The Black Bag Part 32

More slowly now, the wind falling, the brigantine crept up the river, her crew alert with sheets and halyards as the devious windings of the stream rendered it necessary to trim the canvas at varying angles to catch the wind.

Slowly, too, in the shadow of that Mechlin spire, the horizon grew rough and elevated, taking shape in the serrated profile of a thousand gables and a hundred towers and cross-crowned steeples.

Once or twice, more and more annoyed as the time of their a.s.sociation seemed to grow more brief, Kirkwood approached the captain; but Stryker continued to be exhaustively absorbed in the performance of his duties.

Up past the dockyards, where spidery masts stood in dense groves about painted funnels, and men swarmed over huge wharves like ants over a crust of 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 windla.s.s began to clank like a mad thing and her anchor bit the riverbed, near the left bank, between old Forts Isabelle and Tete de Flandre, frowned upon from the right by the grim pile of the age-old Steen castle.

And again Kirkwood sought Stryker, his carking query ready on his lips. But the captain impatiently waved him aside.

"Don't you bother me now, me lud juke! Wyte until I gets done with the custom hofficer."

Kirkwood acceded, perforce; and bided his time with what tolerance he could muster.

A pluttering customs launch bustled up to the _Alethea's_ side, discharged a fussy inspector on the brigantine's deck, and panted impatiently until he, the examination concluded without delay, was again aboard.

Stryker, smirking benignly and ma.s.saging his lips with the back of his hand, followed the official on deck, nodded to Kirkwood an intimation that he was prepared to accord him an audience, and strolled forward to the waist. The American, mastering his resentment, meekly followed; one can not well 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 pa.s.senger.

"Now, yer r'yal 'ighness, wot can I do for you afore you goes ash.o.r.e?"

"I think you must have forgotten," said Kirkwood quietly. "I hate to trouble you, but--there's that matter of four pounds."

Stryker's face was expressive only of mystified vacuity. "Four quid? I dunno _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. Stryker smiled cheerfully. "Garn with you!" he chuckled. "You will 'ave yer little joke, 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 four pounds and let's have no more nonsense; or else hand over my things at once."

"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 pa.s.syge; I thought you understood."

"My pa.s.sage! But I can come across by steamer for thirty shillings, first-cla.s.s--"

"Aw, but them steamers! Tricky, they is, and unsyfe ... No, yer gryce, the W. Stryker Packet Line Lim'ted, London to Antwerp, charges four pounds per pa.s.syge and no reduction for return fare."

Stunned by his effrontery, Kirkwood stared in silence.

"Any complynts," continued the captain, looking over Kirkwood's head, "must be lyde afore the Board of Directors in writin' not more'n thirty dyes arfter--"

"You d.a.m.ned 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 the captain lurched by, following his wasted blow, and with a dexterous twist laid him flat on his back, with a sounding thump upon the deck. And as the infuriated scamp rose--which he did with a bound that placed him on his feet and in defensive posture; as though the deck had been a spring-board--Kirkwood leaped back, seized a capstan-bar, and faced him with 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's better," he continued as the captain, caving, dropped his fists and moved uneasily back. "Now give that boatman money for taking me ash.o.r.e. Yes, I'm going--and if we ever meet again, take the other side of the way, Stryker!"

Without response, a grim smile wreathing his thin, hard lips, Stryker thrust one hand into his pocket, and withdrawing a coin, tossed it to the waiting waterman. Whereupon Kirkwood backed warily to the rail, abandoned the 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 _bon voyage_.

"By-by, yer hexcellency. I 'opes it may soon be my pleasure to meet you again. You've been a real privilege to know; I've henjoyed yer comp'ny somethin' immense. Don't know as I ever met such a rippin', Ay Number One, all-round, entertynin' a.s.s, 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 of each eye tears of grief at parting. Then, as the boat swung toward the farther sh.o.r.e, Kirkwood's back was to the brigantine, and he was little tempted to turn and invite fresh shafts of ridicule.

Rapidly, as he was ferried across the busy Scheldt, the white blaze of his pa.s.sion cooled; but the biting irony of his estate ate, corrosive, into his soul. Hollow-eyed he glared vacantly into s.p.a.ce, pale lips unmoving, his features wasted with despair.

They came to the landing-stage and swung broad-side on. Mechanically the American got up and disembarked. As heedless of time and place he moved up the Quai to the gangway and so gained the esplanade; where pausing he thrust 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 made softly musical by the pealing of a distant chime, calling vespers to its brothers in Antwerp's hundred belfries; and one by one, far and near, the responses broke out, until it seemed as if the world must be vibrant with silver and brazen melody; until at the last the great bells in the Cathedral spire stirred and grumbled drowsily, then woke to such ringing resonance as dwarfed all the rest and made it seem as nothing.

Like the beating of a mighty heart heard through the rushing clamor of the pulses, a single deep-throated bell boomed solemnly six heavy, rumbling strokes.

Six o'clock! Kirkwood roused out of his dour brooding. The Amsterdam express would leave at 6:32, and he knew not from what station.

Striding swiftly across the promenade, he entered a small tobacco shop and made inquiry of the proprietress. His command of French was tolerable; he experienced no difficulty in comprehending the good woman's instructions.

Trains for Amsterdam, she said, left from the Gare Centrale, a mile or so across the city. M'sieur had plenty of time, and to spare. There was the tram line, if m'sieur did not care to take a fiacre. If he would go by way of 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 this courtesy with the most trifling purchase; such slight matters annoyed Kirkwood intensely. Perhaps it was well for him that he had the long walk to help him work off the fit of nervous exasperation into which he was plunged every time his thoughts harked back to that jovial black-guard, Stryker.... He was quite calm when, after a brisk walk of some fifteen minutes, he reached the station.

A public clock rea.s.sured him with the information that he had the quarter of an hour's leeway; it was only seventeen minutes past eighteen o'clock (Belgian railway time, always confusing). Inquiring his way to the Amsterdam train, which was already waiting at the platform, he paced its length, peering brazenly in at the coach windows, now warm with hope, now shivering 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 even remotely resembling the fat adventurer, his daughter, or Mulready.