The Black Bag by Louis Joseph Vance (best manga ereader .TXT) đ
- Author: Louis Joseph Vance
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âOw, there you are, eigh, little bright-eyes!â he exclaimed with surprised
animation.
âGood morning, Captain Stryker,â said Kirkwood, rising. âI want to tell
youââ
But Stryker waved one great red paw impatiently, with the effect of
sweeping aside and casting into the discard Kirkwoodâs intended speech of
thanks; nor would he hear him further.
âDid you âave a nice little nap?â he interrupted. âCome up bright and
smilinâ, eigh? Now I guessââthe emphasis made it clear that the captain
believed himself to be employing an Americanism; and so successful was he
in his own esteem that he could not resist the temptation to improve upon
the imitationââNa-ow I guess yeouâre abaout right ready, benât ye, to hev
a drink, sonny?â
âNo, thank you,â said Kirkwood, smiling tolerantly. âIâve got any amount of
appetiteâŠâ
ââAve you, now?â Stryker dropped his mimicry and glanced at the clock.
âBreakfast,â he announced, âwill be served in the myne dininâ saloon at
eyght a. m. Passingers is requested not to be lyte at tyble.â
Depositing the bottle on the said table, the captain searched until he
found another glass for Kirkwood, and sat down.
âDo you good,â he insinuated, pushing the bottle gently over.
âNo, thank you,â reiterated Kirkwood shortly, a little annoyed.
Stryker seized his own glass, poured out a strong manâs dose of the
fiery concoction, gulped it down, and sighed. Then, with a glance at the
Americanâs woebegone countenance (Kirkwood was contemplating a four-hour
wait for breakfast, and, consequently, looking as if he had lost his last
friend), the captain bent over, placing both hands palm down before him and
wagging his head earnestly.
âPlease,â he implored,ââPlease donât let me hinterrupt;â and filled his
pipe, pretending a pensive detachment from his company.
The fumes of burning shag sharpened the tooth of desire. Kirkwood stood it
as long as he could, then surrendered with an: âIf youâve got any more of
that tobacco, Captain, Iâd be glad of a pipe.â
An intensely contemplative expression crept into the captainâs small blue
eyes.
âI only got one other pyper of this âere âbaccy,â he announced at length,
âand I carnât get no more till I gets âome. I simply couldnât part with it
hunder âarf a quid.â
Kirkwood settled back with a hopeless lift of his shoulders. Abstractedly
Stryker puffed the smoke his way until he could endure the deprivation no
longer.
âI had about ten shillings in my pocket when I came aboard, captain,
and ⊠a few other articles.â
âOw, yes; so you âad, now you mention it.â
Stryker rose, ambled into his room, and returned with Kirkwoodâs
possessions and a fresh paper of shag. While the young man was hastily
filling, lighting, and inhaling the first strangling but delectable whiff,
the captain solemnly counted into his own palm all the loose change except
three large pennies. The latter he shoved over to Kirkwood in company with
a miscellaneous assortment of articles, which the American picked up piece
by piece and began to bestow about his clothing. When through, he sat back,
troubled and disgusted. Stryker met his regard blandly.
âAnything I can do?â he inquired, in suave concern.
âWhy ⊠there was a black pearl scarfpinââ
âWây, donât you remember? You gave that to me, âcount of me âavin syved yer
life. âTwas me throwed you that line, you know.â
âOh,â commented Kirkwood briefly. The pin had been among the most valuable
and cherished of his belongings.
âYes,â nodded the captain in reminiscence. âYou donât remember? Likely
âtwas the brandy singing in yer âead. You pushes it into my âands,âalmost
weepinâ, you was,âand sez, sez you, âStryker,â you sez, âtyke this in
triflinâ toking of my gratichood; I wouldnât hinsult you,â you sez, âby
hofferinâ you money, but this I can insist on yer acceptinâ, and no
refusal,â says you.â
âOh,â repeated Kirkwood.
âIf I for a ninstant thought you wasnât sober when you done itâŠ. But no;
youâre a gent if there ever was one, and Iâm not the man to offend you.â
âOh, indeed.â
The captain let the implication pass, perhaps on the consideration that he
could afford to ignore it; and said no more. The pause held for several
minutes, Kirkwood having fallen into a mood of grave distraction. Finally
Captain Stryker thoughtfully measured out a second drink, limited only by
the capacity of the tumbler, engulfed it noisily, and got up.
âGuess Iâll be turninâ in,â he volunteered affably, yawning and stretching.
âI was about to ask you to do me a serviceâŠ.â began Kirkwood.
âYes?ââwith the rising inflection of mockery.
Kirkwood quietly produced his cigar-case, a gold matchbox, gold card-case,
and slipped a signet ring from his finger. âWill you buy these?â he asked.
âOr will you lend me five pounds and hold them as security?â
Stryker examined the collection with exaggerated interest strongly
tinctured with mistrust. âIâll buy âem,â he offered eventually, looking up.
âThatâs kind of youââ
âOw, they ainât much use to me, but Bill Strykerâs allus willinâ to
accommodate a friendâŠ. Four quid, you said?â
âFiveâŠ.â
âThey ainât wuth over four to me.â
âVery well; make it four,â Kirkwood assented contemptuously.
The captain swept the articles into one capacious fist, pivoted on one heel
at the peril of his neck, and lumbered unsteadily off to his room. Pausing
at the door he turned back in inquiry.
âI sye, âow did you come to get the impression there was a party named
Almanack aboard this wessel?â
âCalendarââ
ââAve it yer own wye,â Stryker conceded gracefully.
âThere isnât, is there?â
âYou âeard me.â
âThen,â said Kirkwood sweetly, âIâm sure you wouldnât be interested.â
The captain pondered this at leisure. âYou seemed pretty keen abaht seeinâ
âim,â he remarked conclusively.
âI was.â
âSeems to me I did âear the nyme sumwâeres afore.â The captain appeared to
wrestle with an obdurate memory. âOw!â he triumphed. âI know. âE was a chap
up Manchester wye. Keeper in a loonatic asylum, âe was. âThat yer party?â
âNo,â said Kirkwood wearily.
âI didnât know but mebbe âtwas. Excuse me. âThought as âow mebbe youâd
escyped from âis tender care, but, findinâ the world cold, chynged yer mind
and wanted to gow back.â
Without waiting for a reply he lurched into his room and banged the door
to. Kirkwood, divided between amusement and irritation, heard him stumbling
about for some time; and then a hush fell, grateful enough while it lasted;
which was not long. For no sooner did the captain sleep than a penetrating
snore added itself unto the cacophony of waves and wind and tortured ship.
Kirkwood, comforted at first by the blessed tobacco, lapsed insensibly
into dreary meditations. Coming after the swift movement and sustained
excitement of the eighteen hours preceding his long sleep, the monotony
of shipboard confinement seemed irksome to a maddening degree. There was
absolutely nothing he could discover to occupy his mind. If there were
books aboard, none was in evidence; beyond the report of Mr. Strangerâs
Manhattan nightâs entertainment the walls were devoid of reading matter;
and a round of the picture gallery proved a diversion weariful enough when
not purely revolting.
Wherefore Mr. Kirkwood stretched himself out on the transom and smoked and
reviewed his adventures in detail and seriatim, and was by turns indignant,
sore, anxious on his own account as well as on Dorothyâs, and out of all
patience with himself. Mystified he remained throughout, and the edge of
his curiosity held as keen as ever, you may believe.
Consistently the affair presented itself to his fancy in the guise of a
puzzle-picture, which, though you study it never so diligently, remains
incomprehensible, until by chance you view it from an unexpected angle,
when it reveals itself intelligibly. It had not yet been his good fortune
to see it from the right viewpoint. To hold the metaphor, he walked endless
circles round it, patiently seeking, but ever failing to find the proper
perspectiveâŠ. Each incident, however insignificant, in connection with
it, he handled over and over, examining its every facet, bright or dull, as
an expert might inspect a clever imitation of a diamond; and like a perfect
imitation it defied analysis.
Of one or two things he was convinced; for one, that Stryker was a liar
worthy of classification with Calendar and Mrs. Hallam. Kirkwood had
not only the testimony of his sense to assure him that the shipâs name,
Alethea (not a common one, by the bye), had been mentioned by both
Calendar and Mulready during their altercation on Bermondsey Old Stairs,
but he had the confirmatory testimony of the sleepy waterman, William, who
had directed Old Bob and Young William to the anchorage off Bow Creek. That
there should have been two vessels of the same unusual name at one and
the same time in the Port of London, was a coincidence too preposterous
altogether to find place in his calculations.
His second impregnable conclusion was that those whom he sought had boarded
the Alethea, but had left her before she tripped her anchor. That they
were not stowed away aboard her seemed unquestionable. The brigantine was
hardly large enough for the presence of three persons aboard her to be long
kept a secret from an inquisitive fourth,âunless, indeed, they lay in
hiding in the hold; for which, once the ship got under way, there could be
scant excuse. And Kirkwood did not believe himself a person of sufficient
importance in Calendarâs eyes, to make that worthy endure the discomforts
of aâtween-decks imprisonment throughout the voyage, even to escape
recognition.
With every second, then, he was traveling farther from her to whose aid he
had rushed, impelled by motives so hot-headed, so innately, chivalric, so
unthinkingly gallant, so exceptionally idiotic!
Idiot! Kirkwood groaned with despair of his inability to fathom the abyss
of his self-contempt. There seemed to be positively no excuse for him.
Stryker had befriended him indeed, had he permitted him to drown. Yet
he had acted for the best, as he saw it. The fault lay in himself: an
admirable fault, that of harboring and nurturing generous and compassionate
instincts. But, of course, Kirkwood couldnât see it that way.
âWhat else could I do?â he defended himself against the indictment
of common sense. âI couldnât leave her to the mercies of that set of
rogues!⊠And Heaven knows I was given every reason to believe she would
be aboard this ship! Why, she herself told me that she was sailing âŠ!â
Heaven knew, too, that this folly of his had cost him a pretty penny,
first and last. His watch was gone beyond recovery, his homeward passage
forfeited; he no longer harbored illusions as to the steamship company
presenting him with another berth in lieu of that called for by that
water-soaked slip of paper then in his pocketâcourtesy of Stryker. He had
sold for a pittance, a tithe of its value, his personal jewelry, and had
spent every penny he could call his own. With the money Stryker was to give
him he would be able to get back to London and his third-rate hostelry, but
not with enough over to pay that one weekâs room-rent, or âŠ
âOh, the devil!â he groaned, head in hands.
The future loomed wrapped in unspeakable darkness, lightened by no least
ray of hope. It had been bad enough to lose a comfortable living through
a gigantic convulsion of Nature; but to think that he had lost all else
through his own egregious folly, to find himself reduced to the kennelsâ!
So Care found him again in those
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