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Updated: June 25, 2025
'There hasn't been time, he said. 'Oh, Charles, it only takes a minute. 'Well, run home quickly. This bag's a nuisance, he said, but he looked at it tenderly. How he had dogged that bag! How heavy it had seemed for her! 'Look here, I'll take it home and get it to you to-morrow somehow. 'I don't want it. I hate it.
Bart needed no second request, for he was quite as hungry as his mates. But when he picked up the canvas wrapper in which the food had been stored he dropped it with a startled exclamation. "What's the matter?" cried Frank. "Matter enough," replied Bart. "The bag's empty. There isn't a blessed thing in it."
She kept this little feeling of exploration close about her, as they left the car, a block above the green trees of the plaza, and entered one of the narrow streets that was not even a cross-street, but an alley, running to a bag's end, with balconies, green railings and narcissi taking the sun.
Never mind, though let 'em keep on! Let them just continue their hounding game, and see which comes up on top when the bag's shook. If more than one of 'em don't get their fingers burned when they snatch Deadwood Dick bald-headed, why I'm a Spring creek sucker, that's all.
That's his life-preserver; but no one can make out what this little thick velvet bag's for, with the two holes and the elawstic round each. Perhaps you can give a guess, sir?" Raffles had taken up the bag that he had invented for the noiseless filing of keys.
It was a photograph of Isabel Perry, an Isabel somewhat younger than the girl he knew, but Isabel indubitably Isabel! Another dive into the bag's recesses brought up the photograph of Edith Congdon that had been snatched from the frame in the Bailey Harbor cottage. This was explicable enough, but the likeness of Isabel in Congdon's satchel was utterly inexplicable and astounding.
There was a bowler of a vulgar and antiquated style; there was a ready-made overcoat of some dark cloth, of the kind that a clerk wears on the road to the office; there was a pair of detachable celluloid cuffs, and there was a linen collar and dickie. Also there was a small handcase, such as bagmen carry on their rounds. 'That's your luggage, said Amos with pride. 'That wee bag's full of samples.
Who, in short, is going to get off with it?" "First to the stockbroker's, then to a bank or two, I've known it three even; then a taxi down East, and a call at certain addresses. The bag's with 'em, Sergeant, and at each call it gets heavier. I've seen it swell, so to speak." "Who in hell are you?" the Sergeant grunted huskily. "Names later after the usual guarantees of good faith."
Hold on, I says; 'take me hat and let me have yours, for I don't git a good hat every day, and the bag's that dirty it'll spile it. "'Go on, he says; 'I've carried it all the way from the yard and me back's broke. Well, I pulled his hat ever me eyes and started up the stairs wid the bag on me shoulder.
He also found a note addressed to Bill Rogers, which he read, and again ejaculated, "I'll be blanked!" adding to it, however, the comment, "A square boarding master." Then he punched and felt of the bag's contents, and smiled. Donning the guernsey and jacket, he went on deck just in time to meet a big, bearded man who was hurrying to the forecastle door.
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