cunning which lurked behind those pleasantly curving lips.
"First tell me that you are glad to see me! I have come many leagues to
hear those words, Maria!"
"Why.... Why,... of course, I am always glad to see you, cousin."
He simulated a pathetic irony. "You say you are always glad to see
me--and yet, I fear it is not _always_ since my unfortunate quarrel
with your brother. Alas, and that has hardened your heart against me."
The Duke was a suitor of the romantic school: each phrase was studied,
each attitude as obviously planned as a military campaign. It was a
method which had invariably succeeded, until his efforts with the
Princess of Aragon. Yet, he was too satisfied with bygone results to
abandon the time-tried artistries of former victories.
The Princess dropped her eyes before the undeniable questioning of his
burning glances. As she looked away, he assured himself that he had
scored.
"My brother ... what do you know of him, Carlos? When did you see him
last? Have you been in Seguro?"
Two long whistles, and the vibration of the great steamship evidenced
the beginning of the long voyage. The answer to the questions was still
more pathetic in cadence.
"Ah, how I dread telling you!... I was there a few days before leaving
for America. I learned, unfortunately, that despite my very friendly
advice, he had been prowling about that ridiculous old castle again, in
search of the mythical treasure your grandfather is supposed to have
secreted there."
He laughed, and the girl instinctively shuddered with a newborn
distrust. There was no mirth in the sound.
"You heard nothing more? Was he well and safe when you left the town?"
"He was as well and safe as I would consider any man who was prowling
about that castle in a foolhardy way."
She wished to get rid of him: that ominous trunk might contain a dead
man, for all she knew.
"How did you find me? Why did you come to America?"
"What could have brought me here but love and anxiety for you?"
She turned away impatiently and walked toward the cabin porthole.
"Oh, come, Carlos. The ship is almost in mid-stream. Let us go out on
deck, for one last look at America."
"Thank you; I can do very well without it!" he retorted, as he sat down
upon the trunk. "My dear Maria, why do you not desist from this silly
pursuit of an imaginary treasure? What is the value of money--we are
Spaniards, not shirt-sleeved, mercenary pigs of Americans! We strive
for it, only to obtain the happiness and luxury which it brings. Can it
bring any greater happiness than that which I have so many times laid
at your feet--the love and honored name of a man who would protect and
worship you? You have wonderful beauty and family rank. I have power,
influence at Court, and an unconquerable ambition. Mine is the
intellect to conceive, the heart to dare, and the will to complete!
Think what our alliance would mean to us both.... My dear girl--there
is nothing which could halt me, nothing which I could not crush!"
Had many a man made this speech he would have punctuated its
termination with a clenched fist. But the scion of an intriguing
aristocracy bared his teeth in a wolf-like smile as he unsheathed his
sword-cane an inch or two, to snap it back into place, with a snarling
smile in his drooping eyes.
However, the speech and the theatrical delivery of the gifted courtier
were wasted effort. Maria Theresa of Spain was impervious to the
surface sheen: she had seen true metal within the past twenty-four
hours!
"Oh, Carlos--you should have been a novelist or a dramatist! I much
prefer the romantic sky-line of New York harbor to your reminiscence of
Don Quixote!"
The great roar of the turbine vibrated through the ship. She advanced
to the cabin door, and imperiously called to him to follow.
"I insist. I need fresh air.... _We'll be gone ten minutes!_"
And grudgingly the Duke of Alva followed her, with a vicious swish of
his cane at the unoffending trunk.
As the door slammed, the top of the trunk was slowly lifted, and the
battered, bleeding face of Warren Jarvis might have been visible above
the iron ridge of its lock bar.
Stiffly he drew himself out of the trunk, to blink in the unaccustomed
light.
"O,... O.... O.... Oh! Lord!... If I only had that last baggageman by
the neck!"
He bent forward and back to limber an apparently paralyzed spinal
column.
"Well, I'm all here!"
He stumbled across the cabin, where he helped himself to a welcome
drink of water. He tenderly caressed the bruised elbows, and breathed
hard.
"I'm _most_ all here!"
He looked down at his twisted, cracked patent-leather shoes.
"My feet are bent--they'll never get well!"
He sat limply down on the top of the trunk, and fumbling in his hip
pocket drew forth a bent and battered cigarette case. As he struck a
light to inhale a few welcome, cheering puffs, he looked about his
strange surroundings with the old, unconquerable Jarvis spirit.
"A Princess--a Duke--a castle--a treasure! Well, well! But the problem
is: _Where the devil do I fit in_?"
VII
THE ROMANCE OF THE CASTLE
Warren hobbled painfully to the telephone on the wall. This connected
with a central switchboard from which he knew he could reach his own
stateroom--provided Rusty had not failed in his trust.
"Great Scott! Suppose it is impossible to get accommodations! I'll have
to ride as a stowaway in the hold, after all!" he thought.
At any rate he knew that the ten minutes were rapidly dissipating, and
from what he had learned by eavesdropping through the trunk, the Duke
was not the kindliest person in the world for a man in such a
predicament.
"Hello!" he called. "Hello, there.... Yes. I want the stateroom of Mr.
Jarvis.... Yes, Warren Jarvis.... No, I don't know the number of the
room.... All right."
There was a pause, and he improved the opportunity to unlimber his arms
and legs, while waiting by the instrument. At last came the welcome
voice with the African accents: "Yassir, hello. Who do you want?"
"Hello, Rusty!... Good boy.... Listen, come up to this stateroom, and
bring me an overcoat and a scarf. Yes, and bring me a damp towel with
some soap on it. Yes, and stick a comb into the coat pocket."
"Law, boss, I dunno whar you-all is?"
"That's right. Wait a minute." He opened the door to the cabin
passageway, and squinted at the number plate. Back again to the
telephone he continued: "Stateroom A, Promenade deck.... And bring up
that big bundle in the steamer rug. Quick now."
Jarvis hung up the receiver and walked stiffly to the window, peering
out at the disappearing shores.
"Well, good-by, Uncle Sam. I don't know when I'll see you again. And as
for you, Miss Liberty--I don't believe there will be any of your
sisters or cousins around this precious castle where Fate is taking me.
I don't know which of us two is the craziest--this Duke or myself."
Then, after a pause, he added, "Well, his taste is not to be sneered
at; that's certain."
There was a knock at the door. Warren was uncertain as to the wisest
thing to do. He called: "Go away--we're all very ill!" Then he darted
for one of the side staterooms.
But the door opened slowly, and the plump physiognomy of Rusty Snow
appeared. Rusty stumbled awkwardly over the elevated threshold,
dropping the large bundle, landing prone on the deck.
"Wha'f-f-foh they want to build a dern fool door like that?" complained
Rusty, scrambling up with a bruised shin, the tenderest spot of a
negro.
His master worked feverishly, untying the trays and fitting them into
the trunk from which he had tardily removed his dress coat, and the
revolver. Then he smiled at Rusty.
"How in de name of Moses did you-all git on de steamboat, Marse
Warren?" was his servant's next remark, as he helped on with the coat
over the painful shoulders.
"I came in the trunk--and it was almost as good traveling as some of
those mountain railroads back in Kentucky. Quick, hand me that
towel--my face is bleeding."
A few quick movements, the use of the comb, and he looked more
presentable, resembling Jarvis the clubman once again.
"Did you see any signs of the police, Rusty?"
"No, sir. Nary a sign."
"Are you sure?"
"Dead sartin, Marse Warren."
"Did you look?"
"No, sir. I cain't say as I did. I wasn't anxious to look."
The door opened, with a suddenness which caused both men to jump. It
was the Princess. She smiled with relief as she saw the rehabilitation.
"How de do, Mrs. Princess?" was Rusty's polite greeting, with a bow.
His formality was growing more impressive, as the acquaintance
extended. Here was "quality" indeed--Rusty was a judge of "breed"!
"How do you do, Rusty?" and she laughed girlishly.
Then she turned toward her vassal. He wore a quizzical, friendly, and
amusingly pathetic look. The bruises of his trip were evident upon the
clear-cut features.
"I am so glad that you made it all right. But how they must have bumped
and banged and wabbled and whirled you!"
"I believe I could go over Niagara Falls in a barrel now, without
turning a hair."
She saw the hand--with its red wound. She winced, and reached for the
hand, womanlike.
"Oh, that's dreadful. You must have it attended at once. Let me get
something."
Warren stoically drew it away from the gentle touch of the white
fingers.
"Oh, it's all right. The ship's surgeon will welcome a little
professional exercise. I'll be the first patient, as we're not out far
enough for the seasickness practice yet."
He turned toward Rusty, who was making a mental comparison of the room
with the steamboat cabins back on the Ohio River. Rusty decided that
even the old _Gallia Queen_, in her palmiest days, could not have been
much more resplendent than this "foreign" boat!
"You can go back and rest yourself, Rusty," suggested Jarvis. "And,
listen--what's the number of the stateroom?"
"Seven-twenty-nine, sir."
"How did you get the tickets, in my name? I was registered differently
at the other hotel."
"Oh, I jest told 'em dey was for Mr. R. Snow, a rich Southern
gentleman. When I gits down here, I tells Mr. Snow has decided to send
his repersentative! Den I had de name changed--dat's all, Marse
Warren."
Maria Theresa smiled again, and Rusty accepted it as a supreme
compliment.
"You are a diplomat, Rusty," she said.
"No, lady--I mean, Mrs. Princess.... I'm a Republican," and Rusty
started for the door.
"Go lock yourself in there, and don't talk to anyone. Remember you are
deaf and dumb. Understand, deaf and dumb!"
"Yassir--dumb's de word!"
As the door closed behind him, the girl turned toward Jarvis, a
troubled cloud overshadowing her pleasant features.
"There is something I must tell you ... my cousin, the Duke of Alva, is
on board of the _Mauretania_."
He smiled whimsically as he replied, "Yes, and he professes to love you
devotedly."
She flushed furiously, and looked at the pattern of the rug.
"You overheard?"
"I underheard. The trunk was not my idea but yours, you know.... You're
afraid of that man, too. What's the trouble? He's very sure of himself,
isn't he?"
The girl hesitated, and then replied almost timidly:
"Carlos is very powerful.... I may be driven into his hands."
"You mean he may make you marry him?"
"Yes ... if you fail," and she cast an apprehensive glance toward the
door to the promenade deck.
"If I fail," and Warren was dumbfounded, even after the unreal scenes
which had prologued this situation. "If _I_ fail. What do you mean?
Wait a minute--let me get my bearings: things are coming too fast and
furious for my poor intelligence.... I--you--the Duke--how do I fit
in?"
The girl tried to regain her composure.
"You mustn't ask now: take things for granted until we can explain them
together, alone. He may come in any minute. I can tell you before we
get to the castle."
Warren lost his patience.
"I think I should know about this castle nonsense now. I admit you
saved me from the police last night--although undoubtedly they may be
on board the ship now, for we have not passed the three-mile limit yet.
Can't you be frank with me, in spite of that ridiculous oath of
allegiance which I took?"
"It was not ridiculous, Mr. Jarvis. It was in life-and-death
earnestness. I would not have felt that I could truly trust you unless
you had gone through that. Remember, I am a product of a different
civilization from your own: I am still superstitious, if you please to
term it so, in the Old-World sense. I speak your language, and indeed
think in it with you. But back in the inner shrine of my being I am a
Spanish woman, true to my heredity. You are essentially an
American--droll, well-balanced, cynical--and oblivious to any other
national psychology than your own."
The girl's earnestness was droll.
"I am a bit hard and unsympathetic," agreed Warren softly. "I did not
mean to be so. You and I came into each other's lives in a wild unreal
way which an outsider would hardly believe possible. The truest thing
in real life is its melodramatic, unbelievable unrealism. That's where
the novelists, the poets, and the play-makers have a terrific handicap
against them. Things which happen every day would be ridiculed in
print. The great rule of actual existence is: 'It _can't_ be possible,
but it _is_!' But, while we have time, tell me my cues, for I share
your opinion of the Duke of Alva. I would never nominate him for
President!"
The girl wrung her hands nervously--the first signs he had seen of a
spiritual weakening.
"I am completely in the dark," added Jarvis; "I'm just a plain man, not
a mindreader. Let's get down to brass tacks!"
She did not understand the local idiom. But she realized that at last
she had found a sympathetic confessor.
"I hardly know where to begin. It seems absurd--in this pleasant
day-lit stateroom--to talk of ghosts. But the fact is that my family
castle is haunted."
Jarvis was lighting another cigarette from the battered silver case; he
burned his fingers, as he studied her, in surprise. Then he laughed
provokingly. "So I gathered from your amiable cousin. What kind of
specters? Of the Hamlet variety or the old maid brand?"
She answered very seriously.
"Call it anything you like. But my castle is haunted, just the same.
This is absolutely a case of facts, which mean so much to me that I
would not exaggerate _now_! My grandfather was one of the wealthiest
nobles in Spain. When he died my father went to take possession of the
family estates in Seguro. The little town--as you count populations in
America--was buzzing with weird stories of uncanny things and
supernatural happenings in the old castle on the hill. It was deserted,
after centuries of loyal occupancy. All the retainers had deserted
their posts and fled. All told of a weird, horrible thing in armor
which stalked the ancestral halls at night--of agonized groans,
clanking chains, infernal fumes of sulphur--you know how ghost stories
run?"
"I know the ghost stories, and most of the people who tell them run
because of their own yellow streaks!" retorted Warren. "But, go on,
your Highness. It's fascinating--I haven't heard a good 'hant' yarn
since old Mammy Chloe died, back at Meadow Green."
She pouted, for his cynicism struck home. Yet was she earnest, and
again she endeavored to impress him.
"Laugh, sir, as much as you please. My father laughed the same way. He
called them silly, ignorant peasant tales. He said he would show them
that it was now the twentieth century, and teach them how foolish were
their fears."
She hesitated. Her dark eyes burned as she continued slowly: "He went
there, Mr. Jarvis. He went there! He was never seen again!"
The Kentuckian leaned forward, engrossed.
"What happened?"
"No one knows. He disappeared--vanished utterly, without the slightest
clew. Grandfather's treasure was never found!"
"Oh, what treasure?" Jarvis was almost rude in his impatient interest.
"The fortune he left. You know, grandfather converted all his wealth
into Spanish gold to finance a Spanish colonization scheme in the West
Indies. It amounted to about a million dollars in your American money."
Warren whistled, and twisted his intertwined fingers about an elevated
knee--whose ache had been forgotten.
"That's a ripping good yarn. When did all this happen?"
"Fifteen years ago. Since then, two other men disappeared in the same
horrible manner as my father did. Not a trace of their leaving: it is
so horrible that it makes my heart creep to tell it. And yet you
scoff!"
"I'm sorry," he said penitently. "But what's the latest news from the
trenches?"
"Now the Duke tells me that my brother has entered the fatal castle ...
you see that daring runs in the blood! Up to a week ago he had sent me
a cable every day. Everything was well until Sunday. Then his messages
stopped. All this week there has not been a word, not even answering my
cables!"
Warren digested this in silence for a moment.
"Why did your Highness leave Spain, knowing all this?"
"Well, Mr. Jarvis, a part of the legend tells that my grandfather had
drawn a secret map showing exactly where his treasure was located. It
was not safe to let the public know where wealth was located, fifteen
years ago, in Spain."
"From the extremely businesslike devotion of that ghost, it doesn't
seem that conditions have improved in the district of your exalted
estates!"
"Oh, Mr. Jarvis, can't you be serious? I learned from an old letter to
my grandmother, from her husband the Prince, that this plan had been
hidden in the back-clasp of a locket containing her miniature. Without
letting my brother know of the secret, for fear that he would foolishly
tell it, I engaged a secret-service man from Paris to look the matter
up. When my grandparents died, much of the estate was sold--for the
Spanish-American War had wrought havoc with the family income. That
locket had been sold to an American collector, and I came to America
just in time to save it from being sold to some museum. I pawned my
mother's jewels to buy it. That was the locket which dropped from the
trunk, in my bedroom last night."
"And you have the locket?"
"Yes--but not my brother!"
"Ah, then, my particular chore as vassal to this haunted family is to
find your brother and solve the mystery? In other words, you want me to
put this infernal, tin-plated, panhandling ghost out of his misery?"
"Yes ... Mr. Jarvis!" and the Princess was more humble than he had
noticed her during the hours of their acquaintance. "Are you frightened
by the ghost?"
"You asked that question before. Where I came from only negroes and
poor whites fear the departed spirits. Perhaps this spirit is not as
departed as circumstances would indicate. But, how about the Duke? What
is his interest in the ghost?"
"He fears it, too. He has begged me to stay away from the wretched
castle altogether. If it were not for my brother's future, and the
fortune of the family--his family, and perhaps ... my family ... some
day ... I would shun the place. We are not completely destitute, you
know!"
Jarvis studied the luxurious furnishings of the cabin, the jewels and
aristocratic modishness of the girl's attire, and nodded.
"I imagine you're not! But this high, exalted, and altogether superior
cousin of yours is far from being a fool. He will want to know how,
where, why you met me. And what he doesn't know, contrary to the usual
theory, is apt to interfere with his sleep. Beware, your Highness, of
men who cannot sleep o'night--they think altogether too shrewdly!"
The girl was worried.
"He will ask dreadful questions. I know him, Mr. Jarvis!"
"So do I. Will you tell him you have made of me a ... perfectly good
vassal?"
"I think not--just yet," and there was a shyness in her manner.
Jarvis looked adown his nose, and there was a smile on the firm lips
below it!
"By the way, Mrs. Princess--as Rusty so beautifully phrases it--just
how should a vassal, a fine A-number-One vassal, address his liege-lady
and the owner of his soul? What is the _au fait_ procedure in this
case? You know I am only an ignorant pig of an American!"
She hesitated, embarrassed, and then answered: "Highness--is correct!"
"Highness! I had imagined so--incidentally we were introduced by Fate
on the eleventh floor, as I recollect. Tell me, Highness: a vassal
doesn't amount to much, does he? I always considered him a piker!"
She was mystified. These phrases had not been in the curriculum of the
exclusively proper English boarding-school.
"A piker--a soldier who carries a pike?"
"No, just a pawn in this human game of chess--along with the queens,
and kings, and castles--and knights!... But I have known of a pawn
saving a game, in the hands of an expert. By the way, and apropos of
nothing-whatever-at-all, could a good, hard-working, reliable, moral,
union-labeled vassal work his way up to a good job--such as a Duke or a
Lord, or something like that?"
She caught the drift of his quizzical humor, and retorted in kind.
"You're an ambitious vassal. Such men have occasionally lost their
heads--literally speaking. I'm afraid you wouldn't be content with
anything less than a kingship."
The Kentuckian spoke with meaning behind his jest.
"A king--a prince--or a bandit!"
"A bandit--why a bandit? That is essentially Spanish!"
Jarvis lit another cigarette.
"A king could command--a prince might request--a bandit generally
seizes!"
"What?" and the woman emerged from the hauteur of the royal
personality.
"That which a vassal can only admire!"
VIII
THE NEW PROFESSION
A knock on the door brought them both back to--the deck of the
_Mauretania_, with terra firma not so far distant below!
"There he is now," she whispered nervously. "Who shall I say you are?
And what?"
"Oh, any old thing--Warren, Mr. Warren. Leave the classification to me.
Self-identification is an American trait!"
She crossed the cabin, and after a timid pause opened the door.
"Come in," she murmured.
"Ah, I'm intruding," exclaimed Carlos, Duke of Alva, with an intonation
which expressed an invitation for Warren Jarvis to make a graceful
exit.
"Not at all," blankly observed Jarvis. "I've just been discussing my
professional task at the castle; as a member of the family you can give
me some good working material."
"I don't understand," spluttered Carlos, taken aback.
"Pardon me, cousin. This is Mr. Warren, of America, who has consented
to help me. My cousin, the Duke of Alva." She walked behind the two
men, comparing them keenly: the deadly parallel column was not at all
unfavorable to the insouciant Kentuckian.
"Glad to know you," volunteered Jarvis. "Have a cigarette?"
"I never smoke in the presence of ladies," retorted the Duke. Then with
a patronizing air he added: "I am honored to meet you, sir, if you are
in my royal cousin's employ. So, you are interested in the castle?"
"Oh, not so much in the castle as in the ghost. I'll attend to him."
"And is that your regular profession?"
"You are a good guesser, my dear Duke. That is my business--solving
mysteries--locking up family skeletons--chasing spooks and putting salt
on their tails. We have a professional name for it in the United
States."
"And what is that, sir?" asked Carlos, uncertain whether to be
affronted or to draw out this strange bird to a confidence. A quick
glance at his cousin's immobile face gave him no hint.
Jarvis continued amiably.
"We are living in an age of specialists. You have doubtless heard of
Farley the Strike Breaker, of Roosevelt the Trust Breaker. I forgot to
bring my business cards with me; but if I may be so immodest as to tell
the truth, I am known from Bowling Green to the Golden Gate as Warren
the Ghost Breaker!"
[Illustration: "_I am known from Bowling Green to the Golden Gate, as
Warren the Ghost Breaker_"]
This astounding news fairly took the Duke off his feet. He mentally
clawed the air for his equilibrium.
"_Madre de Dios!_" ejaculated the Duke, dropping his sword-cane. As he
recovered from his astonishment, the Princess interceded: "I am so glad
you came. I promised the Ghost Breaker that you would join us shortly.
You will be able to tell him, so much better than I, of all the strange
circumstances. I have only given him a rough outline of what happened
up to the time I left my brother on his way to the castle."
Carlos sank into a chair, irritated at the American's disinterested
lack of courtesy: Jarvis had not even risen from his seat on the trunk.
Somehow or other Carlos despised that trunk!