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The canting phrases wearied Kirkwood; abruptly he cut in. "Would a sovereign help you out, Mr. Calendar? I don't mind telling you that's about the limit of my present resources." "Pardon me." Mr. Calendar's moon-like countenance darkened; he assumed a transparent dignity. "You misconstrue my motive, sir." "Then I'm sorry." "I am not here to borrow.
"I think I've shown that by my pertinacity in hunting you down." "Well yes." Calendar's thick fingers caressed his lips, trying to hide the dawning smile. "Is that offer still open?" His nonchalance completely restored by the very naivete of the proposition, Calendar laughed openly and with a trace of irony. The episode seemed to be turning out better than he had anticipated.
Their cab had come to a complete standstill; Calendar's 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. "Run for it!" he begged her. "Don't stop to argue. You promised run! I'll come...."
Yet always, peering back through the little peephole, he saw Calendar's cab pelting doggedly in their rear a hundred yards behind, no more, no less, hanging on with indomitable grit and determination. By degrees they drew westwards, threading Pimlico, into Chelsea once dashing briefly down the Grosvenor Road, the Thames a tawny flood beyond the river wall.
He was not advised as to the Belgian code, but English law, he understood, made no allowance for the good intent of those caught in possession of stolen property; though he was acting with the most honorable motives in the world, the law, if he came within its cognizance, would undoubtedly place him on Calendar's plane and judge him by the same standard.
At the outset her brows contracted and she shook her head in gentle dissent; whereupon Calendar's manner became more imperative. Gradually, unwillingly, she seemed to yield consent. Once she caught her breath sharply, and, infected by her companion's agitation, sat back, color fading again in the round young cheeks. Kirkwood's waiter put in an inopportune appearance with the bill.
Mulready betrayed some agitation at the sight of Calendar, and told me that Scotland Yard had a man out with a warrant for Calendar's arrest, on old charges. For old sake's sake, Mr. Mulready begged me to give Calendar a word of warning. I did so foolishly, it seems: Calendar was at that moment planning to rob us, Mulready aiding and abetting him."
Kirkwood, hanging breathlessly over the guard-rail, could hear their footfalls ringing in hollow rhythm on the planks of the inclined way, could even discern Calendar's unlovely profile in dim relief beneath one of the waterside lights; and he recognized unmistakably Mulready's deep voice, grumbling inarticulately.
There was a second sob, of another caliber than the first; timid fingers brushed his, and a hand, warm and fragile, closed upon his own in a passion of relief and gratitude. "Oh, I am so g-glad!" It was Dorothy Calendar's voice, beyond mistake.
None the less he was moved to stand up in the tonneau, conscious of the presence of the traveling bag, snug between his feet, as well as of the weight of Calendar's revolver in his pocket, while he stared back along the road. There was nothing to be seen of their persecutors. The car continued to crawl. Five minutes dragged out tediously.
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