The Black Bag

The Black Bag

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Title: The Black Bag
Author: Louis Joseph Vance
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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