THE GHOST OF AN OLD RÉGIME
It was a quick, silent struggle. The intruder wore no shoes. It would
be a test of endurance. Fitzgerald recalled some tricks he had learned
in Japan; but even as he stretched out his arm to perform one, the arm
was caught by the wrist, while a second hand passed under his elbow.
"Don't!" he gasped lowly. "I'll give in." His arm would have snapped
if he hadn't spoken.
A muttered oath in German. "Fitzgerald?" came the query, in a whisper.
"Yes. For God's sake, is this you, Breitmann?"
"Sh! Not so loud! What are you doing here?"
"And you?"
"Listen! It has stopped. He has heard our scuffling."
"It seems, then, that we are both here for the same purpose?" said
Fitzgerald, pulling down his cuffs, and running his fingers round his
collar.
"Yes. You came too late or too soon." Breitmann stooped, and ran his
hands over the rug.
The other saw him but dimly. "What's the matter?"
"I have lost one of my studs," with the frugal spirit of his mother's
forebears. "You are stronger than I thought."
"Much obliged."
"It's a good thing you did not get that hold first. You'd have broken
my arm."
"Wouldn't have given in, eh? I simply cried quits in order to start
over again. There's no fair fighting in the dark, you know."
"Well, we have frightened him away. It is too bad."
"What have you on your feet?"
"Felt slippers."
"Are you afraid of the cold?"
A laugh. "Not I!"
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"First to the cellar. Remember that hot-air box from the furnace, that
backs the chimney, way up?"
"I looked only at the bricks."
"We'll go and have a look at that box. It just occurred to me that
there is a cellar window within two feet of that box."
"Let us hurry. Can you find the way?"
"I can try."
"But lights?"
Fitzgerald exhibited his electric pocket lamp. "This will do."
"You Americans!"
After some mistakes they found their way to the cellar. The window was
closed, but not locked, and resting against the wall was a plank. It
leaned obliquely, as if left in a hurry. Fitzgerald took it up, and
bridged between the box and the window ledge. Breitmann gave him a leg
up, and in another moment he was examining the brick wall of the great
chimney under a circular white patch of light. A dozen rows of bricks
had been cleverly loosened. There were also evidences of chalk marks,
something on the order of a diagram; but it was rather uncertain, as it
had been redrawn four or five times. The man hadn't been sure of his
ground.
"Can you see?" asked Fitzgerald.
"Yes." Only Breitmann himself knew what wild rage lay back of that
monosyllable. He was sure now; that diagram brushed away any lingering
doubt. The lock had been trifled with, but the man who had done the
work had not been sure of his dimensions.
"Clever piece of work. Took away the mortar in his pockets; no sign of
it here. The admiral had better send for his bricklayer, for more
reasons than one. There'll be a defective flue presently. Now, what
the devil is the duffer expecting to find?" Fitzgerald coolly turned
the light full into the other's face.
"It is beyond me," with equal coolness; "unless there's a pirate's
treasure behind there." The eyes blinked a little, which was but
natural.
"Pirate's treasure, you say?" Fitzgerald laughed. "That _would_ be a
joke, eh?"
"What now?" For Breitmann thought it best to leave the initiative with
his friend.
"A little run out to the stables," recalling to mind the rumor of the
night before.
"The stables?"
"Why, surely. The fellow never got in here without some local
assistance, and I am rather certain that this comes from the stables.
Besides, no one will be expecting us." He came down agilely.
Breitmann nodded approvingly at the ease with which the other made the
descent. "It would be wiser to leave the cellar by the window," he
suggested.
"My idea, too. We'll make a step out of this board. The stars are
bright enough." Fitzgerald climbed out first, and then gave a hand to
Breitmann.
"I understood there was a burglar alarm in the house."
"Yes; but this very window, being open, probably breaks the circuit.
All cleverly planned. But I'm crazy to learn what he is looking for.
Double your coat over your white shirt."
Breitmann was already proceeding with this task. A dog-trot brought
them into the roadway, but they kept to the grass. They were within a
yard of the stable doors when a hound began bellowing. Breitmann
smothered a laugh and Fitzgerald a curse.
"The quicker we get back to the cellar the better," was the former's
observation.
And they returned at a clip, scrambling into the cellar as quickly and
silently as they could, and made for the upper floors.
"Come into my room," said Fitzgerald; "it's only midnight."
Breitmann agreed. If he had any reluctance, he did not show it.
Fitzgerald produced cigars.
"Do my clothes look anything like yours?" asked Breitmann dryly,
striking a match.
"Possibly."
They looked themselves over for any real damage. There were no rents,
but there were cobwebs on the wool and streaks of coal dust on the
linen.
"We shall have to send our clothes to the village tailor. The
admiral's valet might think it odd."
"Where do you suppose he comes from?"
"I don't care where. What's he after, to take all this trouble?
Something big, I'll warrant."
And then, for a time, they smoked like Turks, in silence.
"By George, it's a good joke; you and I trying to choke each other,
while the real burglar makes off."
"It has some droll sides."
"And you all but broke my arm."
Breitmann chuckled. "You were making the same move. I was quicker,
that was all."
Another pause.
"The admiral has seen some odd corners. Think of seeing, at close
range, the Japanese-Chinese naval fight!"
"He tells a story well."
"And the daughter is a thoroughbred."
"Yes," non-committally.
"By the way, I'm going to the Pole in June or August."
"The Italian expedition?"
"Yes."
"That ought to make fine copy. You will not mind if I turn in? A bit
sleepy."
"Not at all. Shall we tell the admiral?"
"The first thing in the morning. Good night."
Fitzgerald finished his cigar, and went to bed also. "Interesting old
place," wadding a pillow under his ear. "More interesting to-morrow."
Some time earlier, the individual who was the cause of this nocturnal
exploit hurried down the hill, nursing a pair of skinned palms, and
laughing gently to himself.
"Checkmate! I shall try the other way."
On the morrow, Fitzgerald recounted the adventure in a semi-humorous
fashion, making a brisk melodrama out of it, to the quiet amusement of
his small audience.
"I shall send for the mason this morning," said the admiral. "I've
been dreaming of _The Black Cat_ and all sorts of horrible things. I
hate like sixty to spoil the old chimney, but we can't have this going
on. We'll have it down at once. A fire these days is only a nice
touch to the mahogany."
"But you must tell him to put back every brick in its place," said
Laura. "I could not bear to have anything happen to that chimney. All
the same, I am glad the matter is going to be cleared up. It has been
nerve-racking; and I have been all alone, waiting for I know not what."
"You haven't been afraid?" said Fitzgerald.
"I'm not sure that I haven't." She sighed.
"Nonsense!" cried the admiral.
"I am not afraid of anything I can see; but I do not like the dark; I
do not like mysteries."
"You're the bravest girl I know, Laura," her father declared. "Now,
Mr. Breitmann, if you don't mind."
"Shall we begin at once, sir?"
"You will copy some of my notes, to begin with. Any time you're in
doubt over a word, speak to me. There will not be much outside of
manuscript work. Most of my mail is sorted at my bankers, and only
important letters forwarded. There may be a social note occasionally.
Do you read and write English as well as you speak it?"
"Oh, yes."
Laura invited Fitzgerald to the tennis court.
"In these shoes?" he protested.
"They will not matter; it is a cement court."
"But I shan't look the game. Tennis without flannels is like duck
without apples."
"Bother! We'll play till the mason comes up. And mind your game.
I've been runner-up in a dozen tournaments."
And he soon found that she had not overrated her skill. She served
strongly, volleyed beautifully, and darted across the court with a
fleetness and a surety both delightful to observe. So interested were
they in the battle that they forgot all about the mason, till the
butler came out, and announced that the desecration had begun.
In fact the broad marble top was on the floor, and the room full of
impalpable dust. The admiral and the secretary were gravely stacking
the bricks, one by one, as they came out.
"Found anything?" asked the girl breathlessly.
"Not yet; but Mr. Donovan here has just discovered a hollow space above
the mantel line."
The admiral sneezed.
Mr. Donovan, in his usual free and happy way, drew out two bricks, and
dropped them on the polished floor.
"There's your holler, sir," he said, dusting his hands.
Unbidden, Breitmann pushed his hand into the cavity. His arm went down
to the elbow, and he was forced to stand on tiptoe. He was pale when
he withdrew his arm, but in his hand was a square metal case, about the
size and shape of a cigar box.
"By cracky! What's the matter, Mr. Breitmann?" The admiral stepped
forward solicitously.
Breitmann swayed, and fell against the side of the fireplace. "It is
nothing; lost my balance for a moment. Will you open it, sir?"
"Lost his balance?" muttered Fitzgerald. "He looks groggy. Why?"
This was not a time for speculation. All rushed after the admiral, who
laid the case on his desk, and took out his keys. None of them would
turn in the ancient lock. With an impatient gesture, which escaped the
others, the secretary seized Mr. Donovan's hammer, inserted the claw
between the lock and the catch, and gave a powerful wrench. The lid
fell back, crooked and scarred.
The admiral put on his Mandarin spectacles. With his hands behind his
back, he bent and critically examined the contents. Then, very
carefully, he extracted a packet of papers, yellow and old, bound with
heavy cording. Beneath this packet was a medal of the Legion of Honor,
some rose leaves, and a small glove.
"Know what I think?" said the admiral, stilling the shake in his voice.
"This belonged to that mysterious Frenchman who lived here eighty years
ago. I'll wager that medal cost some blood. By cracky, what a find!"
"And the poor little glove and the rose leaves!" murmured the girl, in
pity. "It seems like a crime to disturb them."
"We shan't, my child. Our midnight friend wasn't digging yonder for
faded keepsakes. These papers are the things." The admiral cut the
string, and opened one of the documents. "H'm! Written in French. So
is this," looking at another, "and this. Here, Laura, cast your eye
over these, and tell us why some one was hunting for them."
Fitzgerald eyed Breitmann thoughtfully. The whole countenance of the
man had changed. Indeed, it resembled another face he had seen
somewhere; and it grew in his mind, slowly but surely, as dawn grows,
that Breitmann was not wholly ignorant in this affair. He had not
known who had been working at night; but that dizziness of the moment
gone, the haste in opening the case, the eagerness of the search last
night; all these, to Fitzgerald's mind, pointed to one thing: Breitmann
knew.
"I shall watch him."
Laura read the documents to herself first. Here and there was a word
which confused her; but she gathered the full sense of the remarkable
story. Her eyes shone like winter stars.
"Father!" she cried, dropping the papers, and spreading out her arms.
"Father, it's the greatest thing in the world. A treasure!"
"What's that, Laura?" straining his ears.
"A treasure, hidden by the soldiers of Napoleon; put together, franc by
franc, in the hope of some day rescuing the emperor from St. Helena.
It is romance! A real treasure of two millions of francs!" clapping
her hands.
"Where?" It was Breitmann who spoke. His voice was not clear.
"Corsica!"
"Corsica!" The admiral laughed like a child. Right under his very
nose all these years, and he cruising all over the chart! "Laura,
dear, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't take the yacht
and go and dig up this pretty sum."
"No reason in the world!" But the secretary did not pronounce these
words aloud.
"A telegram for you, sir," said the butler, handing the yellow envelope
to Fitzgerald.
"Will you pardon me?" he said drawing off to a window.
"Go ahead," said the admiral, fingering the medal of the Legion of
Honor.
Fitzgerald read:
"Have made inquiries. Your man never applied to any of the
metropolitan dailies. Few ever heard of him."
He jammed the message into a pocket, and returned to the group about
the case. Where should he begin? Breitmann had lied.