The Black Bag by Louis Joseph Vance (best manga ereader .TXT) đ
- Author: Louis Joseph Vance
- Performer: -
Book online «The Black Bag by Louis Joseph Vance (best manga ereader .TXT) đ». Author Louis Joseph Vance
no importance whatever, since his end was gained and the pursuing cab had
been shut off by the blockade.
In Calendarâs driver, however, he had an adversary of abilities by no means
to be despised. Precisely how the man contrived it, is a question; that he
made a detour by way of Derby Street is not improbable, unpleasant as it
may have been for Stryker and Calendar to find themselves in such close
proximity to âthe Yard.â At all events, he evaded the block, and hardly
had the chase swung across Bridge Street, than the pursuer was nimbly
clattering in its wake.
Past the Houses of Parliament, through Old Palace Yard, with the Abbey on
their left, they swung away into Abingdon Street, whence suddenly they
dived into the maze of backways, great and mean, which lies to the south of
Victoria. Doubling and twisting, now this way, now that, the driver tooled
them through the intricate heart of this labyrinth, leading the pursuers
a dance that Kirkwood thought calculated to dishearten and shake off the
pursuit in the first five minutes. Yet always, peering back through the
little peephole, he saw Calendarâs cab pelting doggedly in their rearâa
hundred yards behind, no more, no less, hanging on with indomitable grit
and determination.
By degrees they drew westwards, threading Pimlico, into Chelseaâonce
dashing briefly down the Grosvenor Road, the Thames a tawny flood beyond
the river wall.
Children cheered them on, and policemen turned to stare, doubting whether
they should interfere. Minutes rolled into tens, measuring out an hour;
and still they hammered on, hunted and hunters, playing their game of
hare-and-hounds through the highways and byways of those staid and aged
quarters.
In the leading cab there were few words spoken. Kirkwood and Dorothy alike
sat spellbound with the fascination of the game; if it is conceivable
that the fox enjoys his part in the dayâs sport, then they were enjoying
themselves. Now one spoke, now anotherâchiefly in the clipped phraseology,
of excitement. Asâ
âWeâre gaining?â
âYesâthink so.â
Or, âWeâll tire them out?â
âSure-ly.â
âThey canât catch us, can they, Philip?â
âNever in the world.â
But he spoke with a confidence that he himself did not feel, for hope as
he would he could never see that the distance between the two had been
materially lessened or increased. Their horses seemed most evenly matched.
The sun was very low behind the houses of the Surrey Side when Kirkwood
became aware that their horse was flagging, though (as comparison
determined) no more so than the one behind.
In grave concern the young man raised his hand, thrusting open the trap
in the roof. Immediately the square of darkling sky was eclipsed by the
cabbyâs face.
âYessir?â
âYou had better drive as directly as you can to the Hotel Pless,â Kirkwood
called up. âIâm afraid itâs no use pushing your horse like this.â
âIâm sure of it, sir. âEâs a good âoss, âe is, but âe carnât keep goinâ for
hever, you know, sir.â
âI know. Youâve done very well; youâve done your best.â
âVery good, sir. The Pless, you said, sir? Right.â
The trap closed.
Two blocks farther, and their pace had so sensibly moderated that Kirkwood
was genuinely alarmed. The pursuing cabby was lashing his animal without
mercy, while, âIt arenât no use my wâippinâ âim, sir,â dropped through the
trap. ââEâs doing orl âe can.â
âI understand.â
Despondent recklessness tightened Kirkwoodâs lips and kindled an unpleasant
light in his eyes. He touched his side pocket; Calendarâs revolver was
still thereâŠ. Dorothy should win away clear, ifâif he swung for it.
He bent forward with the traveling bag in his hands.
âWhat are you going to do?â The girlâs voice was very tremulous.
âStand a chance, take a losing hazard. Can you run? Youâre not too tired?â
âI can runâperhaps not farâa little way, at least.â
âAnd will you do as I say?â
Her eyes met his, unwavering, bespeaking her implicit faith.
âPromise!â
âI promise.â
âWeâll have to drop off in a minute. The horse wonât lastâŠ. Theyâre in
the same box. Well, I undertake to stand âem off for a bit; you take the
bag and run for it. Just as soon as I can convince them, Iâll follow, but
if thereâs any delay, you call the first cab you see and drive to the
Pless. Iâll join you there.â
He stood up, surveying the neighborhood. Behind him the girl lifted her
voice in protest.
âNo, Philip, no!â
âYouâve promised,â he said sternly, eyes ranging the street.
âI donât care; I wonât leave you.â
He shook his head in silent contradiction, frowning; but not frowning
because of the girlâs mutiny. He was a little puzzled by a vague
impression, and was striving to pin it down for recognition; but was so
thoroughly bemused with fatigue and despair that only with great difficulty
could he force his faculties to logical reasoning, his memory to respond to
his call upon it.
The hansom was traversing a street in Old Bromptonâa quaint, prim by-way
lined with dwellings singularly Old-Worldish, even for London. He seemed
to know it subjectively, to have retained a memory of it from another
existence: as the stage setting of a vivid dream, all forgotten, will
sometimes recur with peculiar and exasperating intensity, in broad
daylight. The houses, with their sloping, red-tiled roofs, unexpected
gables, spontaneous dormer windows, glass panes set in leaded frames, red
brick faïżœades trimmed with green shutters and doorsteps of white stone,
each sitting back, sedate and self-sufficient, in its trim dooryard fenced
off from the public thoroughfare: all wore an aspect hauntingly familiar,
and yet strange.
A corner sign, remarked in passing, had named the spot âAspen Villasâ;
though he felt he knew the sound of those syllables as well as he did
the name of the Pless, strive as he might he failed to make them convey
anything tangible to his intelligence. When had he heard of it? At what
time had his errant footsteps taken him through this curious survival of
Eighteenth Century London?
Not that it mattered when. It could have no possible bearing on the
emergency. He really gave it little thought; the mental processes recounted
were mostly subconscious, if none the less real. His objective attention
was wholly preoccupied with the knowledge that Calendarâs cab was drawing
perilously near. And he was debating whether or not they should alight
at once and try to make a better pace afoot, when the decision was taken
wholly out of his hands.
Blindly staggering on, wilted with weariness, the horse stumbled in the
shafts and plunged forward on its knees. Quick as the driver was to pull it
up, with a cruel jerk of the bits, Kirkwood was caught unprepared; lurching
against the dashboard, he lost his footing, grasped frantically at the
unstable air, and went over, bringing up in a sitting position in the
gutter, 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.
âNo,â he gasped; ânot hurtâonly surprised. WaitâŠ.â
Their cab had come to a complete standstill; Calendarâs was no more than
twenty yards behind, and as Kirkwood caught sight of him the fat adventurer
was in the act of lifting himself ponderously out of the seat.
Incontinently the young man turned to the girl and forced the traveling-bag
into her hands.
âRun for it!â he begged her. âDonât stop to argue. You promisedârun! Iâll
comeâŠ.â
âPhilip!â she pleaded.
âDorothy!â he cried in torment.
Perhaps it was his unquestionable distress that weakened her. Suddenly she
yieldedâwith whatever reason. He was only hazily aware of the swish of her
skirts behind him; he had no time to look round and see that she got away
safely. He had only eyes and thoughts for Calendar and Stryker.
They were both afoot, now, and running toward him, the one as awkward as
the other, but neither yielding a jot of their malignant purpose. He held
the 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 with
the exertion, his fat head dropped forward as if too heavy for his neck of
a bull, his small eyes bright with anger; Stryker shying off at a discreet
angle, evidently with the intention of devoting himself to the capture of
the girl; the two cabs with their dejected screws, at rest in the middle of
the quiet, twilit street. He seemed even to see himself, standing stockily
prepared, hands in his coat pockets, his own head inclined with a
suggestion of pugnacity.
To this mental photograph another succeeds, of the same scene an instant
later; all as it had been before, their relative positions unchanged, save
that Stryker and Calendar had come to a dead stop, and that Kirkwoodâs
right arm was lifted and extended, pointing at the captain.
So forgetful of self was he, that it required a momentâs thought to
convince him that he was really responsible for the abrupt transformation.
Incredulously he realized that he had drawn Calendarâs revolver and pulled
Stryker up short, in mid-stride, by the mute menace of it, as much as by
his hoarse cry of warning:
âStrykerânot another footââ
With this there chimed in Dorothyâs voice, ringing bell-clear from a little
distance:
âPhilip!â
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 a
man of tall and slender figure, rigged out in a bizarre costume consisting
mainly of a flowered dressing-gown and slippers, was waiting in an attitude
of singular impassivity; within it, pausing with a foot lifted to the
doorstep, bag in hand, her head turned as she looked back, was Dorothy.
[Illustration: A costume consisting mainly of a flowered dressing-gown and
slippers.]
As he comprehended these essential details of the composition, the man in
the flowered dressing-gown raised a hand, beckoning to him in a manner as
imperative as his accompanying words.
âKirkwood!â he saluted the young man in a clear and vibrant voice, âput
up that revolver and stop this foolishness.â And, with a jerk of his
head towards the doorway, in which Dorothy now waited, hesitant: âCome,
sirâquickly!â
Kirkwood choked on a laugh that was half a sob. âBrentwick!â he cried,
restoring the weapon to his pocket and running toward his friend. âOf all
happy accidents!â
âYou may call it that,â retorted the elder man with a fleeting smile as
Kirkwood slipped inside the dooryard. âCome,â he said; âletâs get into the
house.â
âBut you saidâI thought you went to Munich,â stammered Kirkwood; and so
thoroughly impregnated was his mind with this understanding that it was
hard for him to adjust his perceptions to the truth.
âI was detainedâby business,â responded Brentwick briefly. His gaze, weary
and wistful behind his glasses, rested on the face of the girl on the
threshold 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. âWill you be pleased to
enter?â he suggested punctiliously. âMy house, such as it is, is quite at
your disposal. And,â he added, with a glance over his shoulder, âI fancy
that a word or two may presently be passed which you would hardly care to
hear.â
Dorothyâs hesitation
Comments (0)