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THE BLACK BAG


By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THOMAS FOGARTY


1908




TO MY MOTHER




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

    I. DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN

   II. "AND SOME THERE BE WHO HAVE ADVENTURES THRUST UPON THEM"

  III. CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER

   IV. 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C.

    V. THE MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER

   VI. "BELOW BRIDGE"

  VII. DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN--RESUMED

 VIII. MADAME L'INTRIGANTE

   IX. AGAIN "BELOW BRIDGE"; AND BEYOND

    X. DESPERATE MEASURES

   XI. OFF THE NORE

  XII. PICARESQUE PASSAGES

 XIII. A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME

  XIV. STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS

   XV. REFUGEES

  XVI. TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON

 XVII. ROGUES AND VAGABONDS

XVIII. ADVENTURERS' LUCK

  XIX. i--THE UXBRIDGE ROAD

      ii--THE CROWN AND MITRE

     iii--THE JOURNEY'S END


THE BLACK BAG




I


DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN

Upon a certain dreary April afternoon in the year of grace, 1906, the
apprehensions of Philip Kirkwood, Esquire, _Artist-peintre_, were enlivened
by the discovery that he was occupying that singularly distressing social
position, which may be summed up succinctly in a phrase through long usage
grown proverbial: "Alone in London." These three words have come to connote
in our understanding so much of human misery, that to Mr. Kirkwood they
seemed to epitomize absolutely, if not happily, the various circumstances
attendant upon the predicament wherein he found himself. Inevitably an
extremist, because of his youth, (he had just turned twenty-five), he
took no count of mitigating matters, and would hotly have resented the
suggestion that his case was anything but altogether deplorable and
forlorn.

That he was not actually at the end of his resources went for nothing; he
held the distinction a quibble, mockingly immaterial,--like the store of
guineas in his pocket, too insignificant for mention when contrasted with
his needs. And his base of supplies, the American city of his nativity,
whence--and not without a glow of pride in his secret heart--he was wont to
register at foreign hostelries, had been arbitrarily cut off from him by
one of those accidents sardonically classified by insurance and express
corporations as Acts of God.

Now to one who has lived all his days serenely in accord with the dictates
of his own sweet will, taking no thought for the morrow, such a situation
naturally seems both appalling and intolerable, at the first blush. It must
be confessed that, to begin with, Kirkwood drew a long and disconsolate
face over his fix. And in that black hour, primitive of its kind in his
brief span, he became conscious of a sinister apparition taking shape at
his elbow--a shade of darkness which, clouting him on the back with a
skeleton hand, croaked hollow salutations in his ear.

"Come, Mr. Kirkwood, come!" its mirthless accents rallied him. "Have you
no welcome for me?--you, who have been permitted to live the quarter of a
century without making my acquaintance? Surely, now, it's high time we were
learning something of one another, you and I!" "But I don't understand,"
returned Kirkwood blankly. "I don't know you--"

"True! But you shall: I am the Shade of Care--"

"Dull Care!" murmured Kirkwood, bewildered and dismayed; for the visitation
had come upon him with little presage and no invitation whatever.

"Dull Care," the Shade assured him. "Dull Care am I--and Care that's
anything but dull, into the bargain: Care that's like a keen pain in your
body, Care that lives a horror in your mind, Care that darkens your days
and flavors with bitter poison all your nights, Care that--"

But Kirkwood would not listen further. Courageously submissive to his
destiny, knowing in his heart that the Shade had come to