. " Won't you 
 come in, Mr. Kirkwood ? " she inquired with acidulated 
 courtesy. 
 
 " If you press me," he returned winningly, " how 
 can I refuse ? You are too good ! " 
 
 His impertinence disconcerted even himself; he 
 wondered that she did not slap him as he passed her, 
 entering the room; and felt that he deserved it, de- 
 spite her attitude. But such thoughts could not long 
 trouble one whose eyes were enchanted by the sight of 
 Dorothy, confronting him in the middle of the dingy 
 room, her hands, bristling dangerously with hat pins, 
 busy with the adjustment of a small gray toque atop 
 the wonder that was her hair. So vivacious and 
 charming she seemed, so spirited and bright her wel- 
 coming smile, so foreign was she altogether to the 
 picture of her, worn and distraught, that he had
 
 REFUGEES 309 
 
 mentally conjured up, that he stopped in an ex- 
 treme of disconcertion; and dropped the hand-bag, 
 smiling sheepishly enough under her ready laugh 
 mirth irresistibly incited by the plainly-read play of 
 expression on his mobile countenance. 
 
 " You must forgive the unconventionality, Mr. 
 Kirkwood," she apologized, needlessly enough, but to 
 cover his embarrassment. " I am on the point of go- 
 ing out with Mrs. Hallam and of course you are 
 the last person on earth I expected to meet here ! " 
 
 " It's good to see you, Miss Calendar," he said sim- 
 ply, remarking with much satisfaction that her trim 
 walking costume bore witness to her statement that 
 she was prepared for the street. 
 
 The girl glanced into a mirror, patted the small, 
 bewitching hat an infinitesimal fraction of an inch to 
 one side, and turned to him again, her hands free. 
 One of them, small but cordial, rested in his grasp for 
 an instant all too brief, the while he gazed earnestly 
 into her face, noting with concern what the first glance 
 had not shown him, the almost imperceptible shad- 
 ows beneath her eyes and cheek-bones, pathetic 
 records of the hours the girl had spent, since last he 
 had seen her, in company with his own grim familiar, 
 Care. 
 
 Not a little of care and distress of mind had sea- 
 soned her portion in those two weary days. He saw 
 and knew it; and his throat tightened inexplicably,
 
 310 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 again, as it had out there in the corridor. Pos- 
 sibly the change in her had passed unchallenged by 
 any eyes other than his, but even in the little time 
 that he had spent in her society, the image of her had 
 become fixed so indelibly on his memory, that he could 
 not now be deceived. She was changed a little, but 
 changed; she had suffered, and was suffering and, 
 iforced by suffering, her nascent womanhood was stir- 
 ring in the bud. The child that he had met in Lon- 
 !don, in Antwerp he found grown to woman's stature 
 and slowly coming to comprehension of the nature of 
 the change in herself, the wonder of it glowing 
 softly in her eyes. 
 
 The clear understanding of mankind that is an 
 appanage of woman's estate, was now added to the in- 
 tuitions of a girl's untroubled heart. She could 
 not be blind to the mute adoration of his gaze; nor 
 could she resent it. Beneath it she colored and low- 
 ered her lashes. 
 
 " I was about to go out," she repeated in confusion. 
 * I it's pleasant to see you, too." 
 
 " Thank you," he stammered ineptly ; "I I ' 
 
 " If Mr. Kirkwood will excuse us, Dorothy," Mrs. 
 Hallam's sharp tones struck in discordantly, " we 
 shall be glad to see him when we return to London." 
 
 " I ami infinitely complimented, Mrs. Hallam," 
 Kirkwood assured her; and of the girl quickly: 
 " You're going back home ? " he asked.
 
 REFUGEES 311 
 
 She nodded, with a faint, puzzled smile that in- 
 cluded the woman. " After a little not immedi- 
 ately. Mrs. Hallam is so kind " 
 
 " Pardon me," he interrupted ; " but tell me one 
 thing, please : have you any one in England to whom 
 you can go without invitation and be welcomed and 
 cared for any friends or relations ? " 
 
 " Dorothy will be with me," Mrs. Hallam answered 
 for her, with cold defiance. 
 
 Deliberately insolent, Kirkwood turned his back to 
 the woman. " Miss Calendar, will you answer my 
 question for yourself? " he asked the girl pointedly. 
 
 " Why yes ; several friends ; none in London, 
 but" 
 
 " Dorothy " 
 
 " One moment, Mrs. Hallam," Kirkwood flung 1 
 crisply over his shoulder. " I'm going to ask you 
 something rather odd, Miss Calendar," he continued, 
 seeking the girl's eyes. " I hope " 
 
 " Dorothy, I " 
 
 " If you please, Mrs. Hallam," suggested the girl, 
 with just the right shade of independence. " I wish 
 to listen to Mr. Kirkwood. He has been very kind to 
 me and has every right. . . ." She turned to 
 him again, leaving the woman breathless and speech- 
 less with anger. 
 
 " You told me once," Kirkwood continued quickly, 
 and, he felt, brazenly, " that you considered me kind,
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 thoughtful and considerate. You know me no bet- 
 ter to-day than you did then, but I want to beg you 
 to trust me a little. Can you trust yourself to my 
 protection until we reach your friends in England? " 
 
 " Why, I " the girl faltered, taken by surprise. 
 
 " Mr. Kirkwood ! " cried Mrs. Hallam angrily, find- 
 ing her voice. 
 
 Kirkwood turned to meet her onslaught with a mien 
 grave, determined, unflinching. " Please do not in- 
 terfere, Madam," he said quietly. 
 
 " You are impertinent, sir ! Dorothy, I forbid you 
 to listen to this person ! " 
 
 The girl flushed, lifting her chin a trifle. " For- 
 bid? " she repeated wonderingly. 
 
 Kirkwood was quick to take advantage of her re- 
 sentment. " Mrs. Hallam is not fitted to advise you," 
 he insisted, " nor can she control your actions. It 
 must already have occurred to you that you're rather 
 out of place in the present circumstances. The men 
 who have brought you hither, I believe you already 
 see through, to some extent. Forgive my speaking 
 plainly. . . . But that is why you have accepted 
 Mrs. Hallam's offer of protection. Will you take my 
 word for it, when I tell you she has not your right in- 
 terests at heart, but the reverse? I happen to know, 
 Miss Calendar, and I " 
 
 " How dare you, sir? " 
 
 Flaming with rage, Mrs. Hallam put herself bodily
 
 REFUGEES 313 
 
 between them, confronting Kirkwood in white-lipped 
 desperation, her small, gloved hands clenched and 
 quivering at her sides, her green eyes dangerous. 
 
 But Kirkwood could silence her ; and he did. " Do 
 you wish me to speak frankly, Madam? Do you 
 wish me to tell what I know and all I know ," 
 with rising emphasis, " of your social status and 
 your relations with Calendar and Mulready ? I prom- 
 ise you that if you wish it, or force me to it . . ." 
 
 But he had need to say nothing further; the 
 woman's eyes wavered before his and a little sob of 
 terror forced itself between her shut teeth. Kirk- 
 wood smiled grimly, with a face of brass, impenetra- 
 ble, inflexible. And suddenly she turned from him 
 with indifferent bravado. 
 
 " As Mr. Kirkwood says, Dorothy," she said in her 
 high, metallic voice, " I have no authority over you. 
 But if you're silly enough to consider for a moment 
 this fellow's insulting suggestion, if you're fool 
 enough to go with him, unchaperoned through Eu- 
 rope and imperil your " 
 
 " Mrs. Hallam ! " Kirkwood cut her short with a 
 menacing tone. 
 
 " Why, then, I wash my hands of you," concluded 
 the woman defiantly. " Make your choice, my child," 
 she added with a meaning laugh and moved away, 
 humming a snatch from a French chanson which 
 brought the hot blood to Kirkwood's face.
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 But the girl did not understand ; and he was glad of 
 that. " You may judge between us," he appealed to 
 her directly, once more. " I can only offer you my 
 word of honor as an American gentleman that you 
 shall be landed in England, safe and sound, by the 
 first available steamer " 
 
 " There's no need to say more, Mr. Kirkwood," 
 Dorothy informed him quietly. " I have already de- 
 cided. I think I begin to understand some things 
 clearly, now. ... If you're ready, we will go." 
 
 From the window, where she stood, holding the cur- 
 tains back and staring out, Mrs. Hallam turned with 
 a curling lip. 
 
 " * The honor of an American, gentleman,' " she 
 quoted with a stinging sneer ; " I'm sure I wish you 
 comfort of it, child ! " 
 
 " We must make haste, Miss Calendar," said Kirk- 
 wood, ignoring the implication. " Have you a travel- 
 ing-bag? " 
 
 She silently indicated a small valise, closed and 
 strapped, on a table by the bed, and immediately 
 gassed out into the hall. Kirkwood took the case con- 
 taining the gladstone bag in one hand, the girl's 
 valise in the other, and followed. 
 
 As he turned the head of the stairs he looked back. 
 Mrs. Hallam was still at the window, her back 
 turned. From her very passiveness he received an 
 i impression of something ominous and forbidding; if
 
 From the window, Mrs. Hallam turned with a curling lip. Page 314
 
 REFUGEES 315 
 
 she had lost a trick or two of the game she played, 
 she still held cards, was not at the end of her re- 
 sources. She stuck in his imagination for many an 
 hour as a force to be reckoned with. 
 
 For the present he understood that she was waiting 
 to apprise Calendar and Mulready of their flight. 
 With the more haste, then, he followed Dorothy down 
 the three flights, through the tiny office, where Madam 
 sat sound asleep at her over-burdened desk, and out. 
 
 Opposite the door they were fortunate enough to 
 find a fiacre drawn up in waiting at the curb. Kirk- 
 wood opened the door for the girl to enter. 
 
 " Gare du Sud," he directed the driver. " Drive 
 your fastest double fare for quick time ! " 
 
 The driver awoke with a start from profound 
 reverie, looked Kirkwood over, and bowed with ges- 
 ticulative palms. 
 
 " M'sieu', I am desolated, but engaged ! " he pro- 
 tested. 
 
 " Precisely." Kirkwood deposited the two bags on 
 the forward seat of the conveyance, and stood back to 
 convince the man. " Precisely," said he, undismayed. 
 " The lady who engaged you is remaining for a time ; 
 I will settle her bill." 
 
 " Very well, M'sieu' ! " The driver disclaimed re- 
 sponsibility and accepted the favor of the gods with 
 a speaking shrug. " M'sieu' said the Gare du Sud? 
 En voiture! "
 
 316 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Kirkwood jumped in and shut the door; the vehicle 
 drew slowly away from the curb, then with gratify- 
 ing speed hammered up-stream on the embankment. 
 Bending forward, elbows on knees, Kirkwood watched 
 the sidewalks narrowly, partly to cover the girl's con- 
 straint, due to Mrs. Hallam's attitude, partly on the 
 lookout for Calendar and his confederates. In a few 
 moments they passed a public clock. 
 
 " We've missed the Flushing boat," he announced. 
 " I'm making a try for the Hoek van Holland line. 
 We may possibly make it. I know that it leaves by 
 the Sud Quai, and that's all I do know," he concluded 
 with an apologetic laugh. 
 
 " And if we miss that? " asked the girl, breaking 
 silence for the first time since they had left the hotel. 
 
 " We'll take the first train out of Antwerp." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 " Wherever the first train goes, Miss Calendar. 
 The main point is to get away to-night. 
 That we must do, no matter where we land, or how we 
 get there. To-morrow we can plan with more cer- 
 tainty." 
 
 " Yes . . ." Her assent was more a sigh than 
 a word. 
 
 The cab, dashing down the Rue Leopold de Wael, 
 swung into the Place du Sud, before the station. 
 Kirkwood, acutely watchful, suddenly thrust head and 
 shoulders out of his window (fortunately it was the
 
 REFUGEES 317 
 
 one away from the depot), and called up to the 
 driver. 
 
 " Don't stop ! Gare Centrale now and treble 
 fare!" 
 
 " Oui, M'sieu'! Allow! " 
 
 The whip cracked and the horse swerved sharply 
 round the corner into the Avenue du Sud. The 
 young man, with a hushed exclamation, turned in his 
 seat, lifting the flap over the little peephole in the 
 back of the carriage. 
 
 He had not been mistaken. Calendar was stand- 
 ing in front of the station ; and it was plain to be 
 seen, from his pose, that the madly careering fiacre 
 interested him more than slightly. Irresolute, per- 
 turbed, the man took a step or two after it, changed 
 his mind, and returned to his post of observation. 
 
 Kirkwood dropped the flap and turned back to 
 find the girl's wide eyes searching his face. He said 
 nothing. 
 
 " What was that ? " she asked after a patient mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Your father, Miss Calendar," he returned un- 
 comfortably. 
 
 There fell a short pause ; then : " Why will you 
 tell me is it necessary to run away from my 
 father, Mr. Kirkwood? " she demanded, with a moving 
 little break in her voice. 
 
 Kirkwood hesitated. It were unfeeling to tell her
 
 618 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 why ; yet it was essential that she should know, how- 
 ever painful the knowledge might prove to her. 
 
 And she was insistent ; he might not dodge the issue. 
 " Why ? " she repeated as he paused. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't press me for an answer just 
 now, Miss Calendar." 
 
 " Don't you think I had better know ? " 
 
 Instinctively he inclined his head in assent. 
 
 "Then why?" 
 
 Kirkwood bent forward and patted the flank of the 
 satchel that held the gladstone bag. 
 
 " What does that mean, Mr. Kirkwood? " 
 
 " That I have the jewels," he told her tersely, look- 
 ing straight ahead. 
 
 At his shoulder he heard a low gasp of amazement, 
 and incredulity commingled. 
 
 " But ! How did you get them ? My father 
 (deposited them in bank this morning? " 
 
 " He must have taken them out again. ... I 
 got them on board the Alethea, where your father was 
 conferring with Mulready and Captain Stryker." 
 
 " The Alethea! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You took them from those men ? you ! . . 
 But didn't my father ? " 
 
 " I had to persuade him," said Kirkwood simply. 
 
 " But there were three of them against you ! " 
 
 " Mulready wasn't ah feeling very well, and
 
 REFUGEES 319 
 
 Striker's a coward. They gave me no trouble. I 
 locked them in Stryker's room, lifted the bag of jew- 
 els, and came away. ... I ought to tell you 
 that they were discussing the advisability of sailing 
 away without you leaving you here, friendless and 
 without means. That's why I considered it my duty 
 to take a hand. ... I don't like to tell you this 
 so brutally, but you ought to know, and I can't see 
 how to tone it down," he concluded awkwardly. 
 
 " I understand . . ." 
 
 But for some moments she did not speak. He 
 avoided looking at her. 
 
 The fiacre, rolling at top speed but smoothly on 
 the broad avenues that encircle the ancient city, 
 turned into the Avenue de Keyser, bringing into sight 
 the Gare Centrale. 
 
 " You don't k-know " began the girl without 
 warning, in a voice gusty with sobs. 
 
 " Steady on ! " said Kirkwood gently. " I do 
 know, but don't let's talk about it now. We'll be at 
 the station in a minute, and I'll get out and see 
 what's to be done about a train, if neither Mulready 
 or Stryker are about. You stay in the carriage. 
 No ! " He changed his mind suddenly. 
 " I'll not risk losing you again. It's a risk we'll 
 have to run in company." 
 
 " Please ! " she agreed brokenly. 
 
 The fiacre slowed up and stopped.
 
 320 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 "Are you all right, Miss Calendar?" Kirkwood 
 asked. 
 
 The girl sat up, lifting her head proudly. " I am 
 quite ready," she said, steadying her voice. 
 
 Kirkwood reconnoitered through the window, while 
 the driver was descending. 
 
 " Gare Centrale, M'sieu'," he said, opening the 
 door. 
 
 " No one in sight," Kirkwood told the girl. 
 " Come, please." 
 
 He got out and gave her his hand, then paid the 
 driver, picked up the two bags, and hurried with 
 Dorothy into the station, to find in waiting a string 
 of cars into which people were moving at leisurely 
 rate. His inquiries at the ticket-window developed 
 the fact that it was the 22 :26 for Brussels, the last 
 train leaving the Gare Centrale that night, and due to 
 start in ten minutes. 
 
 The information settled their plans for once and 
 all; Kirkwood promptly secured through tickets, also 
 purchasing " Reserve " supplementary tickets which 
 entitled them to the use of those modern corridor 
 coaches which take the place of first-class compart- 
 ments on the Belgian state railways. 
 
 " It's a pleasure," said Kirkwood lightly, as he 
 followed the girl into one of these, " to find one's self 
 in a common-sense sort of a train again. 'Feels like 
 home." He put their luggage in one of the racks
 
 REFUGEES 321 
 
 and sat down beside her, chattering with simulated 
 cheerfulness in a vain endeavor to lighten her evi- 
 dent depression of spirit. " I always feel like a 
 traveling anachronism in one of your English trains," 
 he said. " You can't appreciate " 
 
 The girl smiled bravely. ..." And after 
 Brussels ? " she inquired. 
 
 " First train for the coast," he said promptly. 
 " Dover, Ostend, Boulogne, whichever proves handi- 
 est, no matter which, so long as it gets us on English 
 soil without undue delay." 
 
 She said " Yes " abstractedly, resting an elbow on 
 the window-sill and her chin in her palm, to stare with 
 serious, sweet brown eyes out into the arc-smitten 
 night that hung beneath the echoing roof. 
 
 Kirkwood fidgeted in despite of the constraint he 
 placed himself under, to be still and not disturb her 
 needlessly. Impatience and apprehension of misfor- 
 tune obsessed his mental processes in equal degree. 
 The ten minutes seemed interminable that elapsed 
 ere the grinding couplings advertised the imminence 
 of their start. 
 
 The guards began to bawl, the doors to slam, be- 
 lated travelers to dash madly for the coaches. The 
 train gave a preliminary lurch ere settling down to 
 its league-long inland dash. 
 
 Kirkwood, in a fever of hope and an ague of 
 fear, saw a man sprint furiously across the platform
 
 322 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and throw himself on the forward steps of their coach, 
 on the very instant of the start. 
 
 Presently he entered by the forward door and 
 walked slowly through, narrowly inspecting the va- 
 rious passengers. As he approached the seats occu- 
 pied by Kirkwood and Dorothy Calendar, his eyes 
 encountered the young man's, and he leered evilly. 
 Kirkwood met the look with one that was like a kick, 
 and the fellow passed with some haste into the car 
 behind. 
 
 " Who was that? " demanded the girl, without mov- 
 ing her head. 
 
 " How did you know? " he asked, astonished. 
 "You didn't look " 
 
 " I saw your knuckles whiten beneath the skin. 
 . . . Who was it?" 
 
 " Hobbs," he acknowledged bitterly ; " the mate of 
 the Alethea." 
 
 " I know. . . . And you think ? " 
 
 " Yes. He must have been ashore when I was on 
 board the brigantine ; he certainly wasn't in the cabin. 
 Evidently they hunted him up, or ran across him, and 
 pressed him into service. . . . You see, they're 
 watching every outlet. . . . But we'll win 
 through, never fear ! "
 
 XVI 
 
 The train, escaping the outskirts of the city, re- 
 marked the event with an exultant shriek, then set- 
 tled down, droning steadily, to night-devouring flight. 
 In the corridor-car the few passengers disposed them- 
 selves to drowse away the coming hour the short 
 hour's ride that, in these piping days of frantic trav- 
 eling, separates Antwerp from the capital city of 
 Belgium. 
 
 A guard, slamming gustily in through the front 
 door, reeled unsteadily down the aisle. Kirkwood, 
 rousing from a profound reverie, detained him with a 
 gesture and began to interrogate him in French. 
 When he departed presently it transpired that the girl 
 was unaquainted with that tongue. 
 
 " I didn't understand, you know," she told him with 
 a slow, shy smile. 
 
 " I was merely questioning him about the trains 
 from Brussels to-night. We daren't stop, you see; 
 we must go on, keep Hobbs on the jump and lose 
 him, if possible. There's where our advantage lies 
 
 323
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 in having only Hobbs to deal with. He's not par- 
 ticularly intellectual; and we've two heads to his one, 
 besides. If we can prevent him from guessing our 
 destination and wiring back to Antwerp, we may win 
 away. You understand? " 
 
 " Perfectly," she said, brightening. " And what 
 do you purpose doing now? " 
 
 " I can't tell yet. The guard's gone to get me 
 some information about the night trains on other 
 lines. In the meantime, don't fret about Hobbs; I'll 
 answer for Hobbs." 
 
 " I shan't be worried," she said simply, " with you 
 here.. . . ." 
 
 Whatever answer he would have made he was 
 obliged to postpone because of the return of the 
 guard, with a handful of time-tables ; and when, re- 
 warded with a modest gratuity, the man had gone 
 his way, and Kirkwood turned again to the girl, she 
 had withdrawn her attention for the time. 
 
 Unconscious of his bold regard, she was dreaming, 
 her thoughts at loose-ends, her eyes studying the in- 
 calculable depths of blue-black night that swirled 
 and eddied beyond the window- glass. The most 
 shadowy of smiles touched her lips, the faintest shade 
 of deepened color rested on her cheeks. . . . She 
 was thinking of him? As long as he dared, the 
 young man, his heart in his own eyes, watched her 
 greedily, taking a miser's joy of her youthful beauty,
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 325 
 
 striving with all his soul to analyze the enigma of 
 that most inscrutable smile. 
 
 It baffied him. He could not say of what she 
 thought ; and told himself bitterly that it was not 
 for him, a pauper, to presume a place in her medita- 
 tions. He must not forget his circumstances, nor let 
 her tolerance render him oblivious to his place, which 
 must be a servant's, not a lover's. 
 
 The better to convince himself of this, he plunged 
 desperately into a forlorn attempt to make head or 
 tail of Belgian railway schedule, complicated as 
 these of necessity are by the alternation from normal 
 time notation to the abnormal system sanctioned by 
 the government, and vice-versa, with every train that 
 crosses a boundary line of the state. 
 
 So preoccupied did he become in this pursuit that 
 he was subconsciously impressed that the girl had 
 spoken twice, ere he could detach his interest from 
 the exasperatingly inconclusive and incoherent cohorts 
 of ranked figures. 
 
 " Can't you find out anything? " Dorothy was ask- 
 ing. 
 
 " Precious little," he grumbled. " I'd give my 
 head for a Bradshaw! Only it wouldn't be a fair 
 exchange. . . . There seems to be an express for 
 Bruges leaving the Gare du Nord, Brussels, at fifty- 
 five minutes after twenty-three o'clock ; and if I'm not 
 mistaken, that's the latest train out of Brussels and
 
 326 
 
 the earliest we can catch, . . . if we can catch 
 it. I've never been in Brussels, and Heaven only 
 knows how long it would take us to cab it from the 
 Gare du Midi to the Nord." 
 
 In this statement, however, Mr. Kirkwood was for- 
 tunately mistaken ; not only Heaven, it appeared, 
 had cognizance of the distance between the two sta- 
 tions. While Kirkwood was still debating the ques- 
 tion, with pessimistic tendencies, the friendly guard 
 had occasion to pass through the coach; and, being 
 tapped, yielded the desired information with entire 
 tractability. 
 
 It would be a cab-ride of perhaps ten minutes. 
 Monsieur, however, would serve himself well if he of- 
 fered the driver an advance tip as an incentive to 
 speedy driving. Why? Why because (here the 
 guard consulted his watch ; and Kirkwood very keenly 
 regretted the loss of his own) because this train, 
 announced to arrive in Brussels some twenty minutes 
 prior to the departure of that other, was already late. 
 But yes a matter of some ten minutes. Could that 
 not be made up? Ah, Monsieur, but who should say? 
 
 The guard departed, doubtless with private views 
 as to the madness of all English-speaking travelers. 
 
 " And there we are ! " commented Kirkwood in 
 factitious resignation. " If we're obliged to stop 
 overnight in Brussels, our friends will be on our back 
 before we can get out in the morning, if they have
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 327 
 
 to come by motor-car." He reflected bitterly on the 
 fact that with but a little more money at his dis- 
 posal, he too could hire a motor-car and cry defiance 
 to their persecutors. " However," he amended, with 
 rising spirits, " so much the better our chance of los- 
 ing Mr. Hobbs. We must be ready to drop off the 
 instant the train stops." 
 
 He began to unfold another time-table, threaten- 
 ing again to lose himself completely ; and was thrown 
 into the utmost confusion by the touch of the girl's 
 hand, in appeal placed lightly on his own. And had 
 she been observant, she might have seen a second time 
 his knuckles whiten beneath the skin as he asserted 
 his self-control though this time not over his tem- 
 per. 
 
 His eyes, dumbly eloquent, turned to meet hers. 
 She was smiling. 
 
 " Please ! " she iterated, with the least imperative 
 pressure on his hand, pushing the folder aside. 
 
 " I beg pardon ? " he muttered blankly. 
 
 " Is it quite necessary, now, to study those sched- 
 ules? Haven't you decided to try for the Bruges 
 express ? " 
 
 " Why yes, but " 
 
 " Then please don't leave me to my thoughts all 
 the time, Mr. Kirkwood." There was a tremor of 
 laughter in her voice, but her eyes were grave and 
 earnest. " I'm very weary of thinking round in a
 
 328 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 circle and that," she concluded, with a nervous lit- 
 tle laugh, " is all I've had to do for days ! " 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm very stupid," he humored her. 
 " This is the second time, you know, in the course of 
 a very brief acquaintance, that you have found it 
 necessary to remind me to talk to you." 
 
 " Oh-h ! " She brightened. " That night, at the 
 Pless ? But that was ages ago ! " 
 
 " It seems so," he admitted. 
 
 " So much has happened ! " 
 
 " Yes," he assented vaguely. 
 
 She watched him, a little piqued by his absent- 
 minded mood, for a moment; then, and not without 
 a trace of malice : " Must I tell you again what to 
 talk about? " she asked. 
 
 " Forgive me. I was thinking about, if not talk- 
 ing to, you. . . . I've been wondering just why 
 it was that you left the Alethea at Queensborough, to 
 go on by steamer." 
 
 And immediately he was sorry that his tactless 
 query had swung the conversation to bear upon her 
 father, the thought of whom could not but prove 
 painful to her. But it was too late to mend matters ; 
 already her evanescent flush of amusement had given 
 place to remembrance. 
 
 " It was on my father's account," she told him 
 in a steady voice, but with averted eyes ; " he is a 
 very poor sailor, and the promise of a rough passage
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 329 
 
 terrified him. I believe there was a difference of opin- 
 ion about it, he disputing with Mr. Mulready and 
 Captain Stryker. That was just after we had left 
 the anchorage. They both insisted that it was safer 
 to continue by the Alethea, but he wouldn't listen to 
 them, and in the end had his way. Captain Stryker 
 ran the brigantine into the mouth of the Medway and 
 put us ashore just in time to catch the steamer." 
 
 " Were you sorry for the change? " 
 
 "I?" She shuddered slightly. "Hardly! I 
 think I hated the ship from the moment I set foot on 
 board her. It was a dreadful place ; it was all night- 
 marish, that night, but it seemed most terrible on the 
 Alethea with Captain Stryker and that abominable 
 Mr. Hobbs. I think that my unhappiness had as 
 much to do with my father's insistence on the change, 
 as anything. He ... he was very thoughtful, 
 most of the time." 
 
 Kirkwood shut his teeth on what he knew of the 
 blackguard. 
 
 " I don't know why," she continued, wholly with- 
 out affectation, " but I was wretched from the mo- 
 ment you left me in the cab, to wait while you went 
 in to see Mrs. Hallam. And when we left you, at 
 Bermondsey Old Stairs, after what you had said to 
 me, I felt I hardly know what to say abandoned, 
 in a way." 
 
 " But you were with your father, in his care "
 
 330 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " I know, but I was getting confused. Until then 
 the excitement had kept me from thinking. But you 
 made me think. I began to wonder, to question 
 , . . But what could I do? " She signified her 
 helplessness with a quick and dainty movement of her 
 hands. " He is my father ; and I'm not yet of age, 
 you know." 
 
 " I thought so," he confessed, troubled. " It's very 
 inconsiderate of you, you must admit." 
 
 " I don't understand . . ." 
 
 " Because of the legal complication. I've no doubt 
 your father can * have the law on me ' " Kirkwood 
 laughed uneasily " for taking you from his protec- 
 tion." 
 
 " Protection ! " she echoed warmly. " If you call 
 it that!" 
 
 " Kidnapping," he said thoughtfully : " I presume 
 that'd be the charge." 
 
 " Oh ! " She laughed the notion to scorn. " Be- 
 sides, they must catch us first, mustn't they? " 
 
 " Of course ; and " with a simulation of confi- 
 dence sadly deceitful " they shan't, Mr. Hobbs to 
 the contrary notwithstanding." 
 
 " You make me share your confidence, against my 
 better judgment." 
 
 " I wish your better judgment would counsel you 
 to share your confidence with me," he caught her up. 
 " If you would only tell me what it's all about, as
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 331 
 
 far as you know, I'd be better able to figure out what 
 we ought to do." 
 
 Briefly the girl sat silent, staring before her with 
 sweet somber eyes. Then, " In the very beginning," 
 she told him with a conscious laugh, " this sounds, 
 very story-bookish, I know in the very beginning} 
 George Burgoyne Calendar, an American, married his 
 cousin a dozen times removed, and an Englishwoman, 
 Alice Burgoyne Hallam." 
 
 " Hallam ! " 
 
 " Wait, please." She sat up, bending forward and 
 frowning down upon her interlacing, gloved fingers ; 
 she was finding it difficult to say what she must. 
 Ivirkwood, watching hungrily the fair drooping head, 
 the flawless profile clear and radiant against the night- 
 blackened window, saw hot signals of shame burning 
 on her cheek and throat and forehead. 
 
 " But never mind," he began awkwardly. 
 
 " No," she told him with decision. " Please let 
 me go on. . . ." She continued, stumbling, 
 trusting to his sympathy to bridge the gaps in her 
 narrative. " My father . . . There was trou- 
 ble of some sort ... At all events, he disap- 
 peared when I was a baby. My mother . . 
 died. I was brought up in the home of my great- 
 uncle, Colonel George Burgoyne, of the Indian Army 
 retired. My mother had been his favorite niece, 
 they say; I presume that was why he cared for me.
 
 332 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 I grew up in his home in Cornwall ; it was my home, 
 just as he was my father in everything but fact. 
 
 " A year ago he died, leaving me everything, the 
 town house in Frognall Street, his estate in Corn- 
 wall: everything was willed to me on condition that 
 'I must never live with my father, nor in any way 
 contribute to his support. If I disobeyed, the en- 
 tire estate without reserve was to go to his nearest 
 of kin. . . . Colonel Burgoyne was unmarried 
 and had no children." 
 
 The girl paused, lifting to Kirkwood's face her 
 eyes, clear, fearless, truthful. " I never was given 
 to understand that there was anybody who might 
 have inherited, other than myself," she declared. 
 
 " I see . . ." 
 
 " Last week I received a letter, signed with my 
 father's name, begging me to appoint an interview 
 with him in London. I did so, guess how gladly 1 
 I was alone in the world, and he, my father, whom 
 I had never thought to see . . . We met at 
 his hotel, the Pless. He wanted me to come and 
 live with him, said that he was growing old and 
 lonely and needed a daughter's love and care. He 
 told me that he had made a fortune in America and 
 was amply able to provide for us both. As for my 
 inheritance, he persuaded me that it was by rights 
 the property of Frederick Hallam, Mrs. Hallam's 
 son."
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 333 
 
 " I have met the young gentleman," interpolated 
 Kirkwood. 
 
 " His name was new to me, but my father assured 
 me that he was the next of kin mentioned in Colonel 
 Burgoyne's will, and convinced me that I had no 
 real right to the property. . . . After all, he 
 was my father ; I agreed ; I could not bear the thought 
 of wronging anybody. I was to give up everything 
 but my mother's jewels. It seems, my father said, 
 
 I don't I can't believe it now 
 
 She choked on a little, dry sob. It was some time 
 before she seemed able to continue. 
 
 " I was told that my great-uncle's collection of 
 jewels had been my mother's property. He had in 
 life a passion for collecting jewels, and it had been his 
 whim to carry them with him, wherever he went. 
 When he died in Frognall Street, they were in the safe 
 by the head of his bed. I, in my grief, at first forgot 
 them, and then afterwards carelessly put off removing 
 them. 
 
 " To come back to my father: Night before last 
 we were to call on Mrs. Hallam. It was to be our 
 last night in England ; we were to sail for the Conti- 
 nent on the private yacht of a friend of my father's, 
 the next morning. . . . This is what I was told 
 
 and believed, you understand. 
 
 " That night Mrs. Hallam was dining at another 
 table at the Pless, it seems. I did not then know
 
 334 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 her. When leaving, she put a note on our table, 
 by my father's elbow. I was astonished beyond 
 words. . . . He seemed much agitated, told me 
 that he was called away on urgent business, a matter 
 of life and death, and begged me to go alone to Frog- 
 nail Street, get the jewels and meet him at Mrs. 
 l Hallam's later. ... I wasn't altogether a fool, 
 for I began dimly to suspect, then, that something 
 was wrong; but I was a fool, for I consented to do 
 as he desired. You understand you know ? " 
 
 " I do, indeed," replied Kirkwood grimly. " I un- 
 derstand a lot of things now that I didn't five minutes 
 ago. Please let me think . . ." 
 
 But the time he took for deliberation was short. 
 He had hoped to find a way to spare her, by sparing 
 Calendar; but momentarily he was becoming more 
 impressed with the futility of dealing with her save 
 in terms of candor, merciful though they might seem 
 harsh. 
 
 " I must tell you," he said, " that you have been 
 outrageously misled, swindled and deceived. I have 
 heard from your father's own lips that Mrs. Hallam 
 was to pay him two thousand pounds for keeping 
 /you out of England and losing you your inheritance. 
 I'm inclined to question, furthermore, the assertion 
 that these jewels were your mother's. Frederick Hal- 
 lam was the man who followed you into the Frog- 
 nail Street house and attacked me on the stairs ; Mrs.
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 335 
 
 Hallam admits that he went there to get the jewels. 
 But he didn't want anybody to know it." 
 
 " But that doesn't prove " 
 
 " Just a minute." Rapidly and concisely Kirk- 
 wood recounted the events wherein he had played a 
 part, subsequent to the adventure of Bermondsey Old 
 Stairs. He was guilty of but one evasion ; on one 
 point only did he slur the truth: he conceived it his 
 honorable duty to keep the girl in ignorance of his 
 straitened circumstances ; she was not to be distressed 
 by knowledge of his distress, nor could he tolerate the 
 suggestion of seeming to play for her sympathy. It 
 was necessary, then, to invent a motive to excuse his 
 return to 9, Frognall Street, I believe he chose to 
 exaggerate the inquisitiveness of his nature and threw 
 in for good measure a desire to recover a prized trinket 
 of no particular moment, esteemed for its associations, 
 and so forth. But whatever the fabrication, it passed 
 muster ; to the girl his motives seemed less important 
 than the discoveries that resulted from them. 
 
 " I am afraid," he concluded the summary of the 
 confabulation he had overheard at the skylight of the 
 Alethea's cabin, " you'd best make up your mind that 
 your father " 
 
 " Yes," whispered the girl huskily ; and turned her 
 face to the window, a quivering muscle in the firm 
 young throat alone betraying her emotion. 
 
 " It's a bad business," he pursued relentlessly :
 
 " bad all round. Mulready, in your father's pay, 
 tries to have him arrested, the better to rob him. 
 Mrs. Hallam, to secure your property for that 
 precious pet, Freddie, connives at, if she doesn't in- 
 stigate, a kidnapping. Your father takes her money 
 to deprive you of yours, which could profit him 
 nothing so long as you remained in lawful possession 
 of it ; and at the same time he conspires to rob, 
 through you, the rightful owners if they are right- 
 ful owners. And if they are, why does Freddie 
 Hallam go like a thief in the night to secure prop- 
 erty that's his beyond dispute? ... I don't 
 really think you owe your father any further con- 
 sideration." 
 
 He waited patiently. Eventually, " No-o," the 
 girl sobbed assent. 
 
 " It's this way : Calendar, counting on your spar- 
 ing him in the end, is going to hound us. He's 
 doing it now: there's Hobbs in the next car, for 
 proof. Until these jewels are returned, whether to 
 Frognall Street or to young Hallam, we're both in 
 danger, both thieves in the sight of the law. And 
 your father knows that, too. There's no profit to be 
 had by discounting the temper of these people ; they're 
 as desperate a gang of swindlers as ever lived. 
 They'll have those jewels if they have to go as far as 
 murder " 
 
 " Mr. Kirkwood ! " she deprecated, in horror.
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 337 
 
 He wagged his head stubbornly, ominously. " I've 
 seen them in the raw. They're hot on our trail now ; 
 ten to one, they'll be on our backs before we can get 
 across the Channel. Once in England we will be com- 
 paratively safe. Until then . . . But I'm a 
 brute I'm frightening you ! " 
 
 " You are, dreadfully," she confessed in a tremu- 
 lous voice. 
 
 " Forgive me. If you look at the dark side first, 
 the other seems all the brighter. Please don't worry ; 
 we'll pull through with flying colors, or my name's 
 not Philip Kirkwood ! " 
 
 " I have every faith in you," she informed him, 
 flawlessly sincere. " When I think of all you've done 
 and dared for me, on the mere suspicion that I needed 
 your help ; 
 
 " We'd best be getting ready," he interrupted has- 
 tily. " Here's Brussels." 
 
 It was so. Lights, in little clusters and long, 
 wheeling lines, were leaping out of the darkness and 
 flashing back as the train rumbled through the sub- 
 urbs of the little Paris of the North. Already the 
 other passengers were bestirring themselves, gather- 
 ing together wraps and hand luggage, and preparing 
 for the journey's end. 
 
 Rising, Kirkwood took down their two satchels 
 from the overhead rack, and waited, in grim abstrac- 
 tion planning and counterplanning against the
 
 338 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 machinations in whose wiles they two had become so 
 perilously entangled. 
 
 Primarily, there was Hobbs to be dealt with; no 
 easy task, for Kirkwood dared not resort to violence 
 nor in any way invite the attention of the authorities ; 
 and threats would be an idle waste of breath, in the 
 case of that corrupt and malignant little cockney, 
 himself as keen as any needle, adept in all the art- 
 ful resources of the underworld whence he had sprung, 
 and further primed for action by that master rogue, 
 Calendar. 
 
 The train was pulling slowly into the station 
 when he reluctantly abandoned his latest unfeasible 
 scheme for shaking off the little Englishman, and 
 concluded that their salvation was only to be worked 
 out through everlasting vigilance, incessant move- 
 ment, and the favor of the blind goddess, Fortune. 
 There was comfort of a sort in the reflection that the 
 divinity of chance is at least blind; her favors are 
 impartially distributed ; the swing of the wheel of the 
 world is not always to the advantage of the wrong- 
 doer and the scamp. 
 
 He saw nothing of Hobbs as they alighted and 
 hastened from the station, and hardly had time to 
 waste looking for him, since their train had failed to 
 make up the precious ten minutes. Consequently he 
 dismissed the fellow from his thoughts until with 
 Brussels lingering in their memories a garish vision
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 339 
 
 of brilliant streets and glowing cafes, glimpsed fur- 
 tively from their cab windows during its wild dash 
 over the broad mid-city, boulevards at midnight 
 they settled themselves in a carriage of the Bruges 
 express. They were speeding along through the 
 open country with a noisy clatter; then a minute's in- 
 vestigation sufficed to discover the mate of the Alethea 
 serenely ensconced in the coach behind. 
 
 The little man seemed rarely complacent, and im- 
 pudently greeted Kirkwood's scowling visage, as the 
 latter peered through the window in the coach-door, 
 with a smirk and a waggish wave of his hand. The 
 American by main strength of will-power mastered an 
 impulse to enter and wring his neck, and returned to 
 the girl, more disturbed than he cared to let her 
 know. 
 
 There resulted from his review of the case but one 
 plan for outwitting Mr. Hobbs, and that lay in trust- 
 ing to his confidence that Kirkwood and Dorothy 
 Calendar would proceed as far toward Ostend as the 
 train would take them namely, to the limit of the 
 run, Bruges. 
 
 Thus inspired, Kirkwood took counsel with the girl, 
 and when the train paused at Ghent, they made an 
 unostentatious exit from their coach, finding them- 
 selves, when the express had rolled on into the west, 
 upon a station platform in a foreign city at nine min- 
 utes past one o'clock in the morning but at length
 
 340 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 without their shadow. Mr. Hobbs had gone on to 
 Bruges. 
 
 Kirkwood sped his journey ings with an unspoken 
 malediction, and collected himself to cope with a sit- 
 uation which was to prove hardly more happy for 
 them than the espionage they had just eluded. The 
 primal flush of triumph which had saturated the 
 American's humor on this signal success, proved but 
 fictive and transitory when inquiry of the station at- 
 tendants educed the information that the two earliest 
 trains to be obtained were the 5 :09 for Dunkerque and 
 the 5:37 for Ostend. A minimum delay of four 
 hours was to be endured in the face of many con- 
 tingent features singularly unpleasant to contemplate. 
 The station waiting-room was on the point of clos- 
 ing for the night, and Kirkwood, already alarmed 
 by the rapid ebb of the money he had had of Calen- 
 dar, dared not subject his finances to the strain of a 
 night's lodging at one of Ghent's hotels. He found 
 himself forced to be cruel to be kind to the girl, and 
 Dorothy's cheerful acquiescence to their sole alterna- 
 tive of tramping the street until daybreak did noth- 
 ing to alleviate Kirkwood's exasperation. 
 
 It was permitted them to occupy a bench outside ,, 
 the station. There the girl, her head pillowed on the 
 treasure bag, napped uneasily, while Kirkwood 
 plodded restlessly to and fro, up and down the plat- 
 form, communing with the Shade of Care and addling
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 341 
 
 his poor, weary wits with the problem of the fu- 
 ture, not so much his own as the future of the 
 unhappy child for whose welfare he had assumed re- 
 sponsibility. Dark for both of them, in his under- 
 standing To-morrow loomed darkest for her. 
 
 Not until the gray, formless light of the dawn- 
 dusk was wavering over the land, did he cease his 
 perambulations. Then a gradual stir of life in the 
 city streets, together with the appearance of a station 
 porter or two, opening the waiting-rooms and prepar- 
 ing them against the traffic of the day, warned him 
 that he must rouse his charge. He paused and stood 
 over her, reluctant to disturb her rest, such as it 
 was, his heart torn with compassion for her, his soul 
 embittered by the cruel irony of their estate. 
 
 If what he understood were true, a king's ransom 
 was secreted within the cheap, imitation-leather 
 satchel which served her for a pillow. But it availed 
 her nothing for her comfort. If what he believed 
 were true, she was absolute mistress of that treasure 
 of jewels; yet that night she had been forced to 
 sleep on a hard, uncushioned bench, in the open air, 
 and this morning he must waken her to the life of 
 a hunted thing. A week ago she had had at her 
 command every luxury known to the civilized world ; 
 to-day she was friendless, but for his inefficient, worth- 
 less self, and in a strange 'land. A week ago, had 
 he known her then, he had been free to tell her of
 
 342 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 his love, to offer her the protection of his name as 
 well as his devotion; to-day he was an all but penni- 
 less vagabond, and there could be no dishonor deeper 
 than to let her know the nature of his heart's desire. 
 
 Was ever lover hedged from a declaration to his 
 mistress by circumstances so hateful, so untoward ! 
 He could have raged and railed against his fate like 
 any madman. For he desired her greatly, and she 
 was very lovely in his sight. If her night's rest had 
 been broken and but a mockery, she showed few signs 
 of it ; the faint, wan complexion of fatigue seemed 
 only to enhance the beauty of her maidenhood ; her 
 lips were as fresh and desirous as the dewy petals of 
 a crimson rose ; beneath her eyes soft shadows lurked 
 where her lashes lay tremulous upon her cheeks of 
 satin. . . . She was to him of all created things 
 the most wonderful, the most desirable. 
 
 The temptation of his longing seemed more than 
 he could long withstand. But resist he must, or part 
 for ever with any title to her consideration or his 
 own. He shut his teeth and knotted his brows in a 
 transport of desire to touch, if only with his finger- 
 tips, the woven wonder of her hair . . . 
 
 And thus she saw him, when, without warning, she 
 awoke. 
 
 Bewilderment at first informed the wide brown eyes ; 
 then, as their drowsiness vanished, a little laughter, a 
 little tender mirth.
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 
 
 " Good morning, Sir Knight of the Somber Coun- 
 tenance ! " she cried, standing up. " Am I so ut- 
 terly disreputable that you find it necessary to frown 
 on me so darkly ? " 
 
 He shook his head, smiling. 
 
 " I know I'm a fright," she asserted vigorously, 
 shaking out the folds of her pleated skirt. " And as 
 for my hat, it will never be on straight but then 
 you wouldn't know." 
 
 " It seems all right," he replied vacantly. 
 
 " Then please to try to look a little happier, since 
 you find me quite presentable." 
 
 " I do . . ." 
 
 Without lifting her bended head, she looked up, 
 laughing, not ill-pleased. " You'd say so ... 
 really?" 
 
 Commonplace enough, this banter, this pitiful en- 
 deavor to be oblivious of their common misery; but 
 like the look she gave him, her words rang in his 
 head like potent fumes of wine. He turned away, 
 utterly disconcerted for the time, knowing only that 
 he must overcome his weakness. 
 
 Far down the railway tracks there rose a mur- 
 muring, that waxed to a rumbling roar. A passing 
 porter answered Kirkwood's inquiry : it was the night 
 boat-train from Ostend. He picked up their bags 
 and drew the girl into the waiting-room, troubled by 
 a sickening foreboding.
 
 344 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Through the window they watched the train roll in 
 and stop. 
 
 Among others, alighted, smirking, the unspeakable 
 Hobbs. 
 
 He lifted his hat and bowed jauntily to the waiting- 
 room window, making it plain that his keen eyes had 
 discovered them instantly. 
 
 Kirkwood's heart sank with the hopelessness of it 
 all. If the railway directorates of Europe conspired 
 against them, what chance had they? If the night 
 boat-train from Ostend had only had the decency to 
 be twenty-five minutes late, instead of arriving 
 promptly on the minute of 4 :45 they two might have 
 escaped by the 5 :09 for Dunkerque and Calais. 
 
 There remained but a single untried ruse in his bag 
 of tricks ; mercifully it might suffice. 
 
 " Miss Calendar," said Kirkwood from his heart, 
 " just as soon as I get you home, safe and sound, I 
 am going to take a day off, hunt up that little 
 villain, and flay him alive. In the meantime, I forgot 
 to dine last night, and am reminded that we had bet- 
 ter forage for breakfast." 
 
 Hobbs dogged them at a safe distance while they 
 sallied forth and in a neighboring street discovered an 
 early-bird bakery. Here they were able to purchase 
 *olls steaming from the oven, fresh pats of golden 
 butter wrapped in clean lettuce leaves, and milk in 
 twin bottles; all of which they prosaically carried
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 345 
 
 with them back to the station, lacking leisure as they 
 did to partake of the food before train-time. 
 
 Without attempting concealment (Hobbs, he knew, 
 was eavesdropping round the corner of the door) 
 Kirkwood purchased at the ticket-window passages on 
 the Dunkerque train. Mr. Hobbs promptly flattered 
 him by imitation; and so jealous of his luck was 
 Kirkwood by this time grown, through continual dis- 
 appointment, that he did not even let the girl into 
 his plans until they were aboard the 5:09, in a com- 
 partment all to themselves. Then, having with his 
 own eyes seen Mr. Hobbs dodge into the third com- 
 partment in the rear of the same carriage, Kirkwood 
 astonished the girl by requesting her to follow him; 
 and together they left by the door opposite that by 
 which they had entered. 
 
 The engine was running up and down a scale of 
 staccato snorts, in preparation for the race, and the 
 cars were on the edge of moving, couplings clanking, 
 wheels a-groan, ere Mr. Hobbs condescended to join 
 them between the tracks. 
 
 Wearily, disheartened, Kirkwood reopened the 
 door, flung the bags in, and helped the girl back into 
 their despised compartment; the quicker route to 
 England via Ostend was now out of the question. 
 As for himself, he waited for a brace of seconds, ey- 
 ing wickedly the ubiquitous Hobbs, who had popped 
 back into his compartment, but stood ready to pop
 
 346 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 out again on the least encouragement. In the mean- 
 time he was pleased to shake a friendly foot at Mr. 
 Kirkwood, thrusting that member out through the 
 half -open door. 
 
 Only the timely departure of the train, compelling 
 him to rejoin Dorothy at once, if at all, prevented the 
 American from adding murder to the already note- 
 worthy catalogue of his high crimes and misde- 
 meanors. 
 
 Their simple meal, consumed to the ultimate drop 
 and crumb while the Dunkerque train meandered se- 
 renely through a sunny, smiling Flemish country- 
 side, somewhat revived their jaded spirits. After all, 
 they were young, enviably dowered with youth's ex- 
 uberant elasticity of mood; the world was bright in 
 the dawning, the night had fled leaving naught but 
 an evil memory ; best of all things, they were to- 
 gether: tacitly they were agreed that somehow the 
 future would take care of itself and all be well with 
 them. 
 
 For a time they laughed and chattered, pretend- 
 ing that the present held no cares or troubles ; but 
 soon the girl, nestling her head in a corner of the 
 dingy cushions, was smiling ever more drowsily on 
 Kirkwood; and presently she slept in good earnest, 
 the warm blood ebbing and flowing beneath the ex- 
 quisite texture of her cheeks, the ghost of an uncon- 
 scious smile quivering about the sensitive scarlet
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 347 
 
 mouth, the breeze through the open window at her 
 side wantoning at will in the sunlit witchery of her 
 hair. And Kirkwood, worn with sleepless watching, 
 dwelt in longing upon the dear innocent allure of her 
 until the ache in his heart had grown well-nigh 
 insupportable; then instinctively turned his gaze up- 
 wards, searching his heart, reading the faith and 
 desire of it, so that at length knowledge and under- 
 standing came to him, of his weakness and strength 
 and the clean love that he bore for her, and glad- 
 dened he sat dreaming in waking the same clear 
 dreams that modeled her unconscious lips secretly for 
 laughter and the joy of living. 
 
 When Dunkerque halted their progress, they were 
 obliged to alight and change cars, Hobbs a dis- 
 creetly sinister shadow at the end of the platform. 
 
 By schedule they were to arrive in Calais about 
 the middle of the forenoon, with a wait of three hours 
 to be bridged before the departure of the Dover packet. 
 That would be an anxious time; the prospect of it 
 rendered both Dorothy and Kirkwood doubly anx- 
 ious throughout this final stage of their flight. In 
 three hours anything could happen, or be brought 
 about. Neither could forget that it was quite within 
 the bounds of possibilities for Calendar to be await- 
 ing them in Calais. Presuming that Hobbs had been 
 acute enough to guess their plans and advise his 
 employer by telegraph, the latter could readily have
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 anticipated their arrival, whether by sea in the brigan- 
 tine, or by land, taking the direct route via Brussels 
 and Lille. If such proved to be the case, it were 
 scarcely sensible to count upon the arch-adventurer 
 contenting himself with a waiting role like Hobbs'. 
 
 With such unhappy apprehensions for a stimulant, 
 between them the man and the girl contrived a make- 
 shift counter-stratagem ; or it were more accurate to 
 say that Kirkwood proposed it, while Dorothy re- 
 jected, disputed, and at length accepted it, albeit with 
 sad misgivings. For it involved a separation that 
 might not prove temporary. 
 
 Together they could never escape the surveillance 
 of Mr. Hobbs ; parted, he would be obliged to follow 
 one or the other. The task of misleading the 
 Alethea's mate, Kirkwood undertook, delegating to the 
 girl the duty of escaping when he could provide her 
 the opportunity, of keeping under cover until the 
 hour of sailing, and then proceeding to England, with 
 the gladstone bag, alone if Kirkwood was unable, or 
 thought it inadvisable, to join her on the boat. 
 
 In furtherance of this design, a majority of the 
 girl's belongings were transferred from her travel- 
 ing bag to Kirkwood's, the gladstone taking their 
 place ; and the young man provided her with vol- 
 uminous instructions, a revolver which she did not 
 know how to handle and declared she would never 
 use for any consideration, and enough money to
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 349 
 
 pay for her accommodation at the Terminus Hotel, 
 near the pier, and for two passages to London. It 
 was agreed that she should secure the steamer book- 
 ing, lest Kirkwood be delayed until the last moment. 
 
 These arrangements concluded, the pair of blessed 
 idiots sat steeped in melancholy silence, avoiding each 
 other's eyes, until the train drew in at the Gare Cen- 
 trale, Calais. 
 
 In profound silence, too, they left their compart- 
 ment and passed through the station, into the quiet, 
 sun-drenched streets of the seaport, Hobbs hovering 
 solicitously in the offing. 
 
 Without comment or visible relief of mind they 
 were aware that their fears had been without apparent 
 foundation ; they saw no sign of Calendar, Stryker 
 or Mulready. The circumstance, however, counted 
 for nothing; one or all of the adventurers might ar- 
 rive in Calais at any minute. 
 
 Momentarily more miserable as the time of parting 
 drew nearer, dumb with unhappiness, they turned 
 aside from, the main thoroughfares of the city, leav- 
 ing the business section, and gained the sleepier side 
 streets, bordered by the residences of the proletariat, 
 where for blocks none but children were to be seen, and 
 of them but few quaint, sober little bodies playing 
 almost noiselessly in their dooryards. 
 
 At length Kirkwood spoke. 
 
 " Let's make it the corner," he said, without
 
 350 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 looking at the girl. " It's a short block to the 
 next street. You hurry to the Terminus and lock 
 yourself in your room. Have the management book 
 both passages ; don't run the risk of going to the 
 pier yourself. I'll make things interesting for Mr. 
 Hobbs, and join you as soon as I can, if I can." 
 
 " You must," replied the girl. " I shan't go with- 
 out you." 
 
 " But, Dor Miss Calendar ! " he exclaimed, 
 aghast. 
 
 " I don't care I know I agreed," she declared 
 mutinously. " But I won't I can't. Remember 
 I shall wait for you." 
 
 " But but perhaps " 
 
 " If you have to stay, it will be because there's dan- 
 ger won't it ? And what would you think of me 
 if I deserted you then, af-after all y-you've done? 
 Please don't waste time arguing. Whether 
 you come at one to-day, to-morrow, or a week from 
 to-morrow, I shall be waiting. . . . You may be 
 sure. Good-by." 
 
 They had turned the corner, walking slowly, side by 
 side; Hobbs, for the first time caught off his guard, 
 had dropped behind more than half a long block. 
 But now Kirkwood's quick sidelong glance discovered 
 the mate in the act of taking alarm and quickening his 
 pace. None the less the American was at the time 
 barely conscious of anything other than a wholly
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 351 
 
 unexpected furtive pressure of the girl's gloved fingers 
 on his own. 
 
 " Good-by," she whispered. 
 
 He caught at her hand, protesting. " Dor- 
 othy !" 
 
 " Good-by," she repeated breathlessly, with a queer 
 little catch in her voice. " God be with you, Philip, 
 and and send you safely back to me . . ." 
 
 And she was running away. 
 
 Dumfounded with dismay, seeing in a flash how all 
 his plans might be set at naught by this her unfore- 
 seen insubordination, he took a step or two after her ; 
 but she was fleet of foot, and, remembering Hobbs, he 
 halted. 
 
 By this time the mate, too, was running ; Kirkwood 
 could hear the heavy pounding of his clumsy feet. 
 Already Dorothy had almost gained the farther cor- 
 ner; as she whisked round it with a flutter of skirts, 
 Kirkwood dodged hastily behind a gate-post. A 
 thought later, Hobbs appeared, head down, chest out, 
 eyes straining for sight of his quarry, pelting along 
 for dear life. 
 
 As, rounding the corner, he stretched out in swifter 
 stride, Kirkwood was inspired to put a spoke in his 
 wheel ; and a foot thrust suddenly out from behind the 
 gate-post accomplished his purpose with more suc- 
 cess than he had dared anticipate. Stumbling, the 
 mate plunged headlong, arms and legs a-sprawl ; and
 
 352 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 the momentum of his pace, though checked, carried 
 him along the sidewalk, face downwards, a full yard 
 ere he could stay himself. 
 
 Kirkwood stepped out of the gateway and sheered 
 off as Hobbs picked himself up ; something which he 
 did rather slowly, as if in a daze, without compre- 
 hension of the cause of his; misfortune. And for a 
 moment he stood pulling his wits together and sway- 
 ing as though on the point of resuming his rudely 
 interrupted chase ; when the noise of Kirkwood's heels 
 brought him about face in a twinkling. 
 
 " Ow, it's you, eh ! " he snarled in a temper as 
 vicious as his countenance; and both of these were 
 much the worse for wear and tear. 
 
 " Myself," admitted Kirkwood fairly ; and then, in 
 a gleam of humor: " Weren't you looking for me? " 
 
 His rage seemed to take the little Cockney and 
 shake him by the throat; he trembled from head to 
 foot, his face shockingly congested, and spat out dust 
 and fragments of lurid blasphemy like an infuriated 
 cat. 
 
 Of a sudden, " W'ere's the gel ? " he sputtered 
 thickly as his quick shifting eyes for the first time 
 noted Dorothy's absence. 
 
 " Miss Calendar has other business none with 
 you. I've taken the liberty of stopping you because 
 I have a word or two " 
 
 " Ow, you 'ave, 'ave you? Gawd strike me blind,
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 353 
 
 but I've a word for you, too! . . . 'And over 
 that bag and look nippy, or I'll myke you pye for 
 w'at you've done to me . . . I'll myke you 
 pye ! " he iterated hoarsely, edging closer. " 'And it 
 over or " 
 
 " You've got another guess " Kirkwood began, 
 but saved his breath in deference to an imperative 
 demand on him for instant defensive action. 
 
 To some extent he had underestimated the brute 
 courage of the fellow, the violent, desperate courage 
 that is distilled of anger in men of his kind. De- 
 spising him, deeming him incapable of any overt 
 act of villainy, Kirkwood had been a little less wary 
 than he would have been with Calendar or Mulready. 
 Hobbs had seemed more of the craven type which 
 Stryker graced so conspicuously. But now the Amer- 
 ican was to be taught discrimination, to learn that if 
 Stryker's nature was like a snake's for low cunning 
 and deviousness, Hobbs' soul was the soul of a viper. 
 
 Almost imperceptibly he had advanced upon Kirk- 
 wood ; almost insensibly his right hand had moved to- 
 ward his chest; now, with a movement marvelously 
 deft, it had slipped in and out of his breast pocket. 
 And a six-inch blade of tarnished steel was winging 
 toward Kirkwood's throat with the speed of light. 
 
 Instinctively he stepped back; as instinctively he 
 guarded with his right forearm, lifting the hand that 
 held the satchel. The knife, catching in his sleeve,
 
 354 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 scratched the arm beneath painfully, and simulta- 
 neously was twisted from the mate's grasp, while in his 
 surprise Kirkwood's grip on the bag-handle relaxed. 
 It was torn forcibly from his fingers just as he re- 
 ceived a heavy blow on his chest from the mate's fist. 
 He staggered back. 
 
 By the time he had recovered from the shock, Hobbs 
 was a score of feet away, the satchel tucked under 
 his arm, his body bent almost double, running like a 
 jack-rabbit. Ere Kirkwood could get under way, in 
 pursuit, the mate had dodged out of sight round the 
 corner. When the American caught sight of him 
 again, he was far down the block, and bettering his 
 pace with every jump. 
 
 He was approaching, also, some six or eight good 
 citizens of Calais, men of the laboring class, at a 
 guess. Their attention attracted by his frantic 
 flight, they stopped to wonder. One or two moved 
 as though to intercept him, and he doubled out into 
 the middle of the street with the quickness of thought ; 
 an instant later he shot round another corner 
 and disappeared, the natives streaming after in hot 
 chase, electrified by the inspiring strains of " Stop, 
 thief ! " or its French equivalent. 
 
 Kirkwood, cheering them on with the same wild 
 cry, followed to the farther street ; and there paused, 
 so winded and weak with laughter that he was fain 
 to catch at a fence picket for support. Standing
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 355 
 
 thus he saw other denizens of Calais spring as if from 
 the ground miraculously to swell the hue and cry ; and 
 a dumpling of a gendarme materialized from no- 
 where at all, to fall in behind the rabble, waving his 
 sword above his head and screaming at the top of his 
 lungs, the while his fat legs twinkled for all the world 
 like thick sausage links marvelously animated. 
 
 The mob straggled round yet another corner and 
 was gone; its clamor diminished on the still Spring 
 air; and Kirkwood, recovering, abandoned Mr. Hobbs 
 to the justice of the high gods and the French sys- 
 tem of jurisprudence (at least, he hoped the latter 
 would take an interest in the case, if haply Hobbs 
 were laid by the heels), and went his way rejoicing. 
 
 As for the scratch on his arm, it was nothing, as 
 he presently demonstrated to his complete satisfac- 
 tion in the seclusion of a chance-sent fiacre. Kirk- 
 wood, commissioning it to drive him to the American 
 Consulate, made his diagnosis en route; wound a hand- 
 kerchief round the negligible wound, rolled down his 
 sleeve, and forgot it altogether in the joys of pictur- 
 ing to himself Hobbs in the act of opening the satchel 
 in expectation of finding therein the gladstone bag. 
 
 At the consulate door he paid off the driver and 
 dismissed him,; the fiacre had served his purpose, and 
 he could find his way to the Terminus Hotel at in- 
 finitely less expense. He had a considerably harder 
 task before him as he ascended the steps to the con-
 
 356 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 sular doorway, knocked and made known the nature 
 of his errand. 
 
 No malicious destiny could have timed the hour of 
 his call more appositely; the consul was at home and 
 at the disposal of his fellow-citizens within bounds. 
 
 In the course of thirty minutes or so Kirkwood 
 emerged with dignity from the consulate, his face 
 crimson to the hair, his soul smarting with shame 
 and humiliation ; and left an amused official repre- 
 sentative of his country's government with the im- 
 pression of having been entertained to the point of 
 ennui by an exceptionally clumsy but pertinacious 
 liar. 
 
 For the better part of the succeeding hour Kirk- 
 wood circumnavigated the neighborhood of the 
 steamer pier and the Terminus Hotel, striving to ren- 
 der himself as inconspicuous as he felt insignificant, 
 and keenly on the alert for any sign or news of Hobbs. 
 In this pursuit he was pleasantly disappointed. 
 
 At noon precisely, his suspense grown too onerous 
 for his strength of will, throwing caution and their 
 understanding to the winds, he walked boldly into the 
 Terminus, and inquired for Miss Calendar. 
 
 The assurance he received that she was in safety 
 under its roof did not deter him from sending up 
 his name and asking her to receive him in the public 
 lounge; he required the testimony, of his senses to 
 convince him that no harm had come to her in the long
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 357 
 
 hour and a half that had elapsed since their separa- 
 tion. 
 
 Woman-like, she kept him waiting. Alone in the 
 public rooms of the hotel, he suffered excruciating 
 torments. How was he to know that Calendar had 
 not arrived and found his way to her? 
 
 When at length she appeared on the threshold of 
 the apartment, bringing with her the traveling bag 
 and looking wonderfully the better for her ninety 
 minutes of complete repose and privacy, the relief 
 he experienced was so intense that he remained trans- 
 fixed in the middle of the floor, momentarily able 
 neither to speak nor to move. 
 
 On her part, so fagged and distraught did he seem, 
 that at sight of his care-worn countenance she hur- 
 ried to him with outstretched, compassionate hands 
 and a low pitiful cry of concern, forgetful entirely 
 of that which he himself had forgotten the emo- 
 tion she had betrayed on parting. 
 
 " Oh, nothing wrong," he hastened to reassure her, 
 with a sorry ghost of his familiar grin ; " only I 
 have lost Hobbs and the satchel with your things ; and 
 there's no sign yet of Mr. Calendar. We can feel 
 pretty comfortable now, and and I thought it time 
 we had something like a meal.'* 
 
 The narrative of his adventure which he delivered 
 over their dejeuner a la fourchette contained no men- 
 tion either of his rebuff at the American Consulate
 
 358 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 or the scratch he had sustained during Hobbs' mur- 
 derous assault; the one could not concern her, the 
 other would seem but a bid for her sympathy. He 
 counted it a fortunate thing that the mate's knife 
 had been keen enough to penetrate the cloth of his 
 sleeve without tearing it; the slit it had left was 
 barely noticeable. And he purposely diverted the girl 
 with flashes of humorous description, so that they dis- 
 cussed both meal and episode in a mood of wholesome 
 merriment. 
 
 It was concluded, all too soon for the taste of either, 
 by the waiter's announcement that the steamer was on 
 the point of sailing. 
 
 Outwardly composed, inwardly quaking,* they 
 boarded the packet, meeting with no misadventure 
 whatever if we are to except the circumstance that, 
 when the restaurant bill was settled and the girl had 
 punctiliously surrendered his change with the tickets, 
 Kirkwood found himself in possession of precisely one 
 franc and twenty centimes. 
 
 He groaned in spirit to think how differently he 
 <might have been fixed, had he not in his infatuated 
 spirit of honesty been so anxious to give Calendar 
 more than ample value for his money ! 
 
 An inexorable anxiety held them both near the 
 gangway until it was cast off and the boat began to 
 draw away from the pier. Then, and not till then, 
 did an unimpressive, small figure of a man detach
 
 TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON 359 
 
 itself from the shield of a pile of luggage and ad- 
 vance to the pier-head. No second glance was needed 
 to identify Mr. Hobbs; and until the perspective 
 dwarfed him indistinguishably, he was to be seen, 
 alternately waving Kirkwood ironic farewell and 
 blowing violent kisses to Miss Calendar from the tips 
 of his soiled fingers. 
 
 So he had escaped arrest. 
 
 At first by turns indignant and relieved to realize 
 that thereafter they were to move in scenes in which 
 his hateful shadow would not form an essentially com- 
 ponent part, subsequently Kirkwood fell a prey to 
 prophetic terrors. It was not alone fear of retribu- 
 tion that had induced Hobbs to relinquish his perse- 
 cution or so Kirkwood became convinced ; if the 
 mate's calculation had allowed for them the least frac- 
 tion of a chance to escape apprehension on the far- 
 ther shores of the Channel, nor fears nor threats 
 would have prevented him from sailing with the fugi- 
 tives. . . . Far from having left danger behind 
 them on the Continent, Kirkwood believed in his se- 
 cret heart that they were but flying to encounter it;, 
 beneath the smoky pall of London.
 
 XVII 
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 
 
 A westering sun striking down through the drab 
 exhalations of ten-thousand sooty chimney-pots, 
 tinted the atmosphere with the hue of copper. The 
 glance that wandered purposelessly out through the 
 carriage windows, recoiled, repelled by the endless 
 dreary vista of the Surrey Side's unnumbered roofs ; 
 or, probing instantaneously the hopeless depths of 
 some grim narrow thoroughfare fleetingly disclosed, 
 as the evening boat-train from Dover swung on to- 
 ward Charing Cross, its trucks level with the eaves 
 of Southwark's dwellings, was saddened by the 
 thought that in all the world squalor such as this 
 should obtain and flourish unrelieved. 
 
 For perhaps the tenth time in the course of the 
 journey Kirkwood withdrew his gaze from the win- 
 dow and turned to the girl, a question ready framed 
 upon his lips. 
 
 " Are you quite sure " he began ; and then, alive 
 to the clear and penetrating perception in the brown 
 eyes that smiled into his from under their level brows, 
 he stammered and left the query uncompleted. 
 
 360
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 361 
 
 Continuing to regard him steadily and smilingly, 
 Dorothy shook her head in playful denial and pro- 
 test. " Do you know," she commented, " that this is 
 about the fifth repetition of that identical question 
 within the last quarter-hour? " 
 
 " How do you know what I meant to say ? " he 
 demanded, staring. 
 
 " I can see it in your eyes. Besides, you've talked 
 and thought of nothing else since we left the boat. 
 Won't you believe me, please, when I say there's ab- 
 solutely not a soul in London to whom I could go 
 and ask for shelter? I don't think it's very nice of 
 you to be so openly anxious to get rid of me." 
 
 This latter was so essentially undeserved and so 
 artlessly insincere, that he must needs, of course, treat 
 it with all seriousness. 
 
 " That isn't fair, Miss Calendar. Really It's not." 
 
 " What am I to think? I've told you any num- 
 ber of times that it's only an hour's ride on to Chil- 
 tern, where the Pyrfords will be glad to take me in. 
 You may depend upon it, by eight to-night, at 
 the latest, you'll have me off your hands, the drag 
 and worry that I've been ever since " 
 
 "Don't!" he pleaded vehemently. "Please! 
 
 You know it isn't that. I don't want you 
 
 off my hands, ever. . . . That is to say, I ah 
 
 " Here he was smitten with a dumbness, and sat, 
 
 aghast at the enormity of his blunder, entreating her
 
 362 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 forgiveness with eyes that, very likely, pleaded his 
 cause more eloquently than he guessed. 
 
 " I mean," he floundered on presently, in the fatu- 
 ous belief that he would this time be able to control 
 both mind and tongue, " what I mean is I'd be glad 
 to go on serving you in any way I might, to the end 
 of time, if you'd give me . . ." 
 
 He left the declaration inconclusive a stroke of 
 diplomacy that would have graced an infinitely more 
 adept wooer. But he used it all unconsciously. " O 
 Lord ! " he groaned in spirit. " Worse and more of 
 it! Why in thunder can't I say the right thing 
 right? " 
 
 Egotistically absorbed by the problem thus for- 
 mulated, he was heedless of her failure to respond, 
 and remained pensively preoccupied until roused by 
 the grinding and jolting of the train, as it slowed to 
 a halt preparatory to crossing the bridge. 
 
 Then he sought to read his answer in the eyes of 
 Dorothy. But she was looking away, staring 
 thoughtfully out over the billowing sea of roofs that 
 merged illusively into the haze long ere it reached the 
 horizon ; and Kirkwood could see the pulsing of the 
 warm blood in her throat and cheeks ; and the glamor- 
 ous light that leaped and waned in her eyes, as the 
 ruddy evening sunlight warmed them, was something 
 any man might be glad to live for and die for. 
 And he saw that she had understood, had
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 363 
 
 grasped the thread of meaning that ran through the 
 clumsy fabric of his halting speech and his sudden si- 
 lences. 
 
 She had understood without resentment! 
 
 While, incredulous, he wrestled with the wonder of 
 this fond discovery, she grew conscious of his gaze, 
 and turned her head to meet it with one fearless and 
 sweet, if troubled. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Kirkwood," she said gently, bending 
 forward as if to read between the lines anxiety had 
 graven on his countenance, " won't you tell me, please, 
 what it can be that so worries you? Is it possible 
 that you still have a fear of my father? But don't 
 you know that he can do nothing now now that 
 we're safe? We have only to take a cab to Padding- 
 ton Station, and then " 
 
 " You mustn't underestimate the resource and abil- 
 ity of Mr. Calendar," he told her gloomily ; " we've 
 got a chance no more. It wasn't ..." He 
 shut his teeth on his unruly tongue too late. 
 
 Woman-quick she caught him up. " It wasn't 
 that? Then what was it that worried you? If it's 
 something that affects me, is it kind and right of you 
 not to tell me? " 
 
 " It it affects us both," he conceded drearily. 
 " I I don't " 
 
 The wretched embarrassment of the confession be- 
 fogged his wits ; he felt unable to frame the words~
 
 364 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 He appealed speechlessly for tolerance, with a face 
 utterly woebegone and eyes piteous. 
 
 The train began to move slowly across the Thames 
 to Charing Cross. 
 
 Mercilessly the girl persisted. " We've only a min- 
 ute more. Surely you can trust me. . . ." 
 
 In exasperation he interrupted almost rudely. 
 " It's only this : I I'm strapped." 
 
 " Strapped? " She knitted her brows over this 
 fresh specimen of American slang. 
 
 " Flat strapped busted broke on my up- 
 pers down and out," he reeled off synonyms 
 without a smile. " I haven't enough money to pay 
 cab-fare across the town ' 
 
 " Oh ! " she interpolated, enlightened. 
 
 " to say nothing of taking us to Chiltern. I 
 couldn't buy you a glass of water if you were thirsty. 
 There isn't a soul on earth, within hail, who would 
 trust me with a quarter I mean a shilling across 
 London Bridge. I'm the original Luckless Wonder 
 and the only genuine Jonah extant." 
 
 With a face the hue of fire, he cocked his eyebrows 
 askew and attempted to laugh unconcernedly to hide 
 his bitter shame. " I've led you out of the frying- 
 pan into the fire, and I don't know what to do! 
 Please call me names." 
 
 And in a single instant all that he had consistently 
 tried to avoid doing, had been irretrievably done; if,
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 365 
 
 with dawning comprehension, dismay flickered in her 
 eyes such dismay as such a confession can rouse 
 only in one who, like Dorothy Calendar, has never 
 known the want of a penny it was swiftly driven 
 out to make place for the truest and most gracious 
 and unselfish solicitude. 
 
 " Oh, poor Mr. Kirkwood ! And it's all because of 
 me! You've beggared yourself " 
 
 " Not precisely ; I was beggared to begin with." 
 He hastened to disclaim the extravagant generosity 
 of which she accused him. " I had only three or four 
 pounds to my name that night we met. ... I 
 haven't told you I " 
 
 " You've told me nothing, nothing whatever about 
 yourself/' she said reproachfully. 
 
 " I didn't want to bother you with my troubles ; 
 I tried not to talk about myself. . . . You knew 
 I was an American, but I'm worse than that; I'm a 
 Calif ornian from San Francisco." He tried un- 
 successfully to make light of it. " I told you I was 
 the Luckless Wonder; if I'd ever had any luck I 
 would have stored a little money away. As it was, 
 I lived on my income, left my, principal in 'Frisco; 
 and when the earthquake came, it wiped me out com- 
 pletely." 
 
 " And you were going home that night we made 
 you miss your steamer ! " 
 
 " It was my own fault, and I'm glad this blessed
 
 366 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 minute that I did miss it. Nice sort I'd have been, 
 to go off and leave you at the mercy " 
 
 " Please ! I want to think, I'm trying to remem- 
 ber how much you've gone through " 
 
 " Precisely what I don't want you to do. Anyway, 
 I did nothing more than any other fellow would 'vet 
 Please don't give me credit that I don't deserve." 
 
 But she was not listening; and a pause fell, while 
 the train crawled warily over the trestle, as if in fear 
 of the foul, muddy flood below. 
 
 " And there's no way I can repay you. . . ." 
 
 " There's nothing to be repaid," he contended 
 stoutly. 
 
 She clasped her hands and let them fall gently in 
 her lap. " I've not a farthing in the world ! 
 I never dreamed. . . . I'm so sorry, Mr. Kirk- 
 wood terribly, terribly sorry ! . . . But what 
 can we do ? I can't consent to be a burden " 
 
 " But you're not ! You're the one thing that 
 ." He swerved sharply, at an abrupt tangent. 
 " There's one thing we can do, of course." 
 
 She looked up inquiringly. 
 
 " Craven Street is just round the corner." 
 
 *' Yes? " wonderingly. 
 
 " I mean we must go to Mrs. Hallam's house, first 
 off. . . . It's too late now, after five, else we 
 could deposit the jewels in some bank. Since since 
 they are no longer yours, the only thing, and the
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 367 
 
 proper thing to do is to place them in safety or in 
 the hands of their owner. If you take them directly 
 to young Hallam, your hands will be clear. . . . 
 And I never did such a thing in my life, Miss Cal- 
 endar; but if he's got a spark of gratitude in his 
 make-up, I ought to be able to er to borrow a 
 pound or so of him." 
 
 " Do you think so? " She shook her head in doubt, 
 
 " I don't know ; I know so little of such things. 
 
 You are right; we must take him the jewels, 
 
 but . . ." Her voice trailed off into a sigh of 
 
 profound perturbation. 
 
 He dared not meet her look. 
 
 Beneath his wandering gaze a County Council steam- 
 boat darted swiftly down-stream from Charing Cross 
 pier, in the shadow of the railway bridge. It seemed 
 curious to reflect that from that very floating pier 
 he had started first upon his quest of the girl beside 
 him, only he had to count three nights ago! 
 Three days and three nights ! Altogether incredible 
 seemed the transformation they had wrought in the 
 complexion of the world. Yet nothing material was 
 changed. . . . He lifted his eyes. 
 
 Beyond the river rose the Embankment, crawling 
 with traffic, backed by the green of the gardens and 
 the shimmering walls of glass and stone of the great 
 hotels, their windows glowing weirdly golden in the 
 late sunlight. A little down-stream Cleopatra's
 
 368 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Needle rose, sadly the worse for London smoke, 
 flanked by its couchant sphinxes, wearing a nimbus of 
 circling, sweeping, swooping, wheeling gulls. Far- 
 ther down, from the foot of that magnificent pile, 
 Somerset House, Waterloo Bridge sprang overstream 
 in its graceful arch. . . . All as of yesterday ; 
 yet all changed. Why? Because a woman had en- 
 tered into his life; because he had learned the lesson 
 of love and had looked into the bright face of Ro- 
 mance. 
 
 With a jar the train started and began to move 
 more swiftly. 
 
 Kirkwood lifted the traveling bag to his knees. 
 
 " Don't forget," he said with some difficulty, 
 " you're to stick by me, whatever happens. You 
 mustn't desert me." 
 
 " You Imow," the girl reproved him. 
 
 " I know ; but there must be no misunderstanding. 
 . . . Don't worry; we'll win out yet. I've a 
 plan." 
 
 Splendide mendaxl He had not the glimmering 
 of a plan. 
 
 The engine panting, the train drew in beneath the 
 vast sounding dome of the station, to an accompani- 
 ment of dull thunderings; and stopped finally. 
 
 Kirkwood got out, not without a qualm of regret 
 at leaving the compartment; therein, at least, they 
 had some title to consideration, by virtue of their
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 369 
 
 tickets ; now they were utterly vagabondish, penniless 
 adventurers. 
 
 The girl joined him. Slowly, elbow to elbow, the 
 treasure bag between them, they made their way 
 down toward the gates, atoms in a tide-rip of hu- 
 manity, two streams of passengers meeting on the 
 narrow strip of platform, the one making for the 
 streets, the other for the suburbs. 
 
 Hurried and jostled, the girl clinging tightly to his 
 arm lest they be separated in the crush, they came 
 to the ticket-wicket; beyond the barrier surged a sea 
 of hats shining " toppers," dignified and upstand- 
 ing, the outward and visible manifestation of the 
 sturdy, stodgy British spirit of respectability ; 
 " bowlers " round and sleek and humble ; shapeless 
 caps with cloth visors, manufactured of outrageous 
 plaids ; flower-like miracles of millinery from Bond 
 Street; strangely plumed monstrosities from Petti- 
 coat Lane and Mile End Road. Beneath any one of 
 these might lurk the maleficent brain, the spying eye* 
 of Calendar or one of his creatures ; beneath all of 
 them that he encountered, Kirkwood peered in fear- 
 ful inquiry. 
 
 Yet, when they had passed unhindered the ordeal 
 of the wickets, had run the gantlet of those thousand 
 eyes without lighting in any pair a spark of recog- 
 nition, he began to bear himself with more assurance, 
 to be sensible to a grateful glow of hope. Perhaps
 
 370 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Hobbs' telegram had not reached its destination, for 
 unquestionably the mate would have wired his chief; 
 perhaps some accident had befallen the conspirators ; 
 perhaps the police had apprehended them. 
 No matter how, one hoped against hope that they had 
 been thrown off the trail. 
 
 And indeed it seemed as if they must have been 
 misguided in some providential manner. On the 
 other hand, it would be the crassest of indiscretions to 
 linger about the place an instant longer than abso- 
 lutely necessary. 
 
 Outside the building, however, they paused per- 
 force, undergoing the cross-fire of the congregated 
 cabbies. It being the first time that he had ever felt 
 called upon to leave the station afoot, Kirkwood cast 
 about irresolutely, seeking the sidewalk leading to 
 the Strand. 
 
 Abruptly he caught the girl by the arm and un- 
 ceremoniously hurried her toward a waiting han- 
 som. 
 
 " Quick ! " he begged her. " Jump right in not 
 an instant to spare " 
 
 She nodded brightly, lips firm with courage, eyes 
 shining. 
 
 " My father? " 
 
 " Yes." Kirkwood glanced back over his shoul- 
 der. " He hasn't seen us yet. They've just driven 
 up. Stryker's with him. They're getting down."
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 371 
 
 And to himself, " Oh, the devil ! " cried the panic- 
 stricken young man. 
 
 He drew back to let the girl precede him into the 
 cab ; at the same time he kept an eye on Calendar, 
 whose conveyance stood half the length of the station- 
 front away. 
 
 The fat adventurer had finished paying off the 
 driver, standing on the deck of the hansom. Stryker 
 was already out, towering above the mass of people, 
 and glaring about him with his hawk-keen vision. 
 Calendar had started to alight, his foot was leaving 
 the step when Stryker's glance singled out their 
 quarry. Instantly he turned and spoke to his con- 
 federate. Calendar wheeled like a flash, peering 
 eagerly in the direction indicated by the captain's 
 index finger, then, snapping instructions to his driver, 
 threw himself heavily back on the seat. Stryker, 
 awkward on his land-legs, stumbled and fell in an 
 ill-calculated attempt to hoist himself hastily back 
 into the vehicle. 
 
 To the delay thus occasioned alone Kirkwood and 
 Dorothy owed a respite of freedom. Their hansom 
 was already swinging down toward the great gates 
 of the yard, the American standing to make the 
 driver comprehend the necessity for using the ut- 
 most speed in reaching the Craven Street address. 
 The man proved both intelligent and obliging; Kirk- 
 wood had barely time to drop down beside the girl,
 
 372 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 ere the cab was swinging out into the Strand, to the 
 peril of the toes belonging to a number of righteously 
 indignant pedestrians. 
 
 " Good boy ! " commented Kirkwood cheerfully. 
 " That's the greatest comfort of all London, the sur- 
 prising intellectual strength the average cabby dis- 
 plays when you promise him a tip. . . . Great 
 Heavens ! " he cried, reading the girl's dismayed ex- 
 pression. " A tip ! I never thought ! " His face 
 lengthened dismally, his eyebrows working awry. 
 " Now we are in for it ! " 
 
 Dorothy said nothing. 
 
 He turned in the seat, twisting his neck to peep 
 through the small rear window. " I don't see their 
 cab," he announced. " But of course they're after 
 us. However, Craven Street's just round the cor- 
 ner; if we get there first, I don't fancy Freddie 
 Hallam will have a cordial reception for our pursuers. 
 They must 've been on watch at Cannon Street, and 
 finding we were not coming in that way of course 
 they were expecting us because of Hobbs' wire 
 they took cab for Charing Cross. Lucky for us. 
 . . . Or is it lucky? " he added doubtfully, to 
 himself. 
 
 The hansom whipped round the corner into Craven 
 Street. Kirkwood sprang up, grasping the treasure 
 bag, ready to jump the instant they pulled in toward 
 Mrs. Hallam's dwelling. But as they drew near upon
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 373 
 
 the address he drew back with an exclamation of 
 amazement. 
 
 The house was closed, showing a blank face to the 
 street blinds drawn close down in the windows, 
 area gate padlocked, an estate-agent's board project- 
 ing from above the doorway, advertising the prop- 
 erty " To be let, furnished." 
 
 Kirkwood looked back, craning his neck round the 
 side of the cab. At the moment another hansom 
 was breaking through the rank of humanity on the 
 Strand crossing. He saw one or two figures leap 
 desperately from beneath the horse's hoofs. Then 
 the cab shot out swiftly down the street. 
 
 The American stood up again, catching the cabby's 
 eye. 
 
 " Drive on ! " he cried excitedly. " Don't stop 
 drive as fast as you dare ! " 
 
 " Were to, sir? " 
 
 "'See that cab behind? Don't let it catch us 
 shake it off, lose it somehow, but for the love of Heaven 
 don't let it catch us! I'll make it worth your while. 
 Do you understand ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " The driver looked briefly over his 
 shoulder and lifted his whip. " Don't worry, sir," 
 he cried, entering into the spirit of the game with 
 gratifying zest. " Shan't let 'em overhaul you, sir. 
 Mind your 'ead ! " 
 
 And as Kirkwood ducked, the whip-lash shot out
 
 374 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 over the roof with a crack like the report of a pistol. 
 Startled, the horse leaped indignantly forward. 
 Momentarily the cab seemed to leave the ground, 
 then settled down to a pace that carried them round 
 the Avenue Theatre and across Northumberland 
 Avenue into Whitehall Place apparently on a single 
 wheel. 
 
 A glance behind showed Kirkwood that already 
 they had gained, the pursuing hansom having lost 
 ground through greater caution in crossing the main- 
 traveled thoroughfare. 
 
 " Good little horse ! " he applauded. 
 
 A moment later he was indorsing without reserve 
 the generalship of their cabby ; the quick westward 
 turn that took them into Whitehall, over across from 
 the Horse Guards, likewise placed them in a pocket 
 of traffic; a practically impregnable press of vehicles 
 closed in behind them ere Calendar's conveyance 
 could follow out of the side street. 
 
 That the same conditions, but slightly modified, 
 hemmed them in ahead, went for nothing in Kirk- 
 wood's estimation. 
 
 " Good driver ! " he approved heartily. " He's got 
 a head on his shoulders ! " 
 
 The girl found her voice. " How," she demanded 
 in a breath, face blank with consternation, " how did 
 you dare ? " 
 
 "Dare?" he echoed exultantly; and in his veins
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 375 
 
 excitement was running like liquid fire. " What 
 wouldn't I dare for you, Dorothy ? " 
 
 " What have you not? " she amended softly, add- 
 ing with a shade of timidity : " Philip . . ." 
 
 The long lashes swept up from her cheeks, like 
 clouds revealing stars, unmasking eyes radiant and 
 brave to meet his own ; then they fell, even as her lips 
 drooped with disappointment. And she sighed. 
 . . . For he was not looking. Man-like, hot with 
 the ardor of the chase, he was deaf and blind to all 
 else. 
 
 She saw that he had not even heard. Twice within 
 the day she had forgotten herself, had overstepped 
 the rigid bounds of her breeding in using his Chris- 
 tian name. And twice he had been oblivious to that 
 token of their maturing understanding. So she 
 sighed, and sighing, smiled again; resting an elbow 
 on the window-sill and flattening one small gloved 
 hand against the frame for a brace against the jounc- 
 ing of the hansom. It swept on with unabated speed, 
 up-stream beside the tawny reaches of the river ; and 
 for a time there was no speech between them, the 
 while the girl lost consciousness of self and her most 
 imminent peril, surrendering her being to the linger- 
 ing sweetness of her long, dear thoughts. 
 
 " I've got a scheme ! " Kirkwood declared so ex- 
 plosively that she caught her breath with the surprise 
 of it. " There's the Pless ; they know me there, and
 
 376 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 my credit's good. When we shake them off, we can 
 have the cabby take us to the hotel. I'll register and 
 borrow from the management enough to pay our way 
 to Chiltern and the tolls for a cable to New York. 
 I've a friend or two over home who wouldn't let me 
 want for a few miserable pounds. ... So you 
 see," he explained boyishly, " we're at the end of our 
 troubles already ! " 
 
 She said something inaudible, holding her face 
 averted. He bent nearer to her, wondering. " I 
 didn't understand," he suggested. 
 
 Still looking from him, " I said you were very good 
 to me," she said in a quavering whisper. 
 
 " Dorothy ! " Without his knowledge or intention 
 before the fact, as instinctively as he made use of 
 her given name, intimately, his strong fingers dropped 
 and closed upon the little hand that lay beside him. 
 " What is the matter, dear? " He leaned still far- 
 ther forward to peer into her face, till glance met 
 glance in the ending and his racing pulses tightened 
 with sheer delight of the humid happiness in her glis- 
 tening eyes. " Dorothy, child, don't worry so. No 
 harm shall come to you. It's all working out all 
 working out right. Only have a little faith in me, 
 and I'll make everything work out right, Dorothy." 
 
 Gently she freed her fingers. " I wasn't," she told 
 him in a voice that quivered between laughter and 
 tears, " I wasn't worrying. I was . . . You
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 377 
 
 woiildn't understand. Don't be afraid I shall break 
 down or or anything." 
 
 " I shan't," he reassured her ; " I know you're not 
 that sort. Besides, you'd have no excuse. We're 
 moving along famously. That cabby knows his busi- 
 ness." 
 
 In fact that gentleman was minute by minute dem- 
 onstrating his peculiar fitness for the task he had so 
 cheerfully undertaken. The superior horsemanship 
 of the London hackney cabman needs no exploitation, 
 and he in whose hands rested the fate of the Calendar 
 treasure was peer of his compeers. He was instant 
 to advantage himself of every opening to forward 
 his pliant craft, quick to foresee the fortunes of the 
 Way and govern himself accordingly. 
 
 Estimating with practised eye the precise moment 
 when the police supervisor of traffic at the junction 
 of Parliament and Bridge Streets, would see fit to 
 declare a temporary blockade, he so managed that 
 his was the last vehicle to pass ere the official wand, 
 to ignore which involves a forfeited license, was lifted ; 
 and indeed, so close was his calculation that he es- 
 caped only with a scowl and word of warning from 
 the bobby. A matter of no importance whatever, 
 since his end was gained and the pursuing cab had 
 been shut off by the blockade. 
 
 In Calendar's driver, however, he had an adversary 
 of abilities by no means to be despised. Precisely
 
 378 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 how the man contrived it, is a question; that he 
 made a detour by way of Derby Street is not im- 
 probable, unpleasant as it may have been for Stryker 
 and Calendar to find themselves in such close prox- 
 imity to " the Yard." At all events, he evaded the 
 block, and hardly had the chase swung across Bridge 
 Street, than the pursuer was nimbly clattering in its 
 wake. 
 
 Past the Houses of Parliament, through Old Palace 
 Yard, with the Abbey on their left, they swung away} 
 into Abingdon Street, whence suddenly they dived 
 into the maze of backways, great and mean, which 
 lies to the south of Victoria. Doubling and twisting, 
 now this way, now that, the driver tooled them 
 through the intricate heart of this labyrinth, leading 
 the pursuers a dance that Kirkwood thought calcu- 
 lated to dishearten and shake off the pursuit in the 
 first five minutes. Yet always, peering back through 
 the little peephole, he saw Calendar's cab pelting dog- 
 gedly in their rear a hundred yards behind, no 
 more, no less, hanging on with indomitable grit and 
 determination. 
 
 By degrees they drew westwards, threading Pim- 
 lico, into Chelsea once dashing briefly down the 
 Grosvenor Road, the Thames a tawny flood beyond 
 the river wall. 
 
 Children cheered them on, and policemen turned 
 to stare, doubting whether they should interfere.
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 379 
 
 Minutes rolled into tens, measuring out an hour; and 
 still they hammered on, hunted and hunters, playing 
 their game of hare-and-hounds through the highways 
 and byways of those staid and aged quarters. 
 
 In the leading cab there were few words spoken. 
 Kirkwood and Dorothy alike sat spellbound with the 
 fascination of the game ; if it is conceivable that the 
 fox enjoys his part in the day's sport, then they were 
 enjoying themselves. Now one spoke, now another 
 chiefly in the clipped phraseology of excitement. 
 As 
 
 " We're gaining? " 
 
 "Yes think so." 
 
 Or, " We'll tire them out? " 
 
 " Sure-ly." 
 
 "They can't catch us, can they, Philip?'* 
 
 " Never in the world." 
 
 But he spoke with a confidence that he himself 
 did not feel, for hope as he would he could never see 
 that the distance between the two had been materially 
 lessened or increased. Their horses seemed most 
 evenly matched. 
 
 The sun was very low behind the houses of the 
 Surrey Side when Kirkwood became aware that their 
 horse was flagging, though (as comparison deter- 
 mined) no more so than the one behind. 
 
 In grave concern the young man raised his hand, 
 thrusting open the trap in the roof. Immediately the
 
 380 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 square of darkling sky was eclipsed by the cabby's 
 face. 
 
 " Yessir?" 
 
 " You had better drive as directly as you can to 
 the Hotel Pless," Kirkwood called up. " I'm afraid 
 it's no use pushing your horse like this." 
 
 " I'm sure of it, sir. 'E's a good 'oss, 'e is, but 
 'e carn't keep goin' for hever, you know, sir." 
 
 " I know. You've done very well ; you've done 
 your best." 
 
 " Very good, sir. The Pless, you said, sir? 
 Right." 
 
 The trap closed. 
 
 Two blocks farther, and their pace had so sensibly 
 moderated that Kirkwood was genuinely alarmed. 
 The pursuing cabby was lashing his animal without 
 mercy, while, " It aren't no use my w'ippin' 'im, sir," 
 dropped through the trap. " 'E's doing orl 'e can." 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 Despondent recklessness tightened Kirkwood's lips 
 and kindled an unpleasant light in his eyes. He 
 touched his side pocket ; Calendar's revolver was still 
 there. . . . Dorothy should win away clear, if 
 if he swung for it. 
 
 He bent forward with the traveling bag in his 
 hands. 
 
 " What are you going to do? " The girl's voice 
 was very tremulous.
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 381 
 
 " Stand a chance, take a losing hazard. Can you 
 run ? You're not too tired ? " 
 
 " I can run perhaps not far a little way, at 
 least." 
 
 " And will you do as I say ? " 
 
 Her eyes met his, unwavering, bespeaking her im- 
 plicit faith. 
 
 " Promise ! " 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " We'll have to drop off in a minute. The horse 
 won't last. . . . They're in the same box. Well, 
 I undertake to stand 'em off for a bit ; you take the 
 bag and run for it. Just as soon as I can convince 
 them, I'll follow, but if there's any delay, you call 
 the first cab you see and drive to the Pless. I'll join 
 you there." 
 
 He stood up, surveying the neighborhood. Behind 
 him the girl lifted her voice in protest. 
 
 "No, Philip, no!" 
 
 " You've promised," he said sternly, eyes ranging 
 the street. 
 
 " I don't care ; I won't leave you." 
 
 He shook his head in silent contradiction, frown- 
 ing; but not frowning because of the girl's mutiny. 
 He was a little puzzled by a vague impression, and 
 was striving to pin it down for recognition ; but was 
 so thoroughly bemused with fatigue and despair that 
 only with great difficulty could he force his faculties
 
 382 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 to logical reasoning, his memory to respond to his 
 call upon it. 
 
 The hansom was traversing a street in Old Bromp- 
 ton a quaint, prim by-way lined with dwellings 
 singularly Old-Worldish, even for London. He 
 seemed to know it subjectively, to have retained a 
 memory of it from another existence: as the stage 
 setting of a vivid dream, all forgotten, will some- 
 times recur with peculiar and exasperating intensity, 
 in broad daylight. The houses, with their sloping, 
 red-tiled roofs, unexpected gables, spontaneous dor- 
 mer windows, glass panes set in leaded frames, red 
 brick facades trimmed with green shutters and door- 
 steps of white stone, each sitting back, sedate and 
 self-sufficient, in its trim dooryard fenced off from 
 the public thoroughfare: all wore an aspect haunt- 
 ingly familiar, and yet strange. 
 
 A corner sign, remarked in passing, had named 
 the spot " Aspen Villas " ; though he felt he knew 
 the sound of those syllables as well as he did the name 
 of the Pless, strive as he might he failed to make them 
 convey anything tangible to his intelligence. When 
 had he heard of it? At what time had his errant 
 footsteps taken him through this curious survival of 
 Eighteenth Century London? 
 
 Not that it mattered when. It could have no possi- 
 ble bearing on the emergency. He really gave it 
 little thought; the mental processes recounted were
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 383 
 
 mostly subconscious, if none the less real. His ob- 
 jective attention was wholly preoccupied with the 
 knowledge that Calendar's cab was drawing perilously 
 near. And he was debating whether or not they 
 should alight at once and try to make a better pace 
 afoot, when the decision was taken wholly out of his 
 hands. 
 
 Blindly staggering on, wilted with weariness, the 
 horse stumbled in the shafts and plunged forward on 
 its knees. Quick as the driver was to pull it up, with 
 a cruel jerk of the bits, Kirkwood was caught unpre- 
 pared ; lurching against the dashboard, he lost his 
 footing, grasped frantically at the unstable air, and 
 went over, bringing up in a sitting position in the 
 gutter, with a solid shock that jarred his very teeth. 
 
 For a moment dazed he sat there blinking; by the 
 time he got to his feet, the girl stood beside him, ques- 
 tioning him with keen solicitude. 
 
 " No," he gasped ; " not hurt only surprised. 
 Wait. . . ." 
 
 Their cab had come to a complete standstill ; Cal- 
 endar's was no more than twenty yards behind, and 
 as Kirkwood caught sight of him the fat adventurer 
 was in the act of lifting himself ponderously out of 
 the seat. 
 
 Incontinently the young man turned to the giri 
 and forced the traveling-bag into her hands. 
 
 " Run for it ! " he begged her. " Don't stop to
 
 384 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 argue. You promised run! I'll come. . . ." 
 
 " Philip ! " she pleaded. 
 
 " Dorothy ! " he cried in torment. 
 
 Perhaps it was his unquestionable distress that 
 weakened her. Suddenly she yielded with whatever 
 reason. He was only hazily aware of the swish 
 of her skirts behind him ; he had no time to look round 
 and see that she got away safely. He had only eyes 
 and thoughts for Calendar and Stryker. 
 
 They were both afoot, now, and running toward 
 him, the one as awkward as the other, but neither 
 yielding a jot of their malignant purpose. He held 
 the picture of it oddly graphic in his memory for 
 many a day thereafter: Calendar making directly 
 for him, his heavy-featured face a dull red with the 
 exertion, his fat head dropped forward as if too heavy 
 for his neck of a bull, his small eyes bright with 
 anger; Stryker shying off at a discreet angle, evi- 
 dently with the intention of devoting himself to the 
 capture of the girl; the two cabs with their dejected 
 screws, at rest in the middle of the quiet, twilit street. 
 He seemed even to see himself, standing stockily pre- 
 pared, hands in his coat pockets, his own head 
 inclined with a suggestion of pugnacity. 
 
 To this mental photograph another succeeds, of 
 the same scene an instant later; all as it had been 
 before, their relative positions unchanged, save that 
 Stryker and Calendar had come to a dead stop, and
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 385 
 
 that Kirkwood's right arm was lifted and extended, 
 pointing at the captain, 
 
 So forgetful of self was he, that it required a 
 moment's thought to convince him that he was really 
 responsible for the abrupt transformation. Incredu- 
 lously he realized that he had drawn Calendar's re- 
 volver and pulled Stryker up short, in mid-stride, by 
 the mute menace of it, as much as by his hoarse cry 
 of warning: 
 
 " Stryker not another foot " 
 
 With this there chimed in Dorothy's voice, ringing 
 bell-clear from a little distance: 
 
 " Philip ! " 
 
 Like a flash he wheeled, to add yet another picture 
 to his mental gallery. 
 
 Perhaps two-score feet up the sidewalk a gate stood 
 open ; just outside it a man of tall and slender figure, 
 rigged out in a bizarre costume consisting mainly of 
 a flowered dressing-gown and slippers, was waiting 
 in an attitude of singular impassivity; within it, 
 pausing with a foot lifted to the doorstep, bag in 
 hand, her head turned as she looked back, was Dor- 
 othy. 
 
 As he comprehended these essential details of the 
 composition, the man in the flowered dressing-gown 
 raised a hand, beckoning to him in a manner as im- 
 perative as his accompanying words. 
 
 " Kirkwood ! " he saluted the young man in a clear
 
 386 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and vibrant voice, "put up that revolver and stop 
 this foolishness." And, with a jerk of his head to- 
 wards the doorway, in which Dorothy now waited, 
 hesitant : " Come, sir quickly ! " 
 
 Kirkwood choked on a laugh that was half a sob. 
 " Brentwick ! " he cried, restoring the weapon to his 
 pocket and running toward his friend. " Of all 
 happy accidents ! " 
 
 " You may call it that," retorted the elder man 
 with a fleeting smile as Kirkwood slipped inside the 
 dooryard. " Come," he said ; " let's get into the 
 house." 
 
 " But you said I thought you went to Munich," 
 stammered Kirkwood ; and so thoroughly impregnated 
 was his mind with this understanding that it was 
 hard for him to adjust his perceptions to the truth. 
 
 " I was detained by business," responded Brent- 
 wick briefty. His gaze, weary and wistful behind his 
 glasses, rested on the face of the girl on the threshold 
 of his home ; and the faint, sensitive flush of her face 
 deepened. He stopped and honored her with a bow 
 that, for all his fantastical attire, would have graced 
 a beau of an earlier decade. " Will you be pleased 
 to enter? " he suggested punctiliously. " My house, 
 such as it is, is quite at your disposal. And," he 
 added, with a glance over his shoulder, " I fancy that 
 a word or two may presently be passed which you 
 would hardly care to hear."
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 387 
 
 Dorothy's hesitation was but transitory ; Kirkwood 
 was reassuring her with a smile more like his wonted 
 boyish grin than anything he had succeeded in con- 
 juring up throughout the day. Her own smile 
 answered it, and with a murmured word of gratitude 
 and a little, half timid, half distant bow for Brent- 
 wick, she passed on into the hallway. 
 
 Kirkwood lingered with his friend upon the door- 
 stoop. Calendar, recovered from his temporary con- 
 sternation, was already at the gate, bending over it, 
 fat fingers fumbling with the latch, his round red 
 face, lifted to the house, darkly working with chagrin. 
 
 From his threshold, watching him with a slight 
 contraction of the eyes, Brentwick hailed him in tones 
 of cloying courtesy. 
 
 " Do you wish to see me, sir? " 
 
 The fat adventurer faltered just within the gate- 
 way ; then, with a truculent swagger, " I want my 
 daughter," he declared vociferously. 
 
 Brentwick peered mildly over his glasses, first at 
 Calendar, then at Kirkwood. His glance lingered a 
 moment on the young man's honest eyes, and swung 
 back to Calendar. 
 
 " My good man," he said with sublime tolerance, 
 " will you be pleased to take yourself off to the 
 devil if you like? Or shall I take the trouble to 
 interest the police ? " 
 
 He removed one fine and fragile hand from a
 
 388 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 pocket of the flowered dressing-gown, long enough to 
 jerk it significantly toward the nearer street-corner. 
 
 Thunderstruck, Calendar glanced hastily in the in- 
 dicated direction. A blue-coated bobby was to be 
 seen approaching with measured stride, diffusing up- 
 on the still evening air an impression of ineffably 
 capable self -contentment. 
 
 Calendar's fleshy lips parted and closed without a 
 sound. They quivered. Beneath them quivered his 
 assortment of graduated chins. His heavy and 
 pendulous cheeks quivered, slowly empurpling with 
 the dark tide of his apoplectic wrath. The close- 
 clipped thatch of his iron gray mustache, even, seemed 
 to bristle like hairs upon the neck of a maddened dog. 
 Beneath him his fat legs trembled, and indeed his 
 whole huge carcass shook visibly, in the stress of his 
 restrained wrath. 
 
 Suddenly, overwhelmed, he banged the gate behind 
 him and waddled off to join the captain ; who already, 
 with praiseworthy native prudence, had fallen back 
 upon their cab. 
 
 From his coign of strategic advantage, the com- 
 fortable elevation of his box, Kirkwood's cabby, whose 
 huge enjoyment of the adventurers' discomfiture had 
 throughout been noisily demonstrative, entreated Cal- 
 endar with lifted forefinger, bland affability, and ex- 
 pressions of heartfelt sympathy. 
 
 " Kebsir? 'Ave a kebsir, do! Try a ride be'ind
 
 ROGUES AND VAGABONDS 389 
 
 a real 'orse, sir ; don't you go on wastin' time on 'im." 
 A jerk of a derisive thumb singled out the other cab- 
 man. " 'E aren't pl'yin' you fair, sir ; I knows 'im, 
 'e's a hartful g'y deceiver, 'e is. Look at 'is 'orse, 
 w'ich it aren't ; it's a snyle, that's w'at it is. 
 Tyke a father's hadvice, sir, and next time 
 yer fairest darter runs awye with the dook in disguise, 
 chyse 'em in a real kebsir, not a cheap imita- 
 shin. . . . Kebsir? . . . Garn, you 'ard- 
 'arted " 
 
 Here he swooped upwards in a dizzy flight of vitu- 
 peration best unrecorded. Calendar, beyond an ab- 
 sent-minded flirt of one hand by his ear, as who should 
 shoo away a buzzing insect, ignored him utterly. 
 
 Sullenly extracting money from his pocket, he 
 paid off his driver, and in company with Stryker, 
 trudged in morose silence down the street. 
 
 Brentwick touched Kirkwood's arm and drew him 
 into the house.
 
 XVIII 
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 
 
 As the door closed, Kirkwood swung impulsively to 
 Brentwick, with the brief, uneven laugh of fine-drawn 
 nerves. 
 
 " Good God, sir ! " he cried. " You don't 
 know " 
 
 " I can surmise," interrupted the elder man 
 shrewdly. 
 
 " You turned up in the nick of time, for all the 
 world like " 
 
 " Harlequin popping through a stage trap ? " 
 
 " No ! an incarnation of the Providence that 
 watches over children and fools." 
 
 Brentwick dropped a calming hand upon his 
 shoulder. " Your simile seems singularly happy, 
 Philip. Permit me to suggest that you j oin the child 
 in my study." He laughed quietly, with a slight nod 
 toward an open door at the end of the hallway. 
 " For myself, I'll be with you in one moment." 
 
 A faint, indulgent smile lurking in the shadow of 
 his white mustache, he watched the young man wheel 
 
 390
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 391 
 
 and dart through the doorway. " Young hearts ! " 
 he commented inaudibly and a trace sadly. 
 "Youth! ..." 
 
 Beyond the threshold of the study, Kirkwood 
 paused, eager eyes searching its somber shadows for a 
 sign of Dorothy. 
 
 A long room and deep, it was lighted only by the 
 circumscribed disk of illumination thrown on the 
 central desk by a shaded reading-lamp, and the 
 flickering glow of a grate-fire set beneath the mantel 
 jof a side-wall. At the back, heavy velvet portieres 
 cloaked the recesses of two long windows, closed 
 jealously even against the twilight. Aside from the 
 windows, doors and chimney-piece, every foot of wall 
 space was occupied by towering bookcases or by 
 shelves crowded to the limit of their capacity with 
 an amazing miscellany of objects of art, the fruit of 
 years of patient and discriminating collecting. An 
 exotic and heady atmosphere, compounded of the 
 faint and intangible exhalations of these insentient 
 things, fragrance of sandalwood, myrrh and musk, 
 reminiscent whiffs of half-forgotten incense, seemed 
 to intensify the impression of gloomy richness and 
 repose. . . . 
 
 By the fireplace, a little to one side, stood Dorothy, 
 one small foot resting on the brass fender, her figure 
 merging into the dusky background, her delicate 
 beauty gaining an effect of elusive and ethereal
 
 392 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 mystery in the waning and waxing ruddy glow up- 
 flung from the bedded coals. 
 
 " Oh, Philip ! " She turned swiftly to Kirkwood 
 with extended hands and a low, broken cry. " I'm 
 so glad. . . ." 
 
 A trace of hysteria in her manner warned him, and 
 he checked himself upon the verge of a too dangerous 
 tenderness. " There ! " he said soothingly, letting 
 her hands rest gently in his palms while he led her 
 to a chair. " We can make ourselves easy now." 
 She sat down and he released her hands with a reluc- 
 tance less evident than actual. " If ever I say 
 another word against, my luck " 
 
 " Who," inquired the girl, lowering her voice, 
 " who is the gentleman in the flowered dressing- 
 gown ? " 
 
 " Brentwick George Silvester Brentwick : an old 
 friend. I've known him for years, ever since I came 
 abroad. Curiously enough, however, this is the first 
 time I've ever been here. I called once, but he wasn't 
 in, a few days ago, the day we met. I thought 
 the place looked familiar. Stupid of me ! " 
 
 " Philip," said the girl with a grave face but a 
 shaking voice, " it was." She laughed provokingly. 
 " It was so funny, Philip. I don't know 
 why I ran, when you told me to, but I did ; and while 
 I ran, I was conscious of the front door, here, open- 
 ing, and this tall man in the flowered dressing-gown
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 393 
 
 coming down to the gate as if it were the most 
 ordinary thing in the world for him to stroll out, 
 dressed that way, in the evening. And he opened the 
 gate, and bowed, and said, ever so pleasantly, ' Won't 
 you come in, Miss Calendar? ' " 
 
 " He did ! " exclaimed Kirkwood. " But how ? " 
 
 " How can I say ? " she expostulated. " At all 
 events, he seemed to know me; and when he added 
 something about calling you in, too he said * Mr. 
 Kirkwood ' I didn ? t hesitate." 
 
 "It's strange enough, surely and fortunate. 
 Bless his heart ! " said Kirkwood. 
 
 And, " Hum ! " said Mr. Brentwick considerately, 
 entering the study. He had discarded the dressing- 
 gown and was now in evening dress. 
 
 The girl rose. Kirkwood turned. " Mr. Brent- 
 wick " he began. 
 
 But Brentwick begged his patience with an elo- 
 quent gesture. " Sir," he said, somewhat austerely, 
 " permit me to put a single question : Have you by 
 any chance paid your cabby ? " 
 
 " Why " faltered the younger man, with a flam- 
 ing face. "I why, no that is " 
 
 The other quietly put his hand upon a bell-pull. 
 A faint jingling sound was at once audible, emanating 
 from the basement. 
 
 " How much should you say you owe him ? " 
 
 ** I I haven't a penny in the world ! "
 
 394 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 The shrewd eyes flashed their amusement into Kirk- 
 wood's. "Tut, tut!" Brentwick chuckled. "Be- 
 tween gentlemen, my dear boy ! Dear me ! you are 
 slow to learn." 
 
 " I'll never be contented to sponge on my friends," 
 explained Kirkwood in deepest misery. " I can't 
 tell when " 
 
 "Tut, tut! How much did you say?" 
 
 " Ten shillings or say twelve, would be about 
 right," stammered the American, swayed by conflict- 
 ing emotions of gratitude and profound embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 A soft-footed butler, impassive as Fate, material- 
 ized mysteriously in the doorway. 
 
 " You rang, sir ? " he interrupted frigidly. 
 
 " I rang, Wotton." His master selected a sov- 
 ereign from his purse and handed it to the servant. 
 " For the cabby, Wotton." 
 
 " Yessir." The butler swung automatically on 
 one heel. 
 
 " And Wotton ! " 
 
 " Sir? " 
 
 " If any one should ask for me, I'm not at home." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 " And if you should see a pair of disreputable 
 scoundrels skulking in the neighborhood, one short 
 and stout, the other tall and evidently a seafaring: 
 man, let me know."
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 395 
 
 " Thank you, sir." A moment later the front door 
 was heard to close. 
 
 Brentwick turned with a little bow to the girl. 
 " My dear Miss Calendar," he said, rubbing his thin, 
 fine hands, " I am old enough, I trust, to call you 
 such without offense, please be seated." 
 
 Complying, the girl rewarded him with a radiant 
 smile. Whereupon, striding to the fireplace, their 
 host turned his back to it, clasped his hands behind 
 him, and glowered benignly upon the two. " Ah ! " 
 he observed in accents of extreme personal satisfac- 
 tion. " Romance ! Romance ! " 
 
 " Would you mind telling us how you knew " 
 began Kirkwood anxiously. 
 
 " Not in the least, my dear Philip. It is simple 
 enough: I possess an. imagination. From my bed- 
 room window, on the floor above, I happen to behold 
 two cabs racing down the street, the one doggedly 
 pursuing the other. The foremost stops, per- 
 force of a fagged horse. There alights a young 
 gentleman looking, if you'll pardon me, uncommonly 
 seedy; he is followed by a young lady, if she will 
 pardon me," with another little bow, " uncommonly 
 pretty. With these two old eyes I observe that the 
 gentleman does not pay his cabby. Ergo I in- 
 telligently deduce he is short of money. Eh?" 
 
 " You were right," affirmed Kirkwood, with his 
 rueful and crooked smile. " But "
 
 396 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " So ! so ! " pursued Brentwick, rising on his toes 
 and dropping back again ; " so this world of ours 
 wags on to the old, old tune! . . . And I, who 
 in my younger days pursued adventure without suc- 
 cess, in dotage find myself dragged into a romance 
 by my two ears, whether I will or no! Eh? And 
 now you are going to tell me all about it, Philip. 
 There is a chair. .... Well, Wotton? " 
 
 The butler had again appeared noiselessly in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir ; they're waiting, sir." 
 
 " The caitiffs, Wotton? " 
 
 " Yessir." 
 
 " Where waiting? " 
 
 " One at each end of the street, sir." 
 
 " Thank you. You may bring us sherry and bis- 
 cuit, Wotton." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 The servant vanished. 
 
 Brentwick removed his glasses, rubbed them, and 
 blinked thoughtfully at the girl. " My dear," he 
 said suddenly, with a peculiar tremor in his voice, 
 " you resemble your mother remarkably. Tut I 
 should know ! Time was when I was one of her most 
 ardent admirers." 
 
 " You y-you knew my mother ? " cried Dorothy, 
 profoundly moved. 
 
 " Did I not know you at sight ? My dear, you are
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 397 
 
 your mother reincarnate, for the good of an unworthy 
 world. She was a very beautiful woman, my dear." 
 
 Wotton entered with a silver serving tray, offering 
 it in turn to Dorothy, Kirkwood and his employer. 
 While he was present the three held silent the girl 
 trembling slightly, but with her face aglow ; Kirk- 
 wood half stupefied between his ease from care and his 
 growing astonishment, as Brentwick continued to re- 
 veal unexpected phases of his personality ; Brentwick 
 himself outwardly imperturbable and complacent, for 
 all that his hand shook as he lifted his wine glass. 
 
 " You may go, Wotton or, wait. Don't you 
 feel the need of a breath of fresh air, Wotton? " 
 
 " Yessir, thank you, sir." 
 
 " Then change your coat, Wotton, light your 
 pipe, and stroll out for half an hour. You need not 
 leave the street, but if either the tall thin blackguard 
 with the seafaring habit, or the short stout rascal with 
 the air of mystery should accost you, treat them with 
 all courtesy, Wotton. You will be careful not to 
 tell either of them anything in particular, although I 
 don't mind your telling them that Mr. Brentwick 
 lives here, if they ask. I am mostly concerned to dis- 
 cover if they purpose becoming fixtures on the street- 
 corners, Wotton.'* 
 
 " Quite so, sir." 
 
 " Now you may go. . . . Wotton," con- 
 tinued his employer as the butler took himself off
 
 398 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 as softly as a cat, " grows daily a more valuable 
 mechanism. He is by no means human in any re- 
 spect, but I find him extremely handy to have round 
 the house. . . . And now, my dear," turning to 
 Dorothy, " with your permission I desire to drink to 
 the memory of your beautiful mother and to the hap- 
 piness of her beautiful daughter." 
 
 " But you will tell me " 
 
 " A number of interesting things, Miss Calendar, 
 if you'll be good enough to let me choose the time. 
 I beg you to be patient with the idiosyncrasies of an 
 old man, who means no harm, who has a reputation 
 as an eccentric to sustain before his servants. . . . 
 And now," said Brentwick, setting aside his glass, 
 " now, my dear boy, for the adventure." 
 
 Kirkwood chuckled, infected by his host's genial 
 humor. " How do you know " 
 
 " How can it be otherwise? " countered Brentwick 
 with a trace of asperity. " Am I to be denied my 
 adventure? Sir, I refuse without equivocation. 
 Your very bearing breathes of Romance. There 
 must be an adventure forthcoming, Philip; otherwise 
 my disappointment will be so acute that I shall be re- 
 gretfully obliged seriously to consider my right, as a 
 householder, to show you the door." 
 
 " But Mr. Brentwick ! " 
 
 " Sit down, sir ! " commanded Brentwick with such 
 a peremptory note that the young man, who had risen,
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 399 
 
 obeyed out of sheer surprise. Upon which his host 
 advanced, indicting him with a long white forefin- 
 ger. " Would you, sir," he demanded, " again expose 
 this little lady to the machinations of that corpulent 
 scoundrel, whom I have just had the pleasure of 
 shooing off my premises, because you choose to resent 
 an old man's raillery ? " 
 
 " I apologize," Kirkwood humored him. 
 
 " I accept the apology in the spirit in which it is 
 offered. ... I repeat, now for the adventure, 
 Philip. If the story's long, epitomize. We can con- 
 sider details more at our leisure." 
 
 Kirkwood's eyes consulted the girl's face ; almost 
 imperceptibly she nodded him permission to proceed. 
 
 " Briefly, then," he began haltingly, " the man who 
 followed us to the door here, is Miss Calendar's 
 father." 
 
 " Oh ? His name, please ? " 
 
 " George Burgoyne Calendar." 
 
 " Ah ! An American : I remember, now. Con- 
 tinue, please." 
 
 " He is hounding us, sir, with the intention of steal- 
 ing some property, which he caused to be stolen, 
 which we to put it bluntly stole from him, to 
 which he has no shadow of a title, and which, finally, 
 we're endeavoring to return to its owners." 
 
 " My dear ! " interpolated Brentwick gently, look- 
 ing down at the girl's flushed face and drooping head.
 
 400 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " He ran us to the last ditch," Kirkwood continued ; 
 " I've spent my last farthing trying to lose him." 
 
 " But why have you not caused his arrest? " Brent- 
 wick inquired. 
 
 Kirkwood nodded meaningly toward the girl. 
 Brentwick made a sound indicating comprehension, a 
 click of the tongue behind closed teeth. 
 
 " We came to your door by the merest accident 
 it might as well have been another. I understood you 
 were in Munich, and it never entered my head that 
 we'd find you home." 
 
 " A communication from my solicitors detained me," 
 explained Brentwick. " And now, what do you in- 
 tend to do?" 
 
 " Trespass as far on your kindness as you'll per- 
 mit. In the first place, I I want the use of a few 
 pounds with which to cable some friends in New York, 
 for money ; on receipt of which I can repay you." 
 
 " Philip," observed Brentwood, " you are a most 
 irritating child. But I forgive you the faults of 
 youth. You may proceed, bearing in mind, if you 
 please, that I am your friend equally with any you 
 may own in America." 
 
 " You're one of the best men in the world," said 
 Kirkwood. 
 
 " Tut, tut! Will you get on? " 
 
 " Secondly, I want you to help us to escape 
 Calendar to-night. It is necessary that Miss
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 401 
 
 Calendar should go to Chiltern this evening, where she 
 has friends who will receive and protect her." 
 
 " Mm-mm," grumbled their host, meditative. " My 
 faith ! " he commented, with brightening eyes. " It 
 sounds almost too good to be true! And I've been 
 growing afraid that the world was getting to be a 
 most humdrum and uninteresting planet! 
 Miss Calendar, I am a widower of so many years' 
 standing that I had almost forgotten I had ever been 
 anything but a bachelor. I fear my house contains 
 little that will be of service to a young lady. Yet a 
 room is at your disposal; the parlor-maid shall show 
 you the way. And Philip, between you and me, I 
 venture to remark that hot water and cold steel would 
 add to the attractiveness of your personal appear- 
 ance ; my valet will attend you in my room. Dinner," 
 concluded Brentwick with anticipative relish, " will 
 be served in precisely thirty minutes. I shall expect 
 you to entertain me with a full and itemized account 
 of every phase of your astonishing adventure. 
 Later, we will find a way to Chiltern." 
 
 Again he put a hand upon the bell-pull. Simul- 
 taneously Dorothy and Kirkwood rose. 
 
 " Mr. Brentwick," said the girl, her eyes starred 
 with tears of gratitude, " I don't, I really don't know 
 how " 
 
 " My dear," said the old gentleman, " you will 
 thank me most appropriately by continuing, to the
 
 402 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 best of your ability, to resemble your mother more 
 remarkably every minute." 
 
 " But I," began Kirkwood 
 
 " You, my dear Philip, can thank me best by per- 
 mitting me to enjoy myself; which I am doing 
 thoroughly at the present moment. My pleasure in 
 being invited to interfere in your young affairs is 
 more keen than you can well surmise. Moreover," 
 said Mr. Brentwick, " so long have I been an amateur 
 adventurer that I esteem it the rarest privilege to find 
 myself thus on the point of graduating into profes- 
 sional ranks." He rubbed his hands, beaming upon 
 them. " And," he added, as a maid appeared at the 
 door, " I have already schemed me a scheme for the 
 discomfiture of our friends the enemy : a scheme which 
 we will discuss with our dinner, while the heathen rage 
 and imagine a vain thing, in the outer darkness." 
 
 Kirkwood would have lingered, but of such in- 
 flexible temper was his host that he bowed him into 
 the hands of a man servant without permitting him 
 another word. 
 
 " Not a syllable," he insisted. " I protest I am 
 devoured with curiosity, my dear boy, but I have also 
 bowels of compassion. When we are well on with 
 our meal, when you are strengthened with food and 
 drink, then you may begin. But now Dickie," to 
 the valet, " do your duty ! " 
 
 Kirkwood, laughing with exasperation, retired at
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 403 
 
 discretion, leaving Brentwick the master of the 
 situation : a charming gentleman with a will of his 
 own and a way that went with it. 
 
 He heard the young man's footsteps diminish on 
 the stairway ; and again he smiled the indulgent, 
 melancholy smile of mellow years. " Youth ! " he 
 whispered softly. " Romance ! . . . And now," 
 with a brisk change of tone as he closed the study 
 door, " now we are ready for this interesting Mr. 
 Calendar." 
 
 Sitting down at his desk, he found and consulted 
 a telephone directory ; but its leaves, at first rustling 
 briskly at the touch of the slender and delicate fingers, 
 were presently permitted to lie unturned, the book 
 resting open on his knees the while he stared wistfully 
 into the fire. 
 
 A suspicion of moisture glimmered in his eyes. 
 " Dorothy ! " he whispered huskily. And a little 
 later, rising, he proceeded to the telephone. 
 
 An hour and a half later Kirkwood, his self-respect 
 something restored by a bath, a shave, and a resump- 
 tion of clothes which had been hastily but thoroughly 
 cleansed and pressed by Brentwick's valet; his con- 
 fidence and courage mounting high under the com- 
 bined influence of generous wine, substantial food, the 
 presence of his heart's mistress and the admiration 
 which was unconcealed of his friend, concluded at 
 the dinner-table, his narration.
 
 404. THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " And that," he said, looking up from his savory, 
 " is about all." 
 
 " Bravo! " applauded Brentwick, eyes shining with 
 delight. 
 
 " All," interposed Dorothy in warm reproach, " but 
 what he hasn't told " 
 
 " Which, my dear, is to be accounted for wholly 
 by a very creditable modesty, rarely encountered in 
 the young men of the present day. It was, of course* 
 altogether different with those of my younger years. 
 Yes, Wotton?" 
 
 Brentwick sat back in his chair, inclining an atten- 
 tive ear to a communication murmured by the butler. 
 
 Kirkwood's gaze met Dorothy's across the expanse 
 of shining cloth; he deprecated her interruption with 
 a whimsical twist of his eyebrows. " Really, you 
 shouldn't," he assured her in an undertone. " I've 
 done nothing to deserve . . . " But under the 
 spell of her serious sweet eyes, he fell silent, and 
 presently looked down, strangely abashed; and con- 
 templated the vast enormity of his unworthiness. 
 
 Coffee was set before them by Wotton, the im- 
 passive, Brentwick refusing it with a little sigh. " It 
 is one of the things, as Philip knows," he explained 
 to the girl, " denied me by the physician who makes 
 his life happy by making mine a waste. I am allowed 
 but three luxuries; cigars, travel in moderation, and 
 the privilege of imposing on my friends. The first
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 405 
 
 I propose presently to enjoy, by your indulgence; 
 and the second I shall this evening undertake by vir- 
 tue of the third, of which I have just availed myself." 
 
 Smiling at the involution, he rested his head against 
 the back of the chair, eyes roving from the girl's face 
 to Kirkwood's. " Inspiration to do which," he pro- 
 ceeded gravely, " came to me from the seafaring 
 picaroon (Stryker did you name him?) via the excel- 
 lent Wotton. While you were preparing for dinner, 
 Wotton returned from his constitutional with the news 
 that, leaving the corpulent person on watch at the 
 corner, Captain Stryker had temporarily made him- 
 self scarce. However, we need feel no anxiety con- 
 cerning his whereabouts, for he reappeared in good 
 time and a motor-car. From which it becomes evident 
 that you have not overrated their pertinacity; the 
 fiasco of the cab-chase is not to be reenacted." 
 
 Resolutely the girl repressed a gasp of dismay. 
 Kirkwood stared moodily into his cup. 
 
 " These men bore me fearfully," he commented 
 at last. 
 
 " And so," continued Brentwick, " I bethought me 
 of a counter-stroke. It is my good fortune to have 
 a friend whose whim it is to support a touring-car, 
 chiefly in innocuous idleness. Accordingly I have 
 telephoned him and commandeered the use of this 
 machine mechanician, too. . . . Though not 
 a betting man, I am willing to risk recklessly a few
 
 406 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 pence in support of my contention, that of the two, 
 Captain Stryker's car and ours, the latter will prove 
 considerably the most speedy. . . . 
 
 " In short, I suggest," he concluded, thoughtfully 
 lacing his long white fingers, " that, avoiding the 
 hazards of cab and railway carriage, we motor to 
 Chiltern: the night being fine and the road, I am 
 told, exceptionally good. Miss Dorothy, what do you 
 think?" 
 
 Instinctively the girl looked to Kirkwood ; then 
 shifted her glance to their host. " I think you are 
 wonderfully thoughtful and kind," she said simply. 
 
 "And you, Philip?" 
 
 " It's an inspiration," the younger man declared. 
 " I can't think of anything better calculated to throw 
 them off, than to distance them by motor-car. It 
 would be always possible to trace our journey by 
 rail." 
 
 " Then," announced Brentwick, making as if to 
 rise, " we had best go. If neither my hearing nor 
 Captain Stryker's car deceives me, our fiery chariot 
 is panting at the door." 
 
 A little sobered from the confident spirit of quiet 
 gaiety in which they had dined, they left the table. 
 Not that, in their hearts, either greatly questioned 
 their ultimate triumph; but they were allowing for 
 the element of error so apt to set at naught human 
 calculations. Calendar himself had already been
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 407 
 
 proved fallible. Within the bounds of possibility, 
 their turn to stumble might now be imminent. 
 
 When he let himself dwell upon it, their utter help- 
 lessness to give Calendar pause by commonplace 
 methods, maddened Kirkwood. With another scoun- 
 drel it had been so simple a matter to put a period to 
 his activities by a word to the police. But he was her 
 father ; for that reason he must continually be spared 
 Even though, in desperate extremity, she 
 should give consent to the arrest of the adventurers, 
 retaliation would follow, swift and sure. For they 
 might not overlook nor gloze the fact that hers had 
 been the hands responsible for the theft of the 
 jewels; innocent though she had been in committing 
 that larceny, a cat's-paw guided by an intelligence 
 unscrupulous and malign, the law would not hold 
 her guiltless were she once brought within its cogni- 
 zance. Nor, possibly, would the Hallams, mother and 
 son. 
 
 Upon their knowledge and their fear of this, un- 
 doubtedly Calendar was reckoning: witness the bare- 
 faced effrontery with which he operated against them. 
 His fear of the police might be genuine enough, but 
 he was never for an instant disturbed by any doubt 
 lest his daughter should turn against him. She would 
 never dare that. 
 
 Before they left the house, while Dorothy was 
 above stairs resuming her hat and coat, Kirkwood
 
 408 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 and Brentwick reconnoitered from the drawing-room 
 windows, themselves screened from observation by the 
 absence of light in the room behind. 
 
 Before the door a motor-car waited, engines hum- 
 ming impatiently, mechanician ready in his seat, an 
 uncouth shape in goggles and leather garments that 
 shone like oilskins under the street lights. 
 
 At one corner another and a smaller car stood 
 in waiting, its lamps like baleful eyes glaring through 
 the night. 
 
 In the shadows across the way, a lengthy shadow 
 lurked: Stryker, beyond reasonable question. Other- 
 wise the street was deserted. Not even that adventi- 
 tous bobby of the early evening was now in evidence. 
 
 Dorothy presently joining them, Brentwick led the 
 way to the door. 
 
 Wotton, apparently nerveless beneath his absolute 
 immobility, let them out and slammed the door be- 
 hind them with such promptitude as to give cause for 
 the suspicion that he was a fraud, a sham, beneath 
 his icy exterior desperately afraid lest the house be 
 stormed by the adventurers. 
 
 Kirkwood to the right, Brentwick to the left of 
 Dorothy, the former carrying the treasure bag, they 
 hastened down the walk and through the gate to the 
 car. 
 
 The watcher across the way was moved to whistle 
 shrilly ; the other car lunged forward nervously.
 
 ADVENTURERS' LUCK 409 
 
 Brentwick taking the front seat, beside the mechan- 
 ician, left the tonneau to Kirkwood and Dorothy. 
 As the American slammed the door, the car swept 
 smoothly out into the middle of the way, while the 
 pursuing car swerved in to the other curb, slowing 
 down to let Stryker jump aboard. 
 
 Kirkwood put himself in the seat by the girl's side 
 and for a few moments was occupied with the arrange- 
 ment of the robes. Then, sitting back, he found her 
 eyes fixed upon him, pools of inscrutable night in the 
 shadow of her hat. 
 
 " You aren't afraid, Dorothy? " 
 
 She answered quietly : " I am with you, Philip." 
 
 Beneath the robe their hands met. . . . 
 
 Exalted, excited, he turned and looked back. A 
 hundred yards to the rear four unwinking eyes trailed 
 them, like some modern Nemesis in monstrous guise.
 
 XIX 
 
 I THE UXBEIDGE EOAD 
 
 At a steady gait, now and again checked in defer- 
 ence to the street traffic, Brentwick's motor-car rolled, 
 with resonant humming of the engine, down the Crom- 
 well Road, swerved into Warwick Road and swung 
 northward through Kensington to Shepherd's Bush. 
 Behind it Calendar's car clung as if towed by an 
 invisible cable, never gaining, never losing, mutely 
 testifying to the adventurer's unrelenting, grim deter- 
 mination to leave them no instant's freedom from 
 surveillance, to keep for ever at their shoulders, watch- 
 ing his chance, biding his time with sinister patience 
 until the moment when, wearied, their vigilance should 
 relax. . . . 
 
 To some extent he reckoned without his motor-car. 
 As long as they traveled within the metropolitan 
 limits, constrained to observe a decorous pace in 
 view of the prejudices of the County Council, it was 
 a matter of no difficulty whatever to maintain his dis- 
 tance. But once they had won through Shepherd's 
 Bush and, paced by huge doubledeck trolley trams, 
 were flying through Hammersmith on the Uxbridge 
 
 410
 
 THE UXBRIDGE ROAD 
 
 Road; once they had run through Acton, and knew 
 beyond dispute that now they were without the city 
 boundaries, then the complexion of the business was 
 suddenly changed. 
 
 Not too soon for honest sport; Calendar was to 
 have (Kirkwood would have said in lurid American 
 idiom) a run for his money. The scattered lights 
 of Southall were winking out behind them before 
 Brentwick chose to give the word to the mechanician. 
 
 Quietly the latter threw in the clutch for the third 
 speed and the fourth. The car leaped forward 
 like a startled race-horse. The motor lilted merrily 
 into its deep-throated song of the open road, its 
 contented, silken humming passing into a sonorous 
 and sustained purr. 
 
 Kirkwood and the girl were first jarred violently 
 forward, then thrown together. She caught his arm 
 to steady herself; it seemed the most natural thing 
 imaginable that he should take her hand and pass 
 it beneath his arm, holding her so, his fingers closed 
 above her own. Before they had recovered, or had 
 time to catch their breath, a mile of Middlesex had 
 dropped to the rear. 
 
 Not quite so far had they distanced Calendar's 
 trailing Nemesis of the four glaring eyes ; the pur- 
 suers put forth a gallant effort to hold their place. 
 At intervals during the first few minutes a heavy 
 roaring and crashing could be heard behind them ;
 
 412 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 gradually it subsided, dying on the wings of the free 
 rushing wind that buffeted their faces as mile after 
 mile was reeled off and the wide, darkling English 
 countryside opened out before them, sweet and won- 
 derful. 
 
 Once Kirkwood looked back ; in the winking of an 
 eye he saw four faded disks of light, pallid with de- 
 spair, top a distant rise and glide down into darkness. 
 When he turned, Dorothy was interrogating him with 
 eyes whose melting, shadowed loveliness, revealed to 
 him in the light of the far, still stars, seemed to incite 
 him to that madness which he had bade himself resist 
 with all his strength. 
 
 He shook his head, as if to say : They can not catch 
 us. 
 
 His hour was not yet ; time enough to think of love 
 and marriage (as if he were capable of consecutive 
 thought on any other subject!) time enough to 
 think of them when he had gone back to his place, 
 or rather when he should have found it, in the ranks 
 of bread-winners, and so have proved his right to 
 mortal happiness; time enough then to lay whatever 
 he might have to offer at her feet. Now he could 
 conceive of no baser treachery to his soul's desire 
 than to advantage himself of her gratitude. 
 
 Resolutely he turned his face forward, striving 
 with all his will and might to forget the temptation 
 of her lips, weary as they were and petulant with
 
 THE UXBRIDGE ROAD 
 
 waiting ; and so sat rigid in his time of trial, clinging 
 with what strength he could to the standards of his 
 honor, and trying to lose his dream in dreaming of 
 the bitter struggle that seemed likely to be his future 
 portion. 
 
 Perhaps she guessed a little of the fortunes of the 
 battle that was being waged within him. Perhaps 
 not. Whatever the trend of her thoughts, she did 
 not draw away from him. . . . Perhaps the 
 breath of night, fresh and clean and fragrant with 
 the odor of the fields and hedges, sweeping into 
 her face with velvety caress, rendered her drowsy. 
 Presently the silken lashes drooped, fluttering upon 
 her cheeks, the tired and happy smile hovered about 
 her lips. . . . 
 
 In something less than half an hour of this wild 
 driving, Kirkwood roused out of his reverie sufficiently 
 to become sensible that the speed was slackening. In- 
 coherent snatches of sentences, fragments of words 
 and phrases spoken by Brentwick and the mechani- 
 cian, were flung back past his ears by the rushing 
 wind. Shielding his eyes he could see dimly that the 
 mechanician was tinkering (apparently) with the 
 driving gear. Then, their pace continuing steadily 
 to abate, he heard Brentwick fling at the man a 
 sharp-toned and querulously impatient question: 
 What was the trouble? His reply came in a single 
 word, not distinguishable.
 
 414 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 The girl sat up, opening her eyes, disengaging her 
 arm. 
 
 Kirkwood bent forward and touched Brentwick on 
 the shoulder; the latter turned to him a face lined 
 with deep concern. 
 
 " Trouble," he announced superfluously. " I fear 
 we have blundered." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Dorothy in a troubled voice. 
 
 " Petrol seems to be running low. Charles here " 
 (he referred to the mechanician) " says the tank must 
 be leaking. We'll go on as best we can and try to 
 find an inn. Fortunately, most of the inns nowadays 
 keep supplies of petrol for just such emergencies." 
 
 " Are we ? Do you think ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; not a bit of danger of that" returned 
 Brentwick hastily. " They'll not catch up with us 
 this night. That is a very inferior car they have, 
 so Charles says, at least ; nothing to compare with 
 this. If I'm not in error, there's the Crown and 
 Mitre just ahead; we'll make it, fill our tanks, and be 
 off again before they can make up half their loss." 
 
 Dorothy looked anxiously to Kirkwood, her lips 
 forming an unuttered query : What did he think ? 
 
 " Don't worry ; we'll have no trouble," he assured 
 her stoutly ; " the chauffeur knows, undoubtedly." 
 
 None the less he was moved to stand up in the 
 tonneau, conscious of the presence of the traveling 
 bag, snug between his feet, as well as of the weight
 
 THE UXBRIDGE ROAD 415 
 
 of Calendar's revolver in his pocket, while he stared 
 back along the road. 
 
 There was nothing to be seen of their persecutors. 
 
 The car continued to crawl. Five minutes dragged 
 out tediously. Gradually they drew abreast a tavern 
 standing back a distance from the road, embowered 
 in a grove of trees between whose ancient boles the 
 tap-room windows shone enticingly, aglow with com- 
 fortable light. A creaking sign-board, much worn 
 by weather and age, swinging from a roadside post, 
 confirmed the accuracy of Brentwick's surmise, an- 
 nouncing that here stood the Crown and Mitre, house 
 of entertainment for man and beast. 
 
 Sluggishly the car rolled up before it and came to 
 a dead and silent halt. Charles, the mechanician, 
 jumping out, ran hastily up the path towards the 
 inn. In the car Brentwick turned again, his eyes 
 curiously bright in the starlight, his forehead quaint- 
 ly furrowed, his voice apologetic. 
 
 " It may take a few minutes," he said undecidedly, 
 plainly endeavoring to cover up his own dark doubts. 
 " My dear," to the girl, " if I have brought trouble 
 upon you in this wise, I shall never earn my own for- 
 giveness." 
 
 Kirkwood stood up again, watchful, attentive to 
 the sounds of night; but the voice of the pursuing- 
 motor-car was not of their company. " I hear noth- 
 ing," he announced.
 
 416 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " You will forgive me, won't you, my dear ? 
 for causing you these few moments of needless 
 anxiety? " pleaded the old gentleman, his tone tremu- 
 lous. 
 
 " As if you could be blamed ! " protested the girl. 
 " You mustn't think of it that way. Fancy, what 
 should we have done without you ! " 
 
 " I'm afraid I have been very clumsy," sighed 
 Brentwick, " clumsy and impulsive. . . . Kirk- 
 wood, do you hear anything? " 
 
 " Not yet, sir." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Brentwick a little later, 
 " perhaps we had better alight and go up to the inn. 
 It would be more cosy there, especially if the 
 petrol proves hard to obtain, and we have long to 
 wait." 
 
 " I should like that," assented the girl decidedly. 
 
 Kirkwood nodded his approval, opened the door 
 and jumped out to assist her; then picked up the 
 bag and followed the pair, Brentwick leading the 
 way with Dorothy on his arm. 
 
 At the doorway of the Crown and Mitre, Charles 
 met them evidently seriously disturbed. " No petrol 
 to be had here, sir," he announced reluctantly ; " but 
 the landlord will send to the next inn, a mile up the 
 road, for some. You will have to be patient, I'm 
 afraid, sir." 
 
 " Very well. Get some one to help you push the
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 417 
 
 car in from the road," ordered Brentwick ; " we will 
 be waiting in one of the private parlors." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; thank you, sir." The mechanician 
 touched the visor of his cap and hurried off. 
 
 " Come, Kirkwood." Gently Brentwick drew the 
 girl in with him. 
 
 Kirkwood lingered momentarily on the doorstep, to 
 listen acutely. But the wind was blowing into that 
 quarter whence they had come, and he could hear 
 naught save the soughing in the trees, together with 
 an occasional burst of rude rustic laughter from the 
 tap-room. Lifting his shoulders in dumb dismay, and 
 endeavoring to compose his features, he entered the 
 tavern. 
 
 n THE CROWN AND MITRE 
 
 A rosy-cheeked and beaming landlady met him in 
 the corridor and, all bows and smiles, ushered him 
 into a private parlor reserved for the party, immedi- 
 ately bustling off in a desperate flurry, to secure 
 refreshments desired by Brentwick. 
 
 The girl had seated herself on one end of an ex- 
 tremely comfortless lounge and was making a palpa- 
 ble effort to seem at ease. Brentwick stood at one of 
 the windows, shoulders rounded and head bent, hands 
 clasped behind his back as he peered out into the night. 
 Kirkwood dropped the traveling bag beneath a chair
 
 418 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 the farthest removed from the doorway, and took to 
 pacing the floor. 
 
 In a corner of the room a tall grandfather's clock 
 ticked off ten interminable minutes. For some reason 
 unconscionably delaying, the landlady did not reap- 
 pear. Brentwick, abruptly turning from the window, 
 remarked the fact querulously, then drew a chair up 
 to a marble-topped table in the middle of the floor. 
 
 " My dear," he requested the girl, " will you oblige 
 me by sitting over here? And Philip, bring up a 
 chair, if you will. We must not permit ourselves to 
 worry, and I have something here which may, per- 
 haps, engage your interest for a while." 
 
 To humor him and alleviate his evident distress of 
 mind, they acceded. Kirkwood found himself seated 
 opposite Dorothy, Brentwick between them. After 
 some hesitation, made the more notable by an air of 
 uneasiness which sat oddly on his shoulders, whose 
 composure and confident mien had theretofore been 
 so complete and so reassuring, the elder gentleman 
 fumbled in an inner coat-pocket and brought to light 
 a small black leather wallet. He seemed to be on the 
 point of opening it when hurried footfalls sounded 
 in the hallway. Brentwick placed the wallet, still with 
 its secret intact, on the table before him, as Charles 
 burst unceremoniously in, leaving the door wide open. 
 
 " Mr. Brentwick, sir ! " he cried gustily. " That 
 other car "
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 419 
 
 With a smothered ejaculation Kirkwood leaped to 
 his feet, tugging at the weapon in his pocket. In 
 another instant he had the revolver exposed. The 
 girl's cry of alarm, interrupting the machinist, fixed 
 Brentwick's attention on the young man. He, too, 
 stood up, reaching over very quickly to clamp strong 
 supple fingers round Kirkwood's wrist, while with the 
 other hand he laid hold of the revolver and by a single 
 twist wrenched it away. 
 
 Kirkwood turned upon him in fury. " So ! " he 
 cried, shaking with passion. " This is what your hos- 
 pitality meant ! You're going to " 
 
 " My dear young friend," interrupted Brentwick 
 with a flash of impatience, " remember that if I had 
 designed to betray you, I could have asked no better 
 opportunity than when you were my guest under my 
 own roof." 
 
 " But hang it all, Brentwick ! " expostulated 
 Kirkwood, ashamed and contrite, but worked upon 
 by desperate apprehension ; " I didn't mean that, 
 but " 
 
 " Would you have bullets flying when she is near? " 
 demanded Brentwick scathingly. Hastily he slipped 
 the revolver upon a little shelf beneath the table-top. 
 " Sir ! " he informed Kirkwood with some heat, " I 
 love you as my own son, but you're a young fool! 
 . as I have been in my time . . . and as 
 I would to Heaven I might be again ! Be advised,
 
 420 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Philip, be calm. Can't you see it's the only, way to 
 save your treasure? " 
 
 "Hang the jewels!" retorted Kirkwood warmly. 
 | What " 
 
 " Sir, who said anything about the jewels? " 
 
 As Brentwick spoke, Calendar's corpulent figure 
 filled the doorway ; Stryker's weather-worn features 
 loomed over his shoulder, distorted in a cheerful leer. 
 
 " As to the jewels," announced the fat adventurer, 
 " I've got a word to say, if you put it to me that 
 way." 
 
 He paused on the threshold, partly for dramatic 
 effect, partly for his own satisfaction, his quick eyes 
 darting from face to face of the four people whom 
 he had caught so unexpectedly. A shade of compla- 
 cency colored his expression, and he smiled evilly be- 
 neath the coarse short thatch of his gray mustache. 
 In his hand a revolver appeared, poised for immediate 
 use if there were need. 
 
 There was none. Brentwick, at his primal appear- 
 ance, had dropped a peremptory hand on Kirkwood's 
 
 I 
 
 'shoulder, forcing the young man back to his seat ; at 
 the same time he resumed his own. The girl had not 
 stirred from hers since the first alarm ; she sat as if 
 transfixed with terror, leaning forward with her 
 elbows on the table, her hands tightly clasped, her 
 face, a little blanched, turned to the door. But her 
 scarlet lips were set and firm with inflexible purpose,
 
 " Good evening, all! " he saluted them blandly. Page 421
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 421 
 
 and her brown eyes met Calendar's with a look level 
 and unflinching. Beyond this she gave no sign of 
 recognition. 
 
 Nearest of the four to the adventurers was Charles, 
 the mechanician, paused in affrighted astonishment at 
 sight of the revolver. Calendar, choosing to advance 
 suddenly, poked the muzzle of the weapon jocularly 
 in the man's ribs. " Beat it, Four-eyes ! " he snapped. 
 " This is your cue to duck ! Get out of my way." 
 
 The mechanician jumped as if shot, then hastily, 
 retreated to the table, his sallow features working be- 
 neath the goggle-mask which had excited the fat 
 adventurer's scorn. 
 
 " Come right in, Cap'n," Calendar threw over one 
 shoulder ; " come in, shut the door and lock it. Let's 
 all be sociable, and have a nice quiet time." 
 
 Stryker obeyed, with a derisive grimace for Kirk- 
 wood. 
 
 Calendar, advancing jauntily to a point within a 
 yard of the table, stopped, smiling affably down upon 
 his prospective victims, and airily twirling his re- 
 volver. 
 
 " Good evening, all ! " he saluted them blandly. 
 " Dorothy, my child," with assumed concern, " you're 
 looking a trifle upset ; I'm afraid you've been keeping 
 late hours. Little girls must be careful, you know, 
 or they lose the bloom of roses in their cheeks. . . . 
 Mr. Kirkwood, it's a pleasure to meet you again!
 
 422 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 Permit me to paraphrase your most sound advice, and 
 remind you that pistol-shots are apt to attract unde- 
 sirable attention. It wouldn't be wise for you to bring 
 the police about our ears. I believe that in substance 
 such was your sapient counsel to me in the cabin of 
 the Alethea; was it not? . . . And you, sir!" 
 fixing Brentwick with a cold unfriendly eye. 
 " You animated fossil, what d'you mean by telling me 
 to go to the devil? . . . But let that pass; I 
 hold no grudge. What might your name be? " 
 
 " It might be Brentwick," said that gentleman 
 placidly. 
 
 " Brentwick, eh? Well, I like a man of spirit. 
 But permit me to advise you " 
 
 " Gladly," nodded Brentwick. 
 
 " Eh ? Don't come a second time between 
 
 father and daughter; another man might not be as 
 patient as I, Mister Brentwick. There's a law in the 
 land, if you don't happen to know it." 
 
 " I congratulate you on your success in evading 
 it," observed Brentwick, undisturbed. " And it was 
 ,'considerate of you not to employ it in this instance." 
 Then, with a sharp change of tone, " Come, sir ! " he 
 demanded. " You have unwarrantably intruded in 
 this room, which I have engaged for my private use. 
 Get through with your business and be off with you." 
 
 " All in my good time, my antediluvian friend. 
 When I've wound up my business here I'll go not
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 
 
 before. But, just to oblige you, we'll get doAvn to it. 
 . Kirkwood, you have a revolver of mine. Be 
 good enough to return it." 
 
 " I have it here, under the table," interrupted 
 Brentwick suavely. " Shall I hand it to you? " 
 
 " By the muzzle, if you please. Be very careful ; 
 this one's loaded, too apt to explode any minute." 
 
 To Kirkwood's intense disgust Brentwick quietly 
 slipped one hand beneath the table and, placing the 
 revolver on its top, delicately with his finger-tips 
 shoved it toward the farther edge. With a grunt of 
 approval, Calendar swept the weapon up and into 
 his pocket. 
 
 " Any more ordnance ? " he inquired briskly, eyes 
 moving alertly from face to face. " No matter ; you 
 wouldn't dare use 'em anyway. And I'm about done. 
 Dorothy, my dear, it's high time you returned to your 
 father's protection. Where's that gladstone bag? " 
 
 " In my traveling bag," the girl told him in a 
 toneless voice. 
 
 " Then you may bring it along. You may also 
 say good night to the kind gentlemen." 
 
 Dorothy did not move ; her pallor grew more intense 
 and Kirkwood saw her knuckles tighten beneath the 
 gloves. Otherwise her mouth seemed to grow more 
 straight and hard. 
 
 " Dorothy ! " cried the adventurer with a touch of 
 displeasure. " You heard me? "
 
 424 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 " I heard you," she replied a little wearily, more 
 than a little contemptuously. " Don't mind him, 
 please, Mr. Kirkwood ! " with an appealing gesture, 
 as Kirkwood, unable to contain himself, moved rest- 
 lessly in his chair, threatening to rise. " Don't say 
 anything. I have no intention whatever of going 
 with this man." 
 
 Calendar's features 'twitched nervously ; he chewed 
 a corner of his mustache, fixing the girl with a black 
 stare. " I presume," he remarked after a moment, 
 with slow deliberation, " you're aware that, as your 
 father, I am in a position to compel you to accom- 
 pany me." 
 
 " I shall not go with you," iterated Dorothy in a 
 level tone. " You may threaten me, but I shall not 
 go. Mr. Brentwick and Mr. Kirkwood are taking me 
 to friends, who will give me a home until I can 
 find a way to take care of myself. That is all I have 
 to say to you." 
 
 " Bravo, my dear ! " cried Brentwick encourag- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Mind your business, sir ! " thundered Calendar, 
 his face darkening. Then, to Dorothy, " You un- 
 derstand, I trust, what this means ? " he demanded. 
 " I offer you a home and a good one. Refuse, and 
 you work for your living, my girl ! You've forfeited 
 your legacy " 
 
 " I know, I know," she told him in cold disdain.
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 425 
 
 " I am content. Won't you be kind enough to leave 
 me alone? " 
 
 For a breath, Calendar glowered over her; then, 
 " I presume," he observed, " that all these heroics 
 are inspired by that whipper-snapper, Kirkwood. Do 
 you know that he hasn't a brass farthing to bless 
 himself with? " 
 
 " What has that ? " cried the girl indignantly. 
 " Why, it has everything to do with me, my child. 
 As your doting parent, I can't consent to your mar- 
 rying nothing-a-year. . . . For I surmise you 
 intend to marry this Mr. Kirkwood, don't you? " 
 
 There followed a little interval of silence, while the 
 warm blood flamed in the girl's face and the red lips 
 trembled as she faced her tormentor. Then, with a 
 quaver that escaped her control, " If Mr. Kirkwood 
 asks me, I shall," she stated very simply. 
 
 " That," interposed Kirkwood, " is completely un- 
 derstood." His gaze sought her eyes, but she looked 
 away. 
 
 " You forget that I am your father," sneered Cal- 
 endar ; " and that you are a minor. I can refuse 
 my consent." 
 
 " But you won't," Kirkwood told him with assur- 
 ance. 
 
 The adventurer stared. " No," he agreed, after 
 slight hesitation ; " no, I shan't interfere. Take her, 
 my boy, if you want her and a father's blessing
 
 426 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 into the bargain. The Lord knows I've troubles 
 enough; a parent's lot is not what it's cracked up 
 to be." He paused, leering, ironic. " But," de- 
 liberately, " there's still this other matter of the 
 gladstone bag. I don't mind abandoning my parental 
 authority, when my child's happiness is concerned, 
 but as for my property " 
 
 " It is not your property," interrupted the girl. 
 
 " It was your mother's, dear child. It's now mine." 
 
 " I dispute that assertion," Kirkwood put in. 
 
 " You may dispute it till the cows come home, my 
 boy: the fact will remain, that I intend to take my 
 property with me when I leave this room, whether 
 you like it or not. Now are you disposed to continue 
 the argument, or may I count on your being sen- 
 sible? " 
 
 " You may put away your revolver, if that's what 
 you mean," said Kirkwood. " We certainly shan't 
 oppose you with violence, but I warn you that Scot- 
 land Yard " 
 
 " Oh, that be blowed ! " the adventurer snorted in 
 disgust. " I can sail circles round any tec. that ever 
 blew out of Scotland Yard ! Give me an hour's start, 
 and you're free to do all the funny business you've 
 a mind to, with Scotland Yard ! " 
 
 " Then you admit," queried Brentwick civilly, 
 " that you've no legal title to the jewels in dispute? " 
 
 " Look here, my friend," chuckled Calendar,
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 427 
 
 " when you catch me admitting anything, you write 
 it down in your little book and tell the bobby on the 
 corner. Just at present I've got other business than 
 to stand round admitting anything about anything. 
 . . Cap'n, let's have that bag of my dutiful 
 daughter's." 
 
 " 'Ere you are." Stryker spoke for the first time 
 since entering the room, taking the valise from be- 
 neath the chair and depositing it on the table. 
 
 " Well, we shan't take anything that doesn't be- 
 long to us," laughed Calendar, fumbling with the 
 catch ; " not even so small a matter as my own child's 
 traveling bag. A small heavy gladstone bag," 
 he grunted, opening the valise and plunging in one 
 greedy hand, " will just about do for mine ! " 
 With which he produced the article mentioned. 
 " This for the discard, Cap'n," he laughed content- 
 edly, pushing the girl's valise aside; and, rumbling 
 with stentorian mirth, stood beaming benignantly 
 over the assembled company. 
 
 " Why," he exclaimed, " this moment is worth all 
 it cost me ! My children, I forgive you freely. Mr. 
 Kirkwood, I felicitate you cordially on having secured 
 a most expensive wife. Really d'you know? I 
 feel as if I ought to do a little something for you 
 both." Gurgling with delight he smote his fat palms 
 together. " I just tell you what," he resumed, " no 
 one yet ever called Georgie Calendar a tight-wad. I
 
 428 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 just believe I'm going to make you kids a handsome 
 wedding present. . . . The good Lord knows 
 there's enough of this for a fellow to be a little gen- 
 erous and never miss it ! " 
 
 The thick mottled fingers tore nervously at the 
 catch ; eventually he got the bag open. Those about 
 the table bent forward, all quickened by the prospect 
 of for the first time beholding the treasure over which 
 they had fought, for which they had suffered, so 
 long. . . . 
 
 A heady and luscious fragrance pervaded the at- 
 mosphere, exhaling from the open mouth of the bag. 
 A silence, indefinitely sustained, impressed itself upon 
 the little audience, a breathless pause ended even- 
 tually by a sharp snap of Calendar's teeth. "Mmm!" 
 grunted the adventurer in bewilderment. He began 
 to pant. 
 
 Abruptly his heavy hands delved into the contents 
 of the bag, like the paws of a terrier digging in 
 earth. To Kirkwood the air seemed temporarily 
 thick with flying objects. Beneath his astonished 
 eyes a towel fell upon the table a crumpled, soiled 
 towel, bearing on its dingy hem the inscription in 
 indelible ink : "Hotel du Commerce, Anvers. " A 
 tooth-mug of substantial earthenware dropped to the 
 floor with a crash. A slimy soap-dish of the same 
 manufacture slid across the table and into Brent- 
 wick's lap. A battered alarm clock with never a tick
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 429 
 
 left in its abused carcass rang vacuously as it fell by 
 the open bag. . . . The remainder was or- 
 anges: a dozen or more small, round, golden globes 
 of ripe fruit, perhaps a shade overripe, therefore the 
 more aromatic. 
 
 The adventurer ripped out an oath. " Mulready, 
 by the living God ! " he raged in fury. " Done up, 
 I swear ! Done by that infernal sneak me, blind as 
 ab'at!" 
 
 He fell suddenly silent, the blood congesting in his 
 face; as suddenly broke forth again, haranguing the 
 company. 
 
 " That's why he went out and bought those damned 
 oranges, is it? Think of it me sitting in the hotel 
 in Antwerp and him lugging in oranges by the bag- 
 ful because he was fond of fruit ! When did he do 
 it? How do I know? If I knew, would I be here 
 and him the devil knows where, this minute? When 
 my back was turned, of course, the damned snake'. 
 That's why he was so hot about picking a fight on 
 the boat, hey? Wanted to get thrown off and take 
 to the woods leaving me with this! And that's 
 why he felt so awful' done up he wouldn't take a hand 
 at hunting you two down, hey ? Well by the 
 Eternal ! I'll camp on his trail for the rest of his 
 natural-born days! I'll have his eye-teeth for this, 
 I'll" 
 
 He swayed, gibbering with rage, his countenance
 
 430 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 frightfully contorted, his fat hands shaking as he 
 struggled for expression. 
 
 And then, while yet their own astonishment held 
 Dorothy, Kirkwood, Brentwick and Stryker speech- 
 less, Charles, the mechanician, moved suddenly upon 
 the adventurer. 
 
 There followed two metallic clicks. Calendar's 
 ravings were abrupted as if his tongue had been par- 
 alyzed. He fell back a pace, flabby jowls pale and 
 shaking, ponderous jaw dropping on his breast, 
 mouth wide and eyes crazed as he shook violently 
 before him his thick fleshy wrists securely hand- 
 cuffed. 
 
 Simultaneously the mechanician whirled about, 
 bounded eagerly across the floor, and caught Stryker 
 at the door, his dexterous fingers twisting in the 
 captain's collar as he jerked him back and tripped 
 him. 
 
 " Mr. Kirkwood ! " he cried. " Here, please 
 one moment. Take this man's gun from him, will 
 you?" 
 
 Kirkwood sprang to his assistance, and without en- 
 countering much trouble, succeeded in wresting a 
 Webley from Stryker's limp, flaccid fingers. 
 
 Roughly the mechanician shook the man, dragging 
 him to his feet. " Now," he ordered sternly, " you 
 march to that corner, stick your nose in it, and be 
 good! You can't get away if you try. I've got
 
 THE CROWN AND MITRE 431 
 
 other men outside, waiting for you to come out. Un- 
 derstand? " 
 
 Trembling like a whipped cur, Stryker meekly, 
 obeyed his instructions to the letter. 
 
 The mechanician, with a contemptuous laugh leav- 
 ing him, strode back to Calendar, meanwhile whipping 
 off his goggles ; and clapped a hearty hand upon the 
 adventurer's quaking shoulders. 
 
 " Well ! " he cried. " And are you still sailing 
 circles round the men from Scotland Yard, Simmons, 
 or Bellows, or Sanderson, or Calendar, or Crumbstone, 
 or whatever name you prefer to sail under ? " 
 
 Calendar glared at him aghast; then heaved a 
 profound sigh, shrugged his fat shoulders, and bent 
 his head in thought. An instant later he looked up. 
 " You can't do it," he informed the detective 
 vehemently ; " you haven't got a shred of evidence 
 against me! What's there? A pile of oranges and 
 a peck of trash! What of it? . . . Besides," 
 he threatened, " if you pinch me, you'll have to take 
 the girl in, too. I swear that whatever stealing was 
 done, she did it. I'll not be trapped this way by 
 her and let her off without a squeal. Take me take 
 her; d'you hear? " 
 
 " I think," put in the clear, bland accents of Brent- 
 wick, " we can consider that matter settled. I have 
 here, my man," nodding to the adventurer as he 
 took up the black leather wallet, " I have here a
 
 432 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 little matter which may clear up any lingering doubts 
 as to your standing, which you may be disposed at 
 present to entertain." 
 
 He extracted a slip of cardboard and, at arm's 
 length, laid it on the table-edge beneath the adven- 
 turer's eyes. The latter, bewildered, bent over it for 
 a moment, breathing heavily ; then straightened back, 
 shook himself, laughed shortly with a mirthless note, 
 and faced the detective. 
 
 " It's come with you now, I guess ? " he suggested 
 very quietly. 
 
 " The Bannister warrant is still out for you," re- 
 turned the man. " That'll be enough to hold you on 
 till extradition papers arrive from the States." 
 
 " Oh, I'll waive those ; and I won't give you any 
 trouble, either. ... I reckon," mused the ad- 
 venturer, jingling his manacles thoughtfully, " I'm a 
 back-number, anyway. When a half-grown girl, a 
 half-baked boy, a flub like Mulready damn his 
 eyes ! and a club-footed snipe from Scotland Yard 
 can put it all over me this way, . . . why, I 
 guess it's up to me to go home and retire to my coun- 
 try-place up the Hudson." He sighed wearily. 
 " Yep ; time to cut it out. But I would like to be 
 free long enough to get in one good lick at that mutt, 
 Mulready. My friend, you get your hands on him, 
 and I'll squeal on him till I'm blue in the face. 
 That's a promise."
 
 JOURNEY'S END 433 
 
 " You'll have the chance before long," replied the 
 detective. " We received a telegram from the Am- 
 sterdam police late this afternoon, saying they'd 
 picked up Mr. Mulready with a woman named Hal- 
 lam, and were holding them on suspicion. It seems," 
 turning to Brentwick, " they were opening nego- 
 tiations for the sale of a lot of stones, and seemed in 
 such a precious hurry that the diamond merchant's 
 suspicions were roused. We're sending over for them, 
 Miss Calendar, so you can make your mind easy about 
 your jewels ; you'll have them back in a few days." 
 
 " Thank you," said the girl with an effort. 
 
 " Well," the adventurer delivered his peroration, 
 " I certainly am blame' glad to hear it. 'Twouldn't 
 've been a square deal, any other way." 
 
 He paused, looking his erstwhile dupes over with 
 a melancholy eye; then, with an uncertain nod com- 
 prehending the girl, Kirkwood and Brentwick, " So 
 long ! " he said thickly ; and turned, with the detec- 
 tive's hand under his arm and, accompanied by the 
 thoroughly cowed Stryker, waddled out of the room. 
 
 in JOURNEY'S END 
 
 Kirkwood, following the exodus, closed the door 
 with elaborate care and slowly, deep in thought, re- 
 turned to the table. 
 
 Dorothy seemed not to have moved, save to place
 
 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 her elbows on the marble slab, and rest her cheeks 
 between hands that remained clenched, as they had 
 been in the greatest stress of her emotion. The color 
 had returned to her face, with a slightly enhanced 
 depth of hue to the credit of her excitement. Her 
 cheeks were hot, her eyes starlike beneath the woven, 
 massy sunlight of her hair. Temporarily unconscious 
 of her surroundings she stared steadfastly before her, 
 thoughts astray in the irridescent glamour of the 
 dreams that were to come. 
 
 Brentwick had slipped down in his chair, resting his 
 silvered head upon its back, and was smiling serenely 
 up at the low yellow ceiling. Before him on the 
 table his long white fingers were drumming an in- 
 audible tune. Presently rousing, he caught Kirk- 
 wood's eye and smiled sheepishly, like a child caught 
 in innocent mischief. 
 
 The younger man grinned broadly. " And you 
 were responsible for all that ! " he commented, in- 
 finitely amused. 
 
 Brentwick nodded, twinkling self-satisfaction. " I 
 contrived it all," he said ; " neat, I call it, too." His 
 old eyes brightened with reminiscent enjoyment. 
 " Inspiration ! " he crowed softly. " Inspiration, 
 pure and simple. I'd been worrying my wits for fully 
 five minutes before Wotton settled the matter by tell- 
 ing me about the captain's hiring of the motor-car. 
 Then, in a flash, I had it. ... I talked with
 
 JOURNEY'S END 435 
 
 Charles by telephone, his name is really Charles, by 
 the bye, overcame his conscientious scruples about 
 playing his fish when they were already all but landed, 
 and settled the artistic details." 
 
 He chuckled delightedly. " It's the instinct," he 
 declared emphatically, " the instinct for adventure. 
 I knew it was in me, latent somewhere, but never till 
 this day did it get the opportunity to assert itself. 
 A born adventurer that's what I am! . . . 
 You see, it was essential that they should believe we 
 were frightened and running from them; that way, 
 they would be sure to run after us. Why, we might 
 have baited a dozen traps and failed to lure them 
 into my house, after that stout scoundrel knew you'd 
 had the chance to tell me the whole yarn. . . . 
 Odd ! " 
 
 " Weren't you taking chances, you and Charles ? " 
 asked Kirkwood curiously. 
 
 " Precious few. There was another motor from 
 Scotland Yard trailing Captain Stryker's. If they 
 had run past, or turned aside, they would have been 
 overhauled in short order." 
 
 He relapsed into his whimsical reverie ; the wistful 
 look returned to his eyes, replacing the glow of tri- 
 umph and pleasure. And he sighed a little regret- 
 fully. 
 
 " What I don't understand," contended Kirkwood, 
 ** is how you convinced Calendar that he couldn't get
 
 436 
 
 revenge by pressing 1 his charge against Miss Cal- 
 endar Dorothy." 
 
 " Oh-h ? " Mr. Brentwick elevated his fine white 
 eyebrows and sat up briskly. " My dear boy, that 
 was the most delectable dish on the entire menu. I 
 have been reserving it, I don't mind owning, that 
 I might better enjoy the full relish of it. . . . I 
 may answer you best, perhaps, by asking you to scan 
 what I offered to the fat scoundrel's respectful con- 
 sideration, my dear sir." 
 
 He leveled a forefinger at the card. 
 
 At first glance it conveyed nothing to the younger 
 man's benighted intelligence. He puzzled over it, 
 twisting his brows out of alignment. An ordinary 
 sblong slip of thin white cardboard, it was engraved 
 in fine script as follows: 
 
 MR. GEORGE BURGOYNE CALENDAR 
 
 81, ASPEN VILLAS, S. W. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Kirkwood at length, standing 
 up, his face bright with understanding. " You / "
 
 JOURNEY'S END 437 
 
 " I," laconically assented the elder man. 
 
 Impulsively Kirkwood leaned across the table. 
 " Dorothy," he said tenderly ; and when the girl's 
 happy eyes met his, quietly drew her attention to the 
 card. 
 
 Then he rose hastily, and went over to stand by 
 the window, staring mistily into the blank face of 
 night beyond its unseen panes. 
 
 Behind him there was a confusion of little noises; 
 the sound of a chair pushed hurriedly aside, a rustle 
 of skirts, a happy sob or two, low voices intermin- 
 gling; sighs. . . . Out of it finally came the 
 father's accents. 
 
 " There, there, my dear ! My dearest dear ! " pro- 
 tested the old gentleman. " Positively I don't deserve 
 a tithe of this. I " The young old voice quav- 
 ered and broke, in a happy laugh. ..." You 
 must understand," he continued more soberly, " that 
 no consideration of any sort is due me. 
 When we married, I was too old for your mother, 
 child ; we both knew it, both believed it would never 
 matter. But it did. By her wish, I went back to 
 America; we were to see what separation would do 
 to heal the wounds dissension had caused. It was 
 a very foolish experiment. Your mother died before 
 I could return. . . ." 
 
 There fell a silence, again broken by the father. 
 08 After that I was in no haste to return. But some
 
 438 
 
 years ago, I came to London to live. I communicated 
 with the old colonel, asking permission to see you. It 
 was refused in a manner which precluded the subject 
 being reopened by me: I was informed that if I 
 persisted in attempting to see you, you would be dis- 
 inherited. . . . He was very angry with me 
 justly, I admit. . . . One must grow old before 
 one can see how unforgivably one was wrong in youth. 
 . . . So I settled down to a quiet old age, deter- 
 mined not to disturb you in your happiness. 
 Ah Kirkwood ! " 
 
 The old gentleman was standing, his arm around 
 his daughter's shoulders, when Kirkwood turned. 
 
 " Come here, Philip ; I'm explaining to Dorothy, 
 but you should hear. . . . The evening I called 
 on you, dear boy, at the Pless, returning home I re- 
 ceived a message from my solicitors, whom I had in- 
 structed to keep an eye on Dorothy's welfare. They 
 informed me that she had disappeared. Naturally 
 I canceled my plans to go to Munich, and stayed, 
 employing detectives. One of the first things they 
 discovered was that Dorothy had run off with an 
 elderly person calling himself George Burgoyne Cal- 
 endar the name I had discarded when I found that 
 to acknowledge me would imperil my daughter's for- 
 tune. . . . The investigations went deeper; 
 Charles let us continue to call him had been to 
 see me only this afternoon, to inform me of the plot
 
 JOURNEY'S END 439 
 
 they had discovered. This Hallam woman and her 
 son it seems that they were legitimately in the line 
 of inheritance, Dorothy out of the way. But the 
 woman was ah a bad lot. Somehow she got into 
 communication with this fat rogue and together they 
 plotted it out. Charles doesn't believe that the Hal- 
 lam woman expected to enjoy the Burgoyne estates 
 for very many days. Her plan was to step in when 
 Dorothy stepped out, gather up what she could, real- 
 ize on it, and decamp. That is why there was so 
 much excitement about the jewels: naturally the most 
 valuable item on her list, the most easy to convert into 
 cash. . . . The man Mulready we do not place ; 
 he seems to have been a shady character the fat rogue 
 picked up somewhere. The latter's ordinary line of 
 business was diamond smuggling, though he would 
 condescend to almost anything in order to turn a dis- 
 honest penny. 
 
 " That seems to exhaust the subject. But one 
 word more. . . . Dorothy, I am old enough and 
 have suffered enough to know the wisdom of seizing 
 one's happiness when one may. My dear, a little 
 while ago, you did a very brave deed. Under fire 
 you said a most courageous, womanly, creditable 
 thing. And Philip's rejoinder was only second in 
 nobility to yours. ... I do hope to goodness 
 that you two blessed youngsters won't let any addle- 
 pated scruples stand between yourselves and the
 
 440 THE BLACK BAG 
 
 prize of Romance, your inalienable inheritance ! " 
 
 Abruptly Brentwick, who was no longer Brentwick, 
 but the actual Calendar, released the girl from his 
 embrace and hopped nimbly toward the door. 
 " Really, I must see about that petrol ! " he cried. 
 " While it's perfectly true that Charles lied about it's 
 running out, we must be getting on. I'll call you 
 whea we're ready to start." 
 
 And the door crashed to behind him. 
 
 Between them was the table. Beyond it the girl 
 stood with head erect, dim tears glimmering on the 
 lashes of those eyes with which she met Philip's steady 
 gaze so fearlessly. 
 
 Singing about them, the silence deepened. Fas- 
 cinated, though his heart was faint with longing, 
 Kirkwood faltered on the threshold of his kingdom. 
 
 " Dorothy ! . . . You did mean it, dear ? " 
 
 She laughed, a little, low, sobbing laugh that had 
 its source deep in the hidden sanctuary of her heart 
 of a child. 
 
 " I meant it, my dearest. ... If you'll have 
 a girl so bold and forward, who can't wait till she's 
 asked but throws herself into the arms of the man 
 she loves Philip, I meant it, every word ! . . ." 
 
 And as he went to her swiftly, round the table, she 
 turned to meet him, arms uplifted, her scarlet lips 
 a-tremble, the brown and bewitching lashes drooping 
 over her wondrously lighted eyes. . . .
 
 JOURNEY'S END 441 
 
 After a time Philip Kirkwood laughed aloud. 
 
 And there was that quality in the ring of his 
 laughter that caused the Shade of Care, which had for 
 the past ten minutes been uneasily luffing and filling 
 in the offing and, on the whole, steadily diminishing 
 and becoming more pale and wan and emaciated and 
 indistinct there was that in the laughter of Philip 
 Kirkwood, I say, which caused the Shade of Care to 
 utter a hollow croak of despair as, incontinently, it 
 vanished out of his life.
 
 A"'" ill II Kin Din mil j 
 000 046 439