The Black Bag | Page 9

three. Instinctively he looked at the table they had
left--one placed at some distance from the girl, and hidden from her by
an angle in the wall. It appeared that the third member had chosen to
dally a few moments over his tobacco and a liqueur-brandy. Kirkwood
could see him plainly, lounging in his chair and fumbling the stem of a
glass: a heavy man, of somber habit, his black and sullen brows

lowering and thoughtful above a face boldly handsome.
The woman of the trio was worthy of closer attention. Some paces in
the wake of her lack-luster esquire, she was making a leisurely progress,
trailing the skirts of a gown magnificent beyond dispute, half concealed
though it was by the opera cloak whose soft folds draped her shoulders.
Slowly, carrying her head high, she approached, insolent eyes
reviewing the room from beneath their heavy lids; a metallic and
mature type of dark beauty, supremely selfconfident and
self-possessed.
Men turned involuntarily to look after her, not altogether in undiluted
admiration.
In the act of passing behind the putative Calendar, she paused
momentarily, bending as if to gather up her train. Presumably the
action disturbed her balance; she swayed a little, and in the effort to
recover, rested the tips of her gloved fingers upon the edge of the table.
Simultaneously (Kirkwood could have sworn) a single word left her
lips, a word evidently pitched for the ear of the hypothetical Calendar
alone. Then she swept on, imperturbable, assured.
To the perplexed observer it was indubitably evident that some
communication had passed from the woman to the man. Kirkwood saw
the fat shoulders of the girl's companion stiffen suddenly as the
woman's hand rested at his elbow; as she moved away, a little rippling
shiver was plainly visible in the muscles of his back, beneath his
coat--mute token of relaxing tension. An instant later one plump and
mottled hand was carelessly placed where the woman's had been; and
was at once removed with fingers closed.
To the girl, watching her face covertly, Kirkwood turned for clue to the
incident. He made no doubt that she had observed the passage; proof of
that one found in her sudden startling pallor (of indignation?) and in her
eyes, briefly alight with some inscrutable emotion, though quickly
veiled by lowered lashes. Slowly enough she regained color and
composure, while her _vis-à-vis_ sat motionless, head inclined as if in
thought.

Abruptly the man turned in his chair to summon a waiter, and exposed
his profile. Kirkwood was in no wise amazed to recognize Calendar--a
badly frightened Calendar now, however, and hardly to be identified
with the sleek, glib fellow who had interviewed Kirkwood in the
afternoon. His flabby cheeks were ashen and trembling, and upon the
back of his chair the fat white fingers were drumming incessantly an
inaudible tattoo of shattered nerves.
"Scared silly!" commented Kirkwood. "Why?" Having spoken to his
waiter, Calendar for some seconds raked the room with quick glances,
as if seeking an acquaintance. Presumably disappointed, he swung back
to face the girl, bending forward to reach her ears with accents
low-pitched and confidential. She, on her part, fell at once attentive,
grave and responsive. Perhaps a dozen sentences passed between them.
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. The
young man paid it. When he looked up again Calendar had swung
squarely about in his chair. His eye encountered Kirkwood's. He
nodded pleasantly. Temporarily confused, Kirkwood returned the nod.
In a twinkling he had repented; Calendar had left his chair and was
wending his way through the tables toward Kirkwood's. Reaching it, he
paused, offering the hand of genial fellowship. Kirkwood accepted it
half-heartedly (what else was he to do?) remarking at the same time
that Calendar had recovered much of his composure. There was now a
normal coloring in the heavily jowled countenance, with less glint of
fear in the quick, dark eyes; and Calendar's hand, even if moist and
cold, no longer trembled. Furthermore it was immediately
demonstrated that his impudence had not deserted him.
"Why, Kirkwood, my dear fellow!" he crowed--not so loudly as to
attract attention, but in a tone assumed to divert suspicion, should he be
overheard. "This is great luck, you know--to find you here."

"Is it?" returned Kirkwood coolly. He disengaged his fingers.
The pink plump face was contorted in a furtive grimace of deprecation.
Without waiting for permission Calendar dropped into the vacant chair.
"My dear sir," he proceeded, unabashed, "I throw myself