The Black Bag Part 52

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

With a smothered e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n Kirkwood leaped to his feet, tugging at the weapon in his pocket. In another instant he had the revolver exposed.

The girl's cry of alarm, interrupting the machinist, fixed Brentwick's attention on the young man. He, too, stood up, reaching over very quickly, to clamp strong supple fingers round Kirkwood's wrist, while with the other hand 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 pa.s.sion.

"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 no better 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 Brentwick scathingly. Hastily he slipped the revolver upon a little shelf beneath the table-top. "Sir!" he informed Kirkwood with some heat, "I love you as my own son, but you're a young fool!... as I have been, in my time ... and as I would to Heaven I might be again! Be advised, Philip,--be calm. Can't you see 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 a cheerful 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 own satisfaction, his quick eyes darting from face to face of the four people whom he had caught so unexpectedly. A shade of complacency colored his expression, and he smiled evilly beneath the coa.r.s.e short thatch of his gray mustache. In his hand a revolver appeared, poised for immediate use if there were need.

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

Nearest of the four to the adventurers was Charles, the mechanician, paused in affrighted astonishment at sight of the revolver. Calendar, choosing to advance suddenly, poked the muzzle of the weapon jocularly in the man's ribs. "Beat it, Four-eyes!" he snapped. "This is your cue to duck! Get out of 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 the fat adventurer's scorn.

"Come right in, Cap'n," Calendar threw over one shoulder; "come in, shut the 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 airily twirling his revolver.

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_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 advise you--"

"Gladly," nodded Brentwick.

"Eh?... Don't come a second time between father and daughter; another man might 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 this instance." Then, with a sharp change of tone, "Come, sir!" he demanded.

"You have unwarrantably intruded in this room, which I have engaged for my private use. Get through with your business and be off with you."

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

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

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

To Kirkwood's intense disgust Brentwick quietly slipped one hand beneath the table and, placing the revolver on its top, delicately with his finger-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 to face. "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 kind gentlemen."

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

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

"I heard you," she replied a little wearily, more than a little contemptuously. "Don't mind him, please, Mr. Kirkwood!"--with an appealing gesture, as Kirkwood, unable to contain himself, moved restlessly in his chair, threatening to rise. "Don't say anything. I have no intention whatever 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 a moment, with slow deliberation, "you're aware that, as your father, I am in a position to compel you to accompany me."

"I shall not go with you," iterated Dorothy in a level tone. "You may threaten me, but--I shall not go. Mr. Brentwick and Mr. Kirkwood are taking me to--friends, who will give me a home until I can find a way to take care of 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, to Dorothy, "You understand, I trust, what this means?" he demanded. "I offer you 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 be kind 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. Do you know that he hasn't a bra.s.s 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, I can't consent to your marrying nothing-a-year.... For I surmise you intend to marry this Mr. Kirkwood, don't you?"

There followed a little interval of silence, while the warm blood flamed in the 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 sought her eyes, but she looked away.

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

"But you won't," Kirkwood told him with a.s.surance.

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's blessing into the bargain. The Lord knows I've troubles enough; a parent's lot is not what it's cracked up to be." He paused, leering, ironic.