THE BLACK BAG

By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THOMAS FOGARTY

1908

TO MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN

 II. "AND SOME THERE BE WHO HAVE ADVENTURES THRUST UPON THEM"

 III. CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER

 IV. 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C. 

 V. THE MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER

 VI. "BELOW BRIDGE"

 VII. DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN--RESUMED

 VIII. MADAME L'INTRIGANTE

 IX. AGAIN "BELOW BRIDGE"; AND BEYOND

 X. DESPERATE MEASURES

 XI. OFF THE NORE

 XII. PICARESQUE PASSAGES

 XIII. A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME

 XIV. STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS

 XV. REFUGEES

 XVI. TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON

 XVII. ROGUES AND VAGABONDS

XVIII. ADVENTURERS' LUCK

 XIX. I--THE UXBRIDGE ROAD

 ii--THE CROWN AND MITRE

 iii--THE JOURNEY'S END

THE BLACK BAG

I

DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN

Upon a certain dreary April afternoon in the year of grace, 1906, theapprehensions of Philip Kirkwood, Esquire, _Artist-peintre_, were enlivenedby the discovery that he was occupying that singularly distressing socialposition, which may be summed up succinctly in a phrase through long usagegrown proverbial: "Alone in London. " These three words have come to connotein our understanding so much of human misery, that to Mr. Kirkwood theyseemed to epitomize absolutely, if not happily, the various circumstancesattendant upon the predicament wherein he found himself. Inevitably anextremist, because of his youth, (he had just turned twenty-five), hetook no count of mitigating matters, and would hotly have resented thesuggestion that his case was anything but altogether deplorable andforlorn. 

That he was not actually at the end of his resources went for nothing; heheld the distinction a quibble, mockingly immaterial, --like the store ofguineas in his pocket, too insignificant for mention when contrasted withhis 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 toregister at foreign hostelries, had been arbitrarily cut off from him byone of those accidents sardonically classified by insurance and expresscorporations as Acts of God. 

Now to one who has lived all his days serenely in accord with the dictatesof his own sweet will, taking no thought for the morrow, such a situationnaturally seems both appalling and intolerable, at the first blush. It mustbe confessed that, to begin with, Kirkwood drew a long and disconsolateface over his fix. And in that black hour, primitive of its kind in hisbrief span, he became conscious of a sinister apparition taking shape athis elbow--a shade of darkness which, clouting him on the back with askeleton hand, croaked hollow salutations in his ear. 

"Come, Mr. Kirkwood, come!" its mirthless accents rallied him. "Have youno welcome for me?--you, who have been permitted to live the quarter of acentury without making my acquaintance? Surely, now, it's high time we werelearning something of one another, you and I!" "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 visitationhad come upon him with little presage and no invitation whatever. 

"Dull Care, " the Shade assured him. "Dull Care am I--and Care that'sanything but dull, into the bargain: Care that's like a keen pain in yourbody, Care that lives a horror in your mind, Care that darkens your daysand flavors with bitter poison all your nights, Care that--"

But Kirkwood would not listen further. Courageously submissive to hisdestiny, knowing in his heart that the Shade had come to stay, he yet foundspirit to shake himself with a dogged air, to lift his chin, set the strongmuscles of his jaw, and smile that homely wholesome smile which was hispeculiarly. 

"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 aslong as you find the climate agreeable. I warn you I shan't whine. Lots ofmen, hundreds and hundreds of 'em, have slept tight o' nights with you forbedfellow; if they could grin and bear you, I believe I can. "

Now Care mocked him with a sardonic laugh, and sought to tighten upon hisshoulders its bony grasp; but Kirkwood resolutely shrugged it off and wentin 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 ofa cable message which had been vicariously responsible for his introductionto the Shade of Care. 

"It's about time, " he announced, watching the paper blacken and burn in thegrate fire, "that I was doing something to prove my title to a living. " Andthis was all his valedictory to a vanished competence. "Anyway, " he addedhastily, as if fearful lest Care, overhearing, might have read into histone a trace of vain repining, "anyway, I'm a sight better off than thosepoor devils over there! I really have a great deal to be thankful for, nowthat my attention's drawn to it. "

For the ensuing few minutes he thought it all over, soberly but with astout heart; standing at a window of his bedroom in the Hotel Pless, handsdeep in trouser pockets, pipe fuming voluminously, his gaze wandering outover a blurred infinitude of wet shining roofs and sooty chimney-pots: allof London that a lowering drizzle would let him see, and withal by no meansa cheering prospect, nor yet one calculated to offset the dishearteninginfluence of the indomitable Shade of Care. But the truth is thatKirkwood's brain comprehended little that his eyes perceived; his thoughtswere with his heart, and that was half a world away and sick with pityfor another 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 "Comein!" pleasantly. 

The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirkwood, swinging on one heel, beheld hesitant upon the threshold a diminutive figure in the livery of thePless pages. 

"Mister Kirkwood?"

Kirkwood nodded. 

"Gentleman to see you, sir. "

Kirkwood nodded again, smiling. "Show him up, please, " he said. But beforethe 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 decisionswinging him out of the way, and a man stepped into the room. 

"Mr. Brentwick!" Kirkwood almost shouted, jumping forward to seize hisvisitor's hand. 

"My dear boy!" replied the latter. "I'm delighted to see you. 'Got yournote not an hour ago, and came at once--you see!"

"It was mighty good of you. Sit down, please. Here are cigars.... Why, amoment ago I was the most miserable and lonely mortal on the footstool!"

"I can fancy. " The elder man looked up, smiling at Kirkwood from the depthsof his arm-chair, as the latter stood above him, resting an elbow onthe mantel. "The management knows me, " he offered explanation of hisunceremonious appearance; "so I took the liberty of following on the heelsof the bellhop, dear boy. And how are you? Why are you in London, enjoyingour abominable spring weather? And why the anxious undertone I detected inyour note?"

He continued to stare curiously into Kirkwood's face. At a glance, thisMr. Brentwick was a man of tallish figure and rather slender; with acountenance thin and flushed a sensitive pink, out of which his eyes shone, keen, alert, humorous, and a trace wistful behind his glasses. His yearswere indeterminate; with the aspect of fifty, the spirit and the verve ofthirty assorted oddly. But his hands were old, delicate, fine and fragile;and the lips beneath the drooping white mustache at times trembled, almostimperceptibly, with the generous sentiments that come with mellow age. Heheld his back straight and his head with an air--an air that was not aswagger but the sign-token of seasoned experience in the world. The mostcarping could have found no flaw in the quiet taste of his attire. To sumup, 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 hesitated. "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 mainlywhy 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 themoment I did you the injustice to believe that you were running away. Butnow I understand. Forgive me.... Pardon, too, the stupidity which I mustlay at the door of my advancing years; to me the thought of you as aParisian fixture has become such a commonplace, Philip, that the news ofthe disaster hardly stirred me. Now I remember that you are a Californian!"

"I was born in San Francisco, " affirmed Kirkwood a bit sadly. "My fatherand mother were buried there ... "

"And your fortune--?"

"I inherited my father's interest in the firm of Kirkwood & Vanderlip; whenI came over to study painting, I left everything in Vanderlip's hands. Thebusiness afforded me a handsome living. "

"You have heard from Mr. Vanderlip?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. " Kirkwood took a cable-form, still damp, from hispocket, and handed it to his guest. Unfolding it, the latter read:

"_Kirkwood, Pless, London. Stay where you are no good coming backeverything gone no insurance letter follows vanderlip_. "

"When I got the news in Paris, " Kirkwood volunteered, "I tried the banks;they refused to honor my drafts. I had a little money in hand, --enoughto 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 ateleven-thirty. I had hoped you might be able to dine with me and see meoff. "

In silence Brentwick returned the cable message. Then, with a thoughtfullook, "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 wellenough to support myself for a few months, until he can get things runningagain. Perhaps I might. " Brentwick supported the presumption with a decidedgesture. "But have I a right to leave Vanderlip to fight it out alone? ForVanderlip has a wife and kiddies to support; I--"

"Your genius!"

"My ability, such as it is--and that only. It can wait.... No; this meanssimply 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 cancontribute 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 injustice. And I fear me youwill, dear boy. It's in keeping with your heritage of American obstinacy. Now if it were a question of money--"

"Mr. Brentwick!" Kirkwood protested vehemently. "I've ample for my presentneeds, " he added. 

"Of course, " conceded Brentwick with a sigh. "I didn't really hope youwould avail yourself of our friendship. Now there's my home in AspenVillas.... You have seen it?"

"In your absence this afternoon your estimable butler, with commendablediscretion, kept me without the doors, " laughed the young man. 

"It's a comfortable home. You would not consent to share it with meuntil--?"

"You are more than good; but honestly, I must sail to-night. I wanted onlythis 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 butmany times; as it is, I myself am booked for Munich, to be gone a week, on business. I have many affairs needing attention between now and thenine-ten train from Victoria. If you will be my guest at Aspen Villas--"

"Please!" begged Kirkwood, with a little laugh of pleasure because of theother's insistence. "I only wish I could. Another day--"

"Oh, you will make your million in a year, and return scandalouslyindependent. It's in your American blood. " Frail white fingers tapped anarm of the chair as their owner stared gravely into the fire. "I confess Ienvy 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, mydear friend; my Romance died a natural death half an hour since. "

"There spoke Youth--blind, enviable Youth!... On the contrary, you are butturning the 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 thefire. "Myself when young, " he said softly, "did seek Romance, but neverknew it till its day was done. I'm quite sure that is a poor paraphrase ofsomething I have read. In age, one's sight is sharpened--to see Romance inanother's life, at least. I say I envy you. You have Youth, unconquerableYouth, and the world before you.... I must go. "

He rose stiffly, as though suddenly made conscious of his age. The old eyespeered more than a trifle wistfully, now, into Kirkwood's. "You will notfail to call on me by cable, dear boy, if you need--anything? I ask it asa favor.... I'm glad you wished to see me before going out of my life. Onelearns to value the friendship of Youth, Philip. Good-by, and good luckattend you. "

Alone once more, Kirkwood returned to his window. The disappointment hefelt at being robbed of his anticipated pleasure in Brentwick's company atdinner, colored his mood unpleasantly. His musings merged into vacuity, into a dull gray mist of hopelessness comparable only to the dismal skiesthen lowering over London-town. 

Brentwick was good, but Brentwick was mistaken. There was really nothingfor Kirkwood to do but to go ahead. But one steamer-trunk remained to bepacked; the boat-train would leave before midnight, the steamer with themorning tide; by the morrow's noon he would be upon the high seas, withinten days in New York and among friends; and then ... 

The problem of that afterwards perplexed Kirkwood more than he cared toown. Brentwick had opened his eyes to the fact that he would be practicallyuseless in San Francisco; he could not harbor the thought of goingback, only to become a charge upon Vanderlip. No; he was resolved thatthenceforward he must rely upon himself, carve out his own destiny. But--would the art that he had cultivated with such assiduity, yield him alivelihood if sincerely practised with that end in view? Would the mentaland physical equipment of a painter, heretofore dilettante, enable him tobecome self-supporting?

Knotting his brows in concentration of effort to divine the future, hedoubted himself, darkly questioning alike his abilities and his temperunder trial; neither ere now had ever been put to the test. His eyes becamesomberly wistful, his heart sore with regret of Yesterday--his Yesterday ofcare-free youth and courage, gilded with the ineffable, evanescent glamourof Romance--of such Romance, thrice refined of dross, as only he knows whohas wooed his Art with passion passing the love of woman. 

Far away, above the acres of huddled roofs and chimney-pots, thestorm-mists thinned, lifting transiently; through them, gray, fairy-like, the towers of Westminster and the Houses of Parliament bulked monstrousand unreal, fading when again the fugitive dun vapors closed down upon thecity. 

Nearer at hand the Shade of Care nudged Kirkwood's elbow, whisperingsubtly. Romance was indeed 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 "Comein!" pleasantly. 

The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirkwood, turning on one heel, beheldhesitant upon the threshold a diminutive figure in the livery of the Plesspages. 

"Mr. Kirkwood?"

Kirkwood nodded. 

"Gentleman to see you, sir. "

Kirkwood nodded again, smiling if somewhat perplexed. Encouraged, the childadvanced, proffering a silver card-tray at the end of an unnaturally rigidforearm. Kirkwood took the card dubiously between thumb and forefinger andinspected it without prejudice. 

"'George B. Calendar, '" he read. "'George B. Calendar!' But I know no suchperson. Sure there's no mistake, young man?"

The close-cropped, bullet-shaped, British head was agitated in vigorousnegation, and "Card for Mister Kirkwood!" was mumbled in dispassionateaccents appropriate to a recitation by rote. 

"Very well. But before you show him up, ask this Mr. Calendar if he isquite sure he wants to see Philip Kirkwood. "

"Yessir. "

The child marched out, punctiliously closing the door. Kirkwood tampeddown the tobacco in his pipe and puffed energetically, dismissing theinterruption to his reverie as a matter of no consequence--an obviousmistake to be rectified by two words with this Mr. Calendar whom he did notknow. At the knock he had almost hoped it might be Brentwick, returningwith a changed mind about the bid to dinner. 

He regretted Brentwick sincerely. Theirs was a curious sort offriendship--extraordinarily close in view of the meagerness of either'sinformation about the other, to say nothing of the disparity between theirages. Concerning the elder man Kirkwood knew little more than that they hadmet on shipboard, "coming over"; that Brentwick had spent some years inAmerica; that he was an Englishman by birth, a cosmopolitan by habit, byprofession a gentleman (employing that term in its most uncompromisinglyBritish significance), and by inclination a collector of "articles ofvirtue and bigotry, " in pursuit of which he made frequent excursions to theContinent from his residence in a quaint quiet street of Old Brompton. Ithad been during his not infrequent, but ordinarily abbreviated, sojourns inParis that their steamer acquaintance had ripened into an affection almostfilial 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 "Comein!" pleasantly. 

The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirkwood, 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 heldtentatively in one hand, an umbrella weeping in the other. A voice, whichwas unctuous and insinuative, emanated from the figure. 

"Mr. Kirkwood?"

Kirkwood nodded, with some effort recalling the name, so detached had beenhis thoughts since the disappearance of the page. 

"Yes, Mr. Calendar--?"

"Are you--ah--busy, Mr. Kirkwood?"

"Are you, Mr. Calendar?" Kirkwood's smile robbed the retort of any flavorof incivility. 

Encouraged, the man entered, premising that he would detain his host but amoment, and readily surrendering hat and umbrella. Kirkwood, putting thelatter aside, invited his caller to the easy chair which Brentwick hadoccupied by the fireplace. 

"It takes the edge off the dampness, " Kirkwood explained in deference tothe other's look of pleased surprise at the cheerful bed of coals. "I'mafraid I could never get acclimated to life in a cold, damp room--or a dampcold room--such as you Britishers prefer. "

"It is grateful, " Mr. Calendar agreed, spreading plump and well cared-forhands to the warmth. "But you are mistaken; I am as much an American asyourself. "

"Yes?" Kirkwood looked the man over with more interest, lessmatter-of-course courtesy. 

He proved not unprepossessing, this unclassifiable Mr. Calendar; he wasdressed with some care, his complexion was good, and the fullness of hisgirth, emphasized as it was by a notable lack of inches, bespoke a naturegenial, easy-going and sybaritic. His dark eyes, heavy-lidded, wereactive--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 showing streaks of gray, a chubby nose, and duplicatechins. Mr. Calendar was furthermore possessed of a polished bald spot, girdled with a tonsure of silvered hair--circumstances which lent somefactitious distinction to a personality otherwise commonplace. 

His manner might be best described as uneasy with assurance; as though hefrequently found it necessary to make up for his unimpressive stature byassuming an unnatural habit of authority. And there you have him; beyondthese points, Kirkwood was conscious of no impressions; the man wasapparently 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 thewoods, 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, glancedalertly up at Kirkwood, as if momentarily inclined to question his tone, then again stared glumly into the fire; for Kirkwood had maintained anattitude purposefully colorless. Not to put too fine a point upon it, bebelieved that his caller was lying; the man's appearance, his mannerisms, his voice and enunciation, while they might have been American, seemed allun-Californian. To one born 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 ofdeep feeling: "Yes; I'm from Frisco, too. We're companions in misfortune. "

"I hope not altogether, " said Kirkwood politely. 

Mr. Calendar drew his own inferences from the response and mustered up ashow of cheerfulness. "Then you're not completely wiped out?"

"To the contrary, I was hoping you were less unhappy. "

"Oh! Then you are--?"

Kirkwood lifted the cable message from the mantel. "I have just heard frommy partner at home, " he said with a faint smile; and quoted: "'Everythinggone; no insurance. '"

Mr. Calendar pursed his plump lips, whistling inaudibly. "Too bad, toobad!" he murmured sympathetically. "We're all hard hit, more or less. "He lapsed into dejected apathy, from which Kirkwood, growing at lengthimpatient, found it necessary 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 begpardon. It seems hard to realize, Mr. Kirkwood, that this awful catastrophehas overtaken our beloved metropolis--"

The canting phrases wearied Kirkwood; abruptly he cut in. "Would asovereign help you out, Mr. Calendar? I don't mind telling you that's aboutthe limit of my present resources. "

"Pardon _me_. " Mr. Calendar's moon-like countenance darkened; he assumed atransparent dignity. "You misconstrue my motive, sir. "

"Then I'm sorry. "

"I am not here to borrow. On the other hand, quite by accident I discoveredyour name upon the register, down-stairs; a good old Frisco name, if youwill permit me to say so. I thought to myself that here was a chanceto help a fellow-countryman. " Calendar paused, interrogative; Kirkwoodremained interested but silent. "If a passage across would help you, I--Ithink it might be arranged, " stammered Calendar, ill at ease. 

"It might, " admitted Kirkwood, speculative. 

"I could fix it so that you could go over--first-class, of course--and payyour way, so to speak, by, rendering us, me and my partner, a triflingservice. "

"Ah?"

"In fact, " continued Calendar, warming up to his theme, "there might besomething 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. "

"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 thefire-dogs, I don't believe I am. Now if you wish to name your _quidpro quo_, this trifling service I'm to render in recognition of yourbenevolence, you may. "

"Ye-es, " slowly. But the speaker delayed his reply until he had surveyedhis 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 muchin demand by the manufacturers of modern heroes of fiction; a man a bitround-shouldered, too, but otherwise sturdily built, self-contained, well-groomed. 

Kirkwood wears a boy's honest face; no one has ever called him handsome. Afew 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, ifundefinable, engaging quality in their very irregularity. His eyes arebrown, pleasant, set wide apart, straightforward of expression. 

Now it appeared that, whatever his motive, Mr. Calendar had acted uponimpulse in sending his card up to Kirkwood. Possibly he had anticipated avery different sort of reception from a very different sort of man. Even inthe light of subsequent events it remains difficult to fathom the mysteryof his choice. Perhaps Fate directed it; stranger things have happened atthe dictates of a man's Destiny. 

At all events, this Calendar proved not lacking in penetration; men of hisstamp are commonly endowed with that quality to an eminent degree. Not slowto reckon the caliber of the man before him, the leaven of intuition beganto 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. " Hefaltered; 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. Kirkwood. "

"Good-by, Mr. Calendar. " A smile twitched the corners of Kirkwood'stoo-wide mouth. 

Calendar stepped hastily out into the hall. As he strode--or rather, rolled--away, Kirkwood maliciously feathered a Parthian arrow. 

"By the way, Mr. Calendar--?"

The sound of retreating footsteps was stilled and "Yes?" came from thegloom 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 astrained voice, "Good day, Mr. Kirkwood"; and again the sound of departingfootfalls. 

Kirkwood closed the door and the incident simultaneously, with a smart bangof finality. Laughing quietly he went back to the window with its drearyoutlook, now the drearier for lengthening evening shadows. 

"I wonder what his game is, anyway. An adventurer, of course; the woods arefull of 'em. A queer fish, even of his kind! And with a trick up his sleeveas 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 figurativelywashed his hands of Mr. Kirkwood. Unquestionably Mr. Kirkwood consideredhimself well rid of Mr. Calendar. When the latter had gone his way, Kirkwood, mindful of the fact that his boat-train would leave St. Panerasat half-after eleven, set about his packing and dismissed from his thoughtsthe incident created by the fat _chevalier d'industrie_; and at sixo'clock, or thereabouts, let himself out of his room, dressed for theevening, a light rain-coat over one arm, in the other hand a cane, --thedrizzle having ceased. 

A stolid British lift lifted him down to the ground floor of theestablishment in something short of five minutes. Pausing in the officelong enough to settle his bill and leave instructions to have his luggageconveyed to the boat-train, he received with entire equanimity the affablebenediction of the clerk, in whose eyes he still figured as that radiantcreature, an American millionaire; and passed on to the lobby, where hesurrendered hat, coat and stick to the cloak-room attendant, ere enteringthe dining-room. 

The hour was a trifle early for a London dinner, the handsome room butmoderately filled with patrons. Kirkwood absorbed the fact unconsciouslyand without displeasure; the earlier, the better: he was determined toconsume his last civilized meal (as he chose to consider it) at his sereneleisure, to live fully his ebbing moments in the world to which he wasborn, to drink to its cloying dregs one ultimate draught of luxury. 

A benignant waiter bowed him into a chair by a corner table injuxtaposition with an open window, through which, swaying imperceptibly theclosed 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 restaurant. 

With a deferential flourish the waiter brought him the menu-card. He hadserved in his time many an "American, millionaire"; he had also served thisMr. 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. 

To distract a conscience whispering of extravagance, Kirkwood lighted acigarette. 

The room was gradually filling with later arrivals; it was the most favoredrestaurant in London, and, despite the radiant costumes of the women, itsatmosphere 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 Kirkwoodglanced her way. She was bending forward, smiling, flattering her escortwith the adoration of her eyes. They were lovers alone in the wilderness ofthe crowded restaurant. They seemed very happy. 

Kirkwood was conscious of a strange pang of emotion. It took him some timeto comprehend that it was envy. 

He was alone and lonely. For the first time he realized that no woman hadever looked upon him as the woman at the adjoining table looked upon herlover. He had found time to worship but one mistress--his art. 

And he was renouncing her. 

He was painfully conscious of what he had missed, had lost--or had not yetfound: the love of woman. 

The sensation was curious--new, unique in his experience. 

His cigarette burned down to his fingers as he 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 dreamtroubled him--his dream of the love of woman. 

From a little distance his waiter regarded him, with an air ofdisappointment. In the course of an hour and a half he awoke, to discoverthe attendant in the act of pouring very hot and black coffee from a brightsilver pot into a demi-tasse of fragile porcelain. Kirkwood slipped asingle 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 apreliminary to a last lingering appreciation of the scene of which he was apart. 

He reviewed it through narrowed eyelids, lazily; yet with some slightsurprise, seeming to see it with new vision, with eyes from which scales ofignorance had dropped. 

This long and brilliant dining-hall, with its quiet perfection ofproportion and appointment, had always 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 discriminatingly clustered and discreetly shaded, redoubled inhalf a hundred mirrors, its subdued shimmer of plate and glass, its soberlyfestive assemblage of circumspect men and women splendidly gowned, itsdecorously muted murmur of voices penetrated and interwoven by the strainsof a hidden string orchestra--caressed his senses as always, yet witha difference. To-night he saw it a room populous with lovers, loversinsensibly 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 puzzledhim; and without appearing to do so, he traced it from effect to cause; andfound the cause in a woman--a girl, rather, seated at a table the thirdremoved from him, near the farther wall of the room. 

Too considerate, and too embarrassed, to return her scrutiny openly, lookfor look, he yet felt sure that, however temporarily, he was become theobject of her intent interest. 

Idly employed with his cigar, he sipped his coffee. In time aware that shehad turned her attention elsewhere, he looked up. 

At first he was conscious of an effect of disappointment. She was nobodythat he knew, even by reputation. She was simply a young girl, barely outof her teens--if as old as that phrase would signify. He wondered what shehad found in him to make her think him worth so long a study; and lookedagain, more keenly curious. 

With this second glance, appreciation stirred the artistic side of hisnature, that was already grown impatient of his fretted mood. The slenderand girlish figure, posed with such absolute lack of intrusion against ascreen of rose and gilt, moved him to critical admiration. The tinted glowof shaded candles caught glistening on the spun gold of her fair hair, and enhanced the fine pallor of her young shoulders. He saw promise, andsomething more than promise, in her face, its oval something dimmed by warmshadows that unavailingly sought to blend youth and beauty alike into thedull, rich background. 

In the sheer youth of her (he realized) more than in aught else, lay herchiefest charm. She could be little more than a child, indeed, if he wereto judge her by the purity of her shadowed eyes and the absence of emotionin the calm and direct look which presently she turned upon him who satwondering at the level, penciled darkness of her brows. 

At length aware that she had surprised his interest, Kirkwood glancedaside--coolly deliberate, lest she should detect in his attitude anythingmore than impersonal approval. 

A slow color burned his cheeks. In his temples there rose a curiouspulsing. 

After a while she drew his gaze again, imperiously--herself all unaware ofthe havoc she was wreaking on his temperament. 

He could have fancied her distraught, cloaking an unhappy heart with placidbrow and gracious demeanor; but such a conception matched strangely herglowing youth and spirit. What had she to do with Care? What concern hadBlack Care, whose gaunt shape in sable shrouds had lurked at his shoulderall the evening, despite his rigid preoccupation, with a being ascharmingly flushed with budding womanhood as this girl?

"Eighteen?" he hazarded. "Eighteen, or possibly nineteen, dining at thePless in a ravishing dinner-gown, and--unhappy? Oh, hardly--not she!"

Yet the impression haunted him, and ere long he was fain to seekconfirmation or denial of it in the manner of her escort. 

The latter sat with back to Kirkwood, cutting a figure as negative as hissnug evening clothes. One could surmise little from a fleshy thick neck, a round, glazed bald spot, a fringe of grizzled hair, and two bright redears. 

Calendar?

Somehow the fellow did suggest Kirkwood's caller of the afternoon. Theyoung man could not have said precisely how, for he was unfamiliar with theaspect of that gentleman's back. None the less the suggestion persisted. 

By now, a few of the guests, theater-bound, for the most part, wereleaving. Here and there a table stood vacant, that had been filled, clothtarnished, chairs disarranged: in another moment to be transformed into itspristine brilliance under the deft attentions 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, inthe 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 somedistance from the girl, and hidden from her by an angle in the wall. Itappeared that the third member had chosen to dally a few moments over histobacco and a liqueur-brandy. Kirkwood could see him plainly, lounging inhis 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 boldlyhandsome. 

The woman of the trio was worthy of closer attention. Some paces in thewake of her lack-luster esquire, she was making a leisurely progress, trailing the skirts of a gown magnificent beyond dispute, half concealedthough it was by the opera cloak whose soft folds draped her shoulders. Slowly, carrying her head high, she approached, insolent eyes reviewingthe room from beneath their heavy lids; a metallic and mature type of darkbeauty, supremely selfconfident and self-possessed. 

Men turned involuntarily to look after her, not altogether in undilutedadmiration. 

In the act of passing behind the putative Calendar, she paused momentarily, bending as if to gather up her train. Presumably the action disturbed herbalance; she swayed a little, and in the effort to recover, rested the tipsof her gloved fingers upon the edge of the table. Simultaneously (Kirkwoodcould have sworn) a single word left her lips, a word evidently pitchedfor the ear of the hypothetical Calendar alone. Then she swept on, imperturbable, assured. 

To the perplexed observer it was indubitably evident that somecommunication had passed from the woman to the man. Kirkwood saw the fatshoulders of the girl's companion stiffen suddenly as the woman's handrested at his elbow; as she moved away, a little rippling shiver wasplainly visible in the muscles of his back, beneath his coat--mute tokenof relaxing tension. An instant later one plump and mottled hand wascarelessly placed where the woman's had been; and was at once removed withfingers closed. 

To the girl, watching her face covertly, Kirkwood turned for clue to theincident. He made no doubt that she had observed the passage; proof of thatone found in her sudden startling pallor (of indignation?) and in her eyes, briefly alight with some inscrutable emotion, though quickly veiled bylowered lashes. Slowly enough she regained color and composure, while her_vis-à-vis_ sat motionless, head inclined as if in thought. 

Abruptly the man turned in his chair to summon a waiter, and exposed hisprofile. Kirkwood was in no wise amazed to recognize Calendar--a badlyfrightened Calendar now, however, and hardly to be identified with thesleek, glib fellow who had interviewed Kirkwood in the afternoon. Hisflabby cheeks were ashen and trembling, and upon the back of his chairthe fat white fingers were drumming incessantly an inaudible tattoo ofshattered nerves. 

"Scared silly!" commented Kirkwood. "Why?" Having spoken to his waiter, Calendar for some seconds raked the room with quick glances, as if seekingan acquaintance. Presumably disappointed, he swung back to face thegirl, bending forward to reach her ears with accents low-pitched andconfidential. She, on her part, fell at once attentive, grave andresponsive. Perhaps a dozen sentences passed between them. At the outsether brows contracted and she shook her head in gentle dissent; whereuponCalendar's manner became more imperative. Gradually, unwillingly, sheseemed to yield consent. Once she caught her breath sharply, and, infectedby her companion's agitation, sat back, color fading again in the roundyoung cheeks. 

Kirkwood's waiter put in an inopportune appearance with the bill. The youngman paid it. When he looked up again Calendar had swung squarely aboutin his chair. His eye encountered Kirkwood's. He nodded pleasantly. Temporarily confused, Kirkwood returned the nod. 

In a twinkling he had repented; Calendar had left his chair and was wendinghis way through the tables toward Kirkwood's. Reaching it, he paused, offering the hand of genial fellowship. Kirkwood accepted it half-heartedly(what else was he to do?) remarking at the same time that Calendar hadrecovered much of his composure. There was now a normal coloring in theheavily jowled countenance, with less glint of fear in the quick, darkeyes; and Calendar's hand, even if moist and cold, no longer trembled. Furthermore it was immediately demonstrated that his impudence had notdeserted him. 

"Why, Kirkwood, my dear fellow!" he crowed--not so loudly as to attractattention, but in a tone assumed to divert suspicion, should he beoverheard. "This is great luck, you know--to find you here. "

"Is it?" returned Kirkwood coolly. He disengaged his fingers. 

The pink plump face was contorted in a furtive grimace of deprecation. Without waiting for permission 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 besidesyourself. I--I--"

Kirkwood saw fit to lead him on; partly because, out of the corner of hiseye, 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 inthe 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 myembarrassment; I can not leave her here, alone, nor can I permit her to gohome unprotected. "

Calendar paused in anxiety. 

"That's easily remedied, then, " suggested Kirkwood. 

"How?"

"Put her in a cab at the door. "

"I ... No. The devil! I couldn't think of it. You won't understand. I--"

"I do not understand, --" amended the younger man politely. 

Calendar compressed his lips nervously. It was plain that the man wasquivering with impatience and half-mad with excitement. He held quiet onlylong enough to regain his self-control and take counsel with his prudence. 

"It is impossible, Mr. Kirkwood. I must ask you to be generous and believeme. "

"Very well; for the sake of the argument, I do believe you, Mr. Calendar. "

"Hell!" exploded the elder man in an undertone. Then swiftly, stammeringin 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 ofarrest the moment I leave here. If my daughter is with me, she will have toendure the shame and humiliation--"

"Then why place her in such a position?" Kirkwood demanded sharply. 

Calendar's eyes burned, incandescent with resentment. Offended, he offeredto 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--amusement yielding tointrigued interest. After all, why not oblige the fellow? What did anythingmatter, now? What harm could visit him if he yielded to this corpulentadventurer's insistence? Both from experience and observation he knew thisfor a world plentifully peopled by soldiers of fortune, contrivers ofsnares and pitfalls for the feet of the unwary. On the other hand, it isaxiomatic that a penniless man is perfectly safe anywhere. Besides, therewas the girl to be considered. 

Kirkwood considered her, forthwith. In the process thereof, his eyes soughther, perturbed. Their glances clashed. She looked away hastily, crimson toher temples. 

Instantly the conflict between curiosity and caution, inclination anddistrust, 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 emphasis with becoming gravity. And then, the fatadventurer leading the way, Kirkwood strode across the room--wonderingsomewhat at himself, if the whole truth is to be disclosed. 

III

CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER

All but purring with satisfaction and relief, Calendar 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 himselftemporarily dumb. No flicker of thought illuminated the darkness of hisconfusion. How was he to open a diverting conversation with a young womanwhom he had met under auspices so extraordinary? Any attempt to gloze thesituation, he felt, would be futile. And, somehow, he did not care torender himself ridiculous in her eyes, little as he knew her. 

Inanely dumb, he sat watching her, smiling fatuously until it was bornein on him that he was staring like a boor and grinning like an idiot. Convinced, he blushed for himself; something which served to make him moretongue-tied than ever. 

As for his involuntary protégée, she exhibited such sweet composure that hecaught himself wondering if she really appreciated the seriousness of herparent's predicament; if, for that matter, its true nature were known toher at all. Calendar, he believed, was capable of prevarication, polite andimpolite. Had he lied to his daughter? or to Kirkwood? To both, possibly;to the former alone, not improbably. That the adventurer had told him thedesperate truth, Kirkwood was quite convinced; but he now began to believethat the girl had been put off with some fictitious explanation. Hertranquillity and self-control were remarkable, otherwise; she seemed veryyoung to possess those qualities in such eminent degree. 

She was looking wearily past him, her gaze probing some unguessed abyss ofthought. Kirkwood felt himself privileged to stare in wonder. Her naïvealoofness of poise gripped his imagination powerfully, --the moreso, perhaps, since it seemed eloquent of her intention to remainenigmatic, --but by no means more powerfully than the unaided appeal of herloveliness. 

Presently the girl herself relieved the tension of the situation, fairlystartling the young man by going straight to the heart of things. Withoutpreface or warning, lifting her gaze to his, "My name is really DorothyCalendar, " she observed. And then, noting his astonishment, "You would beprivileged to doubt, under the circumstances, " she added. "Please let us befrank. "

"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 oftaste, sounded in his own ears wretchedly flat and vapid. He regretted itspontaneously; the girl ignored it. 

"You are very kind, " she iterated the first words he had heard from herlips. "I wish you to understand that I, for one, appreciate it. "

"Not kind; I have done nothing. I am glad.... One is apt to becomeinterested when Romance is injected into a prosaic existence. " Kirkwoodallowed himself a keen but cheerful glance. 

She nodded, with a shadowy smile. He continued, purposefully, to distracther, holding her with his honest, friendly eyes. 

"Since it is to be confidences" (this she questioned with an all butimperceptible lifting of the eyebrows), "I don't mind telling you my ownname 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 movedher 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 oldfriend, " 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 continued. 

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 commanded. 

"It would bore you, " he responded tritely, confused. 

"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 calling 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 upshort, 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 made me guess it: thepainter'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 herglance ranged away, sounding mysterious depths of anxiety. 

Provoked, he would have continued the chatter. "I have confessed, " hepersisted. "You know everything of material interest about me. Andyourself?"

"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-morrow; and to-morrow ... " Shemoved restlessly 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 stoodup, then placed the garment upon her white young shoulders, troubled by theindefinable sense of intimacy imparted by the privilege. She permittedhim this personal service! He felt that she trusted him, that out of hergratitude had grown a simple and almost childish faith in his generosityand considerateness. 

As she turned to go her eyes thanked him with an unfathomable glance. Hewas 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 fromsheer force of habit, he desired a gigantic porter, impressively ornate inhotel livery, to call a hansom. Together they passed out into the night, heand 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 millionfeet, two streams of wayfarers flowed incessantly, bound west from GreenPark or east toward Piccadilly Circus; a well-dressed throng for the mostpart, with here and there a man in evening dress. Between the carriages atthe curb and the hotel doors moved others, escorting fluttering butterflywomen in elaborate toilets, heads bare, skirts daintily gathered abovetheir perishable slippers. Here and there meaner shapes slipped silentlythrough the crowd, sinister shadows of the city's proletariat, blottingominously the brilliance of the scene. 

A cab drew in at the block. The porter clapped an arc of wickerwork overits wheel to protect the girl's skirts. She ascended to the seat. 

Kirkwood, dropping sixpence in the porter's palm, prepared to follow; but ahand 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 werehard and bright. 

"Mr. Calendar?" said the man tensely. "I presume I needn't name mybusiness. I'm from the Yard--"

"My name is not Calendar. "

The detective smiled wearily. "Don't be a fool, Calendar, " he began. Butthe porter's hand fell upon his shoulder and the giant bent low to bringhis mouth close to the other's ear. Kirkwood heard indistinctly his ownname followed by Calendar's, and the words: "Never fear. I'll point himout. "

"But the woman?" argued the detective, unconvinced, staring into the cab. 

"Am I not at liberty to have a lady dine with me in a public restaurant?"interposed Kirkwood, without raising his voice. 

The hard eyes looked him up and down without favor. Then: "Beg pardon, sir. I see my mistake, " said the detective brusquely. 

"I am glad you do, " returned Kirkwood grimly. "I fancy it will bearinvestigation. "

He mounted the step. "Imperial Theater, " he told the driver, giving thefirst address that occurred to him; it could be changed. For the momentthe main issue was to get the girl out of the range of the detective'sinterest. 

He slipped into his place as the hansom wheeled into the turgid tide ofwest-bound traffic. 

So Calendar had escaped, after all! Moreover, he had told the truth toKirkwood. 

By his side the girl moved uneasily. "Who was that man?" she inquired. 

Kirkwood sought her eyes, and found them wholly ingenuous. It seemedthat Calendar had not taken her into his confidence, after all. She was, therefore, in no way implicated in her father's affairs. Inexplicably theyoung man's heart felt lighter. "A mistake; the fellow took me for some onehe knew, " he told her carelessly. 

The assurance satisfied her. She rested quietly, wrapped up in personalconcerns. Her companion pensively contemplated an infinity of arid andhansom-less to-morrows. About them the city throbbed in a web of mistytwilight, the humid farewell of a dismal day. In the air a faint haze swam, rendering the distances opalescent. Athwart the western sky the after-glowof a drenched sunset lay like a wash of rose-madder. Piccadilly's asphaltshone like watered silk, black and lustrous, reflecting a myriad lights invibrant ribbons of party-colored radiance. On every hand cab-lamps dancedlike fire-flies; the rumble of wheels blended with the hollow poundingof uncounted hoofs, merging insensibly into the deep and solemn roar ofLondon-town. 

Suddenly Kirkwood was recalled to a sense of duty by a glimpse of Hyde ParkCorner. 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 thoughtshave strayed afar, recalled to an imperative world. 

"Oh, did I forget? Tell him please to drive to Number Nine, FrognallStreet, Bloomsbury. "

Kirkwood poked his cane through the trap, repeating the address. Thecab wheeled smartly across Piccadilly, swung into Half Moon Street, andthereafter made better time, darting briskly down abrupt vistas of shiningpavement, walled in by blank-visaged houses, or round two sides of one ofLondon's innumerable private parks, wherein spring foliage glowed a tendergreen in artificial light; now and again it crossed brilliant main arteriesof travel, and eventually emerged from a maze of backways into OxfordStreet, to hammer eastwards to Tottenham Court Road. 

Constraint hung like a curtain between the two; a silence which the youngman forbore to moderate, finding more delight that he had cared (or dared)confess to, in contemplation of the pure girlish profile so close to him. 

She seemed quite unaware of him, lost in thought, large eyes sober, lipsserious that were fashioned for laughter, round little chin firm with someoccult resolution. It was not hard to fancy her nerves keyed to a highpitch of courage and determination, nor easy to guess for what reason. Watching always, keenly sensitive to the beauty of each salient linebetrayed by the flying lights, Kirkwood's own consciousness lost itself ina 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 oneswift glance, testified to the recognition with a hushed exclamation, and began to arrange her skirts. Kirkwood, unheeding her faint-heartedprotests, jumped out, interposing his cane between her skirts and thewheel. Simultaneously he received a vivid mental photograph of thelocality. 

Frognall Street proved to be one of those by-ways, a short block inlength, which, hemmed in on all sides by a meaner purlieu, has (even inBloomsbury!) escaped the sordid commercial eye of the keeper of furnishedlodgings, retaining jealously something of the old-time dignity and reservethat were its pride in the days before Society swarmed upon Mayfair andBelgravia. 

Its houses loomed tall, with many windows, mostly lightless--materiallyaggravating that air of isolate, cold dignity which distinguishes theEnglishman's castle. Here and there stood one less bedraggled thanits neighbors, though all, without exception, spoke assertively ofrespectability down-at-the-heel but fighting tenaciously for existence. Some, vanguards of that imminent day when the boarding-house should reignsupreme, wore with shamefaced air placards of estate-agents, advertisingtheir susceptibility to sale or lease. In the company of the latter wasNumber 9. 

The American noted the circumstance subconsciously, at a moment when MissCalendar's hand, small as a child's, warm and compact in its white glove, lay in his own. And then she was on the sidewalk, her face, upturned tohis, vivacious with excitement. 

"You have been so kind, " she told him warmly, "that one hardly knows how tothank you, Mr. Kirkwood. "

"I have done nothing--nothing at all, " he mumbled, disturbed by a sudden, unreasoning alarm for her. 

She passed quickly to the shelter of the pillared portico. He followedclumsily. On the door-step she turned, offering her hand. He took andretained 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 furtherupon 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 woebegonea 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 youadequately. Good night!"

Her pass-key grated in the lock. Opening, the door disclosed a dark anduninviting entry-hall, through which there breathed an air heavy with thedank and dusty odor of untenanted rooms. Hesitating on the threshold, overher shoulder the girl smiled kindly upon her commandeered esquire; andstepped within. 

He lifted his hat automatically. The door closed with an echoing slam. Heturned 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 uponthe street as Kirkwood turned the nearest corner, in an unpleasant temper, puzzled and discontented. It seemed hardly fair that he should have beendragged into so promising an adventure, by his ears (so to put it), only tobe thus summarily called upon to write "Finis" beneath the incident. 

He rounded the corner and walked half-way to the next street, coming to anabrupt and rebellious pause by the entrance to a covered alleyway, of twominds as to his proper course of action. 

In the background of his thoughts Number 9, Frognall Street, reared itsfive-story façade, sinister and forbidding. He reminded himself of itsunlighted windows; of its sign, "To be let"; of the effluvia of desolationthat had saluted him when the door swung wide. A deserted house; and thegirl 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 noticepainted on the dead wall of the passage. 

Overhead, complaining as it swayed in the wind, hung the smirched andweather-worn sign-board of the Hog-in-the-Pound public house; wherefromescaped sounds of such revelry by night as is indulged in by the Britishworking-man in hours of ease. At the curb in front of the house ofentertainment, dejected animals drooping between their shafts, two hansomsstood in waiting, until such time as the lords of their destinies shouldsee 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 hearit all again--even as he can see the unbroken row of dingy dwellings thatlined his way back from Quadrant Mews to Frognall Street corner: alldrab and unkempt, all sporting in their fan-lights the legend and lure, "Furnished Apartments. "

For, between his curiosity about and his concern for the girl, he was beingled back to Number 9, by the nose, as it were, --hardly willingly, at best. Profoundly stupefied by the contemplation of his own temerity, he yetreturned unfaltering. He who had for so long plumed himself upon his strictsupervision of his personal affairs and equally steadfast unconsciousnessof his neighbor's businesses, now found himself in the very act of pushingin where he was not wanted: as he had been advised in well-nigh as manywords. He experienced an effect of standing to one side, a witness ofhis own folly, with rising wonder, unable to credit the strength ofthe infatuation which was placing him so conspicuously in the way of asnubbing. 

If perchance he were to meet the girl again as she was leaving Number9, --what then? The contingency dismayed him incredibly, in view of the factthat it did not avail to make him pause. To the contrary he disregarded itresolutely; mad, impertinent, justified of his unnamed apprehensions, orsimply addled, --he held on his way. 

He turned up Frognall Street with the manner of one out for a leisurelyevening stroll. Simultaneously, from the farther corner, another pedestriandebouched, into the thoroughfare--a mere moving shadow at that distance, brother to blacker shadows that skulked in the fenced areas and unlivelyentries of that poorly lighted block. The hush was something beyond belief, when one remembered the nearness 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, canetapping the flagging at brief intervals. Both sounds ceased abruptly astheir cause turned in beneath one of the porticos. In the emphatic andunnatural quiet that followed, Kirkwood, stepping more lightly, fanciedthat another shadow followed the first, noiselessly and with furtivestealth. 

Could it be Number 9 into which they had passed? The American's heart beata livelier tempo at the suggestion. If it had not been Number 9--he wasstill too far away to tell--it was certainly one of the dwellings adjacentthereunto. The improbable possibility (But why improbable?) that the girlwas being joined by her father, or by friends, annoyed him with illogicalintensity. He mended his own pace, designing to pass whichever house itmight be before the door should be closed; thought better of this, andslowed up again, anathematizing himself with much excuse for being theinquisitive dolt that he was. 

Approaching Number 9 with laggard feet, he manufactured a desire to lighta cigarette, as a cover for his design, were he spied upon by unsuspectedeyes. Cane under arm, hands cupped to shield a vesta's flame, he stoppeddirectly before the portico, turning his eyes askance to the shadoweddoorway; and made a discovery sufficiently startling to hold him spellboundand, incidentally, to scorch his gloves before he thought to drop thematch. 

The door of Number 9 stood ajar, a black interval an inch or so in widthshowing between its edge and the jamb. 

Suspicion and alarm set his wits a-tingle. More distinctly he recalled thejarring bang, accompanied by the metallic click of the latch, when the girlhad shut herself in--and him out. Now, some person or persons had followedher, neglecting the most obvious precaution of a householder. And why? Whybut because the intruders did not wish the sound of closing to be audibleto her--or those--within?

He reminded himself that it was all none of his affair, decided to pass onand go his ways in peace, and impulsively, swinging about, marched straightaway for the unclosed door. 

"'Old'ard, guvner!"

Kirkwood halted on the cry, faltering in indecision. Should he take theplunge, or withdraw? Synchronously he was conscious that a man's figurehad detached itself from the shadows beneath the nearest portico and wasdrawing 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 hisstick. 

Was this the second shadow he had seemed to see--the confederate of him whohad entered Number 9; a sentry to forestall interruption? If so, the fellowlacked discretion, though his determination that the American should notinterfere was undeniable. It was with an ugly and truculent manner, if morewarily, that the man closed in. 

"I knows. You clear hout, or--"

He flung out a hand with the plausible design of grasping Kirkwood by thecollar. The latter lifted his stick, deflecting the arm, and incontinentlylanded his other fist forcibly on the fellow's chest. The man reeled back, cursing. Before he could recover Kirkwood calmly crossed the threshold, closed the door and put his shoulder to it. In another instant, fumbling inthe darkness, he found the bolts and drove them home. 

And it was done, the transformation accomplished; his inability to refrainfrom interfering had encompassed his downfall, had changed a peaceable andlaw-abiding alien within British shores into a busybody, a trespasser, amisdemeanant, a--yes, for all he knew to the contrary, in the estimation ofthe Law, a burglar, prime candidate for a convict's stripes!

Breathing hard with excitement he turned and laid his back against thepanels, trembling in every muscle, terrified by the result of his impulsiveaudacity, thunder-struck by a lightning-like foreglimpse of its possibleconsequences. 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 feetshuffling on the stone; and immediately--if he were to make a logicaldeduction from the rasping and scraping sound within the door-casing--thebell-pull was violently agitated, without, however, educing any responsefrom the bell itself, wherever that might be situate. After which, as if indespair, the outsider again rattled and jerked the knob. 

Be his status what it might, whether servant of the household, itscaretaker, or a night watchman, the man was palpably determined both to gethimself in and Kirkwood out, and yet (curious to consider) determined togain his end without attracting undue attention. Kirkwood had expected tohear the knocker's thunder, as soon as the bell failed to give tongue; butit did not sound although there _was_ a knocker, --Kirkwood himself hadremarked that antiquated and rusty bit of ironmongery affixed to the middlepanel of the door. And it made him feel sure that something surreptitiousand lawless was in process within those walls, that the confederatewithout, having failed to prevent a stranger from entering, left unemployeda means so certain-sure to rouse the occupants. 

But his inferential analysis of this phase of the proceedings was summarilyabrupted by that identical alarm. In a trice the house was filled withflying echoes, wakened to sonorous riot by the crash and clamor of theknocker; and Kirkwood stood fully two yards away, his heart hammeringwildly, his nerves a-jingle, much as if the resounding blows had landedupon his own person rather than on stout oaken planking. 

Ere he had time to wonder, the racket ceased, and from the street filteredvoices in altercation. Listening, Kirkwood's pulses quickened, and helaughed uncertainly for pure relief, retreating to the door and putting anear to a crack. 

The accents of one speaker were new in his hearing, stern, crisp, quickwith the spirit of authority which animates that most austere and dignifiedlimb of the law to be encountered the world over, a London bobby. 

"Now then, my man, what do you want there? Come now, speak up, and step outinto the light, where I can see you. "

The response came in the sniffling snarl of the London ne'er-do-well, theunemployable rogue whose chiefest occupation seems to be to march in theranks 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 explain 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 'onestfyce. W'y don'cher work?' sezee. ''Ow can I?' sez I. ''Ere'm I hout ofa job these six months, lookin' fer work every dye an' carn't find it. 'Sezee, '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 andI'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 findyou round 'ere again. March, I say!"

There was more of it--more whining explanations artfully tinctured withabuse, more terse commands to depart, the whole concluding with scrapingfootsteps, diminuendo, and another perfunctory, rattle of the knob as thebobby, having shoo'd the putative evil-doer off, assured himself thatno damage had actually been done. Then he, too, departed, satisfied andself-righteous, leaving a badly frightened but very grateful amateurcriminal to pursue his self-appointed career of crime. 

He had no choice other than to continue; in point of fact, it had beeninsanity just then to back out, and run the risk of apprehension at thehands of that ubiquitous bobby, who (for all he knew) might be lurking nota dozen yards distant, watchful for just such a sequel. Still, Kirkwoodhesitated with the best of excuses. Reassuring as he had found thesentinel's extemporized yarn, --proof positive that the fellow had had nomore right to prohibit a trespass than Kirkwood to commit one, --at thesame time he found himself pardonably a prey to emotions of the utmostconsternation and alarm. If he feared to leave the house he had no warrantwhatever to assume that he would be permitted to remain many minutesunharmed 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 wanillumination penetrating a dusty and begrimed fan-light, a broad hallstretched indefinitely towards the rear of the building, losing itself inblackness beyond the foot of a flight of stairs. Save for a few articles offurniture, --a hall table, an umbrella-stand, a tall dumb clock flanked byhigh-backed chairs, --it was empty. Other than Kirkwood's own restrainedrespiration not a sound throughout the house advertised its inhabitation;not a board creaked beneath the pressure of a foot, not a mouse rustled inthe wainscoting or beneath the floors, not a breath of air stirred sighingin the stillness. 

And yet, a tremendous racket had been raised at the front door, within thesixty seconds past! And yet, within twenty minutes two persons, atleast, had preceded Kirkwood into the building! Had they not heard? Thespeculation seemed ridiculous. Or had they heard and, alarmed, been tooeffectually hobbled by the coils of their nefarious designs to dare revealthemselves, to investigate the cause of that thunderous summons? Or werethey, perhaps, aware of Kirkwood's entrance, and lying _perdui_, in somedark corner, to ambush him as he passed?

True, that were hardly like the girl. True, on the other hand, itwere possible that she had stolen away while Kirkwood was hanging inirresolution by the passage to Quadrant Mews. Again, the space of timebetween Kirkwood's dismissal and his return had been exceedingly brief;whatever her errand, she could hardly have fulfilled it and escaped. Atthat moment she might be in the power and at the mercy of him who hadfollowed her; providing he were not friendly. And in that case, whattorment and what peril might not be hers?

Spurred by solicitude, the young man put personal apprehensions in hispocket and forgot them, cautiously picking his way through the gloom to thefoot of the stairs. There, by the newel-post, he paused. Darkness walledhim about. Overhead the steps vanished in a well of blackness; he couldnot even see the ceiling; his eyes ached with futile effort to fathom theunknown; his ears rang with unrewarded strain of listening. The silencehung inviolate, profound. 

Slowly he began to ascend, a hand following the balusters, the other withhis cane exploring the obscurity before him. On the steps, a carpet, thickand heavy, muffled his footfalls. He moved noiselessly. Towards the topthe staircase curved, and presently a foot that groped for a higher levelfailed 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 werebarely suggested in a ghostly dusk. By each he paused, listening, hearingnothing. 

His foot struck with a deadened thud against the bottom step of thesecond flight, and his pulses fluttered wildly for a moment. Twominutes--three--he waited in suspense. From above came no sound. He wenton, as before, save that twice a step yielded, complaining, to his weight. Toward the top the close air, like the darkness, seemed to weigh moreheavily upon his consciousness; little drops of perspiration started out onhis forehead, his scalp tingled, his mouth was hot and dry, he felt as ifstifled. 

Again the raised foot found no level higher than its fellows. He stoppedand held his breath, oppressed by a conviction that some one was near him. Confirmation of this came startlingly--an eerie whisper in the night, soclose to him that he fancied he could feel the disturbed air fanning hisface. 

"_Is it you, Eccles_?"

He had no answer ready. The voice was masculine, if he analyzed itcorrectly. 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 washalf 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_!"

By now he realized that he had been scrutinized by the aid of an electrichand-lamp. The tremulous whisper told him something else--that the speakersuffered from nerves as high-strung as his own. The knowledge gave himinspiration. He cried at a venture, in a guarded voice, "_Hands up_!"--andstruck out smartly with his stick. Its ferrule impinged upon something softbut heavy. Simultaneously he heard a low, frightened cry, the cane wasswept aside, a blow landed glancingly on his shoulder, and he was carriedfairly off his feet by the weight of a man hurled bodily upon him withstaggering force and passion. Reeling, he was borne back and down a stepor two, and then, --choking on an oath, --dropped his cane and with one handcaught the balusters, while the other tore ineffectually at wrists ofhands that clutched his throat. So, for a space, the two hung, panting andstruggling. 

Then endeavoring to swing his shoulders over against the wall, Kirkwoodreleased his grip on the hand-rail and stumbled on the stairs, throwing hisantagonist out of balance. The latter plunged downward, dragging Kirkwoodwith him. Clawing, kicking, grappling, they went to the bottom, joltedviolently by each step; but long before the last was reached, Kirkwood'sthroat was free. 

Throwing himself off, he got to his feet and grasped the railing forsupport; then waited, panting, trying to get his bearings. Himselfpainfully shaken and bruised, he shrewdly surmised that his assailant hadfared as ill, if not worse. And, in point of fact, the man lay with neithermove 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 presence beneath him, thanable to distinguish it by power of vision, he endured interminable minutesof trembling 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 thebright small flame leaped in the pent air, he leaned forward, over thebody, breathlessly dreading what he must discover. 

The man lay quiet, head upon the floor, legs and hips on the stairs. Onearm had fallen over his face, hiding the upper half. The hand gleamed whiteand delicate as a woman's. His chin was smooth and round, his lips thin andpetulant. Beneath his top-coat, evening dress clothed a short and slenderfigure. Nothing whatever of his appearance suggested the burly ruffian, themidnight marauder; he seemed little more than a boy old enough to dressfor dinner. In his attitude there was something pitifully suggestive of abeaten child, thrown into a corner. 

Conscience-smitten and amazed Kirkwood stared on until, without warning, the match flickered and went out. Then, straightening up with anexclamation at once of annoyance and concern, he rattled the box; it madeno sound, --was empty. In disgust he swore it was the devil's own luck, thathe should run out of vestas at a time so critical. He could not even saywhether the fellow was dead, unconscious, or simply shamming. He had littleidea of his looks; and to be able to identify him might save a deal oftrouble at some future time, --since he, Kirkwood, seemed so little ableto disengage himself from the clutches of this insane adventure! And thegirl--. What had become of her? How could he continue to search for her, without lights or guide, through all those silent rooms, whose walls mightinclose a hundred hidden dangers in that house of mystery?

But he debated only briefly. His blood was young, and it was hot; it wasquite 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. Thehand-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 thatthe vesta's short-lived light had discovered this on the floor beyondthe man's body. Carefully stepping across the latter he recovered hishead-gear, and then, kneeling, listened with an ear close to the fellow'sface. A softly regular beat of breathing reassured him. Half rising, hecaught the body beneath the armpits, lifting and dragging it off thestaircase; and knelt again, to feel of each pocket in the man's clothing, partly as an obvious precaution, to relieve him of his advertised revolveragainst an untimely wakening, partly to see if he had the lamp about him. 

The search proved fruitless. Kirkwood suspected that the weapon, like hisown, 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 soin length, passably heavy. He fumbled with it impatiently. "However thedickens, " he wondered audibly, "does the infernal machine work?" As ithappened, the thing worked with disconcerting abruptness as his untrainedfingers fell hapchance on the spring. A sudden glare again smote him in theface, and at the same instant, from a point not a yard away, apparently, aninarticulate cry rang out upon the stillness. 

Heart in his mouth, he stepped back, lowering the lamp (which impishly wentout) and lifting a protecting forearm. 

"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 shattered nerves quieted and a glimmer of common sensepenetrated the murk anger and fear had bred in his brain. He understood, and stepped forward, catching blindly at the darkness with eager hands. 

"Miss Calendar!" he cried guardedly. "Miss Calendar, it is I--PhilipKirkwood!"

There was a second sob, of another caliber than the first; timid fingersbrushed his, and a hand, warm and fragile, closed upon his own in a passionof relief and gratitude. 

"Oh, I am so g-glad!" It was Dorothy Calendar's voice, beyond mistake. "I--I didn't know what t-to t-think.... When the light struck your faceI was sure it was you, but when I called, you answered in a voice sostrange, --not like yours at all! ... Tell me, " she pleaded, with palpableeffort to steady herself; "what has happened?"

"I think, perhaps, " said Kirkwood uneasily, again troubled by his racingpulses, "perhaps you can do that better than I. "

"Oh!" said the voice guiltily; her fingers trembled on his, and were gentlywithdrawn. "I was so frightened, " she confessed after a little pause, "sofrightened that I hardly understand ... But you? How did you--?"

"I worried about you, " he replied, in a tone absurdly apologetic. "Somehowit didn't seem right. It was none of my business, of course, but ... Icouldn'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 mesuspicious. I hardly know why I followed, except that he left the door anopen 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 itsrude handling had impaired some vital part of the mechanism, or whether thebatteries through much use were worn out, he was able to elicit only onefeeble 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 with a chuckle. "He lookslike an amateurish and very callow Raffles. He's in dress clothes, youknow. "

"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 allevents, I heard that and put out the light. I was ... In the room above thedrawing-room, you see. I stole down to this floor--was there, in the cornerby 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 slippedinto the drawing-room and crouched behind a chair. You went on, but I darednot move until ... And then I heard some one cry out, and you fell down thestairs together. I hope you were not hurt--?"

"Nothing worth mention; but _he_ must have got a pretty stiff knock, to layhim out so completely. " Kirkwood stirred the body with his toe, but the manmade 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 theknocker down below; and thereafter crash followed crash, brewing a deep andsullen thundering to rouse the echoes and send them rolling, like voices ofenraged ghosts, through the lonely rooms. 

V

THE MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER

"What's that?" At the first alarm the girl had caught convulsively atKirkwood's arm. Now, when a pause came in the growling of the knocker, shemade him hear her voice; and it was broken and vibrant with a threat ofhysteria. "Oh, what can it mean?"

"I don't know. " He laid a hand reassuringly over that which trembled on hisforearm. "The police, possibly. "

"Police!" she iterated, aghast. "What makes you think--?"

"A man tried to stop me at the door, " he answered quickly. "I got in beforehe 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 hisduty to keep an eye on it; and Heaven knows we raised a racket, cominghead-first down those stairs! Now we are up against it, " he added brightly. 

But the girl was tugging at his hand. "Come!" she begged breathlessly. "Come! There is a way! Before they break in--"

"But this man--?" Kirkwood hung back, troubled. 

"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 todeath, with all the good will in the world!"

"Oh, do hurry!"

Turning, she sped light-footed down the staircase to the lower hall, heat her elbow. Here the uproar was loudest--deep enough to drown whateversounds might have been made by two pairs of flying feet. For all thatthey fled on tiptoe, stealthily, guilty shadows in the night; and at thenewel-post swung back into the unbroken blackness which shrouded thefastnesses backward of the dwelling. A sudden access of fury on the part ofthe alarmist at the knocker, spurred them on with quaking hearts. In half adozen strides, Kirkwood, guided only by instinct and the _frou-frou_ of thegirl's skirts as she ran invisible before him, stumbled on the uppermoststeps of a steep staircase; only a hand-rail saved him, and that at thelast moment. He stopped short, shocked into caution. From below came acontrite whisper: "I'm so sorry! I should have warned you. "

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 hewas 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 notwithout 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 theknocker 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 labyrinthine chambers andpassages, delving deep into the bowels of the earth, like rabbits burrowingin a warren, hounded by beagles. 

Above stairs the hush continued unbroken; as if the dumb Genius of thePlace had cast a spell of silence on the knocker, or else, outraged, hadsmitten the noisy disturber with a palsy. 

The girl seemed to know her way; whether guided by familiarity or byintuition, she led on without hesitation, Kirkwood blundering in her wake, between confusion of impression, and dawning dismay conscious of but onetangible 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; probably from start to finishtheir flight took up three minutes, no more. Eventually the girl stopped, releasing his hand. He could hear her syncopated breathing before him, andgathered that something was wrong. He took a step forward. 

"What is it?"

Her full voice broke out of the obscurity startlingly close, in his veryear. 

"The door--the bolts--I can't budge them. "

"Let me ... "

He pressed forward, brushing her shoulder. She did not draw away, butwillingly yielded place to his hands at the fastenings; and what had provedimpossible 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 boltshe was poignantly sensitive to the subtle warmth of her at his side; hecould hear her soft dry sobs of excitement and suspense, punctuating thequiet; and was frightened, absolutely, by an impulse, too strong forridicule, to take her in his arms and comfort her with the assurance that, whatever her trouble, he would stand by her and protect her.... It werefutile to try to laugh it off; he gave over the endeavor. Even at thiscritical moment he found himself repeating over and over to his heart thequestion: "Can this be love? Can this be love? ... "

Could it be love at an hour's acquaintance? Absurd! But he could notlaugh--nor render himself insensible to the suggestion. 

He found that he had drawn the bolts. The girl tugged and rattled at theknob. Reluctantly the door opened inwards. Beyond its threshold stretchedten feet or more of covered passageway, whose entrance framed an oblongglimmering with light. A draught of fresh air smote their faces. Behindthem 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 forher 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 thedoor, carefully removing the key and locking it on the outside; then joinedthe girl at the entrance to the mews, where they paused perforce, she asmuch disconcerted as he, his primary objection momentarily waxing in forceas they surveyed the conditions circumscribing their escape. 

Quadrant Mews was busily engaged in enjoying itself. Night had fallensultry and humid, and the walls and doorsteps were well fringed andclustered with representatives of that class of London's population whichinfests mews through habit, taste, or force of circumstance. 

On the stoops men sprawled at easy length, discussing short, foul cuttiesloaded with that rank and odoriferous compound which, under the name andin the fame of tobacco, is widely retailed at tuppence the ounce. Theirwomen-folk more commonly squatted on the thresholds, cheerfully squabbling;from opposing second-story windows, two leaned perilously forth, slangingone another across the square briskly in the purest billingsgate; and wereimpartially applauded from below by an audience whose appreciation seemedfaintly tinged with envy. Squawking and yelling children swarmed over theflags and rude cobblestones that paved the ways. Like incense, heavy andpungent, the rich effluvia of stable-yards swirled in air made visible byits faint burden of mist. 

Over against the entrance wherein Kirkwood and the girl lurked, confoundedby the problem of escaping undetected through this vivacious scene, astable-door stood wide, exposing a dimly illumined interior. Before itwaited a four-wheeler, horse already hitched in between the shafts, whileits driver, a man of leisurely turn of mind, made lingering inspection ofstraps and buckles, and, while Kirkwood watched him, turned attention tothe carriage lamps. 

The match which he raked spiritedly down his thigh, flared ruddily; thesucceeding paler glow of the lamp threw into relief a heavy beefy mask, with shining bosses for cheeks and nose and chin; through narrow slitstwo cunning eyes glittered like dull gems. Kirkwood appraised him withattention, as one in whose gross carcass was embodied their only hope ofunannoyed return to the streets and normal surroundings of their world. Thedifficulty lay in attracting the man's attention and engaging him withoutarousing his suspicions or bringing the population about their ears. Thoughhe hesitated long, no favorable opportunity presented itself; and in timethe Jehu approached the box with the ostensible purpose of mounting anddriving off. In this critical situation the American, forced to recognizethat boldness must mark his course, took the girl's fate and his own in hishands, and with a quick word to his companion, stepped out of hiding. 

The cabby had a foot upon the step when Kirkwood tapped his shoulder. 

"My man--"

"Lor, lumme!" cried the fellow in amaze, pivoting on his heel. Cupidity andquick understanding enlivened the eyes which in two glances lookedKirkwood up and down, comprehending at once both his badly rumpled hatand 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 andto--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 bargained; "an' you runnin' awyewith 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 atthe reins. "_Ck_! Gee-e hup!" he cried sonorously. 

By now the mews had wakened to the fact of the presence of a "toff" in itsmidst. His light topcoat and silk hat-rendered him as conspicuous as a redIndian in war-paint would have been on Rotten Row. A cry of surprise wasraised, and drowned in a volley of ribald inquiry and chaff. 

Fortunately, the cabby was instant to rein in skilfully before thepassageway, and Kirkwood had the door open before the four-wheeler stopped. The girl, hugging her cloak about her, broke cover (whereat the hue and cryredoubled), and sprang into the body of the vehicle. Kirkwood followed, shutting the door. As the cab lurched forward he leaned over and drew downthe window-shade, shielding the girl from half a hundred prying eyes. Atthe same time they gathered momentum, banging swiftly, if loudly out of themews. 

An urchin, leaping on the step to spy in Kirkwood's window, fell off, yelping, as the driver's whiplash curled about his shanks. 

The gloom of the tunnel inclosed them briefly ere the lights of theHog-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 onthe point of fainting, he let up the shade and lowered the window at herside. 

She seemed to have collapsed in her corner. Against the dark upholstery herhair shone like pale gold in the half-light; her eyes were closed and sheheld a handkerchief to her lips; the other hand lay limp. 

"Miss Calendar?"

She started, and something bulky fell from the seat and thumped heavily onthe floor. Kirkwood bent to pick it up, and so for the first time wasmade aware that she had brought with her a small black gladstone bag ofconsiderable 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 complete comprehension. "Itrust ... " he added vaguely, and neglected to complete the observation, losing himself in a maze of conjecture not wholly agreeable. This was a newphase of the adventure. He eyed the bag uneasily. What did it contain? Howdid he know ... ?

Hastily he abandoned that line of thought. He had no right toinfer anything whatever, who had thrust himself uninvited into herconcerns--uninvited, that was to say, in the second instance, havingbeen once definitely given his congé. Inevitably, however, a thousandunanswerable questions pestered him; just as, at each fresh facet ofmystery disclosed by the sequence of the adventure, his bewildermentdeepened. 

The girl stirred restlessly. "I have been thinking, " she volunteered in atroubled tone, "that there is absolutely no way I know of, to thank youproperly. "

"It is enough if I've been useful, " he rose in gallantry to the emergency. 

"That, " she commented, "was very prettily said. But then I have never knownany one more kind and courteous and--and considerate, than you. " There wasno savor of flattery in the simple and direct statement; indeed, she waslooking away from him, out of the window, and her face was serious withthought; she seemed to be speaking of, rather than to, Kirkwood. "And Ihave been wondering, " she continued with unaffected candor, "what you mustbe 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 wewere brought together was extraordinary, Mr. Kirkwood. You must be verygenerous, as generous as you have shown yourself brave, not to require somesort of an explanation of me. "

"I don't see it that way. "

"I do ... You have made me like you very much, Mr. Kirkwood. "

He shot her a covert glance--causelessly, for her _naiveté_ was flawless. With a feeling of some slight awe he understood this--a sensation ofsincere reverence for the unspoiled, candid, child's heart and mind thatwere hers. "I'm glad, " he said simply; "very glad, if that's the case, andpresupposing I deserve it. Personally, " he laughed, "I seem to myself tohave 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, tenminutes, half an hour, we shall have seen the last of each other. Whyshould I not tell you how I appreciate all that you have unselfishly donefor me?"

"If you put it that way, --I'm sure I don't know; beyond that it embarrassesme horribly to have you overestimate me so. If any courage has been shownthis night, it is yours ... But I'm forgetting again. " He thought to diverther. "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 tomeet my father there, with this, "--indicating the gladstone bag. 

Kirkwood thrust head and shoulders out the window and instructed the cabbyaccordingly; but his ruse had been ineffectual, as he found when he satback again. Quite composedly the girl took up the thread of conversationwhere it had been broken off. 

"It's rather hard to keep silence, when you've been so good. I don't wantyou to think me less generous than yourself, but, truly, I can tell younothing. " She sighed a trace resentfully; or so he thought. "There islittle enough in this--this wretched affair, that I understand myself; andthat 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 ofshame; 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 ridewas to be so short; like many of his fellow-sufferers from "the artistictemperament, " he was acutely disconcerted by spoken words of praise andgratitude; Miss Calendar, unintentionally enough, had succeeded only inrendering 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 said presently: "my father. I--I hope youwill think charitably of him. "

"Indeed, I've no reason or right to think otherwise. "

"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, onesupposes it is trouble, of some sort. And then you will tell me the wholestory.... Won't you?" Kirkwood insisted. 

"I'm afraid not, " she said, with a smile of shadowed sadness. "We are tosay good night in a moment or two, and--it will be good-by as well. It'sunlikely 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, nonethe less. We are leaving London this very night, my father and I--leavingEngland, 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. "

"Of course!" he commented savagely. "It wouldn't be me to have _any_ sortof 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 theirleft Trafalgar Square stretched, broad and bare, a wilderness of sootystone with an air of mutely tolerating its incongruous fountains. ThroughCharing Cross roared a tide-rip of motor-busses and hackney carriages. 

Glumly the young man foresaw the passing of his abbreviated romance; theirdestination was near at hand. Brentwick had been right, to some extent, atleast; it was quite true that the curtain had been rung up that very night, upon Kirkwood's Romance; unhappily, as Brentwick had not foreseen, it wasimmediately to be rung down. 

The cab rolled soberly into the Strand. 

"Since we are to say good-by so very soon, " suggested Kirkwood, "may I aska parting favor, Miss Calendar?"

She regarded him with friendly eyes. "You have every right, " she affirmedgently. 

"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 ... "

For a little time, waiting for him to conclude his vague phrase, shewatched him in an expectant silence. But the man was diffident to adegree--At length, somewhat unconsciously, "I think not, " she answered. "No; there will be no danger awaiting me at Mrs. Hallam's. You need notfear 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?"--persistently. 

"He promised to. "

"But if he shouldn't?"

"Why--" Her eyes clouded; she pursed her lips over the conjecturalannoyance. "Why, in that event, I suppose--It would be very embarrassing. You see, I don't know Mrs. Hallam; I don't know that she expects me, unlessmy father is already there. They are old friends--I could drive round for awhile and come back, I suppose. "

But she made it plain that the prospect did not please her. 

"Won't you let me ask if Mr. Calender is there, before you get out, then? Idon't like to be dismissed, " he laughed; "and, you know, you shouldn't gowandering round all alone. "

The cab drew up. Kirkwood put a hand on the door and awaited her will. 

"It--it would be very kind ... I hate to impose upon you. "

He turned the knob and got out. "If you'll wait one moment, " he saidsuperfluously, as he closed the door. 

Pausing only to verify the number, he sprang up the steps and found thebell-button. 

It was a modest little residence, in nothing more remarkable than itsneighbors, unless it was for a certain air of extra grooming: the arearailing was sleek with fresh black paint; the doorstep looked the betterfor vigorous stoning; the door itself was immaculate, its brasses shininglustrous against red-lacquered woodwork. A soft glow filled the fanlight. Overhead the drawing-room windows shone with a cozy, warm radiance. 

The door opened, framing the figure of a maid sketched broadly in masses ofsomber black and dead white. 

"Can you tell me, is Mr. Calendar here?"

The servant's eyes left his face, looked past him at the waiting cab, andreturned. 

"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?"

"Mr. Kirkwood. "

"If you will please to wait one moment, sir--"

He was left in the entry hall, the servant hurrying to the staircase andup. 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 intothe drawing-room and again left him to his own resources. 

Nervous, annoyed, he paced the floor from wall to wall, his footfallssilenced by heavy rugs. As the delay was prolonged he began to fume withimpatience, wondering, half regretting that he had left the girl outside, definitely sorry that he had failed to name his errand more explicitly tothe maid. At another time, in another mood, he might have accorded moreappreciation to the charm of the apartment, which, betraying the femininetouch in every detail of arrangement and furnishing, was very handsome inan unconventional way. But he was quite heedless of externals. 

Wearied, he deposited himself sulkily in an armchair by the hearth. 

From a boudoir on the same floor there came murmurs of two voices, a man'sand a woman's. The latter laughed prettily. 

"Oh, any time!" snorted the American. "Any time you're through with yourconfounded flirtation, Mr. George B. Calendar!"

The voices rose, approaching. "Good night, " said the woman gaily; "farewelland--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 thetotally unlooked-for entrance of the mistress of the house. He had thoughtto see Calendar, presuming him to be the man closeted with Mrs. Hallam;but, whoever that had been, he did not accompany the woman. Indeed, as sheadvanced from the doorway, Kirkwood could hear the man's footsteps on thestairs. 

"This is Mr. Kirkwood?" The note of inquiry in the well-trained voice--avery alluring voice and one pleasant to listen to, he thought--made it seemas though she had asked, point-blank, "Who is Mr. Kirkwood?"

He bowed, discovering himself in the presence of an extraordinarilyhandsome and interesting woman; a woman of years which as yet had not toldupon her, of experience that had not availed to harden her, at least in sofar as her exterior charm of personality was involved; a woman, in brief, who bore close inspection well, despite an elusive effect of maturity, notwithout its attraction for men. Kirkwood was impressed that it would bevery 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 torecognize in her the woman who, if he were not mistaken, had slipped toCalendar that warning in the dining-room of the Pless. Kirkwood's state ofmind had come to be such, through his experiences of the past fewhours, that he would have accepted anything, however preposterous, as acommonplace happening. But for that matter there was nothing particularlyastonishing in this _rencontre_. 

"I am Mrs. Hallam. You were asking for Mr. Calendar?"

"He was to have been here at this hour, I believe, " said Kirkwood. 

"Yes?" There was just the right inflection of surprise in her carefullycontrolled tone. 

He became aware of an undercurrent of feeling; that the woman wasestimating him shrewdly with her fine direct eyes. He returned her regardwith admiring interest; they were gray-green eyes, deep-set but large, alittle 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 a service of me this evening; I am here in naturalconsequence. If it was Mr. Calendar who left this house just now, I amwasting time. "

"It was not Mr. Calendar. " The fine-lined brows arched in surprise, realor pretended, at his first blurted words, and relaxed; amused, the womanlaughed deliciously. "But I am expecting him any moment; he was to havebeen here half an hour since.... Won't you wait?"

She indicated, with a gracious gesture, a chair, and took for herself oneend 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 insistent on detaining him, possibly because she questioned his motive, possibly for her owndivertisement. 

Kirkwood deprecated his refusal with a smile. "The truth is, Miss Calendaris waiting in a cab, outside. I--"

"Dorothy Calendar!" Mrs. Hallam rose alertly. "But why should she waitthere? To be sure, we've never met; but I have known her father for manyyears. " Her eyes held steadfast to his face; shallow, flawed by her everythought, 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 forhim. 

She swung about quickly, preceding him to the door and down the stairs. "Iam sure Dorothy will come in to wait, if I ask her, " she told Kirkwood in ahigh 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 appointmenthere. I'll run out and ask--"

Mrs. Hallam's slim white fingers turned latch and knob, opening the streetdoor, and her voice died away as she stepped out into the night. For amoment, to Kirkwood, tagging after her with an uncomfortable sense ofhaving somehow done the wrong thing, her figure--full fair shoulders andarms rising out of the glittering dinner gown--cut a gorgeous silhouetteagainst the darkness. Then, with a sudden, imperative gesture, she halfturned 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 beside her, he stared blankly. 

To the left the Strand roared, the stream of its night-life in high spate;on the right lay the Embankment, comparatively silent and deserted, ifbrilliant with its high-swung lights. Between the two, quiet Craven Streetran, 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 questionand a peremptory one. Her eyes had narrowed; between their lashes the greenshowed, a thin edge like jade, cold and calculating. The firm lines of hermouth 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 backacross the threshold, where she paused, a rounded arm barring the entrance, one hand grasping the door-knob, as if to shut him out at any moment. 

"I'm awaiting your explanation, " she said coldly. 

[Illustration: "I'm waiting your explanation, " she said coldly. ]

He grinned with nervousness, striving to penetrate the mental processes ofthis handsome Mrs. Hallam. She seemed to regard him with a suspicion whichhe thought inexcusable. Did she suppose he had spirited Dorothy Calendaraway and then called to apprise her of the fact? Or that he was some sortof an adventurer, who had manufactured a plausible yarn to gain him accessto her home? Or--harking back to her original theory--that he was anemissary from Scotland Yard? ... Probably she distrusted him on the latterhypothesis. The reflection left him more at ease. 

"I am quite as mystified as you, Mrs. Hallam, " he began. "Miss Calendar washere, 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 answeryou!"

But her eyes were blank. "You mean--?"

"That Calendar was in this house when I came; that he left, found hisdaughter in the cab, and drove off with her. It's clear enough. "

"You are quite mistaken, " she said thoughtfully. "George Calendar has notbeen 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 vigilantattitude, moved forward once more, to peer down toward the Embankment. 

A cab had cut in from that direction and was bearing down upon them witha brisk rumble of hoofs. As it approached, Kirkwood's heart, thathad lightened, was weighed upon again by disappointment. It was nofour-wheeler, but a hansom, and the open wings of the apron, disclosing awhite triangle of linen surmounted by a glowing spot of fire, betrayed thesex of the fare too plainly to allow of further hope that it might be thegirl returning. 

At the door, the cab pulled up sharply and a man tumbled hastily out uponthe sidewalk. 

"Here!" he cried throatily, tossing the cabby his fare, and turned towardthe pair upon the doorstep, evidently surmising that something was amiss. For he was Calendar in proper person, and a sight to upset in a twinklingKirkwood's ingeniously builded castle of suspicion. 

"Mrs. Hallam!" he cried, out of breath. "'S my daughter here?" And then, catching sight of Kirkwood's countenance: "Why, hello, Kirkwood!" hesaluted him with a dubious air. 

The woman interrupted hastily. "Please come in, Mr. Calendar. Thisgentleman has been inquiring for you, with an astonishing tale about yourdaughter. "

"Dorothy!" Calendar's moon-like visage was momentarily divested of anytrace of color. "What of her?"

"You had better come in, " advised Mrs. Hallam brusquely. 

The fat adventurer hopped hurriedly across the threshold, Kirkwoodfollowing. The woman shut the door, and turned with back to it, noddingsignificantly 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 himselfwith a deliberate statement of fact: "Miss Calendar has disappeared. " Itgave him an instant's time ... "There's something damned fishy!" he toldhimself. "These two are playing at cross-purposes. Calendar's no fool; he'sevidently a crook, to boot. As for the woman, she's had her eyes open fora number of years. The main thing's Dorothy. She didn't vanish of her owninitiative. And Mrs. Hallam knows, or suspects, more than she's going totell. 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.... Withher permission I brought her here in a four-wheeler. " He was carefullysuppressing all mention of Frognall Street, and in Calendar's glance readapproval 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 thecab--and by the way, I hadn't paid the driver. That's funny, too! Perhapssix or seven minutes after I came in Mrs. Hallam found out that MissCalendar was with me and wanted to ask her in. When we got to the door--nocab. There you have it all. "

"Thanks--it's plenty, " said Calendar dryly. He bent his head in thought foran instant, then looked up and fixed Mrs. Hallam with an unprejudicedeye, "I say!" he demanded explosively. "There wasn't any one here thatknew--eh?"

Her fine eyes wavered and fell before his; and Kirkwood remarked that herunder lip was curiously drawn in. 

"I heard a man leave as Mrs. Hallam joined me, " he volunteered helpfully, and with a suspicion of malice. "And after that--I paid no attention at thetime--it seems to me I did hear a cab in the street--"

"Ow?" interjected Calendar, eying the woman steadfastly and employing anexclamation of combined illumination and inquiry more typically Britishthan 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, a higher color in hercheeks, 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 thatblackguard.... There! The mischief's done; we won't row over it. Onemoment. " He begged it with a wave of his hand; stood pondering briefly, fumbled for his watch, found and consulted it. "It's the barest chance, " hemuttered. "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; wehaven't a minute. Mrs. Hallam, permit us.... " She stepped aside and hebrushed past her to the door. "Come, Kirkwood!"

He seemed to take Kirkwood's company for granted; and the young man was notinclined to argue the point. Meekly enough he fell in with Calendar on thesidewalk. Mrs. Hallam followed them out. "You won't forget?" she calledtentatively. 

"I'll 'phone you if we find out anything. " Calendar jerked the wordsunceremoniously over his shoulder as, linking arms with Kirkwood, he drewhim swiftly along. They heard her shut the door; instantly Calendarstopped. "Look here, did Dorothy have a--a small parcel with her?"

"She had a gladstone bag. "

"Oh, the devil, the devil!" Calendar started on again, mutteringdistractedly. As they reached the corner he disengaged his arm. "We've aminute and a half to reach Charing Cross Pier; and I think it's the lastboat. You set the pace, will you? But remember I'm an oldish man and--andfat. "

They began to run, the one easily, the other lumbering after like anold-fashioned square-rigged ship paced by a liner. 

Beneath the railway bridge, in front of the Underground station, thecab-rank cried them on with sardonic view-halloos; and a bobby remarkedthem with suspicion, turning to watch as they plunged round the corner andacross the wide Embankment. 

The Thames appeared before them, a river of ink on whose burnished surfacelights swam in long winding streaks and oily blobs. By the floating pier aCounty Council steamboat strained its hawsers, snoring huskily. Bells werejingling in her engine-room as the two gained the head of the slopinggangway. 

Kirkwood slapped a shilling down on the ticket-window ledge. "Where to?" hecried back to Calendar. 

"Cherry Gardens Pier, " rasped the winded man. He stumbled after Kirkwood, groaning with exhaustion. Only the tolerance of the pier employees gainedthem their end; the steamer was held some seconds for them; as Calendarstaggered 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 thepier beneath Waterloo Bridge. 

The deck was crowded and additional passengers embarked at every stop. Inthe circumstances conversation, save on the most impersonal topics, wasimpossible; and even had it been necessary or advisable to discuss theaffair which occupied their minds, where so many ears could hear, Calendarhad breath enough neither to answer nor to catechize Kirkwood. They foundseats on the forward deck and rested there in grim silence, both frettingunder the enforced restraint, while the boat darted, like some illuminatedand exceptionally active water insect, from pier to pier. 

As it snorted beneath London Bridge, Calendar's impatience drove him fromhis seat back to the gangway. "Next stop, " he told Kirkwood curtly; andrested his heavy bulk against the paddle-box, brooding 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 CherryGardens landing. 

Sweet name for a locality unsavory beyond credence! ... As they emerged onthe street level and turned west on Bermondsey Wall, Kirkwood was fain totug his top-coat over his chest and button it tight, to hide his linen. Ina guarded tone he counseled his companion to do likewise; and Calendar, after a moment's blank, uncomprehending stare, acknowledged the wisdom ofthe advice with a grunt. 

The very air they breathed was rank with fetid odors bred of the gaunt darkwarehouses that lined their way; the lights were few; beneath the loomingbuildings the shadows were many and dense. Here and there dreary andcheerless public houses appeared, with lighted windows conspicuous in alightless waste. From time to time, as they hurried on, they encountered, and made wide detours to escape contact with knots of wayfarers--mendebased and begrimed, with dreary and slatternly women, arm in arm, zigzaging widely across the sidewalks, chorusing with sodden voices theburden of some popularized ballad. The cheapened, sentimental refrainsechoed sadly between benighted walls.... 

Kirkwood shuddered, sticking close to Calendar's side. Life's nakedbrutalities had theretofore been largely out of his ken. He had heard ofslums, had even ventured to mouth politely moral platitudes on the subjectof overcrowding in great centers of population, but in the darkest flightsof imagination had never pictured to himself anything so unspeakablyfoul and hopeless as this.... And they were come hither seeking--DorothyCalendar! He was unable to conceive what manner of villainy could bedirected against her, that she must be looked for in such surroundings. 

After some ten minutes' steady walking, Calendar turned aside with amuttered word, and dived down a covered, dark and evil-smelling passagewaythat seemed to lead toward the river. 

Mastering his involuntary qualms, Kirkwood followed. 

Some ten or twelve paces from its entrance the passageway swerved at aright angle, continuing three yards or so to end in a blank wall, wherefroma flickering, inadequate gas-lamp jutted. At this point a stone platform, perhaps four feet square, was discovered, from the edge of which a flightof worn and slimy stone steps led down to a permanent boat-landing, whereanother gas-light flared gustily despite the protection of its frame ofbegrimed 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 sheetof polished ebony, whispering to itself, lapping with small stealthygurgles angles of masonry and ancient piles. On the farther bank tallwarehouses reared square old-time heads, their uncompromising, ruggedprofile relieved here and there by tapering mastheads. A few, scattering, feeble lights were visible. Nothing moved save the river and the wind. 

The landing itself they found quite deserted; something which theadventurer comprehended with a nod which, like its accompanying, inarticulate ejaculation, might have been taken to indicate eithersatisfaction or disgust. He ignored Kirkwood altogether, for the timebeing, and presently produced a small, bright object, which, applied to hislips, 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 nextwould happen. Calendar paced restlessly to and fro upon the narrow landing, now stopping to incline an ear to catch some anticipated sound, nowsearching with sweeping glances the black reaches of the Pool. 

Finally, consulting his watch, "Almost ten, " he announced. 

"We're in time?"

"Can't say.... Damn! ... If that infernal boat would only show up--"

He was lifting the whistle to sound a second summons when a rowboat roundeda projecting angle formed by the next warehouse down stream, and withclanking oar-locks swung in toward the landing. On her thwarts two figures, dipping and rising, labored with the sweeps. As they drew in, the manforward shipped his blades, and rising, scrambled to the bows in order tograsp an iron mooring-ring set in the wall. The other awkwardly took in hisoars and, as the current swung the stern downstream, placed a hand palmdownward upon the bottom 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 thefirst 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 orbad. "We'll wait a bit. "

"Right-o!" agreed the waterman civilly. 

Calendar turned back, his small eyes glimmering with satisfaction. Fumblingin one coat pocket he brought to light a cigar-case. "Have a smoke?" hesuggested with a show of friendliness. "By Heaven, I was beginnin' to getworried!"

"As to what?" inquired Kirkwood pointedly, selecting a cigar. 

He got no immediate reply, but felt Calendar's sharp eyes upon him while hemanoeuvered with matches for a light. 

"That's so, " it came at length. "You don't know. I kind of forgot for aminute; somehow you seemed on the inside. "

Kirkwood laughed lightly. "I've experienced something of the same sensationin the past few hours. "

"Don't doubt it. " Calendar was watching him narrowly. "I suppose, " he putit 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 islaid before me. "

"Hmm!" Calendar puffed vigorously until it occurred to him to change thesubject. "You won't mind telling me what happened to you and Dorothy?"

"Certainly not. "

Calendar drew nearer and Kirkwood, lowering his voice, narrated briefly theevents since he had left the Pless in Dorothy's company. 

Her father followed him intently, interrupting now and again withexclamation or pertinent question; as, Had Kirkwood been able to see theface of the man in No. 9, Frognall Street? The negative answer seemed todisconcert him. 

"Youngster, you say? Blam' if I can lay my mind to _him_! Now if thatMulready--"

"It would have been impossible for Mulready--whoever he is--to recover andget 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 hadsense 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 theriver. "You've been blame' useful, " he told Kirkwood assertively. "Ifit hadn't been for you, I don't know where _I'd_ be now, --nor Dorothy, either, "--an obvious afterthought. "There's no particular way I can show myappreciation, 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 bewanting.... I only wish you were with us; but that's out of the question. "

"Doubtless ... "

"No two ways about it. I bet anything you've got a conscience concealedabout your person. What? You're an honest man, eh?"

"I don't want to sound immodest, " returned Kirkwood, amused. 

"You don't need to worry about that.... But an honest man's got no businessin _my_ line. " He glanced again at his watch. "Damn that Mulready! I wonderif 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 havebeen outwitted; and, clasping hands behind his back, chewed savagely on hiscigar, watching the river. Kirkwood found himself somewhat wearied; theuselessness of his presence there struck him with added force. He bethoughthim of his boat-train, scheduled to leave a station miles distant, in anhour and a half. If he missed it, he would be stranded in a foreign land, penniless and practically without friends--Brentwick being away and all therest of his circle of acquaintances on the other side of the Channel. Yethe lingered, in poor company, daring fate that he might see the end of theaffair. Why?

There was only one honest answer to that question. He stayed on because ofhis interest in a girl whom he had known for a matter of three hours, atmost. It was insensate folly on his part, ridiculous from any point ofview. But he made no move to go. 

The slow minutes lengthened monotonously. 

There came a sound from the street level. Calendar held up a hand ofwarning. "Here they come! Steady!" he said tensely. Kirkwood, listeningintently, interpreted the noise as a clash of hoofs upon cobbles. 

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 waslost to sight. Calendar plucked at Kirkwood's sleeve, drawing him into theshadow 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 seemedonly accentuated by the purling of the river. It was ended by footstepsechoing in the covered passageway. Calendar craned his thick neck round theshoulder 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 abit slippery, Miss Dorothy. "

"But my father--?" came the girl's voice, attuned 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 orleft, he advanced to the edge of the stage, leaning out over the rail as ifendeavoring to locate the rowboat. At once the girl appeared, moving to hisside. 

"But, Mr. Mulready--"

The girl's words were drowned by a prolonged blast on the boatswain'swhistle at her companion's lips; the shorter one followed in due course. Calendar 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 _Alethea_ as soon as possible, MissCalendar. We can send the boat back. "

"'Once aboard the lugger the girl is mine'--eh, Mulready?--to say nothingof the loot!"

If Calendar's words were jocular, his tone conveyed a different impressionentirely. Both man and girl wheeled right about to face him, the one with astrangled oath, the other with a low cry. 

"The devil!" exclaimed this Mr. Mulready. 

"Oh! My father!" the girl voiced her recognition of him. 

"Not precisely one and the same person, " commented Calendar suavely. "But--er--thanks, just as much.... You see, Mulready, when I make anappointment, I keep it. "

"We'd begun to get a bit anxious about you--" Mulready began defensively. 

"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, hisfeatures working with his deep chagrin. The murky flare of the gas-lampoverhead fell across a face handsome beyond the ordinary but marred by asullen humor and seamed with indulgence: a face that seemed hauntinglyfamiliar until Kirkwood in a flash of visual memory reconstructed theportrait of a man who lingered over a dining-table, with two empty chairsfor company. This, then, was he whom Mrs. Hallam had left at the Pless; atall, strong man, very heavy about the chest and shoulders.... 

"Why, my dear friend, " Calendar was taunting him, "you don't seem overjoyedto see me, for all your wild anxiety! 'Pon my word, you act as if youhadn'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 amoment I'd let myself be nabbed by that yap from Scotland Yard? Were youbanking on that? I give you my faith I ambled out under his very nose! ... Dorothy, my dear, " turning impatiently from Mulready, "where's that bag?"

The girl withdrew a puzzled gaze from Mulready's face, (it was apparent toKirkwood that this phase of the affair was no more enigmatic to him than toher), and drew aside a corner of her cloak, disclosing 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 andfixed him with a troubled and unfriendly stare. The girl greeted him with anote of sincere pleasure in her surprise. 

"Why, Mr. Kirkwood! ... But I left you at Mrs. Hallam's!"

Kirkwood bowed, smiling openly at Mulready's discomfiture. 

"By your father's grace, I came with him, " he said. "You ran away withoutsaying good night, you know, and I'm a jealous creditor. "

She laughed excitedly, turning to Calendar. "But _you_ were to meet me atMrs. Hallam's?"

"Mulready was good enough to try to save me the trouble, my dear. He's anunselfish soul, Mulready. Fortunately it happened that I came along notfive minutes after he'd carried you off. How was that, Dorothy?"

Her glance wavered uneasily between the two, Mulready and her father. Theformer, shrugging to declare his indifference, turned his back squarelyupon them. She frowned. 

"He came out of Mrs. Hallam's and got into the four-wheeler, saying you hadsent 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 adeliberate 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-patedsuspicions. It'd be plain to any one but a fool that I acted for the bestinterests of all concerned in this matter. If you're not content to see itin that light, I'm done. "

"Oh, if you want to put it that way, I'm _not_ content, Mr. Mulready, "retorted Calendar dangerously. 

"Please yourself. I bid you good evening and--good-by. " The man took a steptoward 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'ssmoldering 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 temporizewith you till Doomsday? Then forget it. You're wrong, dead wrong. Yourbluff's called, and"--with an evil chuckle--"I hold a full house, Mulready, --every chamber taken. " He lifted meaningly the hand in the coatpocket. "Now, in with you. "

With a grin and a swagger of pure bravado Mulready turned and obeyed. Unnoticed of any, save perhaps Calendar himself, the boat had drawn in atthe stage a moment earlier. Mulready dropped into it and threw himselfsullenly upon the midships thwart. 

"Now, Dorothy, in you go, my dear, " continued Calendar, with aself-satisfied wag of his head. 

Half dazed, to all seeming, she moved toward the boat. With clumsy andassertive gallantry her father stepped before her, offering his hand, --hishand which she did not touch; for, in the act of descending, she rememberedand 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 stillretained her fingers in a lingering 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 eveninggown, she figured strangely against the gloomy background of the river, inthose dull and mean surroundings of dank stone and rusted iron. She waslike (he thought extravagantly) a whiff of flower-fragrance lost in themiasmatic vapors of a slough. 

The innocent appeal and allure of her face, upturned to his beneath thegas-light, wrought compassionately upon his sensitive and generous heart. He was aware of a little surge of blind rage against the conditions thathad brought her to that spot, and against those whom he held responsiblefor those conditions. 

In a sudden flush of daring he turned and nodded coolly to Calendar. "Withyour permission, " he said negligently; and drew the girl aside to the angleof the stairway. 

"Miss Calendar--" he began; but was interrupted. 

"Here--I say!"

Calendar had started toward him angrily. 

Kirkwood calmly waved him back. "I want a word in private with yourdaughter, Mr. Calendar, " he announced with quiet dignity. "I don't thinkyou'll deny me? I've saved you some slight trouble to-night. "

Disgruntled, the adventurer paused. "Oh--_all_ right, " he grumbled. "Idon't see what ... " He returned to the boat. 

"Forgive me, Miss Calendar, " continued Kirkwood nervously. "I know I've noright to interfere, but--"

"Yes, Mr. Kirkwood?"

"--but hasn't this gone far enough?" he floundered unhappily. "I can't likethe look of things. Are you sure--sure that it's all right--with you, Imean?"

She did not answer at once; but her eyes were kind and sympathetic. Heplucked heart of their tolerance. 

"It isn't too late, yet, " he argued. "Let me take you to your friends, --youmust have friends in the city. But this--this midnight flight down theThames, this atmosphere of stealth and suspicion, this--"

"But my place is with my father, Mr. Kirkwood, " she interposed. "I daren'tdoubt 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 Kirkwood with a look of archtriumph; Kirkwood wondered if he had overheard. Whether or no, he couldafford to be magnanimous. Seizing Kirkwood's hand, he pumped it vigorously. 

"My dear boy, you've been an angel in disguise! And I guess you think methe devil in masquerade. " He chuckled, in high conceit with himself overthe turn of affairs. "Good night and--and fare thee well!" He dropped intothe boat, seating himself to face the recalcitrant Mulready. "Cast off, there!"

The boat dropped away, the oars lifting and falling. With a weariful senseof loneliness and disappointment, Kirkwood hung over the rail to watch themout of sight. 

A dozen feet of water lay between the stage and the boat. The girl's dressremained a spot of cheerful color; her face was a blur. As the watermenswung the bows down-stream, she looked back, lifting an arm spectral in itswhite sheath. Kirkwood raised his hat. 

The boat gathered impetus, momentarily diminishing in the night's illusoryperspective; presently it was little more than a fugitive blot, glidingswiftly in midstream. And then, it was gone entirely, engulfed by theobliterating darkness. 

[Illustration: The boat gathered impetus. ]

Somewhat wearily the young man released the railing and ascended thestairs. "And that is the end!" he told himself, struggling with an acutesense of personal injury. He had been hardly used. For a few hours hislife had been lightened by the ineffable glamor of Romance; mystery andadventure had engaged him, exorcising for the time the Shade of Care; hehad served a fair woman and been associated with men whose ways, howeverquestionable, were the ways of courage, hedged thickly about with perils. 

All that was at an end. Prosaic and workaday to-morrows confronted him inendless and dreary perspective; and he felt again upon his shoulder thebony 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 intents and purposes lost. 

In this extremity, Chance smiled upon him. The cabby who, at his initialinstance, had traveled this weary way from Quadrant Mews, after the mannerof his kind, ere turning back, had sought surcease of fatigue at thenearest public; from afar Kirkwood saw the four-wheeler at the curb, andmade all haste toward it. 

Entering the gin-mill he found the cabby, soothed him with bitter, and, instructing him for St. Pancras with all speed, dropped, limp and listlesswith fatigue, into the conveyance. 

As it moved, he closed his eyes; the face of Dorothy Calendar shone outfrom the blank wall of his consciousness, like an illuminated picture castupon a screen. She smiled upon him, her head high, her eyes tender andtrustful. And he thought that her scarlet lips were sweet with promise andher 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 hemight, by a nod of his head, have cast his fortunes with hers for weal orwoe. 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' six, " enunciated thecabby, his tone that of a man prepared for trouble, acquainted withtrouble, inclined to give trouble a welcome. His bloodshot eyes blinkedtruculently at his alighted fare. "Three 'n' six, " he iteratedaggressively. 

An adjacent but theretofore abstracted policeman pricked up his ears andassumed an intelligent expression. 

"Bermondsey Ol' 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 tothird-class waiting-rooms. Continuing to fumble through his pockets for anelusive sovereign purse, he looked up mildly at the man. 

"All right, cabby, " he said, with pacific purpose; "you'll get your fare inhalf a shake. "

"Three 'n' six!" croaked the cabby, like a blowsy and vindictive parrot. 

The bobby strolled nearer. 

"Yes?" said Kirkwood, mildly diverted. "Why not sing it, cabby?"

"Lor' lumme!" The cabby exploded with indignation, continuing to give alifelike imitation of a rumpled parrot. "I 'ad trouble enough wif you atBermondsey Ol' Stairs, hover that quid you promised, didn't I? Sing it! Myheye!"

"Quid, cabby?" And then, remembering that he had promised the fellow asovereign for fast driving from Quadrant Mews, Kirkwood grinned broadly, eyes twinkling; for Mulready must have fallen heir to that covenant. "Butyou got the sovereign? You got it, didn't you, cabby?"

The driver affirmed the fact with unnecessary heat and profanity and anamendment to the effect that he would have spoiled his fare's sanguinaryconk had the outcome been less satisfactory. 

The information proved so amusing that Kirkwood, chuckling, forbore toresent the manner of its delivery, and, abandoning until a more favorabletime the chase of the coy sovereign purse, extracted from one trouserpocket half a handful of large English small change. 

"Three shillings, six-pence, " he counted the coins into the cabby's grimyand bloated paw; and added quietly: "The exact distance is rather lessthan, four miles, my man; your fare, precisely two shillings. You may keepthe extra eighteen pence, for being such a conscientious blackguard, --ortalk it over with the officer here. Please yourself. "

He nodded to the bobby, who, favorably impressed by the silk hat whichKirkwood, by diligent application of his sleeve during the cross-town ride, had managed to restore to a state somewhat approximating its erstwhileluster, 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, jerking his helmeted headtowards the vanishing four-wheeler. 

"Right you are, " agreed Kirkwood amiably, still tickled by the knowledgethat Mulready had been obliged to pay three times over for the ride thatended in his utter discomfiture. Somehow, Kirkwood had conceived no likingwhatever for the man; Calendar he could, at a pinch, tolerate for his senseof humor, but Mulready--! "A surly dog, " he thought him. 

Acknowledging the policeman's salute and restoring two shillings and afew fat copper pennies to his pocket, he entered the vast and echoingtrain-shed. In the act, his attention was attracted and immediately rivetedby the spectacle of a burly luggage navvy in a blue jumper in the act ofmaking off with a large, folding sign-board, of which the surface waslettered expansively with the advice, in red against a white background:

BOAT-TRAIN LEAVES ON TRACK 3

Incredulous yet aghast the young man gave instant chase to the navvy, overhauling him with no great difficulty. For your horny-handed Britishworking-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, pointing at the board. 

"Left ten minutes ago, thank you, sir. "

"Wel-l, but... ! Of course I can get another train at Tilbury?"

"For yer boat? No, sir, thank you, sir. Won't be another tryne tillmornin', sir. "

"Oh-h!... "

Aimlessly Kirkwood drifted away, his mind a blank. 

Sometime later he found himself on the steps outside the station, trying tostare out of countenance a glaring electric mineral-water advertisement onthe farther side of the Euston Road. 

He was stranded.... 

Beyond the spiked iron fence that enhedges the incurving drive, the roar oftraffic, human, wheel and hoof, rose high for all the lateness of the hour:sidewalks groaning with the restless contact of hundreds of ill-shodfeet; the roadway thundering--hansoms, four-wheelers, motor-cars, dwarfedcoster-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 electric signs as with theradiance of some lurid and sinister moon. The voice of London sounded inKirkwood'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, locating his watch, cigar- andcigarette-cases, match-box, penknife--all the minutiae of pocket-hardwareaffected by civilized man; with old letters, a card-case, a square envelopecontaining his steamer ticket; but no sovereign purse. His small-changepocket held less than three shillings--two and eight, to be exact--and abrass key, which he failed to recognize as one of his belongings. 

And that was all. At sometime during the night he had lost (or beencunningly bereft of?) that little purse of chamois-skin containing thethree golden sovereigns which he had been husbanding to pay his steamerexpenses, and which, if only he had them now, would stand between him andstarvation 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. "Vagabond?" He repeated the word softlya number of times, to get the exact flavor of it, and found it little tohis taste. And yet... 

He thrust both hands deep in his trouser pockets and stared purposelesslyinto space, twisting his eyebrows out of alignment and crookedly protrudinghis lower lip. 

If Brentwick were only in town--But he wasn't, and wouldn't be, within theweek. 

"No good waiting here, " he concluded. Composing his face, he reëntered thestation. There were his trunks, of course. He couldn't leave them standingon the station platform for ever. 

He found the luggage-room and interviewed a mechanically courteousattendant, who, as the result of profound deliberation, advised him to tryhis luck at the lost-luggage room, across the station. He accepted theadvice; it was a foregone conclusion that his effects had not been conveyedto the Tilbury dock; they could not have been loaded into the luggage vanwithout his personal supervision. Still, anything was liable to happen whenhis unlucky star was in the ascendant. 

He found them in the lost-luggage room. 

A clerk helped him identify the articles and ultimately clucked with aperfunctory note: "Sixpence each, please. "

"I--ah--pardon?"

"Sixpence each, the fixed charge, sir. For every twenty-four hours orfraction 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 wayhastily out of the station, lest a worse thing befall him. "No, bless yourheart!--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 tilldawn; 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, freightedsore with melancholy. It knelled the passing of the half-hour aftermidnight; a witching hour, when every public shuts up tight, and gentlemenin top-hats and evening dress are doomed to pace the pave till day (barringthey have homes or visible means of support)--till day, when pawnshops openand such personal effects as watches and hammered silver cigar-cases may behypothecated. 

Sable garments fluttering, Care fell into step with Philip Kirkwood; Carethe inexorable slipped a skeleton 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 hisear. "But no, my boy; I'm with you now, for ever and a day. 'Misery lovescompany, ' and it wouldn't be pretty of me to desert 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? _Whatare 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 intohis consciousness. What was he to do?

An hour passed. 

Denied the opportunity to satisfy its beast hunger and thirst, humanitygoes off to its beds. In that hour London quieted wonderfully; the streetsachieved an effect of deeper darkness, the skies, lowering, looked downwith a blush less livid for the shamelessness of man; cab ranks lengthened;solitary footsteps added unto themselves loud, alarming, offensive echoes;policemen, strolling with lamps blazing on their breasts, became aslightships in a trackless sea; each new-found street unfolded itsperspective like a canyon of mystery, and yet teeming with a hundred maskedhazards; the air acquired a smell more clear and clean, an effect morevolatile; and the night-mist thickened until it studded one's attire withmyriads 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 notto know: a silent, black street one brief block in length, walled withdead and lightless dwellings, haunted by his errant memory; a street whoseatmosphere was heavy with impalpable essence of desuetude; in two words, Frognall Street. 

Kirkwood identified it with a start and a guilty tremor. He stoppedstock-still, in an unreasoning state of semi-panic, arrested by a sillyimpulse to turn and fly; as if the bobby, whom he descried approaching himwith measured stride, pausing new and again to try a door or flashhis bull's-eye down an area, were to be expected to identify the manresponsible for that damnable racket raised ere midnight in vacant Number9!

Oddly enough, the shock of recognition brought him to hissenses, --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 acool word in response to the man's good-natured, "Good-night, sir. " Number9 was on the other side of the street; and he favored its blank and drearyelevation with a prolonged and frank stare--that profited him nothing, bythe way. For a crazy notion popped incontinently into his head, and wouldnot be cast forth. 

At the corner he swerved and crossed, still possessed of his devil ofinspiration. It would be unfair to him to say that he did not struggle toresist it, for he did, because it was fairly and egregiously asinine; yetstruggling, his feet trod the path to which it tempted him. 

"Why, " he expostulated feebly, "I might's well turn back and beat thatbobby over the head with my cane!... "

But at the moment his hand was in his change pocket, feeling over that samebrass door-key which earlier he had been unable to account for, and he wasinforming himself how very easy it would have been for the sovereign purseto have dropped from his waistcoat pocket while he was sliding on his eardown the dark staircase. To recover it meant, at the least, shelter forthe night, followed by a decent, comfortable and sustaining morning meal. Fortified by both he could redeem his luggage, change to clothing moresuitable for daylight traveling, pawn his valuables, and enter intonegotiations with the steamship company for permission to exchange hispassage, with a sum to boot, for transportation on another liner. A mostfeasible project! A temptation all but irresistible!

But then--the risk.... Supposing (for the sake of argument) the customarynight-watchman to have taken up a transient residence in Number 9;supposing the police to have entered with him and found the stunned man onthe second floor: would the watchman not be vigilant for another nocturnalmarauder? would not the police now, more than ever, be keeping a wary eyeon that house of suspicious happenings?

Decidedly, to reënter it would be to incur a deadly risk. And yet, undoubtedly, beyond question! his sovereign purse was waiting for himsomewhere on the second flight of stairs; while as his means of clandestineentry lay warm in his fingers--the key to the dark entry, which he had byforce of habit pocketed after locking the door. 

He came to the Hog-in-the-Pound. Its windows were dim with low-turnedgas-lights. Down the covered alleyway, Quadrant Mews slept in a dusk butfitfully relieved by a lamp or two round which the friendly mist clungclose and thick. 

There would be none to see.... 

Skulking, throat swollen with fear, heart beating like a snare-drum, Kirkwood took his chance. Buttoning his overcoat collar up to his chinand cursing the fact that his hat must stand out like a chimney-pot on adetached house, he sped on tiptoe down the cobbled way and close beneaththe house-walls of Quadrant Mews. But, half-way in, he stopped, confoundedby an unforeseen difficulty. How was he to identify the narrow entry ofNumber 9, whose counterparts doubtless communicated with the mews fromevery residence on four sides of the city block?

The low inner tenements were yet high enough to hide the rear elevations ofFrognall Street houses, and the mist was heavy besides; otherwise he hadmade 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 thathe would blunder into the servant's quarters of some inhabited house, and--be promptly and righteously sat upon by the service-staff, while thebobby was summoned. 

Be that as it might--he almost lost his head when he realized this--escapewas already cut off by the way he had come. Some one, or, rather, some twomen were entering the alley. He could hear the tramping and shuffle ofclumsy feet, and voices that muttered indistinctly. One seemed to trip oversomething, and cursed. The other laughed; the voices grew more loud. Theywere 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 cobbletime-worn to glassy smoothness; he lurched, caught himself up in time tosave 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 accountof himself, "like a goo' feller. " Another tempted him with offers of drinkand sociable confabulation. He yielded not; adamantine to the seductivelure, he picked up his heels and ran. Those behind him, remarking withresentment the amazing fact that an intimate of the mews should run awayfrom liquor, cursed and made after him, veering, staggering, howling likeravening animals. 

For all their burden of intoxication, they knew the ground by instinct andfrom long association. They gained on him. Across the way a window-sashwent up with a bang, and a woman screamed. Through the only other entranceto the mews a belated cab was homing; its driver, getting wind of theunusual, pulled up, blocking the way, and added his advice to the uproar. 

Caught thus between two fires, and with his persecutors hard upon him, Kirkwood dived into the nearest black hole of a passageway and in sheerdesperation flung himself, key in hand, against the door at the end. Markhow his luck served him who had forsworn her! He found a keyhole andinserted the key. It turned. So did the knob. The door gave inward. He fellin with it, slammed it, shot the bolts, and, panting, leaned against itspanels, in a pit of everlasting night but--saved!--for the time being, atall events. 

Outside somebody brushed against one wall, cannoned to the other, broughtup with a crash against the door, and, perforce at a standstill, swore fromhis 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. Gornan' 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 ofsulphur-tainted air. The mews quieted gradually. 

Indoors Kirkwood faced unhappily the enigma of fortuity, wondering: Wasthis by any possibility Number 9?

The key had fitted; the bolts had been drawn on the inside; and whilethe key had been one of ordinary pattern and would no doubt have proveneffectual with any one of a hundred common locks, the finger of probabilityseemed to indicate that his luck had brought him back to Number 9. 

In spite of all this, he was sensible of little confidence; though thiswere truly Number 9, his freedom still lay on the knees of the gods, hisvery life, belike, 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 appealed to his sense of the ridiculous, in viewof the racket he had raised in entering, but which at the moment seemedmost natural and in accordance with common sense. Then rising, he held hisbreath, staring and listening. About him the pitch darkness was punctuatedwith fading points of fire, and in his ears was a noise of strangewhisperings, very creepy--until, gritting his teeth, he controlled hisnerves and gradually realized that he was alone, the silence undisturbed. 

He went forward gingerly, feeling his way like a blind man on strangeground. Ere long he stumbled over a door-sill and found that the wallsof the passage had fallen away; he had entered a room, a black cavern ofindeterminate dimensions. Across this he struck at random, walked himselfflat against a wall, felt his way along to an open door, and passed throughto another apartment as dark as the first. 

Here, endeavoring to make a circuit of the walls, he succeeded in throwinghimself bodily across a bed, which creaked horribly; and for a full minutelay as he had fallen, scarce daring to think. But nothing followed, and hegot up and found a shut door which let him into yet a third room, whereinhe barked both shins on a chair; and escaped to a fourth whose atmospherewas highly flavored with reluctant odors of bygone cookery, stale water anddamp plumbing--probably the kitchen. Thence progressing over complainingfloors through what may have been the servants' hall, a large room witha table in the middle and a number of promiscuous chairs (witness histortured 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 evenmomentarily forgetful of the potential police and night-watchman. 

However, he mounted the steps to the ground floor without adventure andfound himself at last in the same dim and ghostly hall which he had enteredsome six hours before; the mockery of dusk admitted by the fan-light wasjust strong enough to enable him to identify the general lay of the landand arrangement of furniture. 

More confidently with each uncontested step, he continued his quest. Elation was stirring his spirit when he gained the first floor and movedtoward the foot of the second flight, approaching the spot whereat he wasto begin the search for the missing purse. The knowledge that he lackedmeans of obtaining illumination deterred him nothing; he had some hopeof finding matches in one of the adjacent rooms, but, failing that, wasprepared to ascend the stairs on all fours, feeling every inch of theirsurface, if it took hours. Ever an optimistic soul, instinctively inclinedto father faith with a hope, he felt supremely confident that his searchwould not prove fruitless, that he would win early release from histemporary straits. 

And thus it fell out that, at the instant he was thinking it time to beginto crawl and hunt, his stockinged feet came into contact with somethingheavy, yielding, warm--something that moved, moaned, and caused his hair tobristle and his flesh to creep. 

We will make allowances for him; all along he had gone on the assumptionthat his antagonist of the dark stairway would have recovered and made offwith all expedition, in the course of ten or twenty minutes, at most, fromthe time of his accident. To find him still there was something entirelyoutside of Kirkwood's reckoning: he would as soon have thought to encountersay, Calendar, --would have preferred the latter, indeed. But this fellowwhose disability was due to his own interference, who was reasonably to becounted upon to raise the very deuce and all of a row!

The initial shock, however shattering to his equanimity, soon, lost effect. The man evidently remained unconscious, in fact had barely moved; while themoan that Kirkwood heard, had been distressingly faint. 

"Poor devil!" murmured the young man. "He must be in a pretty bad way, forsure!" He knelt, compassion gentling his heart, and put one hand to theinsentient face. A warm sweat moistened his fingers; his palm was fanned bysteady respiration. 

Immeasurably perplexed, the American rose, slipped on his shoes andbuttoned them, thinking hard the while. What ought he to do? Obviouslyflight suggested itself, --incontinent flight, anticipating the man'srecovery. On the other hand, indubitably the latter had sustained suchinjury that consciousness, when it came to him, would hardly be reinforcedby much aggressive power. Moreover, it was to be remembered that the onewas in that house with quite as much warrant as the other, unless Kirkwoodhad drawn a rash inference from the incident of the ragged sentry. The twoof them were mutual, if antagonistic, trespassers; neither would darebring about the arrest of the other. And then--and this was not the leastconsideration to influence Kirkwood--perhaps the fellow would die if he gotno attention. 

Kirkwood shut his teeth grimly. "I'm no assassin, " he informed himself, "tostrike and run. If I've maimed this poor devil and there are consequences, I'll stand 'em. The Lord knows it doesn't matter a damn to anybody, noteven to me, what happens to me; while _he_ may be valuable. "

Light upon the subject, actual as well as figurative, seemed to be thefirst essential; his mind composed, Kirkwood set himself in search of it. The floor he was on, however, afforded him no assistance; the mantels wereguiltless of candles and he discovered no matches, either in the wide andsilent drawing-room, with its ghastly furniture, like mummies in theirlinen swathings, or in the small boudoir at the back. He was to look eitherabove or below, it seemed. 

After some momentary hesitation, he went up-stairs, his ascent marked by asingle and grateful accident; half-way to the top he trod on an object thatclinked underfoot, and, stooping, retrieved the lost purse. Thus was hejustified of his temerity; the day was saved--that is, to-morrow was. 

The rooms of the second-floor were bedchambers, broad, deep, stately, inhabited by seven devils of loneliness. In one, on a dresser, Kirkwoodfound a stump of candle in a china candlestick; the two charred ends ofmatches at its base were only an irritating discovery, however--evidencethat real matches had been the mode in Number 9, at some remote date. Disgusted and oppressed by cumulative inquisitiveness, he took thecandle-end back to the hall; he would have given much for the time andmeans 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 ofDorothy Calender--bewitching riddle that she was!--that fascinated hisimagination so completely. Aside from her altogether, the great house thatstood untenanted, yet in such complete order, so self-contained in itsdarkened quiet, intrigued him equally with the train of inexplicable eventsthat had brought him within its walls. Now--since his latest entrance--hisvision had adjusted itself to cope with the obscurity to some extent; andthe street lights, meagerly reflected through the windows from the bosom ofa sullen pall of cloud, low-swung above the city, had helped him to piecetogether many a detail of decoration and furnishing, alike somber andrichly dignified. Kirkwood told himself that the owner, whoever he mightbe, was a man of wealth and taste inherited from another age; he had foundlittle of meretricious to-day in the dwelling, much that was solid andsedate and homely, and--Victorian.... He could have wished for more; a boxof early Victorian vestas had been highly acceptable. 

Making his way down-stairs to the stricken man--who was quite as he hadbeen--Kirkwood bent over and thrust rifling fingers into his pockets, regardless of the wretched sense of guilt and sneakishness imparted by theaction, stubbornly heedless of the possibility of the man's awakening tofind himself being searched and robbed. 

In the last place he sought, which should (he realized) have been thefirst, to wit, the fob pocket of the white waistcoat, he found a small goldmatchbox, packed tight with wax vestas; and, berating himself for crassstupidity--he had saved a deal of time and trouble by thinking of thisbefore--lighted the candle. 

As its golden flame shot up with scarce a tremor, preyed upon by aperfectly 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, betrayingfew characteristics other than the purely negative attributes of acharacter as yet unformed, possibly unformable; much the sort of a facethat he might have expected to see, remembering those thin and pouting lipsthat before had impressed him. Its owner was probably little more thantwenty. In his attire there was a suspicion of a fop's preciseness, asidefrom its accidental disarray; the cut of his waistcoat was the extreme ofthe then fashion, the white tie (twisted beneath one ear) an exaggerated"butterfly, " his collar nearly an inch too tall; and he was shod with pumpssuitable only for the dancing-floor, --a whim of the young-bloods of Londonof that year. 

"I can't make him out at all!" declared Kirkwood. "The son of a gentlemantoo weak to believe that cubs need licking into shape? Reared to man'sestate, so sheltered from the wicked world that he never grew a bark?... The sort that never had a quarrel in his life, 'cept with his tailor?... Now what the devil is _this_ thing doing in this midnight mischief?... Damn!"

It was most exasperating, the incongruity of the boy's appearance assortedwith his double rôle of persecutor of distressed damsels and nocturnalhouse-breaker!

Kirkwood bent closer above the motionless head, with puzzled eyes strivingto pin down some elusive resemblance that he thought to trace in thosevacuous features--a resemblance to some one he had seen, or known, at somepast time, somewhere, somehow. 

"I give it up. Guess I'm mistaken. Anyhow, five young Englishmen out ofevery ten of his class are just as blond and foolish. Now let's see how badhe'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 lookingbump at the base of the skull; and, the skin having been broken, possiblyin collision with the sharp-edged newel-post, a little blood had stainedand matted the straw-colored hair. 

Kirkwood let the head down and took thought. Recalling a bath-room on thefloor above, thither he went, unselfishly forgetful of his predicament ifdiscovered, and, turning on the water, sopped his handkerchief until itdripped. Then, returning, he took the boy's head on his knees, washed thewound, purloined another handkerchief (of silk, with a giddy border)from the other's pocket, and of this manufactured a rude but serviceablebandage. 

Toward the conclusion of his attentions, the sufferer began to show signsof returning animation. He stirred restlessly, whimpered a little, andsighed. And Kirkwood, in consternation, got up. 

"So!" he commented ruefully. "I guess I am an ass, all right--taking allthat trouble for you, my friend. If I've got a grain of sense left, this ismy cue to leave you alone in your glory. "

He was lingering only to restore to the boy's pockets such articles as hehad 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. Butere he concluded he was aware that the boy was conscious, that his eyes, open and blinking 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. Kirkwood returned their questioning glance, transfixed in indecision, hisprimal impulse to cut-and-run for it was gone; he had nothing to fear fromthis child who could not prevent his going whenever he chose to go; whileby remaining he might perchance worm from him something about the girl. 

"You're feeling better?" He was almost surprised to hear his own voice putthe query. 

"I--I think so. Ow, my head!... I say, you chap, whoever you are, what'shappened?... I want to get up. " The boy added peevishly: "Help a fellow, can't you?"

"You've had a nasty fall, " Kirkwood observed evenly, passing an armbeneath the boy's shoulder and helping him to a sitting position. "Do youremember?"

The other snuffled childishly and scrubbed across the floor to rest hisback against the wall. 

"Why-y ... I remember fallin'; and then ... I woke up and it was all darkand my head achin' fit to split. I presume I went to sleep again ... 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'tsuppose--?"

He had been conscious of a carriage rolling up from the corner, as well asthat it had drawn up (presumably) before a near-by dwelling. Now the rattleof 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 runup-stairs and hide, of course, but the boy would inform against him and.... 

He buttoned up his coat, settled his hat on his head, and moved near thecandle, where it rested on the floor. One glimpse would suffice to show himthe 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 door, as if thoseentering were standing, irresolute, undecided which way to turn; butabruptly enough the glimmer of candlelight must have been noticed. Kirkwoodheard 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 silkenskirts; and a woman stood at the head of the flight--to the American anapparition profoundly amazing as she paused, the light from the floorcasting odd, theatric shadows beneath her eyes and over her brows, edgingher eyes themselves with brilliant light beneath their dark lashes, showingher lips straight and drawn, and shimmering upon the spangles of an eveninggown, visible beneath the dark cloak which had fallen back from her white, beautiful shoulders. 

VIII

MADAME L'INTRIGANTE

"Mrs. Hallam!" cried Kirkwood, beneath his breath. 

The woman ignored his existence. Moving swiftly forward, she dropped onboth knees by the side of the boy, and caught up one of his hands, claspingit 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 hercaresses and betraying no overwhelming surprise at her appearance there. Indeed he seemed more concerned as to what Kirkwood, an older man, wouldbe thinking, to see him so endeared and fondled, than moved by any otheremotion. Kirkwood could see his shamefaced, sidelong glances; and despisedhim properly for them. 

But without attending to his response, Mrs. Hallam rattled on in the unevenaccents of excitement. "I waited until I couldn't wait any longer, Freddiedear. I had to know--had to come. Eccles came home about nine and said thatyou 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 beenasleep ever since. "

"My precious one! How--?"

"Can't say, hardly ... I say, don't paw a chap so, Mamma ... I broughtEccles along and told him to wait because--well, because I didn't feel somuch like shuttin' myself up in this beastly old tomb. So I left the doorajar, and told him not to let anybody come in. Then I came up-stairs. Theremust'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, andthe 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 onthe stairs, you know. But he followed me and struck me, and then I jumpedat him, and we both fell down the whole flight. And that's all. Besides, myhead's achin' like everything. "

"But this man--?"

Mrs. Hallam looked up at Kirkwood, who bowed silently, struggling to hideboth his amusement and perplexity. More than ever, now, the case presenteda front inscrutable to his wits; try as he might, he failed to fit anexplanation to any incident in which he had figured, while this lastdevelopment--that his antagonist of the dark stairway had been Mrs. Hallam's son!--seemed the most astounding of all, baffling elucidationcompletely. 

He had abandoned all thought of flight and escape. It was too late; in thebrisk idiom of his mother-tongue, he was "caught with the goods on. " "Mayas well face the music, " he counseled himself, in resignation. From what hehad seen and surmised of Mrs. Hallam, he shrewdly suspected that the tunewould 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--"

"I advise that course, Mr. Kirkwood. "

"Thanks, awf'ly.... I came here, half an hour ago, looking for a lost pursefull--well, not _quite_ full of sovereigns. It was my purse, by the way. "

Suspicion glinted like foxfire in the cold green eyes beneath her puckeredbrows. "I do not understand, " 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. " Hepaused 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 nothing, at present. Permit meto point out that your position here--like mine--is, to say the least, anomalous. " The random stroke told, as he could tell by the instantcontraction of her eyes of a cat. "It would be best to defer explanationstill a more convenient time--don't you think? Then, if you like, we canchant confidences in an antiphonal chorus. Just now your--er--son is notenjoying himself apparently, and ... The attention of the police had bestnot be called to this house too often in one night. "

His levity seemed to displease and perturb the woman; she turned from himwith an impatient movement of her shoulders. 

"Freddie, dear, do you feel able to walk?"

"Eh? Oh, I dare say--I don't know. Wonder 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 andcomplained querulously, stood waiting for the woman to lead the way withthe light; something which, however, she seemed in no haste to do. Thepause at length puzzled Kirkwood, and he turned, to find Mrs. Hallamholding the candlestick and regarding him steadily, with much the sameexpression of furtive mistrust as that with which she had favored him onher own door-stoop. 

[Illustration: He helped the boy to his feet, and stood waiting. ]

"One moment, " she interposed in confusion; "I won't keep you waiting... ;"and, passing with an averted face, ran quickly up-stairs to the secondfloor, taking the light with her. Its glow faded from the walls above andKirkwood surmised that she had entered the front bedchamber. For somemoments he could hear her moving about; once, something scraped and bumpedon the floor, as if a heavy bit of furniture had been moved; again therewas a resounding thud that defied speculation; and this was presentlyfollowed by a dull clang of metal. 

His fugitive speculations afforded him little enlightenment; and, meantime, young Hallam, leaning partly against the wall and quite heavily onKirkwood's arm, filled his ears with puerile oaths and lamentations; sothat, but for the excuse of his really severe shaking-up, Kirkwood hadbeen strongly tempted to take the youngster by the shoulders and kick himheartily, 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 handholding her skirts clear of her pretty feet as she descended in a rush thatcaused the candle's flame to flicker perilously. 

Half-way down, "Mr. Kirkwood!" she called tempestuously. 

"Didn't you find it?" he countered blandly. 

She stopped jerkily at the bottom, and, after a moment of confusion. "Findwhat, sir?" she asked. 

"What you sought, Mrs. Hallam. "

Smiling, he bore unflinching the prolonged inspection of her eyes, at oncesomber with doubt of him and flashing with indignation because of hisimpudence. 

"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 the gladstone bag. That, evidently, was the bone of contention. Calendar had sent his daughter forit, Mrs. Hallam her son; Dorothy had been successful ... But, on the otherhand, 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 markedagain the curious contraction 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 youwhat I know. "

"_What_ you know!"

The exclamation, low-spoken, more an echo of her thoughts than intendedfor Kirkwood, was accompanied by a little shake of the woman's head, muteevidence to the fact that she was bewildered by his finesse. And thisdelighted the young man beyond measure, making him feel himself master ofa difficult situation. Mysteries had been woven before his eyes sopersistently, of late, that it was a real pleasure to be able to do alittle mystifying on his own account. By adopting this reticent andnon-committal attitude, he was forcing the hand of a woman old enough to behis mother and most evidently a past-mistress in the art of misleading. Allof which seemed very fascinating to the amateur in adventure. 

The woman would have led again, but young Hallam cut in, none toocourteously. 

"I say, Mamma, it's no good standing here, palaverin' 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 beforethem--slowly, for their progress was of necessity slow, and the light mostneeded. Once they were in the main hall, however, she extinguished thecandle, 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 tosee 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 fromMrs. Hallam the man bowed and, following her across the sidewalk, openedthe door of a four-wheeler which, with lamps alight and liveried driver onthe box, had been waiting at the carriage-block. 

As they passed out, Kirkwood shut the door; and at the same moment thelittle party was brought up standing by a gruff and authoritative summons. 

"Just a minute, please, you there!"

"Aha!" said Kirkwood to himself. "I thought so. " And he halted, inunfeigned respect for the burly and impressive figure, garbed in blue andbrass, helmeted and truncheoned, bull's-eye shining on breast like theLaw's unblinking and sleepless eye, barring the way to the carriage. 

Mrs. Hallam showed less deference for the obstructionist. The assumedhauteur and impatience of her pose was artfully reflected in her voice asshe rounded upon the bobby, with an indignant demand: "What is the meaningof this, officer?"

"Precisely what I wants to know, ma'am, " returned the man, unyieldingbeneath his respectful attitude. "I'm obliged to ask you to tell me whatyou were doing in that 'ouse.... And what's the matter with this 'eregentleman?" he added, with a dubious stare at young Hallam's bandaged headand rumpled clothing. 

"Perhaps you don't understand, " admitted Mrs. Hallam sweetly. "Of course--Isee--it's perfectly natural. The house has been shut up for some timeand--"

"Thank you, ma'am; that's just it. There was something wrong going on earlyin 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-suffering patience of oneelucidating a perfectly plain proposition to a being of a lower order ofintelligence, "is the property of my son, Arthur Frederick 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--itseems--tripped on the stairs and fell unconscious. I became worried abouthim and drove over, accompanied by my friend, Mr. Kirkwood. "

The policeman looked his troubled state of mind, and wagged a doubtful headover the case. There was his duty, and there was, opposed to it, the factthat all three were garbed in the livery of the well-to-do. 

At length, turning to the driver, he demanded, received, and noted in hismemorandum-book, the license number of the equipage. 

"It's a very unusual case, ma'am, " he apologized; "I hopes you won't 'oldit 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 ofyou?"

"Certainly not. " Without hesitation the woman took a little hand-bag fromthe seat of the carriage and produced a card; her son likewise found hiscase 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 littlebook. "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 thedriver. Immediately they were in motion. 

The American got a final glimpse of the bobby, standing in front of Number9, Frognall Street, and watching them with an air of profound uncertainty. He had Kirkwood's sympathy, therein; but he had little time to feel withhim, 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. Kirkwoodbraced himself to meet the storm; but none ensued. There was rather a lull, which strung itself out indefinitely, to the monotonous music of hoofs andrubber tires. 

Young Hallam was resting his empty blond head against the cushions, and hadclosed his eyes. He seemed to doze; but, as the carriage rolled past thefrequent street-lights, Kirkwood could see that the eyes of Mrs. Hallamwere 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. Itwas not easy to conceive of her as being the mother of a son so immaturelymature. Why, she must have been at least thirty-eight or -nine! Onewondered; she did not look it.... 

The carriage stopped before a house with lighted windows. Eccles jumpeddown from the box and scurried to open the front door. The radiance ofa hall-lamp was streaming out into the misty night when he returned torelease his employers. 

They were returned to Craven Street! "One more lap round the track!" musedKirkwood. "Wonder will the next take me back to Bermondsey Old Stairs. "

At Mrs. Hallam's direction, Eccles ushered him into the smoking-room, onthe ground floor in the rear of the dwelling, there to wait while shehelped her son up-stairs and to bed. He sighed with pleasure at firstglimpse of its luxurious but informal comforts, and threw himselfcarelessly into a heavily padded lounging-chair, dropping one knee over theother and lighting the last of his expensive cigars, with a sensation ofundiluted gratitude; as one coming to rest in the shadow of a great rock ina weary land. 

Over his shoulder a home-like illumination was cast by an electricreading-lamp shaded with red silk. At his feet brass fire-dogs winkedsleepily in the fluttering blaze of a well-tended stove. The walls werehung with deep red, the doors and divans upholstered in the same restfulshade. In one corner an old clock ticked soberly. The atmosphere wouldhave proved a potent invitation to reverie, if not to sleep--he was verysleepy--but for the confusion in the house. 

In its chambers, through the halls, on the stairs, there were hurryings andscurryings of feet and skirts, confused with murmuring voices. Presently, in an adjoining room, Philip Kirkwood heard a maid-servant wrestlinghopefully with that most exasperating of modern time-saving devices, the telephone as countenanced by our English cousins. Her patience anddetermination won his approval, but availed nothing for her purpose; in theoutcome the telephone triumphed and the maid gave up the unequal contest. 

Later, a butler entered the room; a short and sturdy fellow, extremely illat ease. Drawing a small taboret to the side of Kirkwood's chair, he placedthereon a tray, deferentially imparting the information that "Missis 'Allam'ad thought 'ow as Mister Kirkwood might care for a bit of supper. "

"Please thank Mrs. Hallam for me. " Kirkwood's gratified eyes ranged theladen tray. There were sandwiches, biscuit, cheese, and a pot of blackcoffee, with sugar and cream. "It was very kindly thought of, " he added. 

"Very good, sir, thank you, sir. "

The man turned to go, shuffling soundlessly. Kirkwood was suddenlyimpressed with his evasiveness; ever since he had entered the room, hiscountenance had seemed turned from the guest. 

"Eccles!" he called sharply, at a venture. 

The butler halted, thunderstruck. "Ye-es, s-sir?"

[Illustration: Eccles]

"Turn round, Eccles; I want a look at you. "

Eccles faced him unwillingly, with a stolid front but shifty eyes. Kirkwoodglanced him up and down, grinning. 

"Thank you, Eccles; I'll remember you now. You'll remember me, too, won'tyou? You're a bad actor, aren't you, Eccles?"

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir, " mumbled the man unhappily; and took instantadvantage of the implied permission to go. 

Intensely diverted by the recollection of Eccles' abortive attempt to stophim at the door of Number 9, and wondering--now that he came to think ofit--why, precisely, young Hallam had deemed it necessary to travel witha body-guard and adopt such furtive methods to enter into as well as toobtain what was asserted to be his own property, Kirkwood turned activeattention to the lunch. 

Thoughtfully he poured himself a cup of coffee, swallowing it hot and blackas it came from the silver pot; then munched the sandwiches. 

It _was_ kindly thought of, this early morning repast; Mrs. Hallam seemedmore and more a remarkable woman with each phase of her character that shechose to disclose. At odds with him, she yet took time to think of hiscreature needs!

What could be her motive, --not in feeding him, but in involving her nameand fortune in an affair so strangely flavored?... This opened up a desertwaste of barren speculation. "What's anybody's motive, who figures in thisthundering dime-novel?" demanded the American, almost contemptuously. And--for the hundredth time--gave it up; the day should declare it, if sohap he lived to see that day: a distant one, he made no doubt. The onlyclear 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;he'd nothing better to do, and--there was the girl:

Dorothy, whose eyes and lips he had but to close his own eyes to seeagain as vividly as though she stood before him; Dorothy, whose unspoiledsweetness stood out in vivid relief against this moil and toil ofconspiracy, 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 thateverything--his own heart's inclination included--seemed to conspire tokeep him in it. Of course he hoped for nothing in return; a pauper whoturns squire-of-dames with matrimonial intent is open to the designation, "penniless adventurer. " No; whatever service he might be to the girl wouldbe ample recompense to him for his labors. And afterwards, he'd go hisway in peace; she'd soon forget him--if she hadn't already. Women (hepropounded gravely) are queer: there's no telling anything about them!

One of the most unreadable specimens of the sex on which he pronounced thishighly original dictum, entered the room just then; and he found himself atonce out of his chair and his dream, bowing. 

"Mrs. Hallam. "

The woman nodded and smiled graciously. "Eccles has attended to your needs, I hope? Please don't stop smoking. " She sank into an arm-chair on theother side of the hearth and, probably by accident, out of the radius ofillumination from the lamp; sitting sidewise, one knee above the other, herwhite arms immaculate against the somber background of shadowed crimson. 

She was very handsome indeed, just then; though a keener light might haveproved less flattering. 

"Now, Mr. Kirkwood?" she opened briskly, with a second intimate andfriendly nod; and paused, her pose receptive. 

Kirkwood sat down again, smiling good-natured appreciation of herunprejudiced attitude. 

"Your son, Mrs. Hallam--?"

"Oh, Freddie's doing well enough.... Freddie, " she explained, "has adelicate constitution and has seen little of the world. Such melodramaas to-night's is apt to shock him severely. We must make allowances, Mr. Kirkwood. "

Kirkwood grinned again, a trace unsympathetically; he was unable tosimulate any enthusiasm on the subject of poor Freddie, whom he had sizedup with passable acumen as a spoiled and coddled child completely under thethumb of an extremely clever mother. 

"Yes, " he responded vaguely; "he'll be quite fit after a night's sleep, Idare say. "

The woman was watching him keenly, beneath her 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 placeyou, Mr. Kirkwood. You are an unknown quantity, a new factor. Won't youplease 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 ofseeing things some little frankness on his own part would be essential ifthey were to get on--"I hardly know him, Mrs. Hallam. I had the pleasure ofmeeting him only this afternoon. "

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 certainage, unmarried, 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 Calendar's pay?"

"Heaven forfend!"--piously. "My sole interest at the present moment is tounravel a most entrancing 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 tellme. "

"Whether they will or no, I see I must swing a looser tongue, or you'll beshowing 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 thenight's events, as he understood them, touching lightly on his owncircumstances, the real poverty which had brought him back to Craven Streetby 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 eyesand knew that he was being appraised with such trained acumen as onlylong knowledge of men can give to women. He wondered if he were foundwanting.... Her dark head bended, elbow on knee, chin resting lightly inthe cradle of her slender, parted fingers, the woman thought profoundly, her reverie ending with a brief, curt laugh, musical and mirthless as thesound of breaking glass. 

"It is so like Calendar!" she exclaimed: "so like him that one sees howfoolish it was to trust--no, not to trust, but to believe that he couldever 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 shedid "Now for my side of the case!" cried Mrs. Hallam; and rising, began topace the room, her slender and rounded figure swaying gracefully, the whileshe talked. 

"George Calendar is a scoundrel, " she said: "a swindler, gambler, --what Ibelieve you Americans call a confidence-man. He is also my late husband'sfirst cousin. Some years since he found it convenient to leave England, likewise his wife and daughter. Mrs. Calendar, a country-woman of yours, bythe bye, died shortly afterwards. Dorothy, by the merest accident, obtaineda situation as private secretary in the household of the late ColonelBurgoyne, 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 herfather 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 location of certain of the old colonel's personaleffects. "

"He was an eccentric. One of his peculiarities involved the secreting ofvaluables in odd places; he had no faith in banks. Among these valuableswere the Burgoyne family jewels--quite a treasure, believe me, Mr. Kirkwood. We found no note of them among the colonel's papers, and withoutDorothy were powerless to pursue a search for them. We advertised andemployed detectives, with no result. It seems that father and daughter wereat Monte Carlo at the time. "

"Beautifully circumstantial, my dear lady, " commented Kirkwood--to hisinner consciousness. Outwardly he maintained consistently a pose ofimpassive 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 difficultyand he promised that Dorothy should send us the information by themorning's post. When I insisted, he agreed to bring it himself, afterdinner, this evening.... I make it quite clear?" she interrupted, a littleanxious. 

"Quite clear, I assure you, " he assented encouragingly. 

"Strangely enough, he had not been gone ten minutes when my son camein from a conference with our solicitors, informing me that at last amemorandum had turned up, indicating that the heirlooms would be found in asafe 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 diningat the Pless with an acquaintance, a Mr. Mulready, whom I now recall as aformer intimate of George Calendar. To our surprise we saw Calendar and hisdaughter at a table not far from ours. Mr. Mulready betrayed some agitationat the sight of Calendar, and told me that Scotland Yard had a man out witha 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: Calendar was at that moment planning to rob us, Mulready aidingand abetting him. "

The woman paused before Kirkwood, looking down upon him. "And so, " sheconcluded, "we have been tricked and swindled. I can scarcely believe it ofDorothy Calendar. "

"I, for one, don't believe it. " Kirkwood spoke quietly, rising. "Whateverthe culpability of Calendar and Mulready, Dorothy was only their hoodwinkedtool. "

"But, Mr. Kirkwood, she must have known the jewels were not hers. "

"Yes, " he assented passively, but wholly unconvinced. 

"And what, " she demanded with a gesture of exasperation, "what would youadvise?"

"Scotland Yard, " he told her bluntly. 

"But it's a family secret! It must not appear in the papers. Don't youunderstand--George Calendar 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 shouldunwittingly have been made the agent of this disaster, and wish you goodnight--or, rather, good morning, Mrs. Hallam?"

For a moment she held him under a calculating glance which he withstoodwith graceless fortitude. Then, realizing that he was determined not by anymeans to be won to her cause, she gave him her hand, with a commonplacewish that he might find his affairs 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 astrikingly handsome woman in a wonderful gown, standing under the red glowof a reading-lamp, in an attitude of intense mental concentration, herexpression plainly indicative of a train of thought not guiltless ofvindictiveness; the other, more mental but as real, he presently voiced tothe huge bronze lions brooding over desolate Trafalgar Square. 

"Well, " appreciated Mr. Kirkwood with gusto, "_she's_ got Ananias andSapphira talked to a standstill, all right!" He ruminated over this fora moment. "Calendar can lie some, too; but hardly with her picturesquetouch.... Uncommon ingenious, _I_ call it. All the same, there were onlyabout a dozen bits of tiling that didn't fit into her mosaic a littlebit.... I think they're all tarred with the same stick--all but the girl. And there's something afoot a long sight more devilish and crafty than thatshilling-shocker of madam's.... Dorothy Calendar's got about as much activepart in it as I have. I'm only from California, but they've got to showme, before I'll believe a word against her. Those infernalscoundrels!... Somebody's got to be on the girl's side and I seem to havedrawn the lucky straw.... Good Heavens! is it possible for a grown man tofall heels over head in love in two short hours? I don't believe it. It'sjust interest--nothing more.... And I'll have to have a change of clothesbefore I can do anything further. "

He bowed gratefully to the lions, in view of their tolerant interest in hissoliloquy, and set off very suddenly round the square and up St. Martin'sLane, striking across town as directly as might be for St. Pancras Station. It would undoubtedly be a long walk, but cabs were prohibited by hisstraitened means, and the busses were all abed and wouldn't be astir forhours. 

He strode along rapidly, finding his way more through intuition than byobservation or familiarity with London's geography--indeed, was scarceaware of his surroundings; for his brain was big with fine imagery, rapt ina glowing dream of knighterrantry and chivalric deeds. 

Thus is it ever and alway with those who in the purity of young hearts rushin 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 madesweet and sound! To Kirkwood the warp of the world and the woof of it wasRomance, and it wrapped him round, a magic mantle to set him apart fromall things mean and sordid and render him impregnable and invisible to thehaunting Shade of Care. 

Which, by the same token, presently lost track of him entirely, andwandered off to find and bedevil some other poor devil. And Kirkwood, hiseyes like his spirit elevated, saw that the clouds of night were breaking, the skies clearing, that the East pulsed ever more strongly with thedim golden promise of the day to come. And this he chose to take for anomen--prematurely, it may be. 

IX

AGAIN "BELOW BRIDGE"; AND BEYOND

Kirkwood wasted little time, who had not much to waste, were he to do thatupon whose doing he had set his heart. It irked him sore to have to losethe invaluable moments demanded by certain imperative arrangements, but hishaste was such that all was consummated within an hour. 

Within the period of a single hour, then, he had ransomed his luggage atSt. Pancras, caused it to be loaded upon a four-wheeler and transferred toa neighboring hotel of evil flavor but moderate tariff, where he engageda room for a week, ordered an immediate breakfast, and retired with hisbelongings to his room; he had shaved and changed his clothes, selectinga serviceable suit of heavy tweeds, stout shoes, a fore-and-aft cap and anegligée shirt of a deep shade calculated at least to seem clean for a longtime; finally, he had devoured his bacon and eggs, gulped down his coffeeand burned his mouth, and, armed with a stout stick, set off hotfoot in thestill dim glimmering of early day. 

By this time his cash capital had dwindled to the sum of two pounds, tenshillings, eight-pence, and would have been much less had he paid for hislodging in advance. But he considered his trunks ample security for thebill, and dared not wait the hour when shopkeepers begin to take downshutters and it becomes possible to realize upon one's jewelry. Besideswhich, he had never before been called upon to consider the advisability ofraising money by pledging personal property, and was in considerable doubtas to the right course of procedure in such emergency. 

At King's Cross Station on the Underground an acute disappointment awaitedhim; there, likewise, he learned something about London. A sympatheticbobby 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, hislonging gaze seeking a nearby cab-rank--just then occupied by a solitaryhansom, driver somnolent on the box. "Officer, " he again addressedthe policeman, mindful of the English axiom: "When in doubt, ask abobby. "--"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 announcedwith a glow of satisfaction wholly pardonable in one who combines thefunctions of perambulating almanac, guide-book, encyclopedia, and conserverof the peace. 

Kirkwood said something beneath his breath--a word in itself a comfortablemouthful and wholesome and emphatic. He glanced again at the cab andgroaned: "O Lord, I just dassent!" With which, thanking the bureau ofinformation, 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 themilkman was to be heard in the land--when he trudged, still briskly if atrifle wearily, into Holborn, and held on eastward across the Viaduct anddown Newgate Street; the while addling his weary wits with heart-sickeningcomputations of minutes, all going hopelessly to prove that he would belate, far too late even presupposing the unlikely. The unlikely, be itknown, was that the _Alethea_ would not attempt to sail before the turn ofthe tide. 

For this was his mission, to find the _Alethea_ before she sailed. Incredible as it may appear, at five o'clock, or maybe earlier, on themorning of the twenty-second of April, 1906, A. D. , Philip Kirkwood, normally a commonplace but likable young American in full possession ofhis senses, might have been seen (and by some was seen) plodding manfullythrough Cheapside, London, England, engaged upon a quest as mad, forlorn, and gallant as any whose chronicle ever inspired the pen of a Malory ora Froissart. In brief he proposed to lend his arm and courage to be theshield 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 justified of itself. 

Proceeding upon the working hypothesis that Mrs. Hallam was a polished liarin most respects, but had told the truth, so far as concerned her statementto the effect that the gladstone bag contained valuable real property(whose ownership remained a moot question, though Kirkwood was definitelycommitted 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, wouldattempt to leave London by a water route, in the ship, _Alethea_, whosename had fallen from their lips at Bermondsey Old Stairs. 

Kirkwood's initial task, then, would be to find the needle in thehaystack--the metaphor is poor: more properly, to sort out from thehundreds of vessels, of all descriptions, at anchor in midstream, moored tothe wharves of 'long-shore warehouses, or in the gigantic docks that linethe Thames, that one called _Alethea_; of which he was so deeply mired inignorance that he could not say whether she were tramp-steamer, coastwisepassenger boat, one of the liners that ply between Tilbury and all theworld, Channel ferry-boat, private yacht (steam or sail), schooner, four-master, square-rigger, barque or brigantine. 

A task to stagger the optimism of any but one equipped with the sublimeimpudence of Youth! Even Kirkwood was disturbed by some little awe whenhe contemplated the vast proportions of his undertaking. None the lessdoggedly he plugged ahead, and tried to keep his mind from vain surmisesas to what would be his portion when eventually he should find himself apassenger, uninvited and unwelcome, upon the _Alethea_.... 

London had turned over once or twice, and was pulling the bedclothes overits head and grumbling about getting up, but the city was still soundasleep when at length he paused for a minute's rest in front of the MansionHouse, and realized with a pang of despair that he was completely tuckeredout. There was a dull, vague throbbing in his head; weights pressed uponhis eyeballs until they ached; his mouth was hot and tasted of yesterday'stobacco; his feet were numb and heavy; his joints were stiff; he yawnedfrequently. 

With a sigh he surrendered to the flesh's frailty. An early cabby, cruisingup from Cannon Street station on the off-chance of finding some one astirin the city, aside from the doves and sparrows, suffered the surprise ofhis life when Kirkwood hailed him. His face was blank with amazement whenhe reined in, and his eyes bulged when the prospective fare, on impulse, explained his urgent needs. Happily he turned out a fair representative ofhis class, an intelligent and unfuddled cabby. 

"Jump in, sir, " he told Kirkwood cheerfully, as soon as he had assimilatedthe latter's demands. "I knows precisely wotcher wants. Leave it all tome. "

The admonition was all but superfluous; Kirkwood was unable, for the timebeing, to do aught else than resign his fate into another's guidance. Oncein the cab he slipped insensibly into a nap, and slept soundly on, asreckless of the cab's swift pace and continuous jouncing as of the sunlightglaring full in his tired young face. 

He may have slept twenty minutes; he awoke faint with drowsiness, tinglingfrom head to toe from fatigue, and in distress of a queer qualm in the pitof his stomach, to find the hansom at rest and the driver on the step, shaking his fare with kindly determination. "Oh, a' right, " he assentedsurlily, and by sheer force of will made himself climb out to thesidewalk; where, having rubbed his eyes, stretched enormously and yawneddiscourteously in the face of the East End, he was once more himself anda hundred times refreshed into the bargain. Contentedly he counted threeshillings into the cabby's palm--the fare named being one-and-six. 

"The shilling over and above the tip's for finding me the waterman andboat, " he stipulated. 

"Right-o. You'll mind the 'orse a minute, sir?"

Kirkwood nodded. The man touched his hat and disappeared inexplicably. Kirkwood, needlessly attaching himself to the reins near the animal's head, pried his sense of observation open and became alive to the fact that hestood 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 surmises that it was Wapping. 

Ramshackle tenements with sharp gable roofs lined either side of the way. Frowsy women draped themselves over the window-sills. Pallid and wastedparodies on childhood contested the middle of the street with great, slowdrays, drawn by enormous horses. On the sidewalks twin streams of masculinehumanity flowed without rest, both bound in the same direction: docklaborers going to their day's work. Men of every nationality known to theworld (he thought) passed him in his short five-minute wait by the horse'shead; Britons, brown East Indians, blacks from Jamaica, swart Italians, Polaks, Russian Jews, wire-drawn Yankees, Spaniards, Portuguese, Greeks, even a Nubian or two: uniform in these things only, that their backs werebent with toil, bowed beyond mending, and their faces stamped with theblurred type-stamp of the dumb laboring brute. A strangely hideousprocession, they shambled on, for the most part silent, all uncouth andunreal in the clear morning glow. 

The outlander was sensible of some relief when his cabby popped hurriedlyout of the entrance to a tenement, a dull-visaged, broad-shoulderedwaterman ambling more slowly after. 

"Nevvy of mine, sir, " announced the cabby; "and a fust-ryte waterman; knowsthe river like a book, he do. "

The nephew touched his forelock sheepishly. 

"Thank you, " said Kirkwood; and, turning to the man, "Your boat?" he askedwith the brevity of weariness. 

"This wye, sir. "

At his guide's heels Kirkwood threaded the crowd and, entering thetenement, stumbled through a gloomy and unsavory passage, to come out atlast upon a scanty, unrailed veranda overlooking the river. Ten feet below, perhaps, foul waters purred and eddied round the piles supporting therear of the building. On one hand a ladder-like flight of rickety stepsdescended to a floating stage to which a heavy rowboat lay moored. In thelatter a second waterman was seated bailing out bilge with a rusty can. 

"'Ere we are, sir, " said the cabman's nephew, pausing at the head of thesteps. "Now, where's it to be?"

The American explained tersely that he had a message to deliver a friend, who had shipped aboard a vessel known as the _Alethea_, scheduled to sailat floodtide; further than which deponent averred naught. 

The waterman scratched his head. "A 'ard job, sir; not knowin' wot kind ofa boat she are mykes it 'arder. " He waited hopefully. 

"Ten shillings, " volunteered Kirkwood promptly; "ten shillings if you getme aboard her before she weighs anchor; fifteen if I keep you out more thanan 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 weputs this gent aboard a wessel name o' _Allytheer_ afore she syles at turno' tide. "

In the boat the man with the bailing can turned up an impassivecountenance. "Coom down, " he clenched the bargain; and set about shippingthe sweeps. 

Kirkwood crept down the shaky ladder and deposited himself in the stern ofthe boat; the younger boatman settled himself on the midship thwart. 

"Ready?"

"Ready, " assented old Bob from the bows. He cast off the painter, placedone sweep against the edge of the stage, and with a vigorous thrust pushedoff; then took his seat. 

Bows swinging down-stream, the boat shot out from the shore. 

"How's the tide?" demanded Kirkwood, his impatience growing. 

"On th' turn, sir, " he was told. 

For a long moment broadside to the current, the boat responded to thesturdy pulling of the port sweeps. Another moment, and it was in fullswing, the watermen bending lustily to their task. Under their unceasingurge, the broad-beamed, heavy craft, aided by the ebbing tide, surged moreand more rapidly through the water; the banks, grim and unsightly withtheir towering, impassive warehouses broken by toppling wooden tenements, slipped swiftly up-stream. Ship after ship was passed, sailing vesselsin the majority, swinging sluggishly at anchor, drifting slowly with theriver, or made fast to the goods-stages of the shore; and in keen anxietylest he should overlook the right one, Kirkwood searched their bows andsterns 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 sharplyinshore, bringing her up alongside another floating stage, in the shadowof another tenement. --both so like those from which they had embarked thatKirkwood would have been unable to distinguish one from another. 

In the bows old Bob lifted up a stentorian voice, summoning one William. 

Recognizing that there was some design in this, the passenger subdued hisdisapproval of the delay, and sat quiet. 

In answer to the third ear-racking hail, a man, clothed simply in dirtyshirt and disreputable trousers, showed himself in the doorway above, rubbing the sleep out of a red, bloated countenance with a mighty and grimyfist. 

"'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' _Allytheer_, " 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 withuncalculated haste as old Bob, deaf to the amenities of social intercoursein an emergency involving as much as ten-bob, shoved off again. 

And again the boat was flying down in midstream, the leaden waters, shotwith gold of the morning sun, parting sullenly beneath its bows. 

The air was still, heavy and tepid; the least exertion brought out beadedmoisture 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 itwas clear and cloudless, but besmirched as if the polished mirror of theheavens had been fouled by the breath of departing night. 

On the right, ahead, Greenwich Naval College loomed up, the greatgray-stone buildings beyond the embankment impressively dominating thescene, in happy relief against the wearisome monotony of the river-banks;it came abreast; and ebbed into the backwards 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 theWest 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 theyounger waterman. 

Again, "Will we make it?" he asked. 

The identical grunt answered him; he was free to interpret it as he would;young William--as old Bob named him--had no breath for idle words. Kirkwoodsubsided, controlling his impatience to the best of his ability; the men, he told himself again and again, were earning their pay, whether or notthey gained the goal of his desire.... Their labors were titanic; ontheir temples and foreheads the knotted veins stood out like discoloredwhip-cord; their faces were the shade of raw beef, steaming with sweat;their eyes protruded with the strain that set their jaws like vises; theirchests heaved and shrank like bellows; their backs curved, straightened, and bent again in rhythmic unison as tiring to the eye as the swinging of apendulum. 

Hugging the marshy shore, they rounded the Blackwall Point. Young Williamlooked to Kirkwood, 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 abundance, odd, unwieldy, blunt-bowed craft withhuge, rakish, tawny sails; long strings of flat barges, pyramidal mounds ofcoal on each, lashed to another and convoyed by panting tugs; steam cargoboats, battered, worn, rusted sore through their age-old paint; a steelleviathan of the deep seas, half cargo, half passenger boat, warpingreluctantly into the mouth of the Victoria Dock tidal basin, --but nobrigantine, no sailing vessel of any type. 

The young man's lips checked a cry that was half a sob of bitterdisappointment. He had entered into the spirit of the chase heart and soul, with an enthusiasm that was strange to him, when he came to look backupon the time; and to fail, even though failure had been discounted ahundredfold since the inception of his mad adventure, seemed hard, veryhard. 

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 breathedconvulsively. 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. "

"Yes, " Kirkwood assented, disconsolate, "You've certainly earned your pay. "Then hope revived; he was very young in heart, you know. "Can't you suggestsomething? 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 ventured. "Yer might tyke trynean' go to Sheerness, sir. Yer'd be positive o' passin' 'er if she didn'tsyle afore 'igh-tide. 'Ire a boat at Sheerness an' put out an' look for'er. "

"How far's Woolwich?" Kirkwood demanded instantly. 

"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. 

X

DESPERATE MEASURES

Old Bob seemed something inclined toward optimism, when the boat layalongside a landing-stage at Woolwich, and Kirkwood had clambered ashore. 

"Yer'll mebbe myke it, " the waterman told him with a weatherwise survey ofthe skies. "Wind's freshenin' from the east'rds, an' that'll 'old 'er backa bit, sir. "

"Arsk th' wye to th' Dorkyard Styshun, " young William volunteered. "'Tisth' shortest walk, sir. I 'opes yer catches 'er.... Thanky, sir. "

He caught dextrously the sovereign which Kirkwood, in ungrudgingliberality, spared them of his store of two. The American noddedacknowledgments and adieux, with a faded smile deprecating his chances ofwinning 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 atleast be able to comfort himself that it was not for lack of trying. Heset his teeth on that covenant, in grim determination; either there was astrain of the bulldog latent in the Kirkwood breed or else his infatuationgripped him more strongly than he guessed. 

Yet he suspected something of its power; he knew that this was altogetheran insane proceeding, and that the lure that led him on was DorothyCalendar. A strange dull light glowed in his weary eyes, on the thought ofher. He'd go through fire and water in her service. She was costing himdear, perhaps was to cost him dearer still; and perhaps there'd be forhis guerdon no more than a "Thank you, Mr. Kirkwood!" at the end of thepassage. But that would be no less than his deserts; he was not to forgetthat he was interfering unwarrantably; the girl was in her father's hands, surely safe enough there--to the casual mind. If her partnership in herparent's fortunes were distasteful, she endured it passively, withoutcomplaint. 

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 ofthe riddle; whatever should befall, he must look for no reward for hisgratuitous and self-appointed part. Indeed he was all but successful inpersuading himself that it was the fascination of adventure alone that drewhim on. 

Whatever the lure, it was inexorable; instead of doing as a sensible personwould have done--returning to London for a long rest in his hotel room, erestriving to retrieve his shattered fortunes--Philip Kirkwood turned up thevillage street, intent only to find the railway station and catch the firstavailable train for Sheerness, were that an early one or a late. 

A hapchance native whom he presently encountered, furnished minutedirections for reaching the Dockyard Station of the Southeastern andChatham Rail-way, adding comfortable information to the effect that thenext east-bound train would pass through in ten minutes; if Kirkwood wouldmend his pace he could make it easily, with time to spare. 

Kirkwood mended his pace accordingly, but, contrary to the prediction, hadno time to spare at all. Even as he stormed the ticket-grating, the trainwas thundering in at the platform. Therefore a nervous ticket agent passedhim 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. Kirkwoodplanked down the fare, swore, and sprinted for the carriages. 

The first compartment whose door he jerked violently open, proved to beoccupied, and was, moreover, not a smoking-car. He received a fleetingimpression of a woman's startled eyes, staring into his own through a thinmesh of veiling, fell off the running-board, slammed the door, and hurledhimself to-wards the next compartment. Here happier fortune attended uponhis desire; the box-like section was untenanted, and a notice blown uponthe window-glass announced that it was "2nd Class Smoking. " Kirkwoodpromptly tumbled in; and when he turned to shut the door the coaches weremoving. 

A pipe helped him to bear up while the train was making its two other stopsin the Borough of Woolwich: a circumstance so maddening to a man in ahurry, that it set Kirkwood's teeth on edge with sheer impatience, andmade him long fervently for the land of his birth, where they do thingsdifferently--where the Board of Directors of a railway company doesn'terect three substantial passenger depôts in the course of a mile and a halfof overgrown village. It consoled him little that none disputed withhim his lonely possession of the compartment, that he _had_ caught theSheerness train, or that he was really losing no time; a sense of deepdejection had settled down upon his consciousness, with a realization ofhow completely a fool's errand was this of his. He felt foredoomed tofailure; he was never to see Dorothy Calendar again; and his brain seemednumb with disappointment. 

Rattling and swaying, the train left the town behind. 

Presently he put aside his pipe and stared blankly out at a reelinglandscape, the pleasant, homely, smiling countryside of Kent. A deepermelancholy tinted his mind: Dorothy Calendar was for ever lost to him. 

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 hadno need to din _that_ into his thick skull by their ceaseless iteration; heknew it, would not deny it.... 

And it was all his own fault. He'd had his chance, Calendar had offered himit. If only he had closed with the fat adventurer!... 

Before his eyes field and coppice, hedge and homestead, stream and flowinghighway, all blurred and ran streakily into one another, like a highlyimpressionistic water-color. He could make neither head nor tail of theflying views, and so far as coherent thought was concerned, he could notput two ideas together. Without understanding distinctly, he presently dida more wise and wholesome thing: which was to topple limply over on thecushions and fall fast asleep. 

 * * * * *

After a long time he seemed to realize rather hazily that the carriage-doorhad been opened to admit somebody. Its smart closing _bang_ shocked himawake. He sat up, blinking in confusion, hardly conscious of more, to beginwith, than that the train had paused and was again in full flight. Then, his senses clearing, he became aware that his solitary companion, justentered, was a woman. She was seated over across from him, her back to theengine, in an attitude which somehow suggested a highly nonchalant frame ofmind. She laughed, and immediately her speaking voice was high and sweet inhis hearing. 

"Really, you know, Mr. Kirkwood, I simply couldn't contain my impatienceanother 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 makeallowances for a woman's nerves. "

Beneath his breath the bewildered man said: "The deuce!" and above it, in astupefied 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'tthey? Were you surprised to find me in here, with you? Come now, confessyou were!"

He remarked the smooth, girlish freshness of her cheeks, the sense andhumor of her mouth, the veiled gleam of excitement in her eyes of thechanging 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, with mendacity sointentional and obvious that the woman laughed aloud. 

"I knew you'd be!... You see, I had the carriage ahead, the one you didn'ttake. 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, didyou? That's how I discovered that your discourtesy was unintentional, thatyou hadn't recognized me, --by the fact that you took this compartment, right behind my own. "

She paused invitingly, but Kirkwood, grown wary, contented himselfwith picking up his pipe and carefully knocking out the dottle on thewindow-ledge. 

"I was glad to see _you_, " she affirmed; "but only partly because youwere you, Mr. Kirkwood. The other and major part was because sight of youconfirmed my own secret intuition. You see, I'm quite old enough and wiseenough 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; I the mother of agrown-up boy! So I deliberately ran after you, changing when we stoppedat Newington. You might've escaped me if I had waited until We got toQueensborough. "

Again she paused in open expectancy. Kirkwood, perplexed, put the pipe inhis pocket, and assumed a factitious look of resignation, regarding heraskance 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 tofollow her drift. "No, Mrs. Hallam; I'm not bound there. "

Her surprise was apparent; she made no effort to conceal it. "But, " shefaltered, "if not there--"

"'Give you my word, Mrs. Hallam, I have no intention whatever of going toQueensborough, " Kirkwood protested. 

"I don't understand. " The nervous drumming of a patent-leather coveredtoe, visible beneath the hem of her dress, alone betrayed a rising tide ofimpatience. "Then my intuition _was_ at fault!"

"In this instance, if it was at all concerned with my insignificantaffairs, yes--most decidedly at fault. "

She shook her head, regarding him with grave suspicion. "I hardly know:whether to believe you. I think.... "

Kirkwood's countenance displayed an added shade of red. After a moment, "Imean no discourtesy, " he began stiffly, "but--"

"But you don't care a farthing whether I believe you or not?"

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 traceof malice. 

Ostentatiously Kirkwood read the South Eastern and Chatham's framed cardof warning, posted just above Mrs. Hallam's head, to all such incurablelunatics as are possessed of a desire to travel on the running-boards ofrailway 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 meyour story, I believed you. "

He devoted himself to suppressing the temptingly obvious retort, andsucceeded; but though he left it unspoken, the humor of it twitched thecorners of his mouth; and Mrs. Hallam was observant. So that her nextattempt to draw him out was edged with temper. 

"I believed you an American but a gentleman; it appears that, if you everwere the latter, you've fallen so low that you willingly cast your lot withthieves. "

Having exhausted his repertoire of rudenesses, Kirkwood took to twiddlinghis thumbs. 

"I want to ask you if you think it fair to me or my son, to leave us inignorance of the place where you are to meet the thieves who stole our--myson'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 hisshoulders; doubted his ability to carry one off; and again took refuge insilence. 

The woman abandoned a second plan of siege, with a readiness that didcredit to her knowledge of mankind. She thought out the next verycarefully, 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 aproposal, a sort of a business proposition.... "

"Yes--?"

"To come over to our side--"

"I thought so. That was why I went. "

"Yes; I understood. But this morning, when you've had time to think itover--?"

"I have no choice in the matter, Mrs. Hallam. " The green eyes darkenedominously. "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 sardonicintelligence, that the words died on her lips, and she crimsoned, treasonably to herself. For he saw it; and the belief he had conceivedwhile attending to her tissue of fabrication, earlier that morning, wasstrengthened to the point of conviction that, if anything had been stolenby 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 twinbeacons in her eyes, which she resolutely fought down until they faded tomere gleams of resentment and determination. But she forgot to controlher lips; and they are the truest indices to a woman's character andtemperament; and Kirkwood did not overlook the circumstance that theirspecious sweetness had vanished, leaving them straight, set and hard, quitethe reverse of attractive. 

"So, " she said slowly, after a silent time, "you are not for Queensborough!The corollary of that _admission_, Mr. Kirkwood, is that you are forSheerness. "

"I believe, " he replied wearily, "that there are no other stations on thisline, after Newington. "

"It follows, then, that--that I follow. " And in answer to his perturbedglance, she added: "Oh, I'll grant that intuition is sometimes a poorguide. But if you meet George Calendar, so shall I. Nothing can preventthat. You can't hinder me. "

Considerably amused, he chuckled. "Let us talk of other things, Mrs. Hallam, " he suggested pleasantly. "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 heardadmonishing passengers for Queensborough Pier to alight and take the branchline. In the noise the woman's response was drowned, and Kirkwood washardly enough concerned for poor Freddie to repeat his question. 

When, after a little, the train pulled out of the junction, neither foundreason to resume the conversation. During the brief balance of the journeyMrs. Hallam presumably had food for thought; she frowned, pursed her lips, and with one daintily gloved forefinger followed a seam of her tailoredskirt; while Kirkwood sat watching and wondering how to rid 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. Hallamsuspect him of designing to meet Calendar at Queensborough? Had sheany tangible ground for believing that Calendar could be found inQueensborough? Presumably she had, since she was avowedly in pursuit ofthat gentleman, and, Kirkwood inferred, had booked for Queensborough. Was he, then, running away from Calendar and his daughter to chase awill-o'-the-wisp of his credulous fancy, off Sheerness shore?

Disturbing reflection. He scowled over it, then considered the other sideof the face. Presuming Mrs. Hallam to have had reasonably dependableassurance that Calendar would stop in Queensborough, would she so readilyhave abandoned her design to catch him there, on the mere supposition thatKirkwood might be looking for him in Sheerness? That did not seem likelyto one who esteemed Mrs. Hallam's acumen as highly as Kirkwood did. Hebrightened up, forgot that his was a fool's errand, and began again toproject strategic plans into a problematic future. 

A sudden jolt interrupted this pastime, and the warning screech of thebrakes informed that he had no time to scheme, but had best continue on theplan of action that had brought him thus far--that is, trust to his starand accept what should befall without repining. 

He rose, opened the door, and holding it so, turned. 

"I regret, Mrs. Hallam, " he announced, smiling his crooked smile, "thata pressing engagement is about to prohibit my 'squiring you through theticket-gates. You understand, I'm sure. "

His irrepressible humor proved infectious; and Mrs. Hallam's spirit ran ashigh as his own. She was smiling cheerfully when she, too, rose. 

"I also am in some haste, " she averred demurely, gathering up her hand-bagand umbrella. 

A raised platform shot in beside the carriage, and the speed was sosensibly moderated that the train seemed to be creeping rather thanrunning. Kirkwood flung the door wide open and lowered himself to therunning-board. The end of the track was in sight and--a man who has beentrained to board San Francisco cable-cars fears to alight from no movingvehicle. 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. Hallamwas then in the act of alighting. As he looked the flurry of skirtssubsided and she fell into stride, pursuing. 

Sleepy Sheerness must have been scandalized, that day, and its gossips haveacquired ground for many, an uncharitable surmise. 

Kirkwood, however, was so fortunate as to gain the wicket before theemployee there awoke to the situation. Otherwise, such is the temper ofBritish petty officialdom, he might have detained the fugitive. As it was, Kirkwood surrendered his ticket and ran out into the street with his luckstill 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 Queensborough, she was attempting to alight one stationfarther down the line, and while undoubtedly she was anxious to pay theexcess fare, Heaven alone knew when she would succeed in allaying thesuspicions and resentment of the ticket-taker. 

"That's good for ten minutes' start!" Kirkwood crowed. "And it neveroccurred to me--!"

Before the station he found two hacks in waiting, with little to choosebetween them; neither was of a type that did not seem to advertise itspre-Victorian fashioning, and to neither was harnessed an animal thatdeserved anything but the epithet of screw. Kirkwood took the nearest forno other reason than because it was the nearest, and all but startled thedriver off his box by offering double-fare for a brisk pace and a simpleservice at the end of the ride. Succinctly he set forth his wants, jumpedinto the antiquated four-wheeler, and threw himself down upon musty, dustycushions to hug himself over the joke and bless whatever English board ofrailway, directors it was that first ordained that tickets should be takenup at the end instead of the outset of a journey. 

It was promptly made manifest that he had further cause for gratulation. The cabby, recovering from his amazement, was plying an indefatigable whipand thereby eliciting a degree of speed from his superannuated nag, thathis fare had by no means hoped for, much less anticipated. The cab rockedand racketed through Sheerness' streets at a pace which is believed to beunprecedented and unrivaled; its passenger, dashed from side to side, hadall 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 whetheror not he was being pursued. He enjoyed it all hugely. 

In a period of time surprisingly short, he saw, from fleeting glimpses ofthe scenery to be obtained through the reeling windows, that they werethreading the outskirts of the town; synchronously, whether by design orthrough actual inability to maintain it, the speed was moderated. And inthe course of a few more minutes the cab stopped definitely. 

Kirkwood clambered painfully out, shook himself together and the bruisesout of his bones, and looked fearfully back. 

Aside from a slowly settling cloud of dust, the road ran clear as far as hecould 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 thepersevering Mrs. Hallam. But to what end?

Abstractedly he tendered his lonely sovereign to the driver, and withouteven looking at it, crammed the heavy weight of change into his pocket; anoversight which not only won him the awe-struck admiration of the cabby, but entailed consequences (it may be) he little apprehended. It was with anabsentminded nod that he acquiesced in the man's announcement that he mightarrange about the boat for him. Accordingly the cabby disappeared; andKirkwood continued to stare about him, eagerly, hopefully. 

He stood on the brink of the Thames estuary, there a possible five milesfrom shore to shore; from his feet, almost, a broad shingle beach slopedgently to the water. 

On one hand a dilapidated picket-fence enclosed the door-yard of afisherman's cottage, or, better, hovel, --if it need be accuratelydescribed--at the door of which the cabby was knocking. 

The morning was now well-advanced. The sun rode high, a sphere of tarnishedflame in a void of silver-gray, its thin cold radiance striking pallidsparks from the leaping crests of wind-whipped waves. In the east a wallof vapor, dull and lusterless, had taken body since the dawn, masking theskies and shutting down upon the sea like some vast curtain; and out of theheart of this a bitter and vicious wind played like a sword. 

To the north, Shoeburyness loomed vaguely, like a low-drifted bank ofcloud. Off to the right the Nore Lightship danced, a tiny fleck of warmcrimson in a wilderness of slatey-blue waters, plumed with a myriad ofvanishing white-caps. 

Up the shelving shore, small, puny wavelets dashed in impotent fury, andthe shingle sang unceasingly its dreary, syncopated monotone. High and dry, a few dingy boats lay canted wearily upon their broad, swelling sides, --acouple of dories, apparently in daily use; a small sloop yacht, dismantledand plainly beyond repair; and an oyster-smack also out of commission. 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 forgottenand (one assumed) responsible in part for the foreign wealth of theatmosphere. 

Some little distance offshore a fishing-boat, catrigged and not more thantwenty-feet over all, swung bobbing at her mooring, keen nose searchinginto the wind; at sight of which Kirkwood gave thanks, for his adventitiousguide had served him well, if that boat were to be hired by any manner ofpersuasion. 

But it was to the farther reaches of the estuary that he gave moreprolonged and most anxious heed, scanning narrowly what shipping was thereto be seen. Far beyond the lightship a liner was riding the waves withserene contempt, making for the river's mouth and Tilbury Dock. Nearerin, a cargo boat was standing out upon the long trail, the white of rivenwaters showing clearly against her unclean freeboard. Out to east a littlecovey of fishing-smacks, red sails well reefed, were scudding beforethe wind like strange affrighted water-fowl, and bearing down past aheavy-laden river barge. The latter, with tarpaulin battened snugly downover the cockpit and the seas dashing over her wash-board until she seemedunder water half the time, was forging stodgily Londonwards, her bargee atthe tiller smoking a placid pipe. 

But a single sailing vessel of any notable tonnage was in sight; and whenhe saw her Kirkwood's heart became buoyant with hope, and he began totremble with nervous eagerness. For he believed her to be the _Alethea_. 

There's no mistaking a ship brigantine-rigged for any other style of craftthat sails the seas. 

From her position when first he saw her, Kirkwood could have fancied shewas tacking out of the mouth of the Medway; but he judged that, leaving theThames' mouth, she had tacked to starboard until well-nigh within hail ofSheerness. Now, having presumably, gone about, she was standing out towardthe Nore, boring doggedly into the wind. He would have given a deal forglasses wherewith to read the name upon her bows, but was sensible of nohampering doubts; nor, had he harbored any, would they have deterred him. He had set his heart upon the winning of his venture, had come too far, risked far too much, to suffer anything now to stay his hand and standbetween him and Dorothy Calendar. Whatever the further risks and hazards, though he should take his life in his hands to win to her side, he wouldstruggle on. He recked nothing of personal danger; a less selfish passionran molten in his veins, moving him to madness. 

Fascinated, he fixed his gaze upon the reeling brigantine, and for a spaceit 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 maskof sanity, the better to confer with the owner of the cottage and boats--aheavy, keen-eyed fellow, ungracious and truculent of habit, and chary ofhis words; as he promptly demonstrated. 

"I'll hire your boat, " Kirkwood told him, "to put me aboard thatbrigantine, off to leeward. We ought to start at once. "

The fisherman shifted his quid of tobacco from cheek to cheek, gruntedinarticulately, and swung deliberately on his heel, displaying a bull neckabove a pair of heavy shoulders. 

"Dirty weather, " he croaked, facing back from his survey of the easternskies before the American found out whether or not he should resent hisinsolence. 

"How much?" Kirkwood demanded curtly, annoyed. 

The man hesitated, scowling blackly at the heeling vessel, momentarilyincreasing 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 bootedheels 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. Nothingmoved upon it. He was rid of Mrs. Hallam, if face to face with a sternerproblem. He had a few pence over ten shillings in his pocket, and hadpromised to pay the man four times as much. He would have agreed to tentimes the sum demanded; for the boat he must and would have. But he hadneglected to conclude his bargain, to come to an understanding as tothe method of payment; and he felt more than a little dubious as to thereception 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 placating this surly dog wasanything but inviting--the American strode to the boat and climbed in, taking the stern seat. The fisherman shoved off, wading out thigh-deep inthe spiteful waves, then threw himself in over the gunwales and shipped theoars. Bows swinging offshore, rocking and dancing, the dory began to forgeslowly toward the anchored boat. In their faces the wind beat gustily, andsmall, slapping waves, breaking against the sides, showered them with finespray.... 

In time the dory lay alongside the cat-boat, the fisherman with a gnarledhand grasping the latter's gunwale to hold the two together. With somedifficulty Kirkwood transhipped himself, landing asprawl in the cockpit, amid a tangle of cordage slippery with scales. The skipper followed, withclumsy expertness bringing the dory's painter with him and hitching it to aring-bolt abaft the rudder-head. Then, pausing an instant to stare into theEast with somber eyes, he shipped the tiller and bent to the halyards. Asthe sail rattled up, flapping wildly, Kirkwood marked with relief--for itmeant so much time saved--that it was already close reefed. 

But when at least the boom was thrashing overhead and the halyards hadbeen made fast to their cleats, the fisherman again stood erect, peeringdistrustfully 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 alreadydrawn 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 thecunning 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 waistcoatbuttonholes, removed his watch.... As well abandon them altogether; he haddesigned to leave them as security for the two pounds, and had delayedstating the terms only for fear lest they be refused. Now, too late asever, he recognized his error. But surely, he thought, it should beapparent even to that low intelligence that the timepiece alone was worthmore than the boat itself. 

"Will you take these?" he offered. "Take and keep them--only set me aboardthat ship!"

Deliberately the fisherman weighed the watch and chain in his broad, hardpalm, 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 thethreatening east. A puff of wind caught the sail and sent the boomathwartships, like a mighty flail. Both men ducked instinctively, to escapea braining. 

"How do I know?" objected the skipper. 

"I'm telling you. If you've got eyes, you can see, " retorted Kirkwoodsavagely, seeing that he had erred in telling the truth; the amount he hadnamed was too great to be grasped at once by this crude, cupidous brain. 

"How do I know?" the man repeated. Nevertheless he dropped watch and chaininto his pocket, then with a meaning grimace extended again his horny, greedy palm. 

"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 _Alethea_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 fisherman, crawling out on the overhand, began to haulin the dory. 

"Ashore ye go, " he pronounced his ultimatum, motioning Kirkwood to enterthe boat. 

The American turned, looking for the _Alethea_, or for the vessel that hebelieved bore that name. She was nearing the light-ship when he foundher, and as he looked a squall blurred the air between them, blottingthe brigantine out with a smudge of rain. The effect was as if she hadvanished, as if she were for ever snatched from his grasp; and with Dorothyaboard her--Heaven alone knew in what need of him!

Mute and blind with despair and wrath, he turned upon the man and caughthim by the collar, forcing him out over the lip of the overhang. They wereunevenly matched, Kirkwood far the slighter, but strength came to him inthe crisis, physical strength and address such as he had not dreamed was athis command. And the surprise of his onslaught proved an ally of unguessedpotency. Before he himself knew it he was standing on the overhang and hadshifted his hold to seize the fellow about the waist; then, lifting himclear of the deck, and aided by a lurch of the cat-boat, he cast himbodily into the dory. The man, falling, struck his head against one of thethwarts, a glancing blow that stunned him temporarily. Kirkwood himselfdropped as if shot, a trailing reef-point slapping his cheek until it stungas the boom thrashed overhead. It was as close a call as he had known; theknowledge sickened him a little. 

Without rising he worked the painter loose and cast the dory adrift; thencrawled back into the cockpit. No pang of compassion disturbed him as heabandoned the fisherman to the mercy of the sea; though the fellow laystill, uncouthly distorted, in the bottom of the dory, he was in no danger;the wind and waves together would carry the boat ashore.... For thatmatter, the man was even then recovering, struggling to sit up. 

Crouching to avoid the boom, Kirkwood went forward to the bows, and, grasping the mooring cable, drew it in, slipping back into the cockpit toget a stronger purchase with his feet. It was a struggle; the boat pulledsluggishly against the wind, the cable inching in jealously. And behindhim he could hear a voice bellowing inarticulate menaces, and knew that inanother moment the fisherman would be at his oars. 

Frantically he tugged and tore at the slimy rope, hauling with a will and aprayer. It gave more readily, towards the end, but he seemed to have foughtwith 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 seizingthe 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 thetiller up; and the cat-boat slid away, a dozen feet separating them in abreath. 

A yell of rage boomed down the wind, but he paid no heed. Careless alike ofthe dangers he had passed and those that yawned before him, he trimmedthe sheet and stood away on the port tack, heading directly for the NoreLightship. 

XI

OFF THE NORE

Kirkwood's anger cooled apace; at worst it had been a flare ofpassion--incandescent. It was seldom more. His brain clearing, thetemperature of his judgment quickly regained its mean, and he saw hischances without distortion, weighed them without exaggeration. 

Leaning against the combing, feet braced upon the slippery and treacherousdeck, 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 brigantinestanding close in under the Essex shore. At times she was invisible; againhe could catch merely the glint of her canvas, white against the dark loomof 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 andsails, when she should come about. 

For the longer that manoeuver was deferred, the better was his chance ofattaining his object. It was a forlorn hope. But in time the brigantine, to escape Maplin Sands, would be forced to tack and stand out past thelightship, the wind off her port bows. Then their courses would intersect. It remained to be demonstrated whether the cat-boat was speedy enough toarrive at this point of contact in advance of, or simultaneously with, thelarger vessel. Every minute that the putative _Alethea_ put off comingabout brought the cat-boat nearer that goal, but Kirkwood could do no morethan hope and try to trust in the fisherman's implied admission that itcould be done. It was all in the boat and the way she handled. 

He watched her anxiously, quick to approve her merits as she displayedthem. He had sailed small craft before--frail center-board cat-boats, handyand swift, built to serve in summer winds and protected waters: never suchan one as this. Yet he liked her. 

Deep bosomed she was, with no center-board, dependent on her draught andheavy keel to hold her on the wind; stanch and seaworthy, sheathed withstout plank and ribbed with seasoned timber, designed to keep afloat inthe wickedest weather brewed by the foul-tempered German Ocean. Withal herlines were fine and clean; for all her beam she was calculated to nosenarrowly into the wind and make a pretty pace as well. A good boat: he hadthe grace to give the credit to his luck. 

Her disposition was more fully disclosed as they drew away from the beach. Inshore with shoaling water, the waves had been choppy and spiteful butlacking force of weight. Farther out, as the bottom fell away, the rollersbecame more uniform and powerful; heavy sweeping seas met the cat-boat, from their hollows looming mountainous to the man in the tiny cockpit; whowas nevertheless aware that to a steamer they would be negligible. 

His boat breasted them gallantly, toiling sturdily up the steepacclivities, poising breathlessly on foam-crested summits for dizzyinstants, then plunging headlong down the deep green swales; and left aboiling wake behind her, --urging ever onward, hugging the wind in her wispof blood-red sail, and boring into it, pulling at the tiller with themettle of a race-horse slugging at the bit. 

Offshore, too, the wind stormed with added strength, or, possibly, hadfreshened. For minutes on end the leeward gunwales would run green, and nowand again the screaming, pelting squalls that scoured the estuary wouldheel her over until the water cascaded in over the lee combing, and therudder, lifted clear, would hang idle until, smitten by some racing billow, the tiller would be all but torn from Kirkwood's hands. Again and againthis happened; and those were times of trembling. But always the cat-boatrighted, shaking the clinging waters from her and swinging her stem intothe wind again; and there would follow an abbreviated breathing spell, during which Kirkwood was at liberty to dash the salt spray from his eyesand search the wind-harried waste for the brigantine. Sometimes he foundher, sometimes not. 

Long after he had expected her to, she went about and they began to closein upon each other. He could see that even with shortened canvas she wasstaggering drunkenly under the fierce impacts of the wind. For himself, itwas nip-and-tuck, now, and no man in his normal sense would have risked asixpence on the boat's chance to live until she crossed the brigantine'sbows. 

Time out of reckoning he was forced to kneel in the swimming cockpit, steering with one hand, using the bailing-dish with the other, andkeeping his eyes religiously turned to the bellying patch of sail. It washeartbreaking toil; he began reluctantly to concede that it could not lastmuch longer. And if he missed the brigantine he would be lost; mortalstrength was not enough to stand the unending strain upon every bone, muscle and sinew, required to keep the boat upon her course; though fora time it might cope with and solve the problems presented by each new, malignant billow and each furious, howling squall, the end inevitably mustbe failure. To struggle on would be but to postpone the certain end ... Save and except the possibility of his gaining the brigantine within theperiod of time strictly and briefly limited by his powers of endurance. 

Long since he had become numb with cold from incessant drenchings oficy spray, that piled in over the windward counter, keeping the bottomankle-deep regardless of his laborious but intermittent efforts with thebailing dish. And the two, brigantine and cockle-shell, were drawingtogether with appalling deliberation. 

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 ifhe could stick it out his judgment and seamanship would be justified ... Though human ingenuity backed by generosity could by no means contriveadequate 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 inhis elation, when eventually he gained the point of intersection an eighthof a mile ahead of the brigantine and got sight of her windward freeboardas, most slowly, the cat-boat forged across her course. 

For all that, the moment of his actual triumph was not yet; he had still tocarry off successfully a scheme that for sheer audacity of conception andcontempt for danger, transcended all that had gone before. 

Holding the cat-boat on for a time, he brought her about handsomely alittle way beyond the brigantine's course, and hung in the eye of the wind, the leach flapping and tightening with reports like rifle-shots, andthe water sloshing about his calves--bailing-dish now altogether out ofmind--while he watched the oncoming vessel, his eyes glistening withanticipation. 

She was footing it smartly, the brigantine--lying down to it and snoringinto the wind. Beneath her stem waves broke in snow-white showers, whiterthan the canvas of her bulging jib--broke and, gnashing their teeth inimpotent 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 instant, the golden letters of hername grew larger and more legible until--_Alethea_!--he could read it plainbeyond dispute. 

Joy welled in his heart. He forgot all that he had undergone in theprospect of what he proposed still to do in the name of the only woman theworld held for him. Unquestioning he had come thus far in her service;unquestioning, by her side, he was prepared to go still farther, though allhumanity should single her out with accusing fingers.... 

They were watching him, aboard the brigantine; he could see a line of headsabove her windward rail. Perhaps _she_ was of their number. He wavedan audacious hand. Some one replied, a great shout shattering itselfunintelligibly against the gale. He neither understood nor attempted toreply; his every faculty was concentrated on the supreme moment now athand. 

Calculating the instant to a nicety, he paid off the sheet and pulled upthe tiller. The cat-boat pivoted on her heel; with a crack her sail flappedfull and rigid; then, with the untempered might of the wind behind her, sheshot like an arrow under the brigantine's bows, so close that the bowspritof 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, foundhimself racing under the brigantine's leeward quarter, --water pouring ingenerously over the cat's. 

Luffing, he edged nearer, handling his craft as though intending to ram thelarger vessel, foot by foot shortening the little interval. When itwas 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 touchingthe deck, ready ... Ready.... 

Abruptly the _Alethea_ shut off the wind; the sail flattened and the catdropped back. In a second the distance had doubled. In anguish Kirkwooduttered an exceeding bitter cry. Already he was falling far off hercounter.... 

A shout reached him. He was dimly conscious of a dark object hurtlingthrough the air. Into the cockpit, splashing, something dropped--a coil ofrope. He fell forward upon it, into water eighteen inches deep; and for thefirst time realized that, but for that line, he had gone to his drowning inanother minute. The cat was sinking. 

As he scrambled to his feet, clutching the life-line, a heavy wave washedover the water-logged craft and left it all but submerged; and a smart tugon the rope added point to the advice which, reaching his ears in a bellowlike a bull's, penetrated the panic of his wits. 

"Jump! _Jump, you fool_!"

In an instant of coherence he saw that the brigantine was luffing; none theless much of the line had already been paid out, and there was no reckoningwhen the end would be reached. Without time to make it fast, he hitched ittwice round his waist and chest, once round an arm, and, grasping it abovehis head to ease its constriction when the tug should come, leaped on thecombing and overboard. A green roaring avalanche swept down upon him andthe luckless cat-boat, overwhelming both simultaneously. 

The agony that was his during the next few minutes can by no means beexaggerated. With such crises the human mind is not fitted adequatelyto cope; it retains no record of the supreme moment beyond a vague andincoherent impression of poignant, soul-racking suffering. Kirkwoodunderwent a prolonged interval of semi-sentience, his mind dominatedand oppressed by a deathly fear of drowning and a deadening sense ofsuffocation, with attendant tortures as of being broken on the wheel--limbrending from limb; of compression of his ribs that threatened momentarilyto crush in his chest; of a world a-welter with dim swirling greenhalf-lights alternating with flashes of blinding white; of thunderings inhis 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, thewhile he swam unsupported in an ethereal void of brilliance. His mouthwas full of something that burned, a liquid hot, acrid, and stinging. Hegulped, swallowed, slobbered, choked, coughed, attempted to sit up, wasaware that he was the focal center of a ring of glaring, burning eyes, likeeyes of ravening beasts; and fainted. 

His next conscious impression was of standing up, supported by friendlyarms on either side, while somebody was asking him if he could walk a stepor two. 

He lifted his head and let it fall in token of assent, mumbling a yes; andlooked round him with eyes wherein the light of intelligence burned moreclear with every second. By degrees he catalogued and comprehended hisweirdly 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, bytheir habit, clustered round between him and the windward rail. Of theirnumber one stood directly before him, dwarfing his companions as much byhis air of command as by his uncommon height: tall, thin-faced and sallow, with hollow weather-worn cheeks, a mouth like a crooked gash from ear toear, and eyes like dying coals, with which he looked the rescued up anddown in one grim, semi-humorous, semi-speculative glance. In hands bothhuge and red he fondled tenderly a squat brandy flask whose contents hadapparently been employed as a first aid to the drowning. 

As Kirkwood's gaze encountered his, the man smiled sourly, jerking his headto one side with a singularly derisive air. 

"Hi, matey!" he blustered. "'Ow goes it now? Feelin' 'appier, eigh?"

[Illustration: "Hi, matey!" he blustered. "'Ow goes it now?"]

"Some, thank you ... More like a drowned rat. " Kirkwood eyed himsheepishly. "I suppose you're the man who threw me that line? I'll have towait till my head clears up before I can thank you properly. "

"Don't mention it. " He of the lantern jaws stowed the bottle away withjealous care in one of his immense coat pockets, and seized Kirkwood'shand 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 afriend?" he demanded suddenly, as Kirkwood's attention wandered. 

For the memory of the errand that had brought him into the hands of CaptainWilliam Stryker had come to the young man very suddenly; and his eager eyeswere swiftly roving not along the decks but the wide world besides, forsight or sign of his heart's desire. 

After luffing to pick him up, the brigantine had been again pulled off onthe port tack. The fury of the gale seemed rather to have waxed than waned, and the _Alethea_ was bending low under the relentless fury of its blasts, driving hard, with leeward channels awash. Under her port counter, a mileaway, the crimson light-ship wallowed in a riot of breaking combers. Sheerness lay abeam, five miles or more. Ahead the northeast headlandof the Isle of Sheppey was bulking large and near. The cat-boat hadvanished.... 

More important still, no one aboard the brigantine resembled in theremotest degree either of the Calendars, father or daughter, or evenMulready, the black-avised. 

"I sye, 're you lookin' for some one you know?"

"Yes--your passengers. I presume they're below--?"

"Passengers!"

A hush fell upon the group, during which Kirkwood sought Stryker's eye inpitiful pleading; and Stryker looked round him blankly. 

"Where's Miss Calendar?" the young man demanded sharply. "I must see her atonce!"

The keen and deep-set eyes of the skipper clouded as they returned toKirkwood's perturbed countenance. "Wot're you talking about?" he demandedbrusquely. 

"I must see Miss Calendar, or Calendar himself, or Mulready. " Kirkwoodpaused, and, getting no reply, grew restive under Stryker's inscrutableregard. 

"That's why I came aboard, " he amended, blind to the absurdity of thestatement; "to see--er--Calendar. "

"Well ... I'm damned!"

Stryker managed to infuse into his tone a deal of suspicious contempt. 

"Why?" insisted Kirkwood, nettled but still uncomprehending. 

"D'you mean to tell me you came off from--wherever in 'ell you did comefrom--intendin' to board this wessel and find a party nymed Calendar?"

"Certainly I did. Why--?"

"Well!" cried Mr. Stryker, rubbing his hands together with an airoppressively obsequious, "I'm sorry to _hin_-form you you've come to thewrong 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 atthe 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 youdrownd!"

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 withyou, an' you've gone and went an' forgot the dyte. Mebbe it's larst year'scalendar you're thinkin' of. You Johnny" (to a lout of a boy in the groupof seamen), "you run an' fetch this gentleman Whitaker's for Nineteen-six. Look sharp, now!"

"But--!" With an effort Kirkwood mustered up a show of dignity. "Am I tounderstand, " he said, as calmly as he could, "that you deny knowing GeorgeB. Calendar and his daughter Dorothy and--"

"I don't 'ave to. Listen to me, young man. " For the time the fellowdiscarded his clumsy facetiousness. "I'm Wilyum Stryker, Capt'n Stryker, marster and 'arf-owner of this wessel, and wot I says 'ere is law. We don'tcarry no passengers. D'ye understand me?"--aggressively. "There ain't nopusson nymed Calendar aboard the _Allytheer_, an' never was, an' never willbe!"

"What name did you say?" Kirkwood inquired. 

"This ship? The _Allytheer_; registered from Liverpool; bound from Londonto Hantwerp, in cargo. Anythink else?"

Kirkwood shook his head, turning to scan the seascape with a gloomygaze. As he did so, and remarked how close upon the Sheppey headland thebrigantine had drawn, the order was given to go about. For the moment hewas left alone, wretchedly wet, shivering, wan and shrunken visibly withthe knowledge that he had dared greatly for nothing. But for the necessityof keeping up before Stryker and his crew, the young man felt that he couldgladly have broken down and wept for sheer vexation and disappointment. 

Smartly the brigantine luffed and wore about, heeling deep as she spun awayon the starboard tack. 

Kirkwood staggered round the skylight to the windward rail. From thisposition, looking forward, he could see that they were heading for the opensea, Foulness low over the port quarter, naught before them but a brawlingwaste of leaden-green and dirty white. Far out one of the sidewheel boatsof the Queensborough-Antwerp line was heading directly into the wind andmaking heavy weather of it. 

Some little while later, Stryker again approached him, perhaps swayed by anunaccustomed impulse of compassion; which, however, he artfully concealed. Blandly ironic, returning to his impersonation of the shopkeeper, "Nothinkelse we can show you, sir?" he inquired. 

"I presume you couldn't put me ashore?" Kirkwood replied ingenuously. 

In supreme disgust the captain showed him his back. "'Ere, you!" he calledto 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 'e'll be better when 'e wykes up. 'E don't talk sense now, that's sure. If you arsk me, I sye 'e's balmy andno 'ope for 'im. "

XII

PICARESQUE PASSAGES

Contradictory to the hopeful prognosis of Captain Stryker, his unaccreditedpassenger was not "better" when, after a period of oblivious restindefinite in duration, he awoke. His subsequent assumption of listlessresignation, of pacific acquiescence in the dictates of his destiny, waspurely deceptive--thin ice of despair over profound depths of exasperatedrebellion. 

Blank darkness enveloped him when first he opened eyes to wonder. Thengradually as he stared, piecing together unassorted memories and strivingto 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; andby dint of puzzling divined that this had access by a port. Turning hishead upon a stiff and unyielding pillow, he could discern a streak ofsaffron light lining the sill of a doorway, near by his side. The onephenomenon taken with the other confirmed a theretofore somewhat hazyimpression that his dreams were dignified by a foundation of fact; that, inbrief, he was occupying a cabin-bunk aboard the good ship _Alethea_. 

Overhead, on the deck, a heavy thumping of hurrying feet awoke him tokeener perceptiveness. 

Judging from the incessant rolling and pitching of the brigantine, thecrashing thunder of seas upon her sides, the eldrich shrieking of the gale, as well as from the chorused groans and plaints of each individual boltand timber in the frail fabric that housed his fortunes, the wind hadstrengthened materially during his hours of forgetfulness--however many thelatter might have been. 

He believed, however, that he had slept long, deeply and exhaustively. Hefelt now a little emaciated mentally and somewhat absent-bodied--so he putit 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 inthe 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 histhoughts left him rather interested than excited by the prospect. He foundthat he was neither pleased nor displeased. He presumed that it would beno more difficult to raise money on personal belongings in Antwerp thananywhere else; it has been observed that the first flower of civilizationis the rum-blossom, the next, the conventionalized fleur-de-lis of themoney-lender. There would be pawnshops, then, in Antwerp; and Kirkwood wasconfident that the sale or pledge of his signet-ring, scarf-pin, match-boxand 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 kneesof the gods; he'd squirm out of his troubles, somehow. As for the othermatter, the Calendar affair, he presumed he was well rid of it, --with asigh of regret. It had been a most enticing mystery, you know; and thewoman in the case was extraordinary, to say the least. 

The memory of Dorothy Calendar made him sigh again, this time moreviolently: a sigh that was own brother to (or at any rate descended ina direct line from) the furnace sigh of the lover described by, themelancholy Jaques. And he sat up, bumped his head, groped round until hishand fell upon a doorknob, opened the door, and looked out into the blowsyemptiness of the ship's cabin proper, whose gloomy confines were madevisible only by the rays of a dingy and smoky lamp swinging violently ingimbals 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, collectedthem, and returning to his berth, dressed at leisure, thinking heavily, disgruntled--in a humor as evil as the after-taste of bad brandy in hismouth. 

When dressed he went out into the cabin, closing the door upon his berth, and for lack of anything better to do, seated himself on the thwartshipstransom, against the forward bulkhead, behind the table. Above his head achronometer ticked steadily and loudly, and, being consulted, told him thatthe time of day was twenty minutes to four; which meant that he had sleptaway 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 andpardonably fatigued when conducted to his berth. He felt stronger now, andbright enough--and enormously hungry into the bargain. 

Abstractedly, heedless of the fact that his tobacco would be water-soakedand ruined, he fumbled in his pockets for pipe and pouch, thinking tosoothe the pangs of hunger against breakfast-time; which was probably twohours and a quarter ahead. But his pockets were empty--every one of them. He assimilated this discovery in patience and cast an eye about the room, to locate, if possible, the missing property. But naught of his wasvisible. So he rose and began a more painstaking search. 

The cabin was at once tiny, low-ceiled, and depressingly gloomy. Itsfurniture consisted entirely in a chair or two, supplementing the transomsand lockers as resting-places, and a center-table covered with a cloth ofturkey-red, whose original aggressiveness had been darkly moderated bylibations of liquids, principally black coffee, and burnt offerings ofgrease and tobacco-ash. Aside from the companion-way to the deck, fourdoors opened into the room, two probably giving upon the captain's and themate's quarters, the others on pseudo state-rooms--one of which he had justvacated--closets large enough to contain a small bunk and naught beside. The bulkheads and partitions were badly broken out with a rash of picturesfrom illustrated papers, mostly offensive. Kirkwood was interested to reada half-column clipping from a New York yellow journal, descriptive of theantics of a drunken British sailor who had somehow found his way to thebar-room of the Fifth Avenue Hotel; the paragraph exploiting the fact thatit had required four policemen in addition to the corps of porters tosubdue him, was strongly underscored in red ink; and the news-story woundup with the information that in police court the man had given his name asWilliam Stranger and cheerfully had paid a fine of ten dollars, alleginghis entertainment to have been cheap at the price. 

While Kirkwood was employed in perusing this illuminating anecdote, eightbells sounded, and, from the commotion overhead, the watch changed. Alittle later the companion-way door slammed open and shut, and CaptainStryker--or Stranger; whichever you please--fell down, rather thandescended, the steps. 

Without attention to the American he rolled into the mate's room and rousedthat personage. Kirkwood heard that the name of the second-in-command was'Obbs, as well as that he occupied the starboard state-room aft. After abrief exchange of comment and instruction, Mr. 'Obbs appeared in the shapeof 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 aclammy heap upon the floor, opened a locker from which he brought forth abottle and a dirty glass, and, turning toward the table, for the first timebecame sensible of Kirkwood's presence. 

"Ow, there you are, eigh, little bright-eyes!" he exclaimed with surprisedanimation. 

"Good morning, Captain Stryker, " said Kirkwood, rising. "I want to tellyou--"

But Stryker waved one great red paw impatiently, with the effect ofsweeping aside and casting into the discard Kirkwood's intended speech ofthanks; nor would he hear him further. 

"Did you 'ave a nice little nap?" he interrupted. "Come up bright andsmilin', eigh? Now I guess"--the emphasis made it clear that the captainbelieved himself to be employing an Americanism; and so successful was hein his own esteem that he could not resist the temptation to improve uponthe imitation--"Na-ow I guess yeou're abaout right ready, ben't ye, to heva drink, sonny?"

"No, thank you, " said Kirkwood, smiling tolerantly. "I've got any amount ofappetite... "

"'Ave you, now?" Stryker dropped his mimicry and glanced at the clock. "Breakfast, " he announced, "will be served in the myne dinin' saloon ateyght a. M. Passingers is requested not to be lyte at tyble. "

Depositing the bottle on the said table, the captain searched until hefound another glass for Kirkwood, 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 thefiery concoction, gulped it down, and sighed. Then, with a glance at theAmerican's woebegone countenance (Kirkwood was contemplating a four-hourwait for breakfast, and, consequently, looking as if he had lost his lastfriend), the captain bent over, placing both hands palm down before him andwagging his head earnestly. 

"Please, " he implored, --"Please don't let me hinterrupt;" and filled hispipe, pretending a pensive detachment from his company. 

The fumes of burning shag sharpened the tooth of desire. Kirkwood stood itas long as he could, then surrendered with an: "If you've got any more ofthat tobacco, Captain, I'd be glad of a pipe. "

An intensely contemplative expression crept into the captain's small blueeyes. 

"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 ithunder 'arf a quid. "

Kirkwood settled back with a hopeless lift of his shoulders. AbstractedlyStryker puffed the smoke his way until he could endure the deprivation nolonger. 

"I had about ten shillings in my pocket when I came aboard, captain, and ... A few other articles. "

"Ow, yes; so you 'ad, now you mention it. "

Stryker rose, ambled into his room, and returned with Kirkwood'spossessions and a fresh paper of shag. While the young man was hastilyfilling, lighting, and inhaling the first strangling but delectable whiff, the captain solemnly counted into his own palm all the loose change exceptthree large pennies. The latter he shoved over to Kirkwood in company witha miscellaneous assortment of articles, which the American picked up pieceby piece and began to bestow about his clothing. When through, he sat back, troubled and disgusted. Stryker met his regard blandly. 

"Anything I can do?" he inquired, in suave concern. 

"Why ... There _was_ a black pearl scarfpin--"

"W'y, don't you remember? You gave that to me, 'count of me 'avin syved yerlife. 'Twas me throwed you that line, you know. "

"Oh, " commented Kirkwood briefly. The pin had been among the most valuableand 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, --almostweepin', you was, --and sez, sez you, 'Stryker, ' you sez, 'tyke this intriflin' toking of my gratichood; I wouldn't hinsult you, ' you sez, 'byhofferin' you money, but this I can insist on yer acceptin', and norefusal, ' 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 hecould afford to ignore it; and said no more. The pause held for severalminutes, Kirkwood having fallen into a mood of grave distraction. FinallyCaptain Stryker thoughtfully measured out a second drink, limited only bythe 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 stronglytinctured 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' toaccommodate 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 heelat the peril of his neck, and lumbered unsteadily off to his room. Pausingat the door he turned back in inquiry. 

"I sye, 'ow did you come to get the impression there was a party namedAlmanack aboard this wessel?"

"Calendar--"

"'Ave it yer own wye, " Stryker conceded gracefully. 

"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 afore. " The captain appeared towrestle with an obdurate memory. "Ow!" he triumphed. "I know. 'E was a chapup 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'descyped from 'is tender care, but, findin' the world cold, chynged yer mindand wanted to gow back. "

Without waiting for a reply he lurched into his room and banged the doorto. Kirkwood, divided between amusement and irritation, heard him stumblingabout 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 penetratingsnore added itself unto the cacophony of waves and wind and tortured ship. 

Kirkwood, comforted at first by the blessed tobacco, lapsed insensiblyinto dreary meditations. Coming after the swift movement and sustainedexcitement of the eighteen hours preceding his long sleep, the monotonyof shipboard confinement seemed irksome to a maddening degree. There wasabsolutely nothing he could discover to occupy his mind. If there werebooks aboard, none was in evidence; beyond the report of Mr. Stranger'sManhattan night's entertainment the walls were devoid of reading matter;and a round of the picture gallery proved a diversion weariful enough whennot purely revolting. 

Wherefore Mr. Kirkwood stretched himself out on the transom and smoked andreviewed his adventures in detail and seriatim, and was by turns indignant, sore, anxious on his own account as well as on Dorothy's, and out of allpatience with himself. Mystified he remained throughout, and the edge ofhis curiosity held as keen as ever, you may believe. 

Consistently the affair presented itself to his fancy in the guise of apuzzle-picture, which, though you study it never so diligently, remainsincomprehensible, until by chance you view it from an unexpected angle, when it reveals itself intelligibly. It had not yet been his good fortuneto see it from the right viewpoint. To hold the metaphor, he walked endlesscircles round it, patiently seeking, but ever failing to find the properperspective.... Each incident, however insignificant, in connection withit, he handled over and over, examining its every facet, bright or dull, asan expert might inspect a clever imitation of a diamond; and like a perfectimitation it defied analysis. 

Of one or two things he was convinced; for one, that Stryker was a liarworthy of classification with Calendar and Mrs. Hallam. Kirkwood hadnot 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 bothCalendar and Mulready during their altercation on Bermondsey Old Stairs, but he had the confirmatory testimony of the sleepy waterman, William, whohad directed Old Bob and Young William to the anchorage off Bow Creek. Thatthere should have been two vessels of the same unusual name at one andthe same time in the Port of London, was a coincidence too preposterousaltogether to find place in his calculations. 

His second impregnable conclusion was that those whom he sought had boardedthe _Alethea_, but had left her before she tripped her anchor. That theywere not stowed away aboard her seemed unquestionable. The brigantine washardly large enough for the presence of three persons aboard her to be longkept a secret from an inquisitive fourth, --unless, indeed, they lay inhiding in the hold; for which, once the ship got under way, there could bescant excuse. And Kirkwood did not believe himself a person of sufficientimportance in Calendar's eyes, to make that worthy endure the discomfortsof a'tween-decks imprisonment throughout the voyage, even to escaperecognition. 

With every second, then, he was traveling farther from her to whose aid hehad rushed, impelled by motives so hot-headed, so innately, chivalric, sounthinkingly gallant, so exceptionally idiotic!

Idiot! Kirkwood groaned with despair of his inability to fathom the abyssof his self-contempt. There seemed to be positively no excuse for _him_. Stryker had befriended him indeed, had he permitted him to drown. Yethe had acted for the best, as he saw it. The fault lay in himself: anadmirable fault, that of harboring and nurturing generous and compassionateinstincts. But, of course, Kirkwood couldn't see it that way. 

"What else could I do?" he defended himself against the indictmentof common sense. "I couldn't leave her to the mercies of that set ofrogues!... And Heaven knows I was given every reason to believe she wouldbe 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 passageforfeited; he no longer harbored illusions as to the steamship companypresenting him with another berth in lieu of that called for by thatwater-soaked slip of paper then in his pocket--courtesy of Stryker. He hadsold for a pittance, a tithe of its value, his personal jewelry, and hadspent every penny he could call his own. With the money Stryker was to givehim he would be able to get back to London and his third-rate hostelry, butnot 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 darkness, lightened by no leastray of hope. It had been bad enough to lose a comfortable living througha gigantic convulsion of Nature; but to think that he had lost all elsethrough his own egregious folly, to find himself reduced to the kennels--!

So 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 havecried out with the torment of it; the while whispering insidiously subtile, evil things in his ear. And he had not even Hope to comfort him; atany previous stage he had been able to distil a sort of bitter-sweetsatisfaction from the thought that he was suffering for the love of hislife. But now--now Dorothy was lost, gone like the glamour of Romance inthe searching light of day. 

Stryker, emerging from his room for breakfast, found the passenger with ahostile look in his eye and a jaw set in ugly fashion. His eyes, too, werethe abiding-place of smoldering devils; and the captain, recognizing them, considerately forbore to stir them up with any untimely pleasantries. To besure, he was autocrat in his own ship, and Kirkwood's standing aboard was_nil_; but then there was just enough yellow in the complexion of Stryker'ssoul to incline him to sidestep trouble whenever feasible. And besides, heentertained dark suspicions of his guest--suspicions he scarce dared voiceeven to his inmost heart. 

The morning meal, therefore, passed off in constrained silence. The captainate voraciously and vociferously, pushed back his chair, and went on deckto relieve the mate. The latter, a stunted little Cockney with a wizenedcountenance and a mind as foul as his tongue, got small change of hisattempts to engage the passenger in conversation on topics that heconsidered fit for discussion. After the sixth or eighth snubbing he rosein dudgeon, discharged a poisonous bit of insolence, and retired to hisberth, leaving Kirkwood to finish his breakfast in peace; which the latterdid literally, to the last visible scrap of food and the ultimate drop ofcoffee, poor as both were in quality. 

To the tune of a moderating wind, the morning wearied away. Kirkwood wenton deck once, for distraction from the intolerable monotony of it all, gota sound drenching of spray, with a glimpse of a dark line on the easternhorizon, which he understood to be the low littoral of Holland, and wasglad to dodge below once more and dry himself. 

He had the pleasure of the mate's company at dinner, the captain remainingon deck until Hobbs had finished and gone up to relieve him; and by thattime Kirkwood likewise was through. 

Stryker blew down with a blustery show of cheer. "Well, well, my littleman!" (It happened that he topped Kirkwood's stature by at least fiveinches. ) "Enj'yin' yer sea trip?"

"About as much as you'd expect, " snapped Kirkwood. 

"Ow?" The captain began to shovel food into his face. (The author regretshe has at his command no more delicate expression that is literal andillustrative. ) Kirkwood watched him, fascinated with suspense; it seemedimpossible that the man could continue so to employ his knife withoutcutting his throat from the inside. But years of such manipulation had madehim expert, and his guest, keenly disappointed, 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 oughtto 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 andflung it disdainfully to the four winds of Heaven. "Bless yer 'art, you'rewelcome; I wouldn't let no dorg drownd, 'f I could 'elp it. No, " hedeclared, "nor a loonatic, neither. "

He thrust his plate away and shifted sidewise in his chair. "I 'uz justwonderin', " he pursued, picking his teeth meditatively with a pen-knife, "'ow they feeds you in them _as_-ylums. 'Avin' never been inside one, myself, it's on'y natural I'd be cur'us.... There was one of theminstitootions near where I was borned--Birming'am, that is. I used to seethe loonies playin' in the grounds. I remember _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. Youngchap, 'e was, the livin' spi't-'n-himage of you. It don't happen, does it, you're the same man?"

"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 'ewas allus plannin' to run awye and drownd 'is-self. "... 

He wore the joke threadbare, even to his own taste, and in the end gotheavily to his feet, starting for the companionway. "Land you thisarternoon, " he remarked casually, "come three o'clock or thereabahts. 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 circumstanceundoubtedly in great part due to the fact that they had won in under thelee of the mainland and were traversing shallower waters. On either hand, like mist upon the horizon, lay a streak of gray, a shade darker than thegray of the waters. The _Alethea_ was within the wide jaws of the WesternScheldt. 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 portwith slanting deck and singing cordage. 

Kirkwood approached the captain, who, acting as his own pilot, was standingby 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, melud?"

Kirkwood repeated his question. Stryker eyed him suspiciously for athought. 

"Wot d'you want it for?"

"I want to see when I can get a boat back to England. "

"Hmm.... Yes, you'll find a Bradshaw in the port-locker, near the for'ardbulk'ead. Run along now and pl'y--and mind you don't go tearin' out thepyges to myke pyper boatses to go sylin' in. "

Kirkwood went below. Like its adjacent rooms, the cabin was untenanted; thewatch was the mate's, and Stryker a martinet. Kirkwood found the designatedlocker and, opening it, saw first to his hand the familiar bulky red volumewith its red garter. Taking it out he carried it to a chair near thecompanionway, for a better reading light: the skylight being still batteneddown. 

The strap removed, the book opened easily, as if by force of habit, at theprecise table he had wished to consult; some previous client had left amarker between the pages, --and not an ordinary book-mark, by any mannerof means. Kirkwood gave utterance to a little gasp of amazement, andinstinctively glanced up at the companionway, to see if he were observed. 

He was not, but for safety's sake he moved farther back into the cabinand out of the range of vision of any one on deck; a precaution which wasalmost immediately justified by the clumping of heavy feet upon the stepsas Stryker descended in pursuit of the ever-essential drink. 

"'Find it?" he demanded, staring blindly--with eyes not yet focused to thechange from light to gloom--at the young man, who was sitting with theguide open on his knees, a tightly clenched fist resting on the transom ateither 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 seductivelocker. 

"A--what?"

"A howl, readin' that fine print there in the dark. W'y don't you go overto the light?... I'll 'ave to 'ave them shutters tyken off the winders. "This was Stryker's amiable figure of speech, frequently employed toindicate the coverings of the skylight. 

"I'm all right. " Kirkwood went on studying the book. 

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 mypassengers to feel comfy.... Now don't you go trapsein' off to gay Pareeand squanderin' wot money you got left. You 'ear?"

"By the way, Captain!" Kirkwood looked up at this, but Stryker was alreadyhalf-way up the companion. 

Cautiously the American opened his right fist and held to the light thatwhich had been concealed, close wadded in his grasp, --a square of sheerlinen edged with lace, crumpled but spotless, and diffusing in theunwholesome den a faint, intangible fragrance, the veriest wraith ofthat elusive perfume which he would never again inhale without instantlyrecalling 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 beforehim, --hair of gold massed above the forehead of snow, curling in adorabletendrils at the nape of her neck, lips like scarlet splashed upon theimmaculate whiteness of her skin, head poised audaciously in its spirited, youthful allure, dark eyes smiling the least trace sadly beneath the levelbrows. 

Unquestionably the handkerchief was hers; if proof other than theassurance of his heart were requisite, he had it in the initial delicatelyembroidered in one corner: a D, for Dorothy!... He looked again, to makesure; then hastily folded up the treasure-trove and slipped it into abreast 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 itintently. After all, he had not been wrong! He could assert now, withoutfear of refutation, that Stryker had lied. 

Some one had wielded an industrious pencil on the page. It was, taken as awhole, fruitful of clues. Its very heading was illuminating:

LONDON to VLISSINGEN (FLUSHING) AND BREDA;

which happened to be the quickest and most direct route between London andAntwerp. Beneath it, in the second column from the right, the pencil hadput a check-mark against:

QUEENSBOROUGH ... DEP ... 11A10. 

And now he saw it clearly--dolt that he had been not to have divined it erethis! The _Alethea_ had run in to Queensborough, landing her passengersthere, that they might make connection with the eleven-ten morning boat forFlushing, --the very side-wheel steamer, doubtless, which he had noticedbeating out in the teeth of the gale just after the brigantine had pickedhim up. Had he not received the passing impression that the _Alethea_, whenfirst he caught sight of her, might have been coming out of the Medway, onwhose eastern shore is situate Queensborough Pier? Had not Mrs. Hallam, going upon he knew not what information or belief, been bound forQueensborough, with design there to intercept the fugitives?

Kirkwood chuckled to recall how, all unwittingly, he had been the meansof diverting from her chosen course that acute and resourceful lady; thenagain turned his attention to the tables. 

A third check had been placed against the train for Amsterdam scheduled toleave Antwerp at 6:32 p. M. Momentarily his heart misgave him, when he sawthis, in fear lest Calendar and Dorothy should have gone on from Antwerpthe previous evening; but then he rallied, discovering that the boat-trainfrom Flushing did not arrive at Antwerp till after ten at night; and therewas no later train thence for Amsterdam. Were the latter truly theirpurposed destination, they would have stayed overnight and be leaving thatvery evening on the 6:32. On the other hand, why should they wait for thelatest train, rather than proceed by the first available in the morning?Why but because Calendar and Mulready were to wait for Stryker to join themon the _Alethea_?

Very well, then; if the wind held and Stryker knew his business, therewould be another passenger on that train, in addition to the Calendarparty. 

Making mental note of the fact that the boat-train for Flushing and Londonwas scheduled to leave Antwerp daily at 8:21 p. M. , Kirkwood rustled theleaves to find out whether or not other tours had been planned, foundevidences of none, and carefully restored the guide to the locker, lestinadvertently 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 brigantinewas well in land-bound waters and still footing a rattling pace. Theriver-banks had narrowed until, beyond the dikes to right and left, thecountry-side stretched wide and flat, a plain of living green embroideredwith winding roads and quaint Old-World hamlets whose red roofs shone likedull fire between the dark green foliage of dwarfed firs. 

Down with the Scheldt's gray shimmering flood were drifting littlecompanies of barges, sturdy and snug both fore and aft, tough tanned sailsburning in the afternoon sunlight. A long string of canal-boats, pottedplants flowering saucily in their neatly curtained windows, proprietorsexpansively smoking on deck, in the bosoms of their very large families, was being mothered up-stream by two funny, clucking tugs. Behind thebrigantine a travel-worn Atlantic liner was scolding itself hoarse aboutthe right of way. Outward bound, empty cattle boats, rough and rusty, were swaggering down to the sea, with the careless, independentthumbs-in-armholes air of so many navvies off the job. 

And then lifting suddenly above the level far-off sky-line, there appeareda very miracle of beauty; the delicate tracery of the great Cathedral'sspire of frozen lace, glowing like a thing of spun gold, set against thesapphire 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 ofhis ship to be interrupted with impunity. Besides, there was plenty oftime. 

More slowly now, the wind falling, the brigantine crept up the river, hercrew alert with sheets and halyards as the devious windings of the streamrendered it necessary to trim the canvas at varying angles to catch thewind. 

Slowly, too, in the shadow of that Mechlin spire, the horizon grew roughand elevated, taking shape in the serrated profile of a thousand gables anda hundred towers and cross-crowned steeples. 

Once or twice, more and more annoyed as the time of their associationseemed to grow more brief, Kirkwood approached the captain; but Strykercontinued to be exhaustively absorbed in the performance of his duties. 

Up past the dockyards, where spidery masts stood in dense groves aboutpainted funnels, and men swarmed over huge wharves like ants over a crustof 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 amad thing and her anchor bit the riverbed, near the left bank, between oldForts Isabelle and Tête de Flandre, frowned upon from the right by the grimpile of the age-old Steen castle. 

And again Kirkwood sought Stryker, his carking query ready on his lips. Butthe captain impatiently waved him aside. 

"Don't you bother me now, me lud juke! Wyte until I gets done with thecustom hofficer. "

Kirkwood acceded, perforce; and bided his time with what tolerance he couldmuster. 

A pluttering customs launch bustled up to the _Alethea's_ side, dischargeda fussy inspector on the brigantine's deck, and panted impatiently untilhe, the examination concluded without delay, was again aboard. 

Stryker, smirking benignly and massaging his lips with the back of hishand, followed the official on deck, nodded to Kirkwood an intimation thathe was prepared to accord him an audience, and strolled forward to thewaist. The American, mastering his resentment, meekly followed; one can notwell 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 Kirkwood quietly. "I hate totrouble you, but--there's that matter of four pounds. "

Stryker's face was expressive only of mystified vacuity. "Four quid? Idunno _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. Strykersmiled cheerfully. "Garn with you!" he chuckled. "You will 'ave yer littlejoke, won't you now? I declare I never see a loony with such affecsh'nit, pl'yful wyes!"

Kirkwood's eyes narrowed. "Stryker, " he said steadily, "give me the fourpounds and let's have no more nonsense; or else hand over my things atonce. "

"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; I thought youunderstood. "

"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, theW. Stryker Packet Line Lim'ted, London to Antwerp, charges four pounds perpassyge and no reduction for return fare. "

Stunned by his effrontery, Kirkwood stared in silence. 

"Any complynts, " continued the captain, looking over Kirkwood's head, "mustbe lyde afore the Board of Directors in writin' not more'n thirty dyesarfter--"

"You damned scoundrel!" interpolated Kirkwood thoughtfully. 

Stryker's mouth closed with a snap; his features 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 thecaptain lurched by, following his wasted blow, and with a dexterous twistlaid him flat on his back, with a sounding thump upon the deck. And as theinfuriated scamp rose--which he did with a bound that placed him onhis feet and in defensive posture; as though the deck had been aspring-board--Kirkwood leaped back, seized a capstan-bar, and faced himwith a challenge. 

"Stand clear, Stryker!" he warned the man tensely, himself livid with rage. "If you move a step closer I swear I'll knock the head off your shoulders!Not another inch, you contemptible whelp, or I'll brain you!... That'sbetter, " he continued as the captain, caving, dropped his fists and moveduneasily back. "Now give that boatman money for taking me ashore. Yes, I'mgoing--and if we ever meet again, take the other side of the way, Stryker!"

Without response, a grim smile wreathing his thin, hard lips, Strykerthrust one hand into his pocket, and withdrawing a coin, tossed it to thewaiting waterman. Whereupon Kirkwood backed warily to the rail, abandonedthe 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 _bonvoyage_. 

"By-by, yer hexcellency. I 'opes it may soon be my pleasure to meet youagain. You've been a real privilege to know; I've henjoyed yer comp'nysomethin' 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 ofeach eye tears of grief at parting. Then, as the boat swung toward thefarther shore, Kirkwood's back was to the brigantine, and he was littletempted to turn and invite fresh shafts of ridicule. 

Rapidly, as he was ferried across the busy Scheldt, the white blaze of hispassion cooled; but the biting irony of his estate ate, corrosive, into hissoul. Hollow-eyed he glared vacantly into space, pale lips unmoving, hisfeatures wasted with despair. 

They came to the landing-stage and swung broad-side on. Mechanically theAmerican got up and disembarked. As heedless of time and place he movedup the Quai to the gangway and so gained the esplanade; where pausing hethrust a trembling hand into his trouser pocket. 

The hand reappeared, displaying in its outspread palm three big, round, brown, British pennies. Staring down at them, Kirkwood's lips moved. 

"Bed rock!" he whispered huskily. 

XIII

A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME

Without warning or presage the still evening air was smitten and madesoftly musical by the pealing of a distant chime, calling vespers to itsbrothers in Antwerp's hundred belfries; and one by one, far and near, theresponses broke out, until it seemed as if the world must be vibrantwith silver and brazen melody; until at the last the great bells in theCathedral spire stirred and grumbled drowsily, then woke to such ringingresonance as dwarfed all the rest and made it seem as nothing. 

Like the beating of a mighty heart heard through the rushing clamor of thepulses, a single deep-throated bell boomed solemnly six heavy, rumblingstrokes. 

Six o'clock! Kirkwood roused out of his dour brooding. The Amsterdamexpress would leave at 6:32, and he knew not from what station. 

Striding swiftly across the promenade, he entered a small tobacco shop andmade inquiry of the proprietress. His command of French was tolerable; heexperienced no difficulty in comprehending the good woman's instructions. 

Trains for Amsterdam, she said, left from the Gare Centrale, a mile or soacross the city. M'sieur had plenty of time, and to spare. There was thetram line, if m'sieur did not care to take a fiacre. If he would go by wayof the Vielle Bourse he would discover the tram cars of the Rue Kipdorp. M'sieur was most welcome.... 

Monsieur departed with the more haste since he was unable to repay thiscourtesy with the most trifling purchase; such slight matters annoyedKirkwood intensely. Perhaps it was well for him that he had the long walkto help him work off the fit of nervous exasperation into which he wasplunged every time his thoughts harked back to that jovial black-guard, Stryker.... He was quite calm when, after a brisk walk of some fifteenminutes, he reached the station. 

A public clock reassured him with the information that he had the quarterof an hour's leeway; it was only seventeen minutes past eighteen o'clock(Belgian railway time, always confusing). Inquiring his way to theAmsterdam train, which was already waiting at the platform, he paced itslength, peering brazenly in at the coach windows, now warm with hope, nowshivering with disappointment, realizing as he could not but realize that, all else aside, his only chance of rehabilitation lay in meeting Calendar. But in none of the coaches or carriages did he discover any one evenremotely resembling the fat adventurer, his daughter, or Mulready. 

Satisfied that they had not yet boarded the train, he stood aside, torturedwith forebodings, while anxiously scrutinizing each individual of thethrong of intending travelers.... Perhaps they had been delayed--by the_Alethea's_ lateness in making port very likely; perhaps they purposedtaking not this but a later train; perhaps they had already left the cityby an earlier, or had returned to England. 

On time, the bell clanged its warning; the guards bawled theirs; doors werehastily opened and slammed; the trucks began to groan, couplings joltingas the engine chafed in constraint. The train and Kirkwood movedsimultaneously out of opposite ends of the station, the one to rattle andhammer round the eastern boundaries of the city and straighten out at topspeed on the northern route for the Belgian line, the other to strollmoodily away, idle hands in empty pockets, bound aimlessly anywhere--itdidn't matter!

Nothing whatever mattered in the smallest degree. Ere now the outlook hadbeen dark; but this he felt to be the absolute nadir of his misfortunes. Presently--after a while--as soon as he could bring himself to it--he wouldask the way and go to the American Consulate. But just now, low as the tideof chance had ebbed, leaving him stranded on the flats of vagabondage, low as showed the measure of his self-esteem, he could not tolerate theprospect of begging for assistance--help which would in all likelihood berefused, since his story was quite too preposterous to gain credence inofficial ears that daily are filled with the lamentations of those whosemotives do not bear investigation. And if he chose to eliminate the strangechain of events which had landed him in Antwerp, to base his plea solely onthe fact that he was a victim of the San Francisco disaster ... He himselfwas able to smile, if sourly, anticipating the incredulous consular smilewith which he would be shown the door. 

No; that he would reserve as a last resort. True, he had already come tothe Jumping-off Place; to the Court of the Last Resort alone could he nowappeal. But ... Not yet; after a while he could make his petition, after hehad made a familiar of the thought that he must armor himself with callousindifference to rebuff, to say naught of the waves of burning shame thatwould overwhelm him when he came to the point of asking charity. 

He found himself, neither knowing nor caring how he had won thither, in thePlace Verte, the vast venerable pile of the Cathedral rising on his right, hotels and quaint Old-World dwellings with peaked roofs and gables anddormer windows, inclosing the other sides of the square. The chimes (hecould hear none but those of the Cathedral) were heralding the hour ofseven. Listless and preoccupied in contemplation of his wretched case hewandered purposelessly half round the square, then dropped into a bench onits outskirts. 

It was some time later that he noticed, with a casual, indifferent eye, aporter running out of the Hôtel de Flandre, directly opposite, and callinga fiacre in to the carriage block. 

As languidly he watched a woman, very becomingly dressed, follow the porterdown to the curb. 

The fiacre swung in, and the woman dismissed the porter before entering thevehicle; a proceeding so unusual that it fixed the onlooker's interest. He sat rigid with attention; the woman seemed to be giving explicitand lengthy directions to the driver, who nodded and gesticulated hiscomprehension. 

The woman was Mrs. Hallam. 

The first blush of recognition passed, leaving Kirkwood without anyamazement. It was an easy matter to account for her being where she was. Thrown off the scent by Kirkwood at Sheerness, the previous morning, shehad missed the day boat, the same which had ferried over those whom shepursued. Returning from Sheerness to Queensborough, however, she had takenthe night boat for Flushing and Antwerp, --and not without her plan, who wasnot a woman to waste her strength aimlessly; Kirkwood believed that shehad had from the first a very definite campaign in view. In that campaignQueensborough Pier had been the first strategic move; the journey toAntwerp, apparently, the second; and the American was impressed that he waswitnessing the inception of the third decided step.... The conclusion ofthis process of reasoning was inevitable: Madam would bear watching. 

Thus was a magical transformation brought about. Instantaneously lassitudeand vain repinings were replaced by hopefulness and energy. In a twinklingthe 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, crackedhis 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 preparedto break into a run whenever it should prove necessary. 

Such exertion, however, was not required of him. Evidently Mrs. Hallamwas in no great haste to reach her destination; the speed of the fiacreremained extremely moderate; Kirkwood found a long, brisk stride fastenough to keep it well in sight. 

Round the green square, under the beautiful walls of Notre Dame d'Anvers, through Grande Place and past the Hôtel de Ville, the cab proceeded, doggedby what might plausibly be asserted the most persistent and infatuated soulthat ever crossed the water; and so on into the Quai Van Dyck, turning tothe left at the old Steen dungeon and, slowing to a walk, moving soberly upthe drive. 

Beyond the lip of the embankment, the Scheldt flowed, its broad shiningsurface oily, smooth and dark, a mirror for the incandescent glory of theskies. Over on the western bank old Tête de Flandre lifted up its grimcurtains and bastions, sable against the crimson, rampart and parapet edgedwith fire. Busy little side-wheeled ferry steamers spanked the watersnoisily and smudged the sunset with dark drifting trails of smoke; and everand anon a rowboat would slip out of shadow to glide languidly with thecurrent. Otherwise the life of the river was gone; and at their mooringsthe ships swung in great quietness, riding lights glimmering like low wanstars. 

In the company of the latter the young man marked down the _Alethea_; asight which made him unconsciously clench both fists and teeth, remindinghim 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 ereit was guided to the edge of the promenade and brought to a stop. And thedriver twisted the reins round his whip, thrust the latter in its socket, turned sidewise on the box, and began to smoke and swing his heels, surveying the panorama of river and sunset with complacency--a cabby, onewould venture, without a care in the world and serene in the assurance ofa generous _pour-boire_ when he lost his fare. But as for the latter, shemade no move; the door of the cab remained closed, --like its occupant'smind, a mystery to the watcher. 

Twilight shadows lengthened, darkling, over the land; street-lights flashedup in long, radiant ranks. Across the promenade hotels and shops werelighted up; people began to gather round the tables beneath the awnings ofan open-air café. In the distance, somewhere, a band swung into the dreamyrhythm of a haunting waltz. Scattered couples moved slowly, arm in arm, along the riverside walk, drinking in the fragrance of the night. Overheadstars popped out in brilliance and dropped their reflections to swim lazilyon spellbound waters.... And still the fiacre lingered in inaction, stillthe driver lorded it aloft, in care-free abandon. 

In the course of time this inertia, where he had looked for action, thisdull suspense when he had forecast interesting developments, wore upon thewatcher's nerves and made him at once impatient and suspicious. Now that hehad begun to doubt, he conceived it as quite possible that Mrs. Hallam (whowas capable of anything) should have stolen out of the cab by the otherand, to him, invisible door. To resolve the matter, finally, he tookadvantage of the darkness, turned up his coat collar, hunched up hisshoulders, hid his hands in pockets, pulled the visor of his cap wellforward over his eyes, and slouched past the fiacre. 

Mrs. Hallam sat within. He could see her profile clearly silhouettedagainst the light; she was bending forward and staring fixedly out of thewindow, across the driveway. Mentally he calculated the direction of hergaze, then, moved away and followed it with his own eyes; and found himselfstaring at the façade of a third-rate hotel. Above its roof the gildedletters of a sign, catching the illumination from below, spelled out thetitle of "Hôtel du Commerce. "

Mrs. Hallam was interested in the Hôtel du Commerce?

Thoughtfully Kirkwood fell back to his former point of observation, nowthe richer by another object of suspicion, the hostelry. Mrs. Hallam waswaiting and watching for some one to enter or to leave that establishment. It seemed a reasonable inference to draw. Well, then, so was Kirkwood, noless than the lady; he deemed it quite conceivable that their objects wereidentical. 

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 anticipationswere being realized under his very eyes. 

Against the lighted doorway of the Hôtel du Commerce, the figures of twomen were momentarily sketched, as they came hurriedly forth; and of thetwo, one was short and stout, and even at a distance seemed to bear himselfwith an accent of assertiveness, while the other was tall and heavy ofshoulder. 

Side by side they marched in step across the embankment to the head of theQuai gangway, descending without pause to the landing-stage. Kirkwood, hanging breathlessly over the guard-rail, could hear their footfallsringing in hollow rhythm on the planks of the inclined way, --could evendiscern Calendar's unlovely profile in dim relief beneath one of thewaterside lights; and he recognized unmistakably Mulready's deep voice, grumbling inarticulately. 

At the outset he had set after them, with intent to accost Calendar; buttheir 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 discover what Mrs. Hallam was about. Inthe end he waited; and had his disappointment for recompense. 

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 wasseeking Dorothy, and would, furthermore, have elected to crowd theirinterview, if she succeeded in obtaining one with the girl. But she didnothing of the sort. For a time the fiacre remained as it had been eversince stopping; then, evidently admonished by his fare, the driverstraightened up, knocked out his pipe, disentangled reins and whip, andwheeled the equipage back on the way it had come, disappearing in a darkside street leading eastward from the embankment. 

Kirkwood was, then, to believe that Mrs. Hallam, having taken all thattrouble and having waited for the two adventurers to appear, had beencontent with sight of them? He could hardly believe that of the woman; itwasn't like her. 

He started across the driveway, after the fiacre, but it was lost in atangle of side streets before he could make up his mind whether it wasworth while chasing or not; and, pondering the woman's singular action, heretraced his steps to the promenade rail. 

Presently he told himself he understood. Dorothy was no longer of herfather's party; he had a suspicion that Mulready's attitude had made itseem advisable to Calendar either to leave the girl behind, in England, orto segregate her from his associates in Antwerp. If not lodged in anotherquarter 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 waslooking for the girl; if there were really jewels in that gladstone bag, Calendar would naturally have had no hesitation about intrusting them tohis daughter's care; and Mrs. Hallam avowedly sought nothing else. Howthe woman had found out that such was the case, Kirkwood did not stop toreckon; unless he explained it on the proposition that she was a person ofremarkable address. It made no matter, one way or the other; he had lostMrs. Hallam; but Calendar and Mulready he could put his finger on; they hadundoubtedly gone off to the _Alethea_ to confer again with Stryker, --thatwas, unless they proposed sailing on the brigantine, possibly at turn oftide that night. 

Panic gripped his soul and shook it, as a terrier shakes a rat, when heconceived this frightful proposition. 

In his confusion of mind he evolved spontaneously an entirely newhypothesis: Dorothy had already been spirited aboard the vessel; Calendarand his confederate, delaying to join her from enigmatic motives, were nowaboard; and presently the word would be, Up-anchor and away!

Were they again to elude him? Not, he swore, if he had to swim for it. Andhe had no wish to swim. The clothes he stood in, with what was left of hisself-respect, were all that he could call his own on that side of the NorthSea. Not a boatman on the Scheldt would so much as consider accepting threeEnglish pennies in exchange for boat-hire. In brief, it began to look as ifhe 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 cumulativemisfortunes, toppled crashing to its fall; and was not. 

He was wholly unconscious of the change. Beneath him, in a space betweenthe quays bridged by the gangway, a number of rowboats, a putative score, lay moored for the night and gently rubbing against each other with thesoundless lift and fall of the river. For all that Kirkwood could determineto the contrary, the lot lay at the mercy of the public; nowhere about washe able to discern a figure in anything resembling a watchman. 

Without a quiver of hesitation--moments were invaluable, if what he fearedwere true--he strode to the gangway, passed down, and with absolutenonchalance dropped into the nearest boat, stepping from one to anotheruntil he had gained the outermost. To his joy he found a pair of oarsstowed beneath the thwarts. 

If he had paused to moralize--which he didn't--upon the discovery, he wouldhave 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 beenplaced there at the direction of his evil genius bent upon facilitating hisdescent into the avernus of crime. Let us, then, pity the poor young manwithout 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 theoars to their locks, and began to pull straight across-stream, trusting tothe current to carry him down to the _Alethea_. He had already marked downthat vessel's riding-light; and that not without a glow of gratitude to seeit still aloft and in proper juxtaposition to the river-bank; proof that ithad not moved. 

He pulled a good oar, reckoned his distance prettily, and shipping theblades at just the right moment, brought the little boat in under thebrigantine's counter with scarce a jar. An element of surprise he heldessential to the success of his plan, whatever that might turn out to be. 

Standing up, he caught the brigantine's after-rail with both hands, one ofwhich held the painter of the purloined boat, and lifted his head abovethe deck line. A short survey of the deserted after-deck gave him furtherassurance. The anchor-watch was not in sight; he may have been keepingwell forward by Stryker's instructions, or he may have crept off for fortywinks. Whatever the reason for his absence from the post of duty, Kirkwoodwas relieved not to have him to deal with; and drawing himself gently inover the rail, made the painter fast, and stepped noiselessly over towardthe lighted oblong of the companionway. A murmur of voices from belowcomforted 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 byStryker's fleeting laugh, brought him to a pause. He flushed hotly in thedarkness; the captain was retailing with relish some of his most successfulwitticisms at Kirkwood's expense.... "You'd ought to've seed the wye'elooked at me!" concluded the _raconteur_ in a gale of mirth. 

Mulready laughed with him, if a little uncertainly. Calendar's chuckle wasnot audible, but he broke the pause that followed. 

"I don't know, " he said with doubting emphasis. "You say you landed himwithout a penny in his pocket? I don't call that a good plan at all. Ofcourse, he ain't a factor, but ... Well, it might've been as well to givehim his fare home. He might make trouble for us, somehow.... I don't mindtelling you, Cap'n, that you're an ass. "

The tensity of certain situations numbs the sensibilities. Kirkwood hadnever in his weirdest dreams thought of himself as an eavesdropper; he didnot think of himself as such in the present instance; he merely listened, edging nearer the skylight, of which the wings were slightly raised, andkeeping as far as possible in shadow. 

"Ow, I sye!" the captain was remonstrating, aggrieved. "'Ow was I to know'e didn't 'ave it in for you? First off, when 'e comes on board (I'll syethis for 'im, 'e's as plucky as they myke 'em), I thought 'e was from theYard. 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 'oowas lookin' to square 'is account. So I did 'im proper. "

"Evidently, " assented Calendar dryly. "You're a bit of a heavy-handedbrute, Stryker. Personally I'm kind of sorry for the boy; he wasn't a badsort, as his kind runs, and he was no fool, from what little I saw ofhim.... I wonder what he wanted. "

"Possibly, " Mulready chimed in suavely, "you can explain what you wantedof him, in the first place. How did you come to drag him into _this_business?"

"Oh, that!" Calendar laughed shortly. "That was partly accident, partlyinspiration. I happened to see his name on the Pless register; he'd puthimself down as from 'Frisco. I figured it out that he would be next doorto broke and getting desperate, ready to do anything to get home; andthought 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 andout, jumped at the job, and we made a neat little wad on it. "

"The more fool you, to take outsiders into your confidence, " grumbledMulready. 

"Ow?" interrogated Calendar, mimicking Stryker's accent inimitably. "Well, you've got a heap to learn about this game, Mul; about the first thingis that you must trust Old Man Know-it-all, which is me. I've run morediamonds into the States, in one way or another, in my time, than you everpinched out of the shirt-front of a toff on the Empire Prom. , before theymade the graft too hot for you and you came to take lessons from me in thegentle art of living easy. "

"Oh, cut that, cawn't you?"

"Delighted, dear boy.... One of the first principles, next to profiting bythe admirable example I set you, is to make the fellows in your own linetrust you. Now, if this boy had taken on with me, I could have got a bunchof the sparklers on my mere say-so, from old Morganthau up on FinsburyPavement. He does a steady business hoodwinking the Customs for the benefitof his American clients--and himself. And I'd've made a neat little profitbesides: something to fall back on, if this fell through. I don't mindhaving two strings to my bow. "

"Yes, " argued Mulready; "but suppose this Kirkwood had taken on with youand then peached?"

"That's another secret; you've got to know your man, be able to size himup. I called on this chap for that very purpose; but I saw at a glance hewasn't our man. He smelt a nigger in the woodpile and most politely toldme to go to the devil. But if he _had_ come in, he'd've died before hesquealed. I know the breed; there's honor among gentlemen that knocks thehonor of thieves higher'n a kite, the old saw to the contrary--nothingdoing.... You understand me, I'm sure, Mulready?" he concluded withenvenomed 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 word that a manfrom 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 feelings until heagreed to take Dorothy off my hands. If I had attempted to leave the placewith her, they'd've spotted me for sure.... My compliments to you, DickMulready. "

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'ttry any more monkey-shines. It's a square deal and a square divide, sofar's I'm concerned; if we stick together there'll be profit enough for allconcerned. Sit down, Mul, and have another slug of the captain's bum rum. "

Although Mulready consented to be pacified, Kirkwood got the impressionthat 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 withhim!--let's get down to cases. "

"Wot's the row?" asked the captain. 

"The row, Cap'n, is the Hallam female, who has unexpectedly shown up inAntwerp, we have reason to believe with malicious intent and a privatedetective to add to the gaiety of nations. "

"Wot's the odds? She carn't 'urt us without lyin' up trouble for 'erself. "

"Damn little consolation to us when we're working 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 Imiss 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 withher end of the stick, but you don't know the Hallam. That milk-and-wateroffspring of hers is the apple of her eye, and Freddie's going to collarthe whole shooting-match or madam will kick over the traces. "

"Well?"

"Well, she's queered us here. We can't do anything if my lady is going tocamp on our trail and tell everybody we're shady customers, can we? Thequestion 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 goby 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 mydutiful daughter is prejudiced; she's been so long without proper paternaldiscipline, " Calendar laughed, "that she's rather high-spirited. Of courseI might overcome her objections, but the girl's no fool, and every ounceof pressure I bring to bear just now only helps make her more restless andsuspicious. "

"You leave her to me, " Mulready interposed, with a brutal laugh. "I'llguarantee to get her aboard, or... "

"Drop it, Dick!" Calendar advised quietly. "And go a bit easy with thatbottle for five minutes, can't you?"

"Well, then, " Stryker resumed, apparently concurring in Calendar'sattitude, "w'y don't one of you tyke the stuff, go off quiet and dispose ofit to a proper fence, and come back to divide. I don't see w'y that--"

"Naturally you wouldn't, " chuckled Calendar. "Few people besides the two ofus understand the depth of affection existing between Dick, here, andme. We just can't bear to get out of sight of each other. We're sureinseparable--since night before last. Odd, isn't it?"

"You drop it!" snarled Mulready, in accents so ugly that the listener wasstartled. "Enough's enough and--"

"There, there, Dick! All right; I'll behave, " Calendar soothed him. "We'llforget 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 simplest and best, if you couldonly 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 difficulty, slurring his words to the point ofindistinctness 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'sto be trusted ... Now then, what's the matter with weighing anchor andslipping quietly out to sea?"

"Leavin' the dootiful darter?"

"Cert'n'y. She's only a drag any way. 'Better off without her.... Then wecan wait our time and get highest market prices--"

"You forget, Dick, " Calendar put it, "that there's a thousand in it foreach of us if she's kept out of England for six weeks. A thousand's fivethousand 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 Mulreadywrathfully. 

"Because I'm a seventh son of a seventh son; I can see an inch or twobeyond my nose. If Dorothy ever finds her way back to England she'll spoilone of the finest fields of legitimate graft I ever licked my lips to lookat. The trouble with you, Mul, is you're too high-toned. You want to playthe swell mobs-man from post to finish. A quick touch and a clean getawayfor yours. Now, that's all right; that has its good points, but you don'twant to underestimate the advantages of a good blackmailing connection.... If I can keep Dorothy quiet long enough, I look to the Hallam and preciousFreddie 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 bythe scruif of her pretty neck and drag her aboard. Let's get out of this. "

"I won't, " returned Calendar inflexibly. 

The dispute continued, but the listener had heard enough. He had to getaway and think, could no longer listen; indeed, the voices of the threeblackguards below came but indistinctly to his ears, as if from a distance. He was sick at heart and ablaze with indignation by turns. Unconsciously hewas trembling violently in every limb; swept by alternate waves of heat andcold, feverish one minute, shivering the next. All of which phenomena weredue solely to the rage that welled inside his heart. 

Stealthily he crept away to the rail, to stand grasping it and staringacross the water with unseeing eyes at the gay old city twinkling back withher thousand eyes of light. The cool night breeze, sweeping down unhinderedover the level Netherlands from the bleak North Sea, was comforting tohis throbbing temples. By degrees his head cleared, his rioting pulsessubsided, he could think; and he did. 

Over there, across the water, in the dingy and disreputable Hôtel duCommerce, Dorothy waited in her room, doubtless the prey of unnumberednameless terrors, while aboard the brigantine her fate was being decided bya council of three unspeakable scoundrels, one of whom, professing himselfher father, openly declared his intention of using her to further hisselfish and criminal ends. 

His first and natural thought, to steal away to her and induce her toaccompany him back to England, Kirkwood perforce discarded. He couldhave wept over the realization of his unqualified impotency. He had nomoney, --not even cab-fare from the hotel to the railway station. Somethingsubtler, more crafty, had to be contrived to meet the emergency. And therewas one way, one only; he could see none other. Temporarily he must makehimself 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 toleratehim, if not receive him as a fellow, the knowledge of them and their plansthat they had unwittingly given him, was his. 

And Dorothy, was waiting.... 

He swung round and without attempting to muffle his footfalls strode towardthe companionway. He must pretend he had just come aboard. 

Subconsciously he had been aware, during his time of pondering, that thevoices in the cabin had been steadily gaining in volume, rising louder andyet more loud, Mulready's ominous, drink-blurred accents dominating theothers. There was a quarrel afoot; as soon as he gave it heed, Kirkwoodunderstood that Mulready, in the madness of his inflamed brain, was forcingthe issue while Calendar sought vainly to calm and soothe him. 

The American arrived at the head of the companionway at a criticaljuncture. As he moved to descend some low, cool-toned retort of Calendar'sseemed to enrage his confederate beyond reason. He yelped aloud with wrath, sprang to his feet, knocking over a chair, and leaping back toward the footof 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 thatmoment of insanity. "You've played with me as long as you will, you hulkingAmerican 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 standing on the threshold of a tragedy, gatheredhimself together and launched through the air, straight for the madman'sshoulders. 

As they went down together, sprawling, Mulready's head struck against atransom 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 upquickly, uninjured, Mulready's revolver in his grasp. 

On his feet, straddling Mulready's insentient body, he confronted Calendarand Stryker. The face of the latter was a sickly green, the gift of hisfright. The former seemed coldly composed, already recovering from hissurprise and bringing his wits to bear upon the new factor which had beenso unceremoniously injected into the situation. 

[Illustration: Straddling Mulready's body, he confronted Calendar andStryker. ]

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 inself-defense, at the crisis of Mulready's frenzy. Its muzzle was deflected. He looked Kirkwood over with a cool gray eye, the color gradually returningto his fat, clean-shaven cheeks, replacing the pardonable pallor which hadmomentarily 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 cowered and cringed to find himself in the line of fire. 

Of the three conscious men in the brigantine's cabin, Calendar was probablythe least confused or excited. Stryker was palpably unmanned. Kirkwood wastingling with a sense of mastery, but collected and rapidly revolving thecombinations for the reversed conditions which had been brought about byMulready's drunken folly. His elation was apparent in his shining, boyisheyes, as well as in the bright color that glowed in his cheeks. When hedecided to speak it was with rapid enunciation, but clearly and concisely. 

"Calendar, " he began, "if a single shot is fired about this vessel theriver police will be buzzing round your ears in a brace of shakes. "

The fat adventurer nodded assent, his eyes contracting. 

"Very well!" continued Kirkwood brusquely. "You must know that I havepersonally nothing to fear from the police; if arrested, I wouldn't bedetained 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'sintelligence. 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... "

No longer was Calendar of two minds. In the face of Kirkwood's attitudethere was but one course to be followed: that of obedience. Calendarsurrendered an untenable position as gracefully as could be wished. 

"I guess you know what you mean by this, " he said, tendering the weapon asper instructions; "I'm doggoned if I do.... You'll allow a certainlatitude in consideration of my relief; I can't say we were anticipatingthis--ah--Heaven-sent visitation. "

Accepting the revolver with his left hand and settling his forefinger onthe trigger, Kirkwood beamed with pure enjoyment. He found the deferenceof the older man, tempered though 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, badbutterfly, have you got a gun concealed about your unclean person?"

The captain shook visibly with contrition. "No, Mr. Kirkwood, " he managedto 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 youare, Calendar.... Why, Captain, you're shivering from head to foot! Not illare you, you wag? Step over to the table there, Stryker, and turn out yourpockets; turn 'em inside out and let's see what you carry in the way ofoffensive artillery. And, Stryker, don't be rash; don't do anything you'dbe 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 emptyhis pockets on the way. 

"Don't forget the 'sir, ' Stryker. And, Stryker, if you happen to think ofanything in the line of one of your merry quips or jests, don't strainyourself holding in; get it right off your chest, and you'll feel better. "

Kirkwood chuckled, in high conceit with himself, watching Calendar out ofthe corner of his eye, but with his attention centered on the infinitelydiverting spectacle afforded by Stryker, whose predacious hands weretrembling violently as, one by one, they brought to light the articles ofwhich he had despoiled his erstwhile victim. 

"Come, come, Stryker! Surely you can think of something witty, surely youhaven't exhausted the possibilities of that almanac joke! Couldn't youring another variation on the lunatic wheeze? Don't hesitate out ofconsideration for me, Captain; I'm joke proof--perhaps you've noticed?"

Stryker turned upon him an expression at once ludicrous, piteous andhateful. "That's all, sir, " he snarled, displaying his empty palms in tokenof his absolute tractability. 

"Good enough. Now right about face--quick! Your back's prettier than yourface, and besides, I want to know whether your hip-pockets are empty. I'veheard it's the habit of you gentry to pack guns in your clothes.... None?That's all right, then. Now roost on the transom, 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 turnedto Calendar; of whose attitude, however, he had not been for an instantunmindful. 

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Calendar?" he suggested pleasantly. "Forgive mefor keeping you waiting. "

For his own part, as the adventurer dropped passively into his chair, Kirkwood stepped over Mulready and advanced to the middle of the cabin, atthe same time thrusting Calendar's revolver into his own coat pocket. Theother, Mulready's, he nursed significantly with both hands, while he stoodtemporarily quiet, surveying the fleshy face of the prime factor in theintrigue. 

A quaint, grim smile played about the American's lips, a smile a littlecontemptuous, more than a little inscrutable. In its light Calendar grewrestive and lost something of his assurance. His feet shifted uneasilybeneath the table and his dark eyes wavered, evading Kirkwood's. At lengthhe 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 givenme enough cause to wonder, as you'll admit. "

The adventurer plucked up spirit, deluded by Kirkwood's pacific tone. "Iwonder at you, Mr. Kirkwood, " he retorted. "It was good of you to save mylife 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 Iunderstand this high-handed attitude of yours!" he concluded heatedly. 

"Don't you?" Kirkwood's humor became less apparent, the smile sobering. "You will, " he told the man, adding abruptly: "Calendar, where's yourdaughter?"

The restless eyes sought the companionway. 

"Dorothy, " the man lied spontaneously, without a tremor, "is with friendsin England. Why? Did you want to see her?"

"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 Dorothy's account, Mr. Kirkwood?"

"Partly; partly on my own. Let me put it to you fairly. When you forcedyourself upon me, back there in London, you offered me some sort ofemployment; when I rejected it, you used me to your advantage for thefurtherance of your purposes (which I confess I don't understand), and mademe miss my steamer. Naturally, when I found myself penniless and friendlessin 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, Kirkwood?" The fat lipstwitched with premature enjoyment. 

"I'm a desperate man to-night, whatever I may have been yesterday. " Theyoung man's tone was both earnest and convincing. "I think I've shown thatby my pertinacity in hunting you down. "

"Well--yes. " Calendar's thick fingers caressed his lips, trying to hide thedawning smile. 

"Is that offer still open?"

His nonchalance completely restored by the very naïveté of the proposition, Calendar laughed openly and with a trace of irony. The episode seemed to beturning out better than he had anticipated. Gently his mottled fat fingersplayed 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 arrangements. "

"Too bad. " Kirkwood's eyes narrowed. "You force me to harsher measures, Calendar. "

Genuinely diverted, the adventurer laughed a second time, tipping backin his chair, his huge frame shaking with ponderous enjoyment. "Don't doanything you'd be sorry for, " he parroted, sarcastical, the young man'srecent admonition to the captain. 

"No fear, Calendar. I'm just going to use my advantage, which you won'tdispute, "--the pistol described an eloquent circle, gleaming in thelamplight--"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 drivingat?"

"Recompense for my time and trouble. You've cost me a pretty penny, firstand 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 preciselyrob you, but this is a hold-up, all right.... Stryker, " reproachfully, "Idon't see my pearl pin. "

"I got it 'ere, " responded the sailor hastily, fumbling 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 ofhis watchfulness, sorted out his belongings from the mass of odds and endsStryker had disgorged. The tale of them was complete; the captain hadobeyed him faithfully. Kirkwood looked up, pleased. 

"Now see here, Calendar; this collection of truck that I was robbed of bythis 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 dollars, two hundredand 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 Kirkwood with entireequanimity. "I'm going to have the money, and you're going to give it up. The transaction by any name would smell no sweeter, Calendar. Come--forkover!"

"And if I refuse?"

"I wouldn't refuse, if I were you. "

"Why not?"

"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 mean to say that theBelgian police are notoriously a most efficient body, and that I'll makeit my duty and pleasure to introduce 'em to you, if you refuse. But youwon't, " Kirkwood added soothingly, "will you, Calendar?"

"No. " The adventurer had become suddenly thoughtful. "No, I won't. 'Glad tooblige you. "

He tilted his chair still farther back, straightening out his elephantinelegs, inserted one fat hand into his trouser pocket and with somedifficulty extracted a combined bill-fold and coin-purse, at once heavywith gold and bulky with notes. Moistening thumb and forefinger, "How'llyou have it?" he inquired with a lift of his cunning eyes; and whenKirkwood had advised him, slowly counted out four fifty-franc notes, placedthem near the edge of the table, and weighted them with five ten-francpieces. And, "'That all?" he asked, replacing the pocket-book. 

"That will be about all. I leave you presently to your unholy devices, youand that gay dog, over there. " The captain squirmed, reddening. "Just byway 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 andremoved the key from the inside. "Please take Mulready in with you, " hecontinued. "By the time you get out, I'll be clear of Antwerp. Please don'tthink of refusing 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 faceto the port lockers, forward. But the fat adventurer was evidently to aconsiderable degree deluded by the very child-like simplicity of Kirkwood'sattitude. If the possibility that his altercation with Mulready had beenoverheard, crossed his mind, Calendar had little choice other than toaccept the chance. Either way he moved, the risk was great; if he refusedto be locked in the captain's room, there was the danger of the police, to which Kirkwood had convincingly drawn attention; if he accepted thetemporary imprisonment, he took a risk with the gladstone bag. On the otherhand, he had estimated Kirkwood's honesty as thorough-going, from theirfirst interview; he had appraised him as a gentleman and a man of honor. And he did not believe the young man knew, after all ... Perplexed, atlength he chose the smoother way, and with an indulgent lifting of eyebrowsand fat shoulders, rose and waddled over to Mulready. 

"Oh, all right, " he conceded with deep toleration in his tone for theidiosyncrasies of youth. "It's all the same to me, beau. " He laughed anervous laugh. "Come along and lend us a hand, Stryker. "

The latter glanced timidly at Kirkwood, his eyes pleading for leave tomove; which Kirkwood accorded with an imperative nod and a fine flourish ofthe revolver. Promptly the captain, sprang to Calendar's assistance; andbetween the two of them, the one taking Mulready's head, the other hisfeet, they lugged him quickly into the stuffy little state-room. Kirkwood, watching and following to the threshold, inserted the key. 

"One word more, " he counseled, a hand on the knob. "Don't forget I'vewarned you what'll happen if you try to break even with me. "

"Never fear, little one!" Calendar's laugh was nervously cheerful. "TheLord knows you're welcome. "

"Thank you 'most to death, " responded Kirkwood politely. "Good-by--andgood-by to you, Stryker. 'Glad to have humored your desire to meet me soonagain. "

Kirkwood, turning the key in the lock, withdrew it and dropped it on thecabin table; at the same time he swept into his pocket the money he hadextorted of Calendar. Then he paused an instant, listening; from thecaptain's room came a sound of murmurs and scuffling. He debated what theywere about in there--but time pressed. Not improbably they, were crowdingfor place at the keyhole, he reflected, as he crossed to the port lockerforward. 

He had its lid up in a twinkling, and in another had lifted out thewell-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 beenexcruciatingly edifying to the men in the captain's room. Whatever theiremotions, the bang was mocked by a mighty kick, shaking the door; which, Kirkwood reflected, opened outward and was held only by the frailest kindof a lock: it would not hold long. 

Spurred onward by a storm of curses, Stryker's voice chanting infuriatedcacophony with Calendar's, Kirkwood leapt up the companionway even as thesecond tremendous kick threatened to shatter the panels. Heart in mouth, achill 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 theoars. 

And doubts assailed him, pressing close upon the ebb of hisexcitement--doubts and fears innumerable. 

There was no longer a distinction to be drawn between himself and Calendar;no more could he esteem himself a better and more honest man than thataccomplished swindler. He was not advised as to the Belgian code, butEnglish law, he understood, made no allowance for the good intent of thosecaught in possession of stolen property; though he was acting with the mosthonorable 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 samestandard. To all intents and purposes he was a thief, and thief he wouldremain until the gladstone bag with its contents should be restored to itsrightful owner. 

Voluntarily, then, he had stepped from the ranks of the hunters to those ofthe hunted. He now feared police interference as abjectly as did Calendarand his set of rogues; and Kirkwood felt wholly warranted in assuming thatthe adventurer, with his keen intelligence, would not handicap himself byignoring this point. Indeed, if he were to be judged by what Kirkwood hadinferred of his character, Calendar would let nothing whatever hinder him, neither fear of bodily hurt nor danger of apprehension at the hands of thepolice, from making a determined and savage play to regain possession ofhis booty. 

Well! (Kirkwood set his mouth savagely) Calendar should have a run for hismoney!

For the present he could compliment himself with the knowledge that he hadoutwitted the rogues, had lifted the jewels and probably two-thirds oftheir armament; he had also the start, the knowledge of their criminalguilt and intent, and his own plans, to comfort him. As for the latter, hedid not believe that Calendar would immediately fathom them; so he tookheart of grace and tugged at the oars with a will, pulling directly for thecity and permitting the current 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 muffledfrom the cabin of the _Alethea_: a veritable devil's tattoo beaten out bythe feet of the prisoners. Evidently the fastening was serving him betterthan he had dared hope. But as the black rushing waters widened betweenboat and brigantine, the clamor aboard the latter subsided, indicatingthat Calendar and Stryker had broken out or been released by the crew. Inignorance as to whether he were seen or being pursued, Kirkwood pulled on, winning in under the shadow of the quais and permitting the boat to driftdown to a lonely landing on the edge of the dockyard quarter of Antwerp. 

Here alighting, he made the boat fast and, soothing his conscience with asurmise that its owner would find it there in the morning, strode swiftlyover to the train line that runs along the embankment, swung aboard anadventitious car and broke his first ten-franc piece in order to pay hisfare. 

The car made a leisurely progress up past the old Steen castle and the Quailanding, Kirkwood sitting quietly, the gladstone bag under his hand, asearching gaze sweeping the waterside. No sign of the adventurers rewardedhim, but it was now all chance, all hazard. He had no more heart forconfidence. 

They passed the Hôtel du Commerce. Kirkwood stared up at its windows, wondering.... 

A little farther on, a disengaged fiacre, its driver alert for possiblefares, turned a corner into the esplanade. At sight of it Kirkwood, inspired, hopped nimbly off the tram-car and signaled the cabby. The latterpulled up and Kirkwood started to charge him with instructions; somethingwhich he did haltingly, hampered by a slight haziness of purpose. Whilethus engaged, and at rest in the stark glare of the street-lamps, withno chance of concealing himself, he was aware of a rising tumult in thedirection of the landing, and glancing round, discovered a number of peoplerunning toward him. With no time to wonder whether or no he was really theobject 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 thewindow, taking observations. A ragged fringe of silly rabble was bearingdown upon them, with one or two gendarmes in the forefront, and a giant, who might or might not be Stryker, a close second. Furthermore, anothercab seemed to have been requisitioned for the chase. His heart misgave himmomentarily; 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 theglittering reaches of the embankment, drive and promenade, were blottedout, as if smudged with lamp-black, by the obscurity of a narrow andtortuous side street. 

He drew in his head the better to preserve his brains against furtheremergencies. 

After a block or two Kirkwood picked up the gladstone bag, gently openedthe door, and put a foot on the step, pausing to look back. The other cabwas pelting after him with all the enthusiasm of a hound on a freshtrail. He reflected that this mad progress through the thoroughfares of acivilized city would not long endure without police intervention. So hewaited, watching his opportunity. The fiacre hurtled onward, the driverleaning forward from his box to urge the horse with lash of whip andtongue, entirely unconscious of his fare's intentions. 

Between two streets the mouth of a narrow and darksome byway flashed intoview. Kirkwood threw wide the door, and leaped, trusting to the night tohide his stratagem, to luck to save his limbs. Neither failed him; in atwinkling he was on all fours in the mouth of the alley, and as he pickedhimself up, the second fiacre passed, Calendar himself poking a round baldpoll out of the window to incite his driver's cupidity with promises ofredoubled fare. 

Kirkwood mopped his dripping forehead and whistled low with dismay; itseemed that from that instant 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 turnedback--more sedately--toward the river, debouching on the esplanade just oneblock from the Hôtel du Commerce. As he swung past the serried tables of acafé, whatever fears he had harbored were banished by the discovery thatthe excitement occasioned by the chase had already subsided. Beneath thegarish awnings the crowd was laughing and chattering, eating and sippingits bock with complete unconcern, heedless altogether of the haggard andshabby young man carrying a black hand-bag, with the black Shade of Carefor company and a blacker threat of disaster dogging his footsteps. Withoutattracting any attention whatever, indeed, he mingled with the strollingcrowds, making his way toward the Hôtel du Commerce. Yet he was not at allat ease; his uneasy conscience invested the gladstone bag with a magneticattraction for the public eye. To carry it unconcealed in his handfurnished him with a sensation as disturbing as though its worn black sideshad been stenciled STOLEN! in letters of flame. He felt it rendered him acynosure of public interest, an object of suspicion to the wide cold world, that the gaze which lit upon the bag traveled to his face only to espythereon the brand of guilt. 

For ease of mind, presently, he turned into a convenient shop and spent teninvaluable 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 foundand entered the Hôtel du Commerce. 

In the little closet which served for an office, over a desk visiblygroaning with the weight of an enormous and grimy registry book, a sleepy, fat, bland and good-natured woman of the Belgian _bourgeoisie_ presided, a benign and drowsy divinity of even-tempered courtesy. To his misleadinginquiry for Monsieur Calendar she returned a cheerful permission to seekthat gentleman for himself. 

"Three flights, M'sieu', in the front; suite seventeen it is. M'sieu' doesnot mind walking up?" she inquired. 

M'sieu' did not in the least, though by no strain of the imagination couldit, be truthfully said that he walked up those steep and redolent stairwaysof the Hôtel du Commerce d'Anvers. More literally, he flew with wingedfeet, spurning each third padded step with a force that raised a tiny cloudof fine white dust from the carpeting. 

Breathless, at last he paused at the top of the third flight. His heartwas hammering, his pulses drumming like wild things; there was a queerconstriction in his throat, a fire of hope in his heart alternating withthe 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 toanother lodging-house?

Pausing, he gripped the balustrade fiercely, forcing his self-control, forcing himself to reflect that the girl (presuming, for the sake ofargument, he were presently to find her) could not be expected tounderstand how ardently he had discounted this moment of meeting, or howstrangely it affected him. Indeed, he himself was more than a littledisturbed by the latter phenomenon, though he was no longer blind to itscause. But he was not to let her see the evidences of his agitation, lestshe be frightened. 

Slowly schooling himself to assume a masque of illuding self-possession andcomposure, he passed down the corridor to the door whose panels wore thepainted legend, 17; and there knocked. 

Believing that he overheard from within a sudden startled exclamation, hesmiled patiently, tolerant of her surprise. 

Burning with impatience as with a fever, he endured a long minute's wait. 

Misgivings were prompting him to knock again and summon her by name, whenhe heard footfalls on the other side of the door, followed by a click ofthe lock. The door was opened grudgingly, a bare six inches. 

Of the alarmed expression in the eyes that stared into his, he took noaccount. His face lengthened a little as he stood there, dumb, panting, staring; and his heart sank, down, deep down into a gulf of disappointment, weighted sorely with chagrin. 

Then, of the two the first to recover countenance, he doffed his cap andbowed. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Hallam, " he said with a rueful smile. 

XV

REFUGEES

Now, if Kirkwood's emotion was poignant, Mrs. Hallam's astonishmentparalleled, and her relief transcended it. In order to understand this itmust be remembered that while Mr. Kirkwood was aware of the lady's presencein Antwerp, on her part she had known nothing of him since he had soungallantly fled her company in Sheerness. She seemed to anticipate thateither Calendar or one of his fellows would be discovered at the door, --tohave surmised it without any excessive degree of pleasure. 

Only briefly she hesitated, while her surprise swayed her; then with ahardening of the eyes and a curt little nod, "I'm sorry, " she said withdecision, "but I am busy and can't see you now, Mr. Kirkwood"; andattempted to shut the door in his face. 

Deftly Kirkwood forestalled her intention by inserting both a foot and acorner of the newly purchased hand-bag between the door and the jamb. Hehad dared too greatly to be thus dismissed. "Pardon me, " he countered, unabashed, "but I wish to speak with Miss Calendar. "

"Dorothy, " returned the lady with spirit, "is engaged.... "

She compressed her lips, knitted her brows, and with disconcertingsuddenness thrust one knee against the obstructing hand-bag; Kirkwood, happily, anticipated the movement just in time to reinforce the bag withhis own knee; it remained in place, the door standing open. 

The woman flushed angrily; their glances crossed, her eyes flashing withindignation; but Kirkwood's held them with a level and unyielding stare. 

"I intend, " he told her quietly, "to see Miss Calendar. It's useless yourtrying to hinder me. We may as well understand each other, Madam, and I'lltell 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 agendarme. "

"You insolent puppy!"

"Madam, your wit disarms me--"

"What is the matter, Mrs. Hallam?" interrupted a voice from the other sideof 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. "

"You have no time to waste with him, Dorothy, " said the woman coldly. "Imust insist--"

"But you don't seem to understand; it is Mr. Kirkwood!" argued thegirl, --as if he were ample excuse for any imprudence!

Kirkwood's scant store of patience was by this time rapidly becomingexhausted. "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 youcome in, Mr. Kirkwood?" she inquired with acidulated courtesy. 

"If you press me, " he returned winningly, "how can I refuse? You are toogood!"

His impertinence disconcerted even himself; he wondered that she did notslap him as he passed her, entering the room; and felt that he deserved it, despite her attitude. But such thoughts could not long trouble one whoseeyes were enchanted by the sight of Dorothy, confronting him in the middleof the dingy room, her hands, bristling dangerously with hat pins, busywith the adjustment of a small gray toque atop the wonder that was herhair. So vivacious and charming she seemed, so spirited and bright herwelcoming smile, so foreign was she altogether to the picture of her, wornand distraught, that he had mentally conjured up, that he stopped in anextreme of disconcertion; and dropped the hand-bag, smiling sheepishlyenough under her ready laugh--mirth irresistibly incited by theplainly-read play of expression on his mobile countenance. 

"You must forgive the unconventionally, Mr. Kirkwood, " she apologized, needlessly enough, but to cover his embarrassment. "I am on the point ofgoing out with Mrs. Hallam--and of course you are the last person on earthI expected to meet here!"

"It's good to see you, Miss Calendar, " he said simply, remarking with muchsatisfaction that her trim walking costume bore witness to her statementthat she was prepared for the street. 

The girl glanced into a mirror, patted the small, bewitching hat aninfinitesimal 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 aninstant all too brief, the while he gazed earnestly into her face, noting with concern what the first glance had not shown him, --the almostimperceptible shadows beneath her eyes and cheek-bones, pathetic records ofthe hours the girl had spent, since last he had seen her, in company withhis own grim familiar, Care. 

Not a little of care and distress of mind had seasoned her portion in thosetwo weary days. He saw and knew it; and his throat tightened inexplicably, again, as it had out there in the corridor. Possibly the change in her hadpassed unchallenged by any eyes other than his, but even in the little timethat he had spent in her society, the image of her had become fixed soindelibly on his memory, that he could not now be deceived. She waschanged--a little, but changed; she had suffered, and was suffering and, forced by suffering, her nascent womanhood was stirring in the bud. Thechild that he had met in London, in Antwerp he found grown to woman'sstature and slowly coming to comprehension of the nature of the change inherself, --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 intuitions of a girl's untroubled heart. She couldnot be blind to the mute adoration of his gaze; nor could she resent it. Beneath it she colored and lowered her lashes. 

"I was about to go out, " she repeated in confusion. "I--it's pleasant tosee you, too. "

"Thank you, " he stammered ineptly; "I--I--"

"If Mr. Kirkwood will excuse us, Dorothy, " Mrs. Hallam's sharp tones struckin discordantly, "we shall be glad to see him when we return to London. "

"I am infinitely complimented, Mrs. Hallam, " Kirkwood assured her; and ofthe girl quickly: "You're going back home?" he asked. 

She nodded, with a faint, puzzled smile that included the woman. "After alittle--not immediately. Mrs. Hallam is so kind--"

"Pardon me, " he interrupted; "but tell me one thing, please: have you anyone in England to whom you can go without invitation and be welcomed andcared for--any friends or relations?"

"Dorothy will be with me, " Mrs. Hallam answered for her, with colddefiance. 

Deliberately insolent, Kirkwood turned his back to the woman. "MissCalendar, will you answer my question for yourself?" he asked the girlpointedly. 

"Why--yes; several friends; none in London, but--"

"Dorothy--"

"One moment, Mrs. Hallam, " Kirkwood flung crisply over his shoulder. "I'mgoing 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 shadeof independence. "I wish to listen to Mr. Kirkwood. He has been very kindto me and has every right.... " She turned to him again, leaving the womanbreathless and speechless with anger. 

"You told me once, " Kirkwood continued quickly, and, he felt, brazenly, "that you considered me kind, thoughtful and considerate. You know meno better to-day than you did then, but I want to beg you to trust me alittle. Can you trust yourself to my protection until we reach your friendsin England?"

"Why, I--" the girl faltered, taken by surprise. 

"Mr. Kirkwood!" cried Mrs. Hallam angrily, finding her voice. 

Kirkwood turned to meet her onslaught with a mien grave, determined, unflinching. "Please do not interfere, 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. "Forbid?" she repeatedwonderingly. 

Kirkwood was quick to take advantage of her resentment. "Mrs. Hallam is notfitted to advise you, " he insisted, "nor can she control your actions. Itmust already have occurred to you that you're rather out of place in thepresent circumstances. The men who have brought you hither, I believe youalready see through, to some extent. Forgive my speaking plainly ... Butthat is why you have accepted Mrs. Hallam's offer of protection. Will youtake my word for it, when I tell you she has not your right interests atheart, but the reverse? I happen to know, Miss Calendar, and I--"

"How dare you, sir?"

Flaming with rage, Mrs. Hallam put herself bodily between them, confrontingKirkwood in white-lipped desperation, her small, gloved hands clenched andquivering at her sides, her green eyes dangerous. 

But Kirkwood could silence her; and he did. "Do you wish me to speakfrankly, Madam? Do you wish me to tell what I know--and all I know--, " withrising emphasis, --"of your social status and your relations with Calendarand Mulready? I promise 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 hisand a little sob of terror forced itself between her shut teeth. Kirkwoodsmiled grimly, with a face of brass, impenetrable, inflexible. And suddenlyshe turned from him with indifferent bravado. 

"As Mr. Kirkwood says, Dorothy, " she said in her high, metallic voice, "Ihave no authority over you. But if you're silly enough to consider for amoment this fellow's insulting suggestion, if you're fool enough to go withhim, unchaperoned through Europe 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. "Makeyour choice, my child, " she added with a meaning laugh and moved away, humming a snatch from a French _chanson_ which brought the hot blood toKirkwood's face. 

But the girl did not understand; and he was glad of that. "You may judgebetween us, " he appealed to her directly, once more. "I can only offeryou my word of honor as an American gentleman that you shall be landed inEngland, safe and sound, by the first available steamer--"

"There's no need to say more, Mr. Kirkwood, " Dorothy informed him quietly. "I have already decided. 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 curtains back and staringout, Mrs. Hallam turned with a curling lip. 

[Illustration: From the window, 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 Kirkwood, ignoring theimplication. "Have you a traveling-bag?"

She silently indicated a small valise, closed and strapped, on a table bythe bed, and immediately passed out into the hall. Kirkwood took the casecontaining 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 stillat the window, her back turned. From her very passiveness he received animpression of something ominous and forbidding; if she had lost a trick ortwo of the game she played, she still held cards, was not at the end of herresources. She stuck in his imagination for many an hour as a force to bereckoned with. 

For the present he understood that she was waiting to apprise Calendar andMulready of their flight. With the more haste, then, he followed Dorothydown the three flights, through the tiny office, where Madam sat soundasleep at her over-burdened desk, and out. 

Opposite the door they were fortunate enough to find a fiacre drawn up inwaiting at the curb. Kirkwood opened the door for the girl to enter. 

"Gare du Sud, " he directed the driver. "Drive your fastest--double fare forquick time!"

The driver awoke with a start from profound reverie, looked Kirkwood over, and bowed with gesticulative palms. 

"M'sieu', I am desolated, but engaged!" he protested. 

"Precisely. " Kirkwood deposited the two bags on the forward seat of theconveyance, and stood back to convince the man. "Precisely, " said he, undismayed. "The lady who engaged you is remaining for a time; I willsettle her bill. "

"Very well, M'sieu'!" The driver disclaimed responsibility and accepted thefavor of the gods with a speaking shrug. "M'sieu' said the Gare du Sud? _Envoiture_!"

Kirkwood jumped in and shut the door; the vehicle drew slowly away fromthe curb, then with gratifying speed hammered up-stream on the embankment. Bending forward, elbows on knees, Kirkwood watched the sidewalks narrowly, partly to cover the girl's constraint, due to Mrs. Hallam's attitude, partly on the lookout for Calendar and his confederates. In a few momentsthey passed a public clock. 

"We've missed the Flushing boat, " he announced. "I'm making a try for theHoek van Holland line. We may possibly make it. I know that it leaves bythe Sud Quai, and that's all I do know, " he concluded with an apologeticlaugh. 

"And if we miss that?" asked the girl, breaking silence for the first timesince 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 getaway to-night. That we must do, no matter where we land, or how we getthere. To-morrow we can plan with more certainty. "

"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 andshoulders out of his window (fortunately it was the one away from thedepot), and called up to the driver. 

"Don't stop! Gare Centrale now--and treble fare!"

"_Oui, M'sieu'! Allons!_"

The whip cracked and the horse swerved sharply round the corner into theAvenue du Sud. The young man, with a hushed exclamation, turned in hisseat, lifting the flap over the little peephole in the back of thecarriage. 

He had not been mistaken. Calendar was standing in front of the station;and it was plain to be seen, from his pose, that the madly careering fiacreinterested him more than slightly. Irresolute, perturbed, the man tooka step or two after it, changed his mind, and returned to his post ofobservation. 

Kirkwood dropped the flap and turned back to find the girl's wide eyessearching his face. He said nothing. 

"What was that?" she asked after a patient moment. 

"Your father, Miss Calendar, " he returned uncomfortably. 

There fell a short pause; then: "Why--will you tell me--is it necessary torun away from my father, Mr. Kirkwood?" she demanded, with a moving littlebreak in her voice. 

Kirkwood hesitated. It were unfeeling to tell her why; yet it was essentialthat she should know, however painful the knowledge might prove to her. 

And she was insistent; he might not dodge the issue. "Why?" she repeated ashe 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 thegladstone bag. 

"What does that mean, Mr. Kirkwood?"

"That I have the jewels, " he told her tersely, looking straight ahead. 

At his shoulder he heard a low gasp of amazement and incredulitycommingled. 

"But--! How did you get them? My father deposited them in bank thismorning?"

"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 Stryker's a coward. They gaveme no trouble. I locked them in Stryker's room, lifted the bag of jewels, and came away.... I ought to tell you that they were discussing theadvisability of sailing away without you--leaving you here, friendless andwithout means. That's why I considered it my duty to take a hand.... Idon't like to tell you this so brutally, but you ought to know, and I can'tsee 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 thatencircle the ancient city, turned into the Avenue de Keyser, bringing intosight the Gare Centrale. 

"You don't--k-know--" began the girl without warning, in a voice gusty withsobs. 

"Steady on!" said Kirkwood gently. "I do know, but don't let's talk aboutit now. We'll be at the station in a minute, and I'll get out and seewhat'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 notrisk losing you again. It's a risk we'll have to run in company. "

"Please!" she agreed brokenly. 

The fiacre slowed up and stopped. 

"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 twobags, and hurried with Dorothy into the station, to find in waiting astring of cars into which people were moving at leisurely rate. Hisinquiries at the ticket-window developed the fact that it was the 22:26 forBrussels, the last train leaving the Gare Centrale that night, and due tostart in ten minutes. 

The information settled their plans for once and all; Kirkwood promptlysecured through tickets, also purchasing "Reserve" supplementary ticketswhich entitled them to the use of those modern corridor coaches which takethe place of first-class compartments on the Belgian state railways. 

"It's a pleasure, " said Kirkwood lightly, as he followed the girl into oneof 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 and sat downbeside her, chattering with simulated cheerfulness in a vain endeavor tolighten her evident depression of spirit. "I always feel like a travelinganachronism in one of your English trains, " he said. "You can'tappreciate--"

The girl smiled bravely.... "And after Brussels?" she inquired. 

"First train for the coast, " he said promptly. "Dover, Ostend, Boulogne, --whichever proves handiest, no matter which, so long as it getsus on English soil without undue delay. "

She said "Yes" abstractedly, resting an elbow on the window-sill and herchin in her palm, to stare with serious, sweet brown eyes out into thearc-smitten night that hung beneath the echoing roof. 

Kirkwood fidgeted in despite of the constraint he placed himself under, tobe still and not disturb her needlessly. Impatience and apprehension ofmisfortune obsessed his mental processes in equal degree. The ten minutesseemed interminable that elapsed ere the grinding couplings advertised theimminence of their start. 

The guards began to bawl, the doors to slam, belated travelers to dashmadly for the coaches. The train gave a preliminary lurch ere settling downto its league-long inland dash. 

Kirkwood, in a fever of hope and an ague of fear, saw a man sprintfuriously across the platform and throw himself on the forward steps oftheir coach, on the very instant of the start. 

Presently he entered by the forward door and walked slowly through, narrowly inspecting the various passengers. As he approached the seatsoccupied by Kirkwood and Dorothy Calendar, his eyes encountered the youngman's, and he leered evilly. Kirkwood met the look with one that was like akick, and the fellow passed with some haste into the car behind. 

"Who was that?" demanded the girl, without moving 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; hecertainly wasn't in the cabin. Evidently they hunted him up, or ran acrosshim, and pressed him into service.... You see, they're watching everyoutlet.... But we'll win through, never fear!"

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 cafés, 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 little 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 rôle 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 Hôtel, 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 Hôtel atinfinitely less expense. He had a considerably harder task before him ashe 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 Hôtel, 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 _déjeuner àla 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. 

XVII

ROGUES AND VAGABONDS

A westering sun striking down through the drab exhalations of ten-thousandsooty chimney-pots, tinted the atmosphere with the hue of copper. Theglance that wandered purposelessly out through the carriage windows, recoiled, repelled by the endless dreary vista of the Surrey Side'sunnumbered roofs; or, probing instantaneously the hopeless depths of somegrim narrow thoroughfare fleetingly disclosed, as the evening boat-trainfrom Dover swung on toward Charing Cross, its trucks level with the eavesof Southwark's dwellings, was saddened by the thought that in all the worldsqualor such as this should obtain and flourish unrelieved. 

For perhaps the tenth time in the course of the journey Kirkwood withdrewhis gaze from the window and turned to the girl, a question ready framedupon his lips. 

"Are you quite sure--" he began; and then, alive to the clear andpenetrating perception in the brown eyes that smiled into his from undertheir level brows, he stammered and left the query uncompleted. 

Continuing to regard him steadily and smilingly, Dorothy shook her head inplayful denial and protest. "Do you know, " she commented, "that this isabout the fifth repetition of that identical question within the lastquarter-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 nothingelse since we left the boat. Won't you believe me, please, when I saythere's absolutely not a soul in London to whom I could go and ask forshelter? I don't think it's very nice of you to be so openly anxious to getrid of me. "

This latter was so essentially undeserved and so artlessly insincere, thathe 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 number of times that it's only anhour's ride on to Chiltern, 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 meoff 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--" Herehe was smitten with a dumbness, and sat, aghast at the enormity of hisblunder, entreating her forgiveness with eyes that, very likely, pleadedhis cause more eloquently than he guessed. 

"I mean, " he floundered on presently, in the fatuous belief that he wouldthis time be able to control both mind and tongue, "_what_ I mean is I'd beglad to go on serving you in any way I might, to the end of time, if you'dgive me.... "

He left the declaration inconclusive--a stroke of diplomacy that would havegraced an infinitely more adept wooer. But he used it all unconsciously. "OLord!" he groaned in spirit. "Worse and more of it! Why in thunder can't Isay the right thing _right_?"

Egotistically absorbed by the problem thus formulated, he was heedless ofher failure to respond, and remained pensively preoccupied until roused bythe grinding and jolting of the train, as it slowed to a halt preparatoryto crossing the bridge. 

Then he sought to read his answer in the eyes of Dorothy. But she waslooking away, staring thoughtfully out over the billowing sea of roofsthat merged illusively into the haze long ere it reached the horizon; andKirkwood could see the pulsing of the warm blood in her throat and cheeks;and the glamorous light that leaped and waned in her eyes, as the ruddyevening sunlight warmed them, was something any man might be glad to livefor and die for.... And he saw that she had understood, had grasped thethread of meaning that ran through the clumsy fabric of his halting speechand his sudden silences. 

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 onefearless and sweet, if troubled. 

"Dear Mr. Kirkwood, " she said gently, bending forward as if to read betweenthe 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 stillhave a fear of my father? But don't you know that he can do nothingnow--now that we're safe? We have only to take a cab to Paddington Station, and then--"

"You mustn't underestimate the resource and ability of Mr. Calendar, " hetold her gloomily; "we've got a chance--no more. It wasn't.... " He shut histeeth on his unruly tongue--too late. 

Woman-quick she caught him up. "It wasn't that? Then what was it thatworried you? If it's something that affects me, is it kind and right of younot to tell me?"

"It--it affects us both, " he conceded drearily. "I--I don't--"

The wretched embarrassment of the confession befogged his wits; he feltunable to frame the words. He appealed speechlessly for tolerance, with aface 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 minute more. Surely you cantrust me.... "

In exasperation he interrupted almost rudely. "It's only this: I--I'mstrapped. "

"Strapped?" She knitted her brows over this fresh specimen of Americanslang. 

"Flat strapped--busted--broke--on my uppers--down and out, " he reeled offsynonyms without a smile. "I haven't enough money to pay cab-fare acrossthe town--"

"Oh!" she interpolated, enlightened. 

"--to say nothing of taking us to Chiltern. I couldn't buy you a glass ofwater if you were thirsty. There isn't a soul on earth, within hail, whowould trust me with a quarter--I mean a shilling--across London Bridge. I'mthe original Luckless Wonder and the only genuine Jonah extant. "

With a face the hue of fire, he cocked his eyebrows askew and attemptedto laugh unconcernedly to hide his bitter shame. "I've led you out ofthe fryingpan into the fire, and I don't know what to do! Please call menames. "

And in a single instant all that he had consistently tried to avoid doing, had been irretrievably done; if, with dawning comprehension, dismayflickered in her eyes--such dismay as such a confession can rouse only inone who, like Dorothy Calendar, has never known the want of a penny--itwas swiftly driven out to make place for the truest and most gracious andunselfish solicitude. 

"Oh, poor Mr. Kirkwood! And it's all because of me! You've beggaredyourself--"

"Not precisely; I was beggared to begin with. " He hastened to disclaim theextravagant generosity of which she accused him. "I had only three or fourpounds to my name that night we met.... I haven't told you--I--"

"You've told me nothing, nothing whatever about yourself, " she saidreproachfully. 

"I didn't want to bother you with my troubles; I tried not to talk aboutmyself.... You knew I was an American, but I'm worse than that; I'm aCalifornian--from San Francisco. " He tried unsuccessfully to make light ofit. "I told you I was the Luckless Wonder; if I'd ever had any luck I wouldhave stored a little money away. As it was, I lived on my income, leftmy principal in 'Frisco; and when the earthquake came, it wiped me outcompletely. "

"And you were going home that night we made you miss your steamer!"

"It was my own fault, and I'm glad this blessed 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 remember how much you've gonethrough--"

"Precisely what I don't want you to do. Anyway, I did nothing more than anyother fellow would've! Please don't give me credit that I don't deserve. "

But she was not listening; and a pause fell, while the train crawled warilyover 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 nota farthing in the world!... I never dreamed.... I'm so sorry, Mr. Kirkwood--terribly, terribly sorry!... But what can we do? I can't consentto be a burden--"

"But you're not! You're the one thing that ... " He swerved sharply, at anabrupt 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 toolate now, --after five, else we could deposit the jewels in some bank. Since--since they are no longer yours, the only thing, and the proper thingto do is to place them in safety or in the hands of their owner. If youtake them directly to young Hallam, your hands will be clear.... And--Inever did such a thing in my life, Miss Calendar; but if he's got a sparkof gratitude in his make-up, I ought to be able to--er--to borrow a poundor so of him. "

"Do you think so?" She shook her head in doubt. "I don't know; I know solittle 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 swiftlydown-stream from Charing Cross pier, in the shadow of the railway bridge. It seemed curious to reflect that from that very floating pier he hadstarted first upon his quest of the girl beside him, only--he had tocount--three nights ago! Three days and three nights! Altogether incredibleseemed 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 thegreen of the gardens and the shimmering walls of glass and stone of thegreat hotels, their windows glowing weirdly golden in the late sunlight. A little down-stream Cleopatra's Needle rose, sadly the worse for Londonsmoke, flanked by its couchant sphinxes, wearing a nimbus of circling, sweeping, swooping, wheeling gulls. Farther down, from the foot of thatmagnificent pile, Somerset House, Waterloo Bridge sprang over-stream inits graceful arch.... All as of yesterday; yet all changed. Why? Because awoman had entered into his life; because he had learned the lesson of loveand had looked into the bright face of Romance.... 

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 _know_, " the girl reproved him. 

"I know; but there must be no misunderstanding.... Don't worry; we'll winout yet, I've a plan. "

_Splendide mendax_! He had not the glimmering of a plan. 

The engine panting, the train drew in beneath the vast sounding dome of thestation, to an accompaniment 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 theirtickets; now they were utterly vagabondish, penniless adventurers. 

The girl joined him. Slowly, elbow to elbow, the treasure bag betweenthem, they made their way down toward the gates, atoms in a tide-ripof humanity, --two streams of passengers meeting on the narrow strip ofplatform, the one making for the streets, the other for the suburbs. 

Hurried and jostled, the girl clinging tightly to his arm lest they beseparated in the crush, they came to the ticket-wicket; beyond the barriersurged a sea of hats--shining "toppers, " dignified and upstanding, theoutward and visible manifestation of the sturdy, stodgy British spirit ofrespectability; "bowlers" round and sleek and humble; shapeless caps withcloth visors, manufactured of outrageous plaids; flower-like miracles ofmillinery from Bond Street; strangely plumed monstrosities from PetticoatLane and Mile End Road. Beneath any one of these might lurk the maleficentbrain, the spying eyes of Calendar or one of his creatures; beneath all ofthem that he encountered, Kirkwood peered in fearful inquiry. 

Yet, when they had passed unhindered the ordeal of the wickets, had runthe gantlet of those thousand eyes without lighting in any pair a spark ofrecognition, he began to bear himself with more assurance, to be sensibleto a grateful glow of hope. Perhaps Hobbs' telegram had not reached itsdestination, for unquestionably the mate would have wired his chief;perhaps some accident had befallen the conspirators; perhaps the police hadapprehended them.... No matter how, one hoped against hope that they hadbeen thrown off the trail. 

And indeed it seemed as if they must have been misguided in someprovidential manner. On the other hand, it would be the crassest ofindiscretions to linger about the place an instant longer than absolutelynecessary. 

Outside the building, however, they paused perforce, undergoing thecross-fire of the congregated cabbies. It being the first time that hehad ever felt called upon to leave the station afoot, Kirkwood cast aboutirresolutely, seeking the sidewalk leading to the Strand. 

Abruptly he caught the girl by the arm and unceremoniously hurried hertoward a waiting hansom. 

"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 shoulder. "He hasn't seen us yet. They've just driven up. Stryker's with him. They're getting down. " And tohimself, "Oh, the devil!" cried the panic-stricken young man. 

He drew back to let the girl precede him into the cab; at the same timehe kept an eye on Calendar, whose conveyance stood half the length of thestation-front away. 

The fat adventurer had finished paying off the driver, standing on the deckof the hansom. Stryker was already out, towering above the mass of people, and glaring about him with his hawk-keen vision. Calendar had started toalight, his foot was leaving the step when Stryker's glance singled outtheir quarry. Instantly he turned and spoke to his confederate. Calendarwheeled like a flash, peering eagerly in the direction indicated by thecaptain's index finger, then, snapping instructions to his driver, threwhimself heavily back on the seat. Stryker, awkward on his land-legs, stumbled and fell in an ill-calculated attempt to hoist himself hastilyback into the vehicle. 

To the delay thus occasioned alone Kirkwood and Dorothy owed a respite offreedom. Their hansom was already swinging down toward the great gates ofthe yard, the American standing to make the driver comprehend the necessityfor using the utmost speed in reaching the Craven Street address. The manproved both intelligent and obliging; Kirkwood had barely time to drop downbeside the girl, ere the cab was swinging out into the Strand, to the perilof the toes belonging to a number of righteously indignant pedestrians. 

"Good boy!" commented Kirkwood cheerfully. "That's the greatest comfort ofall London, the surprising intellectual strength the average cabby displayswhen you promise him a tip.... Great Heavens!" he cried, reading the girl'sdismayed expression. "A tip! I never thought--!" His face lengtheneddismally, 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 rearwindow. "I don't see their cab, " he announced. "But of course they're afterus. However, Craven Street's just round the corner; if we get therefirst, I don't fancy Freddie Hallam will have a cordial reception for ourpursuers. They must've been on watch at Cannon Street, and finding we werenot 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?" headded 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 towardMrs. Hallam's dwelling. But as they drew near upon the address he drew backwith an exclamation of amazement. 

The house was closed, showing a blank face to the street--blinds drawnclose down in the windows, area gate padlocked, an estate-agent's boardprojecting from above the doorway, advertising the property "To be let, furnished. "

Kirkwood looked back, craning his neck round the side of the cab. At themoment another hansom was breaking through the rank of humanity on theStrand crossing. He saw one or two figures leap desperately from beneaththe 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!"

"W'ere 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 yourwhile. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The driver looked briefly over his shoulder and lifted hiswhip. "Don't worry, sir, " he cried, entering into the spirit of the gamewith gratifying zest. "Shan't let 'em over'aul you, sir. Mind your 'ead!"

And as Kirkwood ducked, the whip-lash shot out over the roof with a cracklike the report of a pistol. Startled, the horse leaped indignantlyforward. Momentarily the cab seemed to leave the ground, then settleddown to a pace that carried them round the Avenue Theatre and acrossNorthumberland Avenue into Whitehall Place apparently on a single wheel. 

A glance behind showed Kirkwood that already they had gained, the pursuinghansom having lost ground through greater caution in crossing themain-traveled thoroughfare. 

"Good little horse!" he applauded. 

A moment later he was indorsing without reserve the generalship of theircabby; the quick westward turn that took them into Whitehall, over acrossfrom the Horse Guards, likewise placed them in a pocket of traffic; apractically impregnable press of vehicles closed in behind them ereCalendar's conveyance could follow out of the side street. 

That the same conditions, but slightly modified, hemmed them in ahead, wentfor nothing in Kirkwood'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 withconsternation, "how did you dare?"

"Dare?" he echoed exultantly; and in his veins excitement was running likeliquid fire. "What wouldn't I dare for you, Dorothy?"

"What have you not?" she amended softly, adding 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 asher lips drooped with disappointment. And she sighed.... For he was notlooking. Man-like, hot with the ardor of the chase, he was deaf and blindto all else. 

She saw that he had not even heard. Twice within the day she had forgottenherself, had overstepped the rigid bounds of her breeding in using hisChristian name. And twice he had been oblivious to that token of theirmaturing understanding. So she sighed, and sighing, smiled again; restingan elbow on the window-sill and flattening one small gloved hand againstthe frame for a brace against the jouncing of the hansom. It swept on withunabated speed, up-stream beside the tawny reaches of the river; and fora time there was no speech between them, the while the girl lostconsciousness of self and her most imminent peril, surrendering her beingto the lingering sweetness of her long, dear thoughts.... 

"I've got a scheme!" Kirkwood declared so explosively that she caught herbreath with the surprise of it. "There's the Pless; they know me there, andmy credit's good. When we shake them off, we can have the cabby take us tothe hotel. I'll register and borrow from the management enough to pay ourway to Chiltern and the tolls for a cable to New York. I've a friend or twoover home who wouldn't let me want for a few miserable pounds.... So yousee, " he explained boyishly, "we're at the end of our troubles already!"

She said something inaudible, holding her face averted. He bent nearer toher, wondering. "I didn't understand, " he suggested. 

Still looking from him, "I said you were very good to me, " she said in aquavering whisper. 

"Dorothy!" Without his knowledge or intention before the fact, asinstinctively as he made use of her given name, intimately, his strongfingers dropped and closed upon the little hand that lay beside him. "What_is_ the matter, dear?" He leaned still farther forward to peer into herface, till glance met glance in the ending and his racing pulses tightenedwith sheer delight of the humid happiness in her glistening eyes. "Dorothy, child, don't worry so. No harm shall come to you. It's all working out--allworking 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 thatquivered between laughter and tears, "I wasn't worrying. I was ... Youwouldn'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 hisbusiness. "

In fact that gentleman was minute by minute demonstrating his peculiarfitness for the task he had so cheerfully undertaken. The superiorhorsemanship of the London hackney cabman needs no exploitation, and hein whose hands rested the fate of the Calendar treasure was peer of hiscompeers. He was instant to advantage himself of every opening to forwardhis pliant craft, quick to foresee the fortunes of the way and governhimself accordingly. 

Estimating with practised eye the precise moment when the police supervisorof traffic at the junction of Parliament and Bridge Streets, would seefit to declare a temporary blockade, he so managed that his was the lastvehicle to pass ere the official wand, to ignore which involves a forfeitedlicense, was lifted; and indeed, so close was his calculation that heescaped only with a scowl and word of warning from the bobby. A matter ofno importance whatever, since his end was gained and the pursuing cab hadbeen shut off by the blockade. 

In Calendar's driver, however, he had an adversary of abilities by no meansto be despised. Precisely how the man contrived it, is a question; that hemade a detour by way of Derby Street is not improbable, unpleasant as itmay have been for Stryker and Calendar to find themselves in such closeproximity to "the Yard. " At all events, he evaded the block, and hardlyhad the chase swung across Bridge Street, than the pursuer was nimblyclattering in its wake. 

Past the Houses of Parliament, through Old Palace Yard, with the Abbey ontheir left, they swung away into Abingdon Street, whence suddenly theydived into the maze of backways, great and mean, which lies to the south ofVictoria. Doubling and twisting, now this way, now that, the driver tooledthem through the intricate heart of this labyrinth, leading the pursuersa dance that Kirkwood thought calculated to dishearten and shake off thepursuit in the first five minutes. Yet always, peering back through thelittle peephole, he saw Calendar's cab pelting doggedly in their rear--ahundred yards behind, no more, no less, hanging on with indomitable gritand determination. 

By degrees they drew westwards, threading Pimlico, into Chelsea--oncedashing briefly down the Grosvenor Road, the Thames a tawny flood beyondthe river wall. 

Children cheered them on, and policemen turned to stare, doubting whetherthey should interfere. Minutes rolled into tens, measuring out an hour;and still they hammered on, hunted and hunters, playing their game ofhare-and-hounds through the highways and byways of those staid and agedquarters. 

In the leading cab there were few words spoken. Kirkwood and Dorothy alikesat spellbound with the fascination of the game; if it is conceivablethat the fox enjoys his part in the day's sport, then they were enjoyingthemselves. 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 ashe would he could never see that the distance between the two had beenmaterially lessened or increased. Their horses seemed most evenly matched. 

The sun was very low behind the houses of the Surrey Side when Kirkwoodbecame aware that their horse was flagging, though (as comparisondetermined) no more so than the one behind. 

In grave concern the young man raised his hand, thrusting open the trapin the roof. Immediately the square of darkling sky was eclipsed by thecabby's face. 

"Yessir?"

"You had better drive as directly as you can to the Hotel Pless, " Kirkwoodcalled 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' forhever, 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 Kirkwoodwas genuinely alarmed. The pursuing cabby was lashing his animal withoutmercy, while, "It aren't no use my w'ippin' 'im, sir, " dropped through thetrap. "'E's doing orl 'e can. "

"I understand. "

Despondent recklessness tightened Kirkwood's lips and kindled an unpleasantlight in his eyes. He touched his side pocket; Calendar's revolver wasstill 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. 

"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 implicit faith. 

"Promise!"

"I promise. "

"We'll have to drop off in a minute. The horse won't last.... They're inthe same box. Well, I undertake to stand 'em off for a bit; you take thebag and run for it. Just as soon as I can convince them, I'll follow, butif there's any delay, you call the first cab you see and drive to thePless. I'll join you there. "

He stood up, surveying the neighborhood. Behind him the girl lifted hervoice 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, frowning; but not frowningbecause of the girl's mutiny. He was a little puzzled by a vagueimpression, and was striving to pin it down for recognition; but was sothoroughly bemused with fatigue and despair that only with great difficultycould he force his faculties to logical reasoning, his memory to respond tohis call upon it. 

The hansom was traversing a street in Old Brompton--a quaint, prim by-waylined with dwellings singularly Old-Worldish, even for London. He seemedto know it subjectively, to have retained a memory of it from anotherexistence: as the stage setting of a vivid dream, all forgotten, willsometimes recur with peculiar and exasperating intensity, in broaddaylight. The houses, with their sloping, red-tiled roofs, unexpectedgables, spontaneous dormer windows, glass panes set in leaded frames, redbrick façades trimmed with green shutters and doorsteps of white stone, each sitting back, sedate and self-sufficient, in its trim dooryard fencedoff from the public thoroughfare: all wore an aspect hauntingly 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 didthe name of the Pless, strive as he might he failed to make them conveyanything tangible to his intelligence. When had he heard of it? At whattime had his errant footsteps taken him through this curious survival ofEighteenth Century London?

Not that it mattered when. It could have no possible bearing on theemergency. He really gave it little thought; the mental processes recountedwere mostly subconscious, if none the less real. His objective attentionwas wholly preoccupied with the knowledge that Calendar's cab was drawingperilously near. And he was debating whether or not they should alightat once and try to make a better pace afoot, when the decision was takenwholly out of his hands. 

Blindly staggering on, wilted with weariness, the horse stumbled in theshafts and plunged forward on its knees. Quick as the driver was to pull itup, with a cruel jerk of the bits, Kirkwood was caught unprepared; lurchingagainst the dashboard, he lost his footing, grasped frantically at theunstable air, and went over, bringing up in a sitting position in thegutter, 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, questioning him with keen solicitude. 

"No, " he gasped; "not hurt--only surprised. Wait.... "

Their cab had come to a complete standstill; Calendar's was no more thantwenty yards behind, and as Kirkwood caught sight of him the fat adventurerwas in the act of lifting himself ponderously out of the seat. 

Incontinently the young man turned to the girl and forced the traveling-baginto her hands. 

"Run for it!" he begged her. "Don't stop to argue. You promised--run! I'llcome.... "

"Philip!" she pleaded. 

"Dorothy!" he cried in torment. 

Perhaps it was his unquestionable distress that weakened her. Suddenly sheyielded--with whatever reason. He was only hazily aware of the swish of herskirts behind him; he had no time to look round and see that she got awaysafely. He had only eyes and thoughts for Calendar and Stryker. 

They were both afoot, now, and running toward him, the one as awkward asthe other, but neither yielding a jot of their malignant purpose. He heldthe 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 withthe exertion, his fat head dropped forward as if too heavy for his neck ofa bull, his small eyes bright with anger; Stryker shying off at a discreetangle, evidently with the intention of devoting himself to the capture ofthe girl; the two cabs with their dejected screws, at rest in the middle ofthe quiet, twilit street. He seemed even to see himself, standing stockilyprepared, hands in his coat pockets, his own head inclined with asuggestion of pugnacity. 

To this mental photograph another succeeds, of the same scene an instantlater; all as it had been before, their relative positions unchanged, savethat Stryker and Calendar had come to a dead stop, and that Kirkwood'sright arm was lifted and extended, pointing at the captain. 

So forgetful of self was he, that it required a moment's thought toconvince him that he was really responsible for the abrupt transformation. Incredulously he realized that he had drawn Calendar's revolver and pulledStryker up short, in mid-stride, by the mute menace of it, as much as byhis hoarse cry of warning:

"Stryker--not another foot--"

With this there chimed in Dorothy's voice, ringing bell-clear from a littledistance:

"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 aman of tall and slender figure, rigged out in a bizarre costume consistingmainly of a flowered dressing-gown and slippers, was waiting in an attitudeof singular impassivity; within it, pausing with a foot lifted to thedoorstep, bag in hand, her head turned as she looked back, was Dorothy. 

[Illustration: A costume consisting mainly of a flowered dressing-gown andslippers. ]

As he comprehended these essential details of the composition, the man inthe flowered dressing-gown raised a hand, beckoning to him in a manner asimperative as his accompanying words. 

"Kirkwood!" he saluted the young man in a clear and vibrant voice, "putup that revolver and stop this foolishness. " And, with a jerk of hishead towards 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 allhappy accidents!"

"You may call it that, " retorted the elder man with a fleeting smile asKirkwood slipped inside the dooryard. "Come, " he said; "let's get into thehouse. "

"But you said--I thought you went to Munich, " stammered Kirkwood; and sothoroughly impregnated was his mind with this understanding that it washard for him to adjust his perceptions to the truth. 

"I was detained--by business, " responded Brentwick briefly. His gaze, wearyand wistful behind his glasses, rested on the face of the girl on thethreshold 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 toenter?" he suggested punctiliously. "My house, such as it is, is quite atyour disposal. And, " he added, with a glance over his shoulder, "I fancythat a word or two may presently be passed which you would hardly care tohear. "

Dorothy's hesitation was but transitory; Kirkwood was reassuring her witha smile more like his wonted boyish grin than anything he had succeededin conjuring up throughout the day. Her own smile answered it, and with amurmured word of gratitude and a little, half timid, half distant bow forBrentwick, she passed on into the hallway. 

Kirkwood lingered with his friend upon the door-stoop. Calendar, recoveredfrom his temporary consternation, was already at the gate, bending overit, fat fingers fumbling with the latch, his round red face, lifted to thehouse, 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 gateway; then, with a truculentswagger, "I want my daughter, " he declared vociferously. 

Brentwick peered mildly over his glasses, first at Calendar, then atKirkwood. His glance lingered a moment on the young man's honest eyes, andswung back to Calendar. 

"My good man, " he said with sublime tolerance, "will you be pleased to takeyourself off--to the devil if you like? Or shall I take the trouble tointerest the police?"

He removed one fine and fragile hand from a pocket of the flowereddressing-gown, long enough to jerk it significantly toward the nearerstreet-corner. 

Thunderstruck, Calendar glanced hastily in the indicated direction. A blue-coated bobby was to be seen approaching with measured stride, diffusing upon the still evening air an impression of ineffably capableself-contentment. 

Calendar's fleshy lips parted and closed without a sound. They quivered. Beneath them quivered his assortment of graduated chins. His heavy andpendulous cheeks quivered, slowly empurpling with the dark tide of hisapoplectic wrath. The close-clipped thatch of his iron gray mustache, even, seemed to bristle like hairs upon the neck of a maddened dog. Beneath himhis fat legs trembled, and indeed his whole huge carcass shook visibly, inthe stress of his restrained wrath. 

Suddenly, overwhelmed, he banged the gate behind him and waddled off tojoin the captain; who already, with praiseworthy native prudence, hadfallen back upon their cab. 

From his coign of strategic advantage, the comfortable elevation ofhis box, Kirkwood's cabby, whose huge enjoyment of the adventurers'discomfiture had throughout been noisily demonstrative, entreated Calendarwith lifted forefinger, bland affability, and expressions of heartfeltsympathy. 

"Kebsir? 'Ave a kebsir, do! Try a ride be'ind a real 'orse, sir; don't yougo on wastin' time on 'im. " A jerk of a derisive thumb singled out theother cabman. "'E aren't pl'yin' you fair, sir; I knows 'im, --'e's ahartful g'y deceiver, 'e is. Look at 'is 'orse, --w'ich it aren't; it's asnyle, that's w'at it is. Tyke a father's hadvice, sir, and next time yerfairest darter runs awye with the dook in disguise, chyse 'em in a realkebsir, not a cheap imitashin.... Kebsir?... Garn, you 'ard-'arted--"

Here he swooped upwards in a dizzy flight of vituperation best unrecorded. Calendar, beyond an absent-minded flirt of one hand by his ear, as whoshould shoo away a buzzing insect, ignored him utterly. 

Sullenly extracting money from his pocket, he paid off his driver, and incompany 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 thebrief, 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 andfools. "

Brentwick dropped a calming hand upon his shoulder. "Your simile seemssingularly happy, Philip. Permit me to suggest that you join the child inmy study. " He laughed quietly, with a slight nod toward an open door at theend 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, hewatched the young man wheel 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 searchingits somber shadows for a sign of Dorothy. 

A long room and deep, it was lighted only by the circumscribed disk ofillumination thrown on the central desk by a shaded reading-lamp, and theflickering glow of a grate-fire set beneath the mantel of a side-wall. Atthe back, heavy velvet portières cloaked the recesses of two long windows, closed jealously even against the twilight. Aside from the windows, doorsand chimney-piece, every foot of wall space was occupied by toweringbookcases or by shelves crowded to the limit of their capacity with anamazing miscellany of objects of art, the fruit of years of patient anddiscriminating collecting. An exotic and heady atmosphere, compounded ofthe faint and intangible exhalations of these insentient things, fragranceof sandalwood, myrrh and musk, reminiscent whiffs of half-forgottenincense, seemed to intensify the impression of gloomy richness andrepose... 

By the fireplace, a little to one side, stood Dorothy, one small footresting on the brass fender, her figure merging into the dusky background, her delicate beauty gaining an effect of elusive and ethereal mystery inthe waning and waxing ruddy glow upflung 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 uponthe 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. "Wecan make ourselves easy now. " She sat down and he released her hands with areluctance less evident than actual. "If ever I say another word against myluck--"

"Who, " inquired the girl, lowering her voice, "who is the gentleman in theflowered dressing-gown?"

"Brentwick--George Silvester Brentwick: an old friend. I've known him foryears, --ever since I came abroad. Curiously enough, however, this is thefirst time I've ever been here. I called once, but he wasn't in, --a fewdays ago, --the day we met. I thought the place looked familiar. Stupid ofme!"

"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 Iran, when you told me to, but I did; and while I ran, I was consciousof the front door, here, opening, and this tall man in the flowereddressing-gown coming down to the gate as if it were the most ordinary thingin the world for him to stroll out, dressed that way, in the evening. Andhe opened the gate, and bowed, and said, ever so pleasantly, 'Won't youcome in, Miss Calendar?'--"

"He did!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "But how--?"

"How can I say?" she expostulated. "At all events, he seemed to knowme; 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!" saidKirkwood. 

And, "Hum!" said Mr. Brentwick considerately, entering the study. He haddiscarded the dressing-gown and was now in evening dress. 

The girl rose. Kirkwood turned. "Mr. Brentwick--" he began. 

But Brentwick begged his patience with an eloquent gesture. "Sir, " he said, somewhat austerely, "permit me to put a single question: Have you by anychance paid your cabby?"

"Why--" faltered the younger man, with a flaming face. "I--why, no--thatis--"

The other quietly put his hand upon a bell-pull. A faint jingling sound wasat once audible, emanating from the basement. 

"How much should you say you owe him?"

"I--I haven't a penny in the world!"

The shrewd eyes flashed their amusement into Kirkwood's. "Tut, tut!"Brentwick chuckled. "Between gentlemen, my dear boy! Dear me! you are slowto learn. "

"I'll never be contented to sponge on my friends, " explained Kirkwood indeepest misery. "I can't tell when--"

"Tut, tut! How much did you say?"

"Ten shillings--or say twelve, would be about right, " stammered theAmerican, swayed by conflicting emotions of gratitude and profoundembarrassment. 

A soft-footed butler, impassive as Fate, materialized mysteriously in thedoorway. 

"You rang, sir?" he interrupted frigidly. 

"I rang, Wotton. " His master selected a sovereign from his purse and handedit to the servant. "For the cabby, Wotton. "

"Yes sir. " 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 theneighborhood, one short and stout, the other tall and evidently a seafaringman, let me know. "

"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, " hesaid, rubbing his thin, fine hands, --"I am old enough, I trust, to call yousuch without offense, --please be seated. "

Complying, the girl rewarded him with a radiant smile. Whereupon, stridingto the fireplace, their host turned his back to it, clasped his handsbehind him, and glowered benignly upon the two. "Ah!" he observed inaccents of extreme personal satisfaction. "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 animagination. From my bedroom window, on the floor above, I happen to beholdtwo cabs racing down the street, the one doggedly pursuing the other. Theforemost stops, perforce of a fagged horse. There alights a young gentlemanlooking, if you'll pardon me, uncommonly seedy; he is followed by a younglady, if she will pardon me, " with another little bow, "uncommonly pretty. With these two old eyes I observe that the gentleman does not pay hiscabby. Ergo--I intelligently deduce--he is short of money. Eh?"

"You were right, " affirmed Kirkwood, with a rueful and crooked smile. "But--"

"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 myyounger days pursued adventure without success, in dotage find myselfdragged into a romance by my two ears, whether I will or no! Eh? And nowyou 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 biscuit, Wotton. "

"Thank you, sir. "

The servant vanished. 

Brentwick removed his glasses, rubbed them, and blinked thoughtfully at thegirl. "My dear, " he said suddenly, with a peculiar tremor in his voice, "you resemble your mother remarkably. Tut--I should know! Time was when Iwas 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 your mother reincarnate, forthe 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--thegirl trembling slightly, but with her face aglow; Kirkwood half stupefiedbetween his ease from care and his growing astonishment, as Brentwickcontinued to reveal unexpected phases of his personality; Brentwick himselfoutwardly imperturbable and complacent, for all that his hand shook as helifted his wine glass. 

"You may go, Wotton--or, wait. Don't you feel the need of a breath of freshair, Wotton?"

"Yessir, thank you, sir. "

"Then change your coat, Wotton, light your pipe, and stroll out for half anhour. You need not leave the street, but if either the tall thin blackguardwith the seafaring habit, or the short stout rascal with the air of mysteryshould accost you, treat them with all courtesy, Wotton. You will becareful not to tell either of them anything in particular, although I don'tmind your telling them that Mr. Brentwick lives here, if they ask. I ammostly concerned to discover if they purpose becoming fixtures on thestreet-corners, Wotton. "

"Quite so, sir. "

"Now you may go.... Wotton, " continued his employer as the butler tookhimself off as softly as a cat, "grows daily a more valuable mechanism. Heis by no means human in any respect, but I find him extremely handy tohave round the house.... And now, my dear, " turning to Dorothy, "with yourpermission I desire to drink to the memory of your beautiful mother and tothe happiness of her beautiful daughter. "

"But you will tell me--"

"A number of interesting things, Miss Calendar, if you'll be good enough tolet me choose the time. I beg you to be patient with the idiosyncrasiesof an old man, who means no harm, who has a reputation as an eccentric tosustain before his servants.... And now, " said Brentwick, setting aside hisglass, "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. Yourvery bearing breathes of Romance. There must be an adventure forthcoming, Philip; otherwise my disappointment will be so acute that I shall beregretfully obliged seriously to consider my right, as a householder, toshow you the door. "

"But Mr. Brentwick--!"

"Sit down, sir!" commanded Brentwick with such a peremptory note that theyoung man, who had risen, obeyed out of sheer surprise. Upon which his hostadvanced, indicting him with a long white forefinger. "Would you, sir, "he demanded, "again expose this little lady to the machinations of thatcorpulent scoundrel, whom I have just had the pleasure of shooing off mypremises, 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 canconsider details more at our leisure. "

Kirkwood's eyes consulted the girl's face; almost imperceptibly she noddedhim permission to proceed. 

"Briefly, then, " he began haltingly, "the man who followed us to the doorhere, is Miss Calendar's father. "

"Oh? His name, please?"

"George Burgoyne Calendar. "

"Ah! An American; I remember, now. Continue, please. "

"He is hounding us, sir, with the intention of stealing 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 endeavoringto return to its owners. "

"My dear!" interpolated Brentwick gently, looking down at the girl'sflushed face and drooping head. 

"He ran us to the last ditch, " Kirkwood continued; "I've spent my lastfarthing trying to lose him. "

"But why have you not caused his arrest?" Brentwick inquired. 

Kirkwood nodded meaningly toward the girl. Brentwick made a soundindicating comprehension, a click of the tongue behind closed teeth. 

"We came to your door by the merest accident--it might as well have beenanother. I understood you were in Munich, and it never entered my head thatwe'd find you home. "

"A communication from my solicitors detained me, " explained Brentwick. "Andnow, what do you intend to do?"

"Trespass as far on your kindness as you'll permit. In the first place, I--I want the use of a few pounds with which to cable some friends in NewYork, for money; on receipt of which I can repay you. "

"Philip, " observed Brentwood, "you are a most irritating child. But Iforgive you the faults of youth. You may proceed, bearing in mind, if youplease, 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 isnecessary that Miss Calendar should go to Chiltern this evening, where shehas friends who will receive and protect her. "

"Mm-mm, " grumbled their host, meditative. "My faith!" he commented, withbrightening eyes. "It sounds almost too good to be true! And I've beengrowing afraid that the world was getting to be a most humdrum anduninteresting planet!... Miss Calendar, I am a widower of so many yearsstanding that I had almost forgotten I had ever been anything but abachelor. I fear my house contains little that will be of service to ayoung lady. Yet a room is at your disposal; the parlor-maid shall show youthe way. And Philip, between you and me, I venture to remark that hot waterand cold steel would add to the attractiveness of your personal appearance;my valet will attend you in my room. Dinner, " concluded Brentwick withanticipative relish, "will be served in precisely thirty minutes. I shallexpect you to entertain me with a full and itemized account of every phaseof your astonishing adventure. Later, we will find a way to Chiltern. "

Again he put a hand upon the bell-pull. Simultaneously Dorothy and Kirkwoodrose. 

"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 appropriatelyby continuing, to the best of your ability, to resemble your mother moreremarkably every minute. "

"But I, " began Kirkwood----. 

"You, my dear Philip, can thank me best by permitting me to enjoy myself;which I am doing thoroughly at the present moment. My pleasure in beinginvited to interfere in your young affairs is more keen than you can wellsurmise. Moreover, " said Mr. Brentwick, "so long have I been an amateuradventurer that I esteem it the rarest privilege to find myself thus on thepoint of graduating into professional ranks. " He rubbed his hands, beamingupon them. "And, " he added, as a maid appeared at the door, "I have alreadyschemed me a scheme for the discomfiture of our friends the enemy: a schemewhich we will discuss with our dinner, while the heathen rage and imagine avain thing, in the outer darkness. "

Kirkwood would have lingered, but of such inflexible temper was his hostthat he bowed him into the hands of a man servant without permitting himanother word. 

"Not a syllable, " he insisted. "I protest I am devoured with curiosity, mydear boy, but I have also bowels of compassion. When we are well on withour meal, when you are strengthened with food and drink, then you maybegin. But now--Dickie, " to the valet, "do your duty!"

Kirkwood, laughing with exasperation, retired at discretion, leavingBrentwick the master of the situation: a charming gentleman with a will ofhis own and a way that went with it. 

He heard the young man's footsteps diminish on the stairway; and againhe smiled the indulgent, melancholy smile of mellow years. "Youth!" hewhispered softly. "Romance!... And now, " with a brisk change of tone ashe 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 anddelicate fingers, were presently permitted to lie unturned, --the bookresting open on his knees the while he stared wistfully into the fire. 

A suspicion of moisture glimmered in his eyes. "Dorothy!" he whisperedhuskily. And a little later, rising, he proceeded to the telephone.... 

An hour and a half later Kirkwood, his self-respect something restored bya bath, a shave, and a resumption of clothes which had been hastily butthoroughly cleansed and pressed by Brentwick's valet; his confidence andcourage mounting high under the combined influence of generous wine, substantial food, the presence of his heart's mistress and theadmiration--which was unconcealed--of his friend, concluded at thedinner-table, his narration. 

"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 creditablemodesty, rarely encountered in the young men of the present day. It was, ofcourse, altogether different with those of my younger years. Yes, Wotton?"

Brentwick sat back in his chair, inclining an attentive ear to acommunication murmured by the butler. 

Kirkwood's gaze met Dorothy's across the expanse of shining cloth; hedeprecated her interruption with a whimsical twist of his eyebrows. "Really, you shouldn't, " he assured her in an undertone. "I've done nothingto deserve... " But under the spell of her serious sweet eyes, he fellsilent, and presently looked down, strangely abashed; and contemplated thevast enormity of his unworthiness. 

Coffee was set before them by Wotton, the impassive, Brentwick refusingit with a little sigh. "It is one of the things, as Philip knows, " heexplained to the girl, "denied me by the physician who makes his life happyby making mine a waste. I am allowed but three luxuries; cigars, travelin moderation, and the privilege of imposing on my friends. The first Ipropose presently, to enjoy, by your indulgence; and the second I shallthis evening undertake by virtue of the third, of which I have just availedmyself. "

Smiling at the involution, he rested his head against the back of thechair, eyes roving from the girl's face to Kirkwood's. "Inspiration todo which, " he proceeded gravely, "came to me from the seafaring picaroon(Stryker did you name him?) via the excellent Wotton. While you werepreparing for dinner, Wotton returned from his constitutional with the newsthat, leaving the corpulent person on watch at the corner, Captain Strykerhad temporarily, made himself scarce. However, we need feel no anxietyconcerning his whereabouts, for he reappeared in good time and amotor-car. From which it becomes evident that you have not overrated theirpertinacity; the fiasco of the cab-chase is not to be reënacted. "

Resolutely the girl repressed a gasp of dismay. Kirkwood stared moodilyinto his cup. 

"These men bore me fearfully, " he commented at last. 

"And so, " continued Brentwick, "I bethought me of a counter-stroke. It ismy good fortune to have a friend whose whim it is to support a touring-car, chiefly in innocuous idleness. Accordingly I have telephoned him andcommandeered the use of this machine--mechanician, too.... Though not abetting man, I am willing to risk recklessly a few pence in support of mycontention, that of the two, Captain Stryker's car and ours, the latterwill prove considerably the most speedy.... 

"In short, I suggest, " he concluded, thoughtfully lacing his long whitefingers, "that, avoiding the hazards of cab and railway carriage, we motorto Chiltern: the night being fine and the road, I am told, exceptionallygood. Miss Dorothy, what do you think?"

Instinctively the girl looked to Kirkwood; then shifted her glance to theirhost. "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 anythingbetter calculated to throw them off, than to distance them by motor-car. Itwould be always possible to trace our journey by rail. "

"Then, " announced Brentwick, making as if to rise, "we had best go. Ifneither my hearing nor Captain Stryker's car deceives me, our fiery chariotis panting at the door. "

A little sobered from the confident spirit of quiet gaiety in which theyhad dined, they left the table. Not that, in their hearts, either greatlyquestioned their ultimate triumph; but they were allowing for the elementof error so apt to set at naught human calculations. Calendar himself hadalready been proved fallible. Within the bounds of possibility, their turnto stumble might now be imminent. 

When he let himself dwell upon it, their utter helplessness to giveCalendar pause by commonplace methods, maddened Kirkwood. With anotherscoundrel it had been so simple a matter to put a period to his activitiesby a word to the police. But he was her father; for that reason he mustcontinually be spared ... Even though, in desperate extremity, she shouldgive consent to the arrest of the adventurers, retaliation would follow, swift and sure. For they might not overlook nor gloze the fact that hershad been the hands responsible for the theft of the jewels; innocentthough she had been in committing that larceny, a cat's-paw guided by anintelligence unscrupulous and malign, the law would not hold her guiltlesswere she once brought within its cognizance. Nor, possibly, would theHallams, mother and son. 

Upon their knowledge and their fear of this, undoubtedly Calendar wasreckoning: witness the barefaced effrontery with which he operated againstthem. His fear of the police might be genuine enough, but he was never foran instant disturbed by any doubt lest his daughter should turn againsthim. She would never dare that. 

Before they left the house, while Dorothy was above stairs resuming herhat and coat, Kirkwood and Brentwick reconnoitered from the drawing-roomwindows, themselves screened from observation by the absence of light inthe room behind. 

Before the door a motor-car waited, engines humming impatiently, mechanician ready in his seat, an uncouth shape in goggles and leathergarments that shone like oilskins under the street lights. 

At one corner another and a smaller car stood in waiting, its lamps likebaleful eyes glaring through the night. 

In the shadows across the way, a lengthy shadow lurked: Stryker, beyondreasonable question. Otherwise the street was deserted. Not even thatadventitous 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 themout--and slammed the door behind them with such promptitude as to givecause for the suspicion that he was a fraud, a sham, beneath his icyexterior desperately afraid lest the house be stormed by the adventurers. 

Kirkwood to the right, Brentwick to the left of Dorothy, the formercarrying the treasure bag, they hastened down the walk and through the gateto the car. 

The watcher across the way was moved to whistle shrilly; the other carlunged forward nervously. 

Brentwick taking the front seat, beside the mechanician, left the tonneauto Kirkwood and Dorothy. As the American slammed the door, the car sweptsmoothly out into the middle of the way, while the pursuing car swerved into 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 momentswas occupied with the arrangement of the robes. Then, sitting back, hefound her eyes fixed upon him, pools of inscrutable night in the shadow ofher 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 rearfour unwinking eyes trailed them, like some modern Nemesis in monstrousguise. 

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 gene 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?"

[Illustration: "_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 Brentwick 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: "_Hôtel 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 contorted, 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.