XVI
TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON
The train, escaping the outskirts of the city, remarked the event with anexultant shriek, then settled down, droning steadily, to night-devouringflight. In the corridor-car the few passengers disposed themselves todrowse away the coming hour--the short hour's ride that, in these pipingdays of frantic traveling, separates Antwerp from the capital city ofBelgium.
A guard, slamming gustily in through the front door, reeled unsteadily downthe aisle. Kirkwood, rousing from a profound reverie, detained him with agesture and began to interrogate him in French. When he departed presentlyit 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. Wedaren't stop, you see; we must go on,--keep Hobbs on the jump and lose him,if possible. There's where our advantage lies--in having only Hobbs to dealwith. He's not particularly intellectual; and we've two heads to his one,besides. If we can prevent him from guessing our destination and wiringback 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 thenight trains on other lines. In the meantime, don't fret about Hobbs; I'llanswer 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 ofthe return of the guard, with a handful of time-tables; and when, rewardedwith a modest gratuity, the man had gone his way, and Kirkwood turned againto the girl, she had withdrawn her attention for the time.
Unconscious of his bold regard, she was dreaming, her thoughts atloose-ends, her eyes studying the incalculable depths of blue-black nightthat swirled and eddied beyond the window-glass. The most shadowy of smilestouched her lips, the faintest shade of deepened color rested on hercheeks.... 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 ofher youthful beauty, striving with all his soul to analyze the enigma ofthat most inscrutable smile.
It baffled him. He could not say of what she thought; and told himselfbitterly that it was not for him, a pauper, to presume a place in hermeditations. He must not forget his circumstances, nor let her tolerancerender him oblivious to his place, which must be a servant's, not alover's.
The better to convince himself of this, he plunged desperately intoa forlorn attempt to make head or tail of Belgian railway schedule,complicated as these of necessity are by the alternation from normaltime 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 subconsciouslyimpressed that the girl had spoken twice, ere he could detach his interestfrom the exasperatingly inconclusive and incoherent cohorts of rankedfigures.
"Can't you find out anything?" Dorothy was asking.
"Precious little," he grumbled. "I'd give my head for a Bradshaw! Only itwouldn't be a fair exchange.... There seems to be an express forBruges leaving the Gare du Nord, Brussels, at fifty-five minutes aftertwenty-three o'clock; and if I'm not mistaken, that's the latest train outof Brussels and the earliest we can catch,... if we _can_ catch it. I'venever been in Brussels, and Heaven only knows how long it would take us tocab it from the Gare du Midi to the Nord."
In this statement, however, Mr. Kirkwood was fortunately mistaken; notonly Heaven, it appeared, had cognizance of the distance between the twostations. While Kirkwood was still debating the question, with pessimistictendencies, 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, wouldserve himself well if he offered the driver an advance tip as an incentiveto speedy driving. Why? Why because (here the guard consulted his watch;and Kirkwood very keenly regretted the loss of his own)--because thistrain, announced to arrive in Brussels some twenty minutes prior to thedeparture of that other, was already late. But yes--a matter of some tenminutes. Could that not be made up? Ah, Monsieur, but who should say?
The guard departed, doubtless with private views as to the madness of allEnglish-speaking travelers.
"And there we are!" commented Kirkwood in factitious resignation. "If we'reobliged to stop overnight in Brussels, our friends will be on our backbefore we can get out in the morning, if they have to come by motor-car."He reflected bitterly on the fact that with but a little more money athis disposal, he too could hire a motor-car and cry defiance to theirpersecutors. "However," he amended, with rising spirits, "so much thebetter our chance of losing Mr. Hobbs. We must be ready to drop off theinstant the train stops."
He began to unfold another time-table, threatening again to lose himselfcompletely; and was thrown into the utmost confusion by the touch ofthe girl's hand, in appeal placed lightly on his own. And had she beenobservant, she might have seen a second time his knuckles whiten beneaththe skin as he asserted his self-control--though this time not over histemper.
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 schedules? Haven't you decidedto 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 andearnest. "I'm very weary of thinking round in a circle--and that," sheconcluded, with a nervous little 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, youknow, in the course of a very brief acquaintance, that you have found itnecessary 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 totalk about?" she asked.
"Forgive me. I was thinking about, if not talking to, you.... I've beenwondering just why it was that you left the _Alethea_ at Queensborough, togo on by steamer."
And immediately he was sorry that his tactless query had swung theconversation to bear upon her father, the thought of whom could not butprove painful to her. But it was too late to mend matters; already herevanescent flush of amusement had given place to remembrance.
"It was on my father's account," she told him in a steady voice, but withaverted eyes; "he is a very poor sailor, and the promise of a rough passageterrified him. I believe there was a difference of opinion about it, hedisputing with Mr. Mulready and Captain Stryker. That was just after we hadleft the anchorage. They both insisted that it was safer to continue bythe _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 usashore 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 themoment I set foot on board her. It was a dreadful place; it was allnight-marish, that night, but it seemed most terrible on the _Alethea_ withCaptain Stryker and that abominable Mr. Hobbs. I think that my unhappinesshad 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 without affectation, "but I waswretched from the moment you left me in the cab, to wait while
you went into see Mrs. Hallam. And when we left you, at Bermondsey Old Stairs, afterwhat you had said to me, I felt--I hardly know what to say--abandoned, in away."
"But you were with your father, in his care--"
"I know, but I was getting confused. Until then the excitement had kept mefrom thinking. But you made me think. I began to wonder, to question ...But what could I do?" She signified her helplessness with a quick anddainty movement of her hands. "He is my father; and I'm not yet of age, youknow."
"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 'havethe law on me'"--Kirkwood laughed uneasily--"for taking you from hisprotection."
"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. "Besides, they must catch us first,mustn't they?"
"Of course; and"--with a simulation of confidence sadly deceitful--"theyshan'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 confidencewith me," he caught her up. "If you would only tell me what it's all about,as 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,--"thissounds very story-bookish, I know--in the very beginning, George BurgoyneCalendar, an American, married his cousin a dozen times removed, and anEnglishwoman, Alice Burgoyne Hallam."
"Hallam!"
"Wait, please." She sat up, bending forward and frowning down upon herinterlacing, gloved fingers; she was finding it difficult to say what shemust. Kirkwood, watching hungrily the fair drooping head, the flawlessprofile clear and radiant against the night-blackened window, saw hotsignals 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 trouble of some sort.... At all events, hedisappeared when I was a baby. My mother ... died. I was brought up inthe home of my great-uncle, Colonel George Burgoyne, of the IndianArmy--retired. My mother had been his favorite niece, they say; I presumethat was why he cared for me. I grew up in his home in Cornwall; it was myhome, just as he was my father in everything but fact.
"A year ago he died, leaving me everything,--the town house in FrognallStreet, his estate in Cornwall: everything was willed to me on conditionthat I must never live with my father, nor in any way contribute to hissupport. If I disobeyed, the entire estate without reserve was to go to hisnearest 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 mighthave inherited, other than myself," she declared.
"I see..."
"Last week I received a letter, signed with my father's name, begging me toappoint an interview with him in London. I did so,--guess how gladly! I wasalone 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 withhim,--said that he was growing old and lonely and needed a daughter's loveand care. He told me that he had made a fortune in America and was amplyable to provide for us both. As for my inheritance, he persuaded me that itwas by rights the property of Frederick Hallam, Mrs. Hallam's son."
"I have met the young gentleman," interpolated Kirkwood.
"His name was new to me, but my father assured me that he was the next ofkin mentioned in Colonel Burgoyne's will, and convinced me that I had noreal right to the property.... After all, he was my father; I agreed; Icould not bear the thought of wronging anybody. I was to give up everythingbut my mother's jewels. It seems,--my father said,--I don't--I can'tbelieve it now--"
She choked on a little, dry sob. It was some time before she seemed able tocontinue.
"I was told that my great-uncle's collection of jewels had been my mother'sproperty. He had in life a passion for collecting jewels, and it had beenhis whim to carry them with him, wherever he went. When he died in FrognallStreet, they were in the safe by the head of his bed. I, in my grief, atfirst 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 theContinent on the private yacht of a friend of my father's, the nextmorning.... 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 her. When leaving, she put a note on our table, by myfather'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 anddeath, and begged me to go alone to Frognall Street, get the jewels andmeet him at Mrs. Hallam's later.... I wasn't altogether a fool, for I begandimly to suspect, then, that something was wrong; but I was a fool, for Iconsented to do as he desired. You understand--you know--?"
"I do, indeed," replied Kirkwood grimly. "I understand a lot of things nowthat 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 wayto spare her, by sparing Calendar; but momentarily he was becoming moreimpressed 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 Englandand losing you your inheritance. I'm inclined to question, furthermore, theassertion that these jewels were your mother's. Frederick Hallam was theman who followed you into the Frognall Street house and attacked me on thestairs; Mrs. Hallam admits that he went there to get the jewels. But hedidn't want anybody to know it."
"But that doesn't prove--"
"Just a minute." Rapidly and concisely Kirkwood recounted the eventswherein he had played a part, subsequent to the adventure of Bermondsey OldStairs. He was guilty of but one evasion; on one point only did he slur thetruth: he conceived it his honorable duty to keep the girl in ignorance ofhis straitened circumstances; she was not to be distressed by knowledge ofhis distress, nor could he tolerate the suggestion of seeming to play forher sympathy. It was necessary, then, to invent a motive to excuse hisreturn to 9, Frognall Street. I believe he chose to exaggerate theinquisitiveness of his nature and threw in for good measure a desireto recover a prized trinket of no particular moment, esteemed for itsassociations, and so forth. But whatever the fabrication, it passed muster;to the girl his motives seemed less important than the discoveries thatresulted from them.
"I am afraid," he concluded the summary of the confabulation he hadoverheard at the skylight of the Alethea's cabin, "you'd best make up yourmind that your father--"
"Yes," whispered the girl huskily; and turned her face to the window, aquivering 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 instigate, a kidnapping. Your father takes hermoney to deprive you of yours,--which could profit him nothing so long asyou remained in lawful possession of it; and at the same time he conspiresto rob, through you, the rightful owners--if they are rightful owners. Andif they are, why does Freddie Hallam go like a thief in the night to secureproperty that's his beyond dispute?... I don't really think you owe yourfather any
further consideration."
He waited patiently. Eventually, "No-o," the girl sobbed assent.
"It's this way: Calendar, counting on your sparing him in the end, is goingto 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 youngHallam, we're both in danger, both thieves in the sight of the law. Andyour father knows that, too. There's no profit to be had by discounting thetemper of these people; they're as desperate a gang of swindlers as everlived. They'll have those jewels if they have to go as far as murder--"
"Mr. Kirkwood!" she deprecated, in horror.
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 wecan get across the Channel. Once in England we will be comparatively safe.Until then ... But I'm a brute--I'm frightening you!"
"You are, dreadfully," she confessed in a tremulous voice.
"Forgive me. If you look at the dark side first, the other seems all thebrighter. Please don't worry; we'll pull through with flying colors, or myname's not Philip Kirkwood!"
"I have every faith in you," she informed him, flawlessly sincere. "WhenI think of all you've done and dared for me, on the mere suspicion that Ineeded your help--"
"We'd best be getting ready," he interrupted hastily. "Here's Brussels."
It was so. Lights, in little clusters and long, wheeling lines, wereleaping out of the darkness and flashing back as the train rumbled throughthe suburbs of the little Paris of the North. Already the other passengerswere bestirring themselves, gathering together wraps and hand luggage, andpreparing for the journey's end.
Rising, Kirkwood took down their two satchels from the overhead rack,and waited, in grim abstraction planning and counterplanning against themachinations in whose wiles they two had become so perilously entangled.
Primarily, there was Hobbs to be dealt with; no easy task, for Kirkwooddared not resort to violence nor in any way invite the attention of theauthorities; and threats would be an idle waste of breath, in the case ofthat corrupt and malignant, little cockney, himself as keen as any needle,adept in all the artful 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 abandonedhis latest unfeasible scheme for shaking off the little Englishman,and concluded that their salvation was only to be worked out througheverlasting vigilance, incessant movement, and the favor of the blindgoddess, Fortune. There was comfort of a sort in the reflection thatthe divinity of chance is at least blind; her favors are impartiallydistributed; the swing of the wheel of the world is not always to theadvantage of the wrongdoer and the scamp.
He saw nothing of Hobbs as they alighted and hastened from the station, andhardly had time to waste looking for him, since their train had failed tomake up the precious ten minutes. Consequently he dismissed the fellow fromhis thoughts until--with Brussels lingering in their memories a garishvision of brilliant streets and glowing cafes, glimpsed furtivelyfrom their cab windows during its wild dash over the broad mid-city,boulevards--at midnight they settled themselves in a carriage of the Brugesexpress. They were speeding along through the open country with a noisyclatter; then a minute's investigation sufficed to discover the mate of the_Alethea_ serenely ensconced in the coach behind.
The little man seemed rarely complacent, and impudently greeted Kirkwood'sscowling 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 strengthof will-power mastered an impulse to enter and wring his neck, and returnedto 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 trusting to his confidence that Kirkwood and DorothyCalendar would proceed as far toward Ostend as the train would takethem--namely, to the limit of the run, Bruges.
Thus inspired, Kirkwood took counsel with the girl, and when the trainpaused at Ghent, they made an unostentatious exit from their coach, findingthemselves, when the express had rolled on into the west, upon a stationplatform in a foreign city at nine minutes past one o'clock in themorning--but at length without their shadow. Mr. Hobbs had gone on toBruges.
Kirkwood sped his journeyings with an unspoken malediction, and collectedhimself to cope with a situation which was to prove hardly more happy forthem than the espionage they had just eluded. The primal flush of triumphwhich had saturated the American's humor on this signal success, proved butfictive and transitory when inquiry of the station attendants educed theinformation that the two earliest trains to be obtained were the 5:09 forDunkerque and the 5:37 for Ostend. A minimum delay of four hours was to beendured in the face of many contingent features singularly unpleasant tocontemplate. The station waiting-room was on the point of closing for thenight, and Kirkwood, already alarmed by the rapid ebb of the money he hadhad of Calendar, dared not subject his finances to the strain of a night'slodging at one of Ghent's hotels. He found himself forced to be cruel tobe kind to the girl, and Dorothy's cheerful acquiescence to their solealternative of tramping the street until daybreak did nothing to alleviateKirkwood's exasperation.
It was permitted them to occupy a bench outside the station. There thegirl, her head pillowed on the treasure bag, napped uneasily, whileKirkwood plodded restlessly to and fro, up and down the platform, communingwith the Shade of Care and addling his poor, weary wits with the problemof the future,--not so much his own as the future of the unhappy child forwhose welfare he had assumed responsibility. Dark for both of them, in hisunderstanding To-morrow loomed darkest for her.
Not until the gray, formless light of the dawn-dusk was wavering over theland, did he cease his perambulations. Then a gradual stir of life in thecity streets, together with the appearance of a station porter or two,opening the waiting-rooms and preparing them against the traffic of theday, warned him that he must rouse his charge. He paused and stood overher, reluctant to disturb her rest, such as it was, his heart torn withcompassion 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 thecheap, imitation-leather satchel which served her for a pillow. But itavailed her nothing for her comfort. If what he believed were true, she wasabsolute mistress of that treasure of jewels; yet that night she had beenforced to sleep on a hard, uncushioned bench, in the open air, and thismorning he must waken her to the life of a hunted thing. A week ago she hadhad at her command every luxury known to the civilized world; to-day shewas friendless, but for his inefficient, worthless self, and in a strangeland. A week ago,--had he known her then,--he had been free to tell her ofhis love, to offer her the protection of his name as well as his devotion;to-day he was an all but penniless vagabond, and there could be no dishonordeeper than to let her know the nature of his heart's desire.
Was ever lover hedged from a declaration to his mistress by circumstancesso hateful, so untoward! He could have raged and railed against his fatelike any madman. For he desired her greatly, and she was very lovely in hissight. If her night's rest had been broken and but a mockery, she showedfew signs of it; the faint, wan complexion of fatigue seemed only toenhance the beauty of her maidenhood; her lips were as fresh and desirousas the dewy petals of a crimson rose; beneath her eyes soft shadows lurkedwhere her lashes lay tremulous upon her cheeks of satin.... She was to himof all created things the most wonderful, the most desirable.
The temptation of his longing seemed more than he could long withstand. Butresist he must, or part for ever with any title to her consideration--orhis own. He shut his teeth and knotted his brows in a transport of desireto 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 theirdrowsiness vanished, a little laughter, a l
ittle tender mirth.
"Good morning, Sir Knight of the Somber Countenance!" she cried, standingup. "Am I so utterly disreputable that you find it necessary to frown on meso darkly?"
He shook his head, smiling.
"I know I'm a fright," she asserted vigorously, shaking out the folds ofher pleated skirt. "And as for my hat, it will never be on straight--butthen _you_ wouldn't know."
"It seems all right," he replied vacantly.
"Then please to try to look a little happier, since you find me quitepresentable."
"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 endeavor to be oblivious oftheir common misery; but like the look she gave him, her words rang in hishead like potent fumes of wine. He turned away, utterly disconcerted forthe time, knowing only that he must overcome his weakness.
Far down the railway tracks there rose a murmuring, that waxed to arumbling roar. A passing porter answered Kirkwood's inquiry: it was thenight boat-train from Ostend. He picked up their bags and drew the girlinto the waiting-room, troubled by a sickening foreboding.
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 itplain that his keen eyes had discovered them instantly.
Kirkwood's heart sank with the hopelessness of it all. If the railwaydirectorates of Europe conspired against them, what chance had they? If thenight boat-train from Ostend had only had the decency to be twenty-fiveminutes late, instead of arriving promptly on the minute of 4:45 they twomight have escaped by the 5:09 for Dunkerque and Calais.
There remained but a single untried ruse in his bag of tricks; mercifullyit might suffice.
"Miss Calendar," said Kirkwood from his heart, "just as soon as I get youhome, safe and sound, I am going to take a day off, hunt up that littlevillain, and flay him alive. In the meantime, I forgot to dine last night,and am reminded that we had better forage for breakfast."
Hobbs dogged them at a safe distance while they sallied forth and in aneighboring street discovered an early-bird bakery. Here they were able topurchase rolls steaming from the oven, fresh pats of golden butter wrappedin clean lettuce leaves, and milk in twin bottles; all of which theyprosaically carried with them back to the station, lacking leisure as theydid to partake of the food before train-time.
Without attempting concealment (Hobbs, he knew, was eavesdropping round thecorner of the door) Kirkwood purchased at the ticket-window passages onthe Dunkerque train. Mr. Hobbs promptly flattered him by imitation; andso jealous of his luck was Kirkwood by this time grown, through continualdisappointment, that he did not even let the girl into his plans until theywere aboard the 5:09, in a compartment all to themselves. Then, having withhis own eyes seen Mr. Hobbs dodge into the third compartment in the rear ofthe same carriage, Kirkwood astonished the girl by requesting her to followhim; and together they left by the door opposite that by which they hadentered.
The engine was running up and down a scale of staccato snorts, inpreparation for the race, and the cars were on the edge of moving,couplings clanking, wheels a-groan, ere Mr. Hobbs condescended to join thembetween the tracks.
Wearily, disheartened, Kirkwood reopened the door, flung the bags in, andhelped the girl back into their despised compartment; the quicker route toEngland via Ostend was now out of the question. As for himself, he waitedfor a brace of seconds, eying wickedly the ubiquitous Hobbs, who had poppedback into his compartment, but stood ready to pop out again on the leastencouragement. In the meantime he was pleased to shake a friendly foot atMr. Kirkwood, thrusting that member out through the half-open door.
Only the timely departure of the train, compelling him to rejoin Dorothy atonce, if at all, prevented the American from adding murder to the alreadynoteworthy catalogue of his high crimes and misdemeanors.
Their simple meal, consumed to the ultimate drop and crumb while theDunkerque train meandered serenely through a sunny, smiling Flemishcountryside, somewhat revived their jaded spirits. After all, they wereyoung, enviably dowered with youth's exuberant elasticity of mood; theworld was bright in the dawning, the night had fled leaving naught but anevil memory; best of all things, they were together: tacitly they wereagreed that somehow the future would take care of itself and all be wellwith them.
For a time they laughed and chattered, pretending that the present held nocares or troubles; but soon the girl, nestling her head in a corner of thedingy cushions, was smiling ever more drowsily on Kirkwood; and presentlyshe slept in good earnest, the warm blood ebbing and flowing beneaththe exquisite texture of her cheeks, the ghost of an unconscious smilequivering about the sensitive scarlet mouth, the breeze through the openwindow at her side wantoning at will in the sunlit witchery of her hair.And Kirkwood, worn with sleepless watching, dwelt in longing upon the dearinnocent allure of her until the ache in his heart had grown well-nighinsupportable; then instinctively turned his gaze upwards, searching hisheart, reading the faith and desire of it, so that at length knowledge andunderstanding came to him, of his weakness and strength and the clean lovethat he bore for her, and gladdened he sat dreaming in waking the sameclear dreams that modeled her unconscious lips secretly for laughter andthe joy of living.
When Dunkerque halted their progress, they were obliged to alight andchange cars,--Hobbs a discreetly sinister shadow at the end of theplatform.
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 Doverpacket. That would be an anxious time; the prospect of it rendered bothDorothy and Kirkwood doubly anxious throughout this final stage of theirflight. In three hours anything could happen, or be brought about. Neithercould forget that it was quite within the bounds of possibilities forCalendar to be awaiting them in Calais. Presuming that Hobbs had been acuteenough to guess their plans and advise his employer by telegraph, thelatter could readily have anticipated their arrival, whether by sea in thebrigantine, or by land, taking the direct route via Brussels and Lille. Ifsuch proved to be the case, it were scarcely sensible to count upon thearch-adventurer contenting himself with a waiting role like Hobbs'.
With such unhappy apprehensions for a stimulant, between them the man andthe girl contrived a make-shift counter-stratagem; or it were more accurateto say that Kirkwood proposed it, while Dorothy rejected, disputed, andat length accepted it, albeit with sad misgivings. For it involved aseparation that might not prove temporary.
Together they could never escape the surveillance of Mr. Hobbs; parted, hewould be obliged to follow one or the other. The task of misleading the_Alethea's_ mate, Kirkwood undertook, delegating to the girl the duty ofescaping when he could provide her the opportunity, of keeping undercover until the hour of sailing, and then proceeding to England, with thegladstone bag, alone if Kirkwood was unable, or thought it inadvisable, tojoin her on the boat.
In furtherance of this design, a majority of the girl's belongings weretransferred from her traveling bag to Kirkwood's, the gladstone takingtheir place; and the young man provided her with voluminous instructions, arevolver which she did not know how to handle and declared she would neveruse for any consideration, and enough money to pay for her accommodation atthe Terminus Hotel, near the pier, and for two passages to London. It wasagreed that she should secure the steamer booking, lest Kirkwood be delayeduntil the last moment.
These arrangements concluded, the pair of blessed idiots sat steeped inmelancholy silence, avoiding each other's eyes, until the train drew in atthe Gare Centrale, Calais.
In profound silence, too, they left their compartment and passed throughthe station, into the quiet, sun-drenched streets of the seaport,--Hobbshovering solicitously in the offing.
Without comment or visible relief of mind they were aware that their fearshad
been without apparent foundation; they saw no sign of Calendar, Strykeror Mulready. The circumstance, however, counted for nothing; one or all ofthe adventurers might arrive in Calais at any minute.
Momentarily more miserable as the time of parting drew nearer, dumb withunhappiness, they turned aside from the main thoroughfares of the city,leaving the business section, and gained the sleepier side streets,bordered by the residences of the proletariat, where for blocks none butchildren were to be seen, and of them but few--quaint, sober little bodiesplaying almost noiselessly in their dooryards.
At length Kirkwood spoke.
"Let's make it the corner," he said, without looking at the girl. "It's ashort block to the next street. You hurry to the Terminus and lock yourselfin your room. Have the management book both passages; don't run the risk ofgoing to the pier yourself. I'll make things interesting for Mr. Hobbs, andjoin you as soon as I can, _if_ I can."
"You must," replied the girl. "I shan't go without you."
"But, Dor--Miss Calendar!" he exclaimed, aghast.
"I don't care--I know I agreed," she declared mutinously. "But I won't--Ican't. Remember I shall wait for you."
"But--but perhaps--"
"If you have to stay, it will be because there's danger--won't it? Andwhat would you think of me if I deserted you then, af-after all y-you'vedone?... 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 besure. Good-by."
They had turned the corner, walking slowly, side by side; Hobbs, for thefirst time caught off his guard, had dropped behind more than half a longblock. But now Kirkwood's quick sidelong glance discovered the mate in theact of taking alarm and quickening his pace. None the less the American wasat the time barely conscious of anything other than a wholly unexpectedfurtive pressure of the girl's gloved fingers on his own.
"Good-by," she whispered.
He caught at her hand, protesting. "Dorothy--!"
"Good-by," she repeated breathlessly, with a queer little catch in hervoice. "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 atnaught by this her unforeseen insubordination, he took a step or two afterher; but she was fleet of foot, and, remembering Hobbs, he halted.
By this time the mate, too, was running; Kirkwood could hear the heavypounding of his clumsy feet. Already Dorothy had almost gained the farthercorner; as she whisked round it with a flutter of skirts, Kirkwood dodgedhastily behind a gate-post. A thought later, Hobbs appeared, head down,chest out, eyes straining for sight of his quarry, pelting along for dearlife.
As, rounding the corner, he stretched out in swifter stride, Kirkwood wasinspired to put a spoke in his wheel; and a foot thrust suddenly out frombehind the gate-post accomplished his purpose with more success than hehad dared anticipate. Stumbling, the mate plunged headlong, arms and legsa-sprawl; and the momentum of his pace, though checked, carried him alongthe sidewalk, face downwards, a full yard ere he could stay himself.
Kirkwood stepped out of the gateway and sheered off as Hobbs pickedhimself up; something which he did rather slowly, as if in a daze, withoutcomprehension of the cause of his misfortune. And for a moment he stoodpulling his wits together and swaying as though on the point of resuminghis rudely interrupted chase; when the noise of Kirkwood's heels broughthim 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'tyou looking for me?"
His rage seemed to take the little Cockney and shake him by the throat; hetrembled from head to foot, his face shockingly congested, and spat outdust and fragments of lurid blasphemy like an infuriated cat.
Of a sudden, "W'ere's the gel?" he sputtered thickly as his quick shiftingeyes for the first time noted Dorothy's absence.
"Miss Calendar has other business--none with you. I've taken the liberty ofstopping you because I have a word or two--"
"Ow, you 'ave, 'ave you? Gawd strike me blind, but I've a word for you,too!... 'And over that bag--and look nippy, or I'll myke you pye for w'atyou've done to me ... I'll myke you pye!" he iterated hoarsely, edgingcloser. "'And it over or--"
"You've got another guess--" Kirkwood began, but saved his breath indeference to an imperative demand on him for instant defensive action.
To some extent he had underestimated the brute courage of the fellow, theviolent, desperate courage that is distilled of anger in men of his kind.Despising him, deeming him incapable of any overt act of villainy, Kirkwoodhad been a little less wary than he would have been with Calendar orMulready. Hobbs had seemed more of the craven type which Stryker graced soconspicuously. But now the American was to be taught discrimination, tolearn that if Stryker's nature was like a snake's for low cunning anddeviousness, Hobbs' soul was the soul of a viper.
Almost imperceptibly he had advanced upon Kirkwood; almost insensibly hisright hand had moved toward his chest; now, with a movement marvelouslydeft, it had slipped in and out of his breast pocket. And a six-inch bladeof tarnished steel was winging toward Kirkwood's throat with the speed oflight.
Instinctively he stepped back; as instinctively he guarded with his rightforearm, lifting the hand that held the satchel. The knife, catching in hissleeve, scratched the arm beneath painfully, and simultaneously was twistedfrom the mate's grasp, while in his surprise Kirkwood's grip on thebag-handle relaxed. It was torn forcibly from his fingers just as hereceived 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 feetaway, 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 caughtsight of him again, he was far down the block, and bettering his pace withevery jump.
He was approaching, also, some six or eight good citizens of Calais, men ofthe laboring class, at a guess. Their attention attracted by his franticflight, they stopped to wonder. One or two moved as though to intercepthim, and he doubled out into the middle of the street with the quickness ofthought; an instant later he shot round another corner and disappeared, thenatives streaming after in hot chase, electrified by the inspiring strainsof "Stop, thief!"--or its French equivalent.
Kirkwood, cheering them on with the same wild cry, followed to the fartherstreet; and there paused, so winded and weak with laughter that he was fainto catch at a fence picket for support. Standing thus he saw other denizensof Calais spring as if from the ground miraculously to swell the hue andcry; and a dumpling of a gendarme materialized from nowhere at all, to fallin behind the rabble, waving his sword above his head and screaming at thetop of his lungs, the while his fat legs twinkled for all the world likethick sausage links marvelously animated.
The mob straggled round yet another corner and was gone; its clamordiminished on the still Spring air; and Kirkwood, recovering, abandonedMr. Hobbs to the justice of the high gods and the French system ofjurisprudence (at least, he hoped the latter would take an interest in thecase, 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 demonstratedto his complete satisfaction in the seclusion of a chance-sent fiacre.Kirkwood, commissioning it to drive him to the American Consulate, madehis diagnosis _en route_; wound a handkerchief round the negligible wound,rolled down his sleeve, and forgot it altogether in the joys of picturingto himself Hobbs in the act of opening the satchel in expectation offinding therein the gladstone bag.
At the consulate door he paid off the driver and dismissed him; the fiacrehad served his purpose, and he could find his way to the Terminus Hotel atinfinitely less expense. He had a considerably harder task before him as
he ascended the steps to the consular doorway, knocked and made known thenature 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--withinbounds.
In the course of thirty minutes or so Kirkwood emerged with dignity fromthe consulate, his face crimson to the hair, his soul smarting withshame and humiliation; and left an amused official representative of hiscountry's government with the impression of having been entertained to thepoint of ennui by an exceptionally clumsy but pertinacious liar.
For the better part of the succeeding hour Kirkwood circumnavigated theneighborhood of the steamer pier and the Terminus Hotel, striving to renderhimself as inconspicuous as he felt insignificant, and keenly on thealert for any sign or news of Hobbs. In this pursuit he was pleasantlydisappointed.
At noon precisely, his suspense grown too onerous for his strength of will,throwing caution and their understanding to the winds, he walked boldlyinto the Terminus, and inquired for Miss Calendar.
The assurance he received that she was in safety under its roof did notdeter him from sending up his name and asking her to receive him in thepublic lounge; he required the testimony of his senses to convince him thatno harm had come to her in the long hour and a half that had elapsed sincetheir separation.
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 notarrived and found his way to her?
When at length she appeared on the threshold of the apartment, bringingwith her the traveling bag and looking wonderfully the better for herninety minutes of complete repose and privacy, the relief he experiencedwas so intense that he remained transfixed 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 hiscare-worn countenance she hurried to him with outstretched, compassionatehands and a low pitiful cry of concern, forgetful entirely of that which hehimself had forgotten--the emotion she had betrayed on parting.
"Oh, nothing wrong," he hastened to reassure her, with a sorry ghost of hisfamiliar 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 comfortablenow, and--and I thought it time we had something like a meal."
The narrative of his adventure which he delivered over their _dejeuner ala fourchette_ contained no mention either of his rebuff at the AmericanConsulate or the scratch he had sustained during Hobbs' murderous assault;the one could not concern her, the other would seem but a bid for hersympathy. He counted it a fortunate thing that the mate's knife had beenkeen enough to penetrate the cloth of his sleeve without tearing it; theslit it had left was barely noticeable. And he purposely diverted the girlwith flashes of humorous description, so that they discussed both meal andepisode in a mood of wholesome merriment.
It was concluded, all too soon for the taste of either, by the waiter'sannouncement that the steamer was on the point of sailing.
Outwardly composed, inwardly quaking, they boarded the packet, meeting withno misadventure whatever--if we are to except the circumstance that, whenthe restaurant bill was settled and the girl had punctiliously surrenderedhis change with the tickets, Kirkwood found himself in possession ofprecisely one franc and twenty centimes.
He groaned in spirit to think how differently he might have been fixed, hadhe not in his infatuated spirit of honesty been so anxious to give Calendarmore than ample value for his money!
An inexorable anxiety held them both near the gangway until it was cast offand the boat began to draw away from the pier. Then, and not till then, didan unimpressive, small figure of a man detach itself from the shield of apile of luggage and advance to the pier-head. No second glance wasneeded to identify Mr. Hobbs; and until the perspective dwarfed himindistinguishably, he was to be seen, alternately waving Kirkwood ironicfarewell and blowing violent kisses to Miss Calendar from the tips of hissoiled fingers.
So he had escaped arrest....
At first by turns indignant and relieved to realize that thereafter theywere to move in scenes in which his hateful shadow would not form anessentially component part, subsequently Kirkwood fell a prey to propheticterrors. It was not alone fear of retribution that had induced Hobbs torelinquish his persecution--or so Kirkwood became convinced; if the mate'scalculation had allowed for them the least fraction of a chance to escapeapprehension on the farther shores of the Channel, nor fears nor threatswould have prevented him from sailing with the fugitives.... Far fromhaving left danger behind them on the Continent, Kirkwood believed in hissecret heart that they were but flying to encounter it beneath the smokypall of London.
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