The Black Bag

by Louis Joseph Vance

  XIX

  I----THE UXBRIDGE ROAD

  At a steady gait, now and again checked in deference to the street traffic,Brentwick's motor-car rolled, with resonant humming of the engine, downthe Cromwell Road, swerved into Warwick Road and swung northward throughKensington to Shepherd's Bush. Behind it Calendar's car clung as if towedby an invisible cable, never gaining, never losing, mutely testifying tothe adventurer's unrelenting, grim determination to leave them no instant'sfreedom from surveillance, to keep for ever at their shoulders, watchinghis 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 traveledwithin the metropolitan limits, constrained to observe a decorous pacein view of the prejudices of the County Council, it was a matter of nodifficulty whatever to maintain his distance. But once they had won throughShepherd's Bush and, paced by huge doubledeck trolley trams, were flyingthrough Hammersmith on the Uxbridge 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 havesaid in lurid American idiom) a run for his money. The scattered lights ofSouthall were winking out behind them before Brentwick chose to give theword 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 merrilyinto its deep-throated song of the open road, its contented, silken hummingpassing into a sonorous and sustained purr.

  Kirkwood and the girl were first jarred violently forward, then throwntogether. She caught his arm to steady herself; it seemed the most naturalthing imaginable that he should take her hand and pass it beneath hisarm, holding her so, his fingers closed above her own. Before they hadrecovered, or had time to catch their breath, a mile of Middlesex haddropped to the rear.

  Not quite so far had they distanced Calendar's trailing Nemesis of the fourglaring eyes; the pursuers put forth a gallant effort to hold their place.At intervals during the first few minutes a heavy roaring and crashingcould be heard behind them; gradually it subsided, dying on the wings ofthe free rushing wind that buffeted their faces as mile after mile wasreeled off and the wide, darkling English countryside opened out beforethem, sweet and wonderful.

  Once Kirkwood looked back; in the winking of an eye he saw four faded disksof light, pallid with despair, top a distant rise and glide down intodarkness. When he turned, Dorothy was interrogating him with eyes whosemelting, shadowed loveliness, revealed to him in the light of the far,still stars, seemed to incite him to that madness which he had bade himselfresist 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 hewere capable of consecutive thought on any other subject!)--time enough tothink of them when he had gone back to his place, or rather when he shouldhave found it, in the ranks of bread-winners, and so have proved his rightto mortal happiness; time enough then to lay whatever he might have tooffer at her feet. Now he could conceive of no baser treachery to hissoul's-desire than to advantage himself of her gratitude.

  Resolutely he turned his face forward, striving with all his will and mightto forget the temptation of her lips, weary as they were and petulant withwaiting; and so sat rigid in his time of trial, clinging with what strengthhe could to the standards of his honor, and trying to lose his dreamin dreaming of the bitter struggle that seemed likely to be his futureportion.

  Perhaps she guessed a little of the fortunes of the battle that was beingwaged within him. Perhaps not. Whatever the trend of her thoughts, she didnot draw away from him.... Perhaps the breath of night, fresh and clean andfragrant with the odor of the fields and hedges, sweeping into her facewith velvety caress, rendered her drowsy. Presently the silken lashesdrooped, fluttering upon her cheeks, the tired and happy smile hoveredabout her lips....

  In something less than half an hour of this wild driving, Kirkwood rousedout of his reverie sufficiently to become sensible that the speed wasslackening. Incoherent snatches of sentences, fragments of words andphrases spoken by Brentwick and the mechanician, were flung back past hisears by the rushing wind. Shielding his eyes he could see dimly that themechanician was tinkering (apparently) with the driving gear. Then, theirpace continuing steadily to abate, he heard Brentwick fling at the man asharp-toned and querulously impatient question: What was the trouble? Hisreply came in a single word, not distinguishable.

  The girl sat up, opening her eyes, disengaging her arm.

  Kirkwood bent forward and touched Brentwick on the shoulder; the latterturned 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 themechanician) "says the tank must be leaking. We'll go on as best we can andtry to find an inn. Fortunately, most of the inns nowadays keep supplies ofpetrol for just such emergencies."

  "Are we--? Do you think--?"

  "Oh, no; not a bit of danger of that," returned Brentwick hastily. "They'llnot catch up with us this night. That is a very inferior car they have,--soCharles 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, andbe 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; "thechauffeur knows, undoubtedly."

  None the less he was moved to stand up in the tonneau, conscious of thepresence of the traveling bag, snug between his feet, as well as of theweight of Calendar's revolver in his pocket, while he stared back along theroad.

  There was nothing to be seen of their persecutors.

  The car continued to crawl. Five minutes dragged out tediously. Graduallythey, drew abreast a tavern standing back a distance from the road,embowered in a grove of trees between whose ancient boles the tap-roomwindows shone enticingly, aglow with comfortable light. A creakingsign-board, much worn by weather and age, swinging from a roadside post,confirmed the accuracy of Brentwick's surmise, announcing that here stoodthe 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 theinn. In the car Brentwick turned again, his eyes curiously bright in thestarlight, his forehead quaintly furrowed, his voice apologetic.

  "It may take a few minutes," he said undecidedly, plainly endeavoring tocover up his own dark doubts. "My dear," to the girl, "if I have broughttrouble upon you in this wise, I shall never earn my own forgiveness."

  Kirkwood stood up again, watchful, attentive to the sounds of night; butthe voice of the pursuing motor-car was not of their company. "I hearnothing," he announced.

  "You will forgive me,--won't you, my dear?--for causing you these fewmoments of needless anxiety?" pleaded the old gentleman, his tonetremulous.

  "As if you could be blamed!" protested the girl. "You mustn't think of itthat way. Fancy, what should we have done without you!"

  "I'm afraid I have been very clumsy," sighed Brentwick, "clumsy andimpulsive ... Kirkwood, do you hear anything?"

  "Not yet, sir."

  "Perhaps," suggested Brentwick a little later, "perhaps we had betteralight and go up to the inn. It would be more cosy there, especially if thepetrol 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 waywith Dorothy on his arm.

>   At the doorway of the Crown and Mitre, Charles met them evidently seriouslydisturbed. "No petrol to be had here, sir," he announced reluctantly; "butthe landlord will send to the next inn, a mile up the road, for some. Youwill have to be patient, I'm afraid, sir."

  "Very well. Get some one to help you push the 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 capand hurried off.

  "Come, Kirkwood." Gently Brentwick drew the girl in with him.

  Kirkwood lingered momentarily on the doorstep, to listen acutely. But thewind was blowing into that quarter whence they had come, and he could hearnaught save the soughing in the trees, together with an occasional burstof rude rustic laughter from the tap-room. Lifting his shoulders in dumbdismay, and endeavoring to compose his features, he entered the tavern.

  II----THE CROWN AND MITRE

  A rosy-cheeked and beaming landlady met him in the corridor and, all bowsand smiles, ushered him into a private parlor reserved for the party,immediately bustling off in a desperate flurry, to secure refreshmentsdesired by Brentwick.

  The girl had seated herself on one end of an extremely comfortless loungeand was making a palpable effort to seem at ease. Brentwick stood at one ofthe windows, shoulders rounded and head bent, hands clasped behind his backas he peered out into the night. Kirkwood dropped the traveling bag beneatha chair the farthest removed from the doorway, and took to pacing thefloor.

  In a corner of the room a tall grandfather's clock ticked off teninterminable minutes. For some reason unconscionably delaying, the landladydid not reappear. Brentwick, abruptly turning from the window, remarkedthe fact querulously, then drew a chair up to a marble-topped table in themiddle 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 toworry, and I have something here which may, perhaps, engage your interestfor 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 uneasinesswhich sat oddly on his shoulders, whose composure and confident mien hadtheretofore been so complete and so reassuring, the elder gentleman fumbledin 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 soundedin the hallway. Brentwick placed the wallet, still with its secret intact,on the table before him, as Charles burst unceremoniously in, leaving thedoor wide open.

  "Mr. Brentwick, sir!" he cried gustily. "That other car--"

  With a smothered ejaculation Kirkwood leaped to his feet, tugging at theweapon in his pocket. In another instant he had the revolver exposed.The girl's cry of alarm, interrupting the machinist, fixed Brentwick'sattention on the young man. He, too, stood up, reaching over very quickly,to clamp strong supple fingers round Kirkwood's wrist, while with the otherhand 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 hospitality 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 nobetter 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 Brentwickscathingly. Hastily he slipped the revolver upon a little shelf beneath thetable-top. "Sir!" he informed Kirkwood with some heat, "I love you as myown son, but you're a young fool!... as I have been, in my time ... and asI would to Heaven I might be again! Be advised, Philip,--be calm. Can't yousee 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 acheerful 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 ownsatisfaction, his quick eyes darting from face to face of the four peoplewhom he had caught so unexpectedly. A shade of complacency colored hisexpression, and he smiled evilly beneath the coarse short thatch of hisgray mustache. In his hand a revolver appeared, poised for immediate use ifthere were need.

  There was none. Brentwick, at his primal appearance, had dropped aperemptory hand on Kirkwood's shoulder, forcing the young man back to hisseat; at the same time he resumed his own. The girl had not stirred fromhers since the first alarm; she sat as if transfixed with terror, leaningforward 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 andfirm with inflexible purpose, and her brown eyes met Calendar's with a looklevel and unflinching. Beyond this she gave no sign of recognition.

  Nearest of the four to the adventurers was Charles, the mechanician, pausedin affrighted astonishment at sight of the revolver. Calendar, choosing toadvance suddenly, poked the muzzle of the weapon jocularly in the man'sribs. "Beat it, Four-eyes!" he snapped. "This is your cue to duck! Get outof my way."

  The mechanician jumped as if shot, then hastily, retreated to the table,his sallow features working beneath the goggle-mask which had excited thefat adventurer's scorn.

  "Come right in, Cap'n," Calendar threw over one shoulder; "come in, shutthe door and lock it. Let's all be sociable, and have a nice quiet time."

  Stryker obeyed, with a derisive grimace for Kirkwood.

  Calendar, advancing jauntily to a point within a yard of the table,stopped, smiling affably down upon his prospective victims, and airilytwirling his revolver.

  "_Good_ evening, all!" he saluted them blandly. "Dorothy, my child," withassumed concern, "you're looking a trifle upset; I'm afraid you've beenkeeping late hours. Little girls must be careful, you know, or they losethe bloom of roses in their cheeks.... Mr. Kirkwood, it's a pleasure tomeet you again! Permit me to paraphrase your most sound advice, and remindyou that pistol-shots are apt to attract undesirable attention. It wouldn'tbe wise for _you_ to bring the police about our ears. I believe thatin substance such was your sapient counsel to me in the cabin of the_Alethea_; was it not?... And you, sir!"--fixing Brentwick with a coldunfriendly eye. "You animated fossil, what d'you mean by telling me to goto the devil?... But let that pass; I hold no grudge. What might your namebe?"

  "_Good_ evening, all!" he saluted them blandly.]

  "It might be Brentwick," said that gentleman placidly.

  "Brentwick, eh? Well, I like a man of spirit. But permit me to adviseyou--"

  "Gladly," nodded Brentwick.

  "Eh?... Don't come a second time between father and daughter; another manmight 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 thisinstance." Then, with a sharp change of tone, "Come, sir!" he demanded."You have unwarrantably intruded in this room, which I have engaged for myprivate use. Get through with your business and be off with you."

  "All in my good time, my antediluvian friend. When I've wound up mybusiness here I'll go--not before. But, just to oblige you, we'll get downto it.... Kirkwood, you have a revolver of mine. Be good enough to returnit."

  "I have it here,--under the table," interrupted Brentwick suavely. "Shall Ihand it to you?"

  "By the muzzle, if you please. Be very careful; this one's loaded, too--aptto explode any minute."

  To Kirkwood's intense disgust Brentw
ick quietly slipped one hand beneaththe table and, placing the revolver on its top, delicately with hisfinger-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 toface. "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 kindgentlemen."

  Dorothy did not move; her pallor grew more intense and Kirkwood saw herknuckles tighten beneath the gloves. Otherwise her mouth seemed to growmore straight and hard.

  "Dorothy!" cried the adventurer with a touch of displeasure. "You heardme?"

  "I heard you," she replied a little wearily, more than a littlecontemptuously. "Don't mind him, please, Mr. Kirkwood!"--with an appealinggesture, as Kirkwood, unable to contain himself, moved restlessly in hischair, threatening to rise. "Don't say anything. I have no intentionwhatever 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 amoment, with slow deliberation, "you're aware that, as your father, I am ina position to compel you to accompany me."

  "I shall not go with you," iterated Dorothy in a level tone. "You maythreaten me, but--I shall not go. Mr. Brentwick and Mr. Kirkwood are takingme to--friends, who will give me a home until I can find a way to take careof myself. That is all I have to say to you."

  "Bravo, my dear!" cried Brentwick encouragingly.

  "Mind your business, sir!" thundered Calendar, his face darkening. Then, toDorothy, "You understand, I trust, what this means?" he demanded. "I offeryou 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. "I am content. Won't you bekind 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. Doyou 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, Ican't consent to your marrying nothing-a-year.... For I surmise you intendto marry this Mr. Kirkwood, don't you?"

  There followed a little interval of silence, while the warm blood flamed inthe 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 understood." His gaze soughther eyes, but she looked away.

  "You forget that I am your father," sneered Calendar; "and that you are aminor. I can refuse my consent."

  "But you won't," Kirkwood told him with assurance.

  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'sblessing into the bargain. The Lord knows I've troubles enough; a parent'slot is not what it's cracked up to be." He paused, leering, ironic."But,"--deliberately, "there's still this other matter of the gladstonebag. I don't mind abandoning my parental authority, when my child'shappiness 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 remainthat I intend to take my property with me when I leave this room, whetheryou like it or not. Now are you disposed to continue the argument, or may Icount on your being sensible?"

  "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 ScotlandYard--"

  "Oh, that be blowed!" the adventurer snorted in disgust. "I can sailcircles round any tec. that ever blew out of Scotland Yard! Give me anhour's start, and you're free to do all the funny business you've a mindto, with--Scotland Yard!"

  "Then you admit," queried Brentwick civilly, "that you've no legal title tothe jewels in dispute?"

  "Look here, my friend," chuckled Calendar, "when you catch me admittinganything, you write it down in your little book and tell the bobby onthe corner. Just at present I've got other business than to stand roundadmitting anything about anything.... Cap'n, let's have that bag of mydutiful daughter's."

  "'Ere you are." Stryker spoke for the first time since entering the room,taking the valise from beneath the chair and depositing it on the table.

  "Well, we shan't take anything that doesn't belong to us," laughedCalendar, fumbling with the catch; "not even so small a matter as my ownchild's traveling bag. A small--heavy--gladstone bag," he grunted, openingthe valise and plunging in one greedy hand, "will--just--about--do formine!" With which he produced the article mentioned. "This for the discard,Cap'n," he laughed contentedly, pushing the girl's valise aside; and,rumbling with stentorian mirth, stood beaming benignantly over theassembled 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 havingsecured a most expensive wife. Really--d'you know?--I feel as if I ought todo a little something for you both." Gurgling with delight he smote his fatpalms together. "I just tell you what," he resumed, "no one yet ever calledGeorgie Calendar a tight-wad. I just believe I'm going to make you kids ahandsome wedding present.... The good Lord knows there's enough of this fora fellow to be a little generous and never miss it!"

  The thick mottled fingers tore nervously at the catch; eventually he gotthe bag open. Those about the table bent forward, all quickened by theprospect of for the first time beholding the treasure over which they hadfought, for which they had suffered, so long....

  A heady and luscious fragrance pervaded the atmosphere, exhaling from theopen mouth of the bag. A silence, indefinitely sustained, impressed itselfupon the little audience,--a breathless pause ended eventually by a sharpsnap 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 pawsof a terrier digging in earth. To Kirkwood the air seemed temporarily thickwith flying objects. Beneath his astonished eyes a towel fell upon thetable--a crumpled, soiled towel, bearing on its dingy hem the inscriptionin indelible ink: "_Hotel du Commerce, Anvers_." A tooth-mug of substantialearthenware dropped to the floor with a crash. A slimy soap-dish of thesame manufacture slid across the table and into Brentwick's lap. A batteredalarm clock with never a tick left in its abused carcass rang vacuously asit fell by the open bag.... The remainder was--oranges: a dozen or moresmall, 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 ragedin fury. "Done up, I swear! Done by that infernal sneak--me, blind as abat!"

  He fell suddenly silent, the blood congesting in his face; as suddenlybroke forth again, haranguing the company.

  "That's why he went out and bought those damned oranges, is it? Think ofit--me sitting in the hotel in Antwerp and him lugging in oranges by thebagful because he was fond of fruit! When did he do it? How do I know? If Iknew, would I be here and him the devil knows where, this minute? When myback was turned, of course, the damned snake! That's why he was so hotabout picking a fight on the boat, hey? Wanted to get thrown off and taketo the woods--leaving me with _this_! And that's why he felt so awfuldone 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 hisnatural-born days! I'll have his eye-teeth for this, I'll--"

  He swayed, gibbering with rage, his countenance frightfully conto
rted, hisfat hands shaking as he struggled for expression.

  And then, while yet their own astonishment held Dorothy, Kirkwood,Brentwick and Stryker speechless, Charles, the mechanician, moved suddenlyupon the adventurer.

  There followed two metallic clicks. Calendar's ravings were abrupted as ifhis tongue had been paralyzed. He fell back a pace, flabby jowls pale andshaking, ponderous jaw dropping on his breast, mouth wide and eyes crazedas he shook violently before him his thick fleshy wrists--securelyhandcuffed.

  Simultaneously the mechanician whirled about, bounded eagerly across thefloor, and caught Stryker at the door, his dexterous fingers twisting inthe 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 encountering 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," heordered sternly, "you march to that corner, stick your nose in it, and begood! You can't get away if you try. I've got other men outside, waitingfor you to come out. Understand?"

  Trembling like a whipped cur, Stryker meekly obeyed his instructions to theletter.

  The mechanician, with a contemptuous laugh leaving him, strode back toCalendar, meanwhile whipping off his goggles; and clapped a hearty handupon the adventurer's quaking shoulders.

  "Well!" he cried. "And are you still sailing circles round the menfrom Scotland Yard, Simmons, or Bellows, or Sanderson, or Calendar, orCrumbstone, or whatever name you prefer to sail under?"

  Calendar glared at him aghast; then heaved a profound sigh, shrugged hisfat 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 ashred of evidence against me! What's there? A pile of oranges and a peckof trash! What of it?... Besides," he threatened, "if you pinch me, you'llhave 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 asqueal. Take me--take her; d'you hear?"

  "I think," put in the clear, bland accents of Brentwick, "we can considerthat matter settled. I have here, my man,"--nodding to the adventurer as hetook up the black leather wallet,--"I have here a little matter whichmay clear up any lingering doubts as to your standing, which you may bedisposed at present to entertain."

  He extracted a slip of cardboard and, at arm's length, laid it on thetable-edge beneath the adventurer's eyes. The latter, bewildered, bent overit 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," returned the man. "That'll beenough 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.... Ireckon," mused the adventurer, jingling his manacles thoughtfully, "I'm aback-number, anyway. When a half-grown girl, a half-baked boy, a flub likeMulready--damn his eyes!--and a club-footed snipe from Scotland Yard canput it all over me this way,... why, I guess it's up to me to go home andretire to my country-place up the Hudson." He sighed wearily.

  "Yep; time to cut it out. But I would like to be free long enough to get inone 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."

  "You'll have the chance before long," replied the detective. "We receiveda telegram from the Amsterdam police late this afternoon, saying they'dpicked up Mr. Mulready with a woman named Hallam, and were holding themon suspicion. It seems,"--turning to Brentwick,--"they were openingnegotiations for the sale of a lot of stones, and seemed in such a precioushurry that the diamond merchant's suspicions were roused. We're sendingover for them, Miss Calendar, so you can make your mind easy about yourjewels; 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 comprehending the girl, Kirkwood and Brentwick, "Solong!" he said thickly; and turned, with the detective's hand under his armand, accompanied by the thoroughly cowed Stryker, waddled out of the room.

  III----THE JOURNEY'S END

  Kirkwood, following the exodus, closed the door with elaborate care andslowly, deep in thought, returned to the table.

  Dorothy seemed not to have moved, save to place her elbows on the marbleslab, and rest her cheeks between hands that remained clenched, as they hadbeen in the greatest stress of her emotion. The color had returned toher face, with a slightly enhanced depth of hue to the credit of herexcitement. Her cheeks were hot, her eyes starlike beneath the woven, massysunlight of her hair. Temporarily unconscious of her surroundings shestared steadfastly before her, thoughts astray in the irridescent glamourof the dreams that were to come....

  Brentwick had slipped down in his chair, resting his silvered head upon itsback, and was smiling serenely up at the low yellow ceiling. Before him onthe table his long white fingers were drumming an inaudible tune. Presentlyrousing, he caught Kirkwood's eye and smiled sheepishly, like a childcaught in innocent mischief.

  The younger man grinned broadly. "And you were responsible for all that!"he commented, infinitely amused.

  Brentwick nodded, twinkling self-satisfaction. "I contrived it all," hesaid; "neat, I call it, too." His old eyes brightened with reminiscentenjoyment. "Inspiration!" he crowed softly. "Inspiration, pure and simple.I'd been worrying my wits for fully five minutes before Wotton settled thematter by telling me about the captain's hiring of the motor-car. Then,in a flash, I had it.... I talked with Charles by telephone,--his name isreally Charles, by, the bye,--overcame his conscientious scruples aboutplaying his fish when they were already all but landed, and settled theartistic details."

  He chuckled delightedly. "It's the instinct," he declared emphatically,"the instinct for adventure. I knew it was in me, latent somewhere, butnever till this day did it get the opportunity to assert itself. A bornadventurer--that's what I am!... You see, it was essential that they shouldbelieve we were frightened and running from them; that way, they would besure to run after us. Why, we might have baited a dozen traps and failedto lure them into my house, after that stout scoundrel knew you'd had thechance 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 CaptainStryker's. If they had run past, or turned aside, they would have beenoverhauled in short order."

  He relapsed into his whimsical reverie; the wistful look returned to hiseyes, replacing the glow of triumph and pleasure. And he sighed a littleregretfully.

  "What I don't understand," contended Kirkwood, "is how you convincedCalendar that he couldn't get revenge by pressing his charge against MissCalendar--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 havebeen reserving it, I don't mind owning, that I might better enjoy the fullrelish of it.... I may answer you best, perhaps, by asking you to scan whatI offered to the fat scoundrel's respectful consideration, my dear sir."

  He leveled a forefinger at the card.

  At first glance it conveyed nothing to the younger man's benightedintelligence. He puzzled over it, twisting his brows out of alignment.An ordinary oblong slip of thin white cardboard, it was engraved in finescript as follows:

  MR. GEORGE BURGOYNE CALENDAR

  81, ASPEN VILLAS, S. W.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Kirkwood at length, standing up, his face bright withunderstanding. "_You_--!"
>
  "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 thecard.

  Then he rose hastily, and went over to stand by the window, staring mistilyinto the blank face of night beyond its unseen panes.

  Behind him there was a confusion of little noises; the sound of a chairpushed hurriedly aside, a rustle of skirts, a happy sob or two, low voicesintermingling; sighs.... Out of it finally came the father's accents.

  "There, there, my dear! My dearest dear!" protested the old gentleman."Positively I don't deserve a tithe of this. I--" The young old voicequavered and broke, in a happy laugh.... "You must understand," hecontinued more soberly, "that no consideration of any sort is due me. Whenwe married, I was too old for your mother, child; we both knew it, bothbelieved it would never matter. But it did. By her wish, I went backto America; we were to see what separation would do to heal the woundsdissension had caused. It was a very foolish experiment. Your mother diedbefore I could return...."

  There fell a silence, again broken by the father. "After that I was inno haste to return. But some years ago, I came to London to live. Icommunicated with the old colonel, asking permission to see you. It wasrefused in a manner which precluded the subject being reopened by me: Iwas informed that if I persisted in attempting to see you, you would bedisinherited.... He was very angry with me--justly, I admit.... One mustgrow old before one can see how unforgivably one was wrong in youth.... SoI settled down to a quiet old age, determined not to disturb you in yourhappiness.... 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.... Theevening I called on you, dear boy, at the Pless, returning home I receiveda message from my solicitors, whom I had instructed to keep an eye onDorothy's welfare. They informed me that she had disappeared. Naturally Icanceled my plans to go to Munich, and stayed, employing detectives. Oneof the first things they discovered was that Dorothy had run off with anelderly person calling himself George Burgoyne Calendar--the name I haddiscarded when I found that to acknowledge me would imperil my daughter'sfortune.... The investigations went deeper; Charles--let us continue tocall him--had been to see me only this afternoon, to inform me of the plotthey had discovered. This Hallam woman and her son--it seems that they werelegitimately in the line of inheritance, Dorothy out of the way. But thewoman was--ah--a bad lot. Somehow she got into communication with this fatrogue and together they plotted it out. Charles doesn't believe that theHallam woman expected to enjoy the Burgoyne estates for very many days. Herplan was to step in when Dorothy stepped out, gather up what she could,realize on it, and decamp. That is why there was so much excitement aboutthe jewels: naturally the most valuable item on her list, the most easy toconvert into cash.... The man Mulready we do not place; he seems to havebeen a shady character the fat rogue picked up somewhere. The latter'sordinary line of business was diamond smuggling, though he would condescendto almost anything in order to turn a dishonest penny....

  "That seems to exhaust the subject. But one word more.... Dorothy, I amold enough and have suffered enough to know the wisdom of seizing one'shappiness when one may. My dear, a little while ago, you did a very bravedeed. Under fire you said a most courageous, womanly, creditable thing. AndPhilip's rejoinder was only second in nobility to yours.... I do hope togoodness that you two blessed youngsters won't let any addlepated scruplesstand between yourselves and--the prize of Romance, your inalienableinheritance!"

  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 perfectlytrue that Charles lied about it's running out, we must be getting on. I'llcall you when 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, dimtears glimmering on the lashes of those eyes with which she met Philip'ssteady gaze so fearlessly.

  Singing about them, the silence deepened. Fascinated, though his heart wasfaint 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 thehidden sanctuary of her heart of a child.

  "I meant it, my dearest.... If you'll have a girl so bold and forward, whocan't wait till she's asked but throws herself into the arms of the man sheloves--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 lashesdrooping over her wondrously lighted eyes....

  After a time Philip Kirkwood laughed aloud.

  And there was that quality in the ring of his laughter that caused theShade of Care, which had for the past ten minutes been uneasily luffing andfilling in the offing and, on the whole, steadily diminishing and becomingmore pale and wan and emaciated and indistinct--there was that in thelaughter of Philip Kirkwood, I say, which caused the Shade of Care to uttera hollow croak of despair as, incontinently, it vanished out of his life.