The Black Bag

by Louis Joseph Vance

  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.

&n
bsp; 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 throug
hout 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 ta
ble 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, b
etween oldForts Isabelle and Tete 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.