castle. But first let us leave your brother in peace, to let me know
why you came to America?"
Maria Theresa drew the locket from her reticule.
"This is what brought me."
"May I see it?" and the Duke held out his hand, ingratiatingly. "What a
charming old antique!"
"No, Carlos. Rather you may see the locket, but not the memorandum in
the back."
The Duke registered an expression of polite surprise.
"Memorandum?"
"Yes," and the Princess removed a small bit of paper from the ivory
back, swinging it forward to her cousin's hand, on the long silver
chain. The nobleman's dark face assumed a ruddier hue, as he caught the
trinket in fingers which Jarvis noticed were trembling in tell-tale
manner. Jarvis watched the two of them in silence.
"It's a curious old piece of work. And you came all the way to New York
to get it?"
"Yes."
"You were fortunate to find it so soon."
"I knew where to find it, Carlos; yet I was almost too late. Think of
it, after that dear old family heirloom had lain in an antique shop for
nearly ten years--suddenly there came two inquiries for it in a day,
two beside my own. The first was from a distinguished-looking gentleman
who had called early in the morning, describing it roughly to the old
man, urging him to hunt for it. It took an hour to find it--and I
happened to come in at the end of the hour. I doubled the offer of a
museum collector, and trebled that of the distinguished-looking
gentleman. I secured it."
Here, the Princess shot a sharp look into the half-closed eyes of the
Duke.
"Who do you suppose could have wanted that locket but myself, Carlos?"
"I suppose," and it was the assumed indifference of a cornered schemer,
"it has already occurred to you that I am the 'distinguished-looking
gentleman.' Has it, cousin?"
The girl's curiosity piqued her.
"But how did you learn about the memorandum, Carlos?"
"I didn't, cousin. I had not the slightest suspicion that the locket
contained an important secret; I doubt it now. I was merely following
my pet hobby, in addition to a little family sentiment. I wanted to
recover some of those precious heirlooms which had been scattered to
the four winds."
"When did you know that this one had been scattered to New York,--on
your last visit to the boulevards of Paris?" And Jarvis' smile was as
ingenuous as that of a babe of two.
The Duke of Alva scowled. There seemed something uncanny in the
sharpness of this American; but he prided himself upon the power of
diplomacy.
"I have seldom been in Paris: they are not so much interested in
antiques as in very lively moderns, Mr. Ghost Breaker!... But there,
you interrupted my thought! You would be surprised to see the
collection which I have already rescued, and which, Maria, will some
day be yours. You Americans are not noted as really astute collectors,
Mr. Jarvis."
"Well, our collectors who don't worry over millions are frequently
stung by clever counterfeits. But we laboring men, who must devote all
our time to our work, are usually able to tell imitations from the real
thing. We are not impressed by 'four-flushing,' your Excellency!"
The Duke scowled at Warren, vainly attempting to divine the meaning of
the Yankee slang. But the Kentuckian was impatient: he knew that
debates were seldom as productive as labor in a workshop, when it came
down to fundamentals.
Carlos was impatiently interrupted.
"Well, so much for the treasure--let's hear about the ghost. Of course
I'm _certain_ that there's no connection between the two, in such an
aristocratic land as Spain, which scoffs at the American pursuit of the
miserable, despised dollar.... What's your private opinion of this
ghost? Is he a real, dependable, hell-bent spook, deserving all this
press stuff which has been given to him? I've had so much experience
with spirits--being a native Kentuckian--that they must be 100-proof to
interest me!... Do you really put any stock in ghosts, Duke?"
"Yes, Mr. Warren, I am convinced that there are such things. This world
is filled with evidences of the supernatural."
"Then you honestly believe this castle is haunted?"
"I know it!" And the Duke's black eyes sparkled with an intensity which
had its effect even upon the cynical Warren Jarvis.
"So you think this ghost is dangerous to encounter--that it is the
cause of the mysterious deaths and disappearances in the old castle?"
"I do, Mr. Warren!"
Jarvis whistled meditatively. The Duke looked disgusted; this was so
absolutely against all rules of his own conduct with women.
"Well, what do you know about _that_?"
Warren was again silent. The Duke was tabulating his own material and
preparing his next charge of ammunition.
"_Ghost_ is a broad term, your Excellency. There are fifty-seven
varieties of them, just like good pickles. They're equally bad for the
digestion. What is your particular conception of this particular
ghost?"
The Duke answered impatiently.
"There are certain occult forces in this world, Mr. Warren, that
science cannot classify or fathom. Some of them are at work in that
castle, manifesting their weird powers. A priest might call them demons
or fiends--a psychologist might term them, perhaps, returned
spirits.... I can't say; but I have been there, and heard their curious
warnings and manifestations. There is something definable there, in the
periphery of those ancient ruins. A malignant spiritual force lurks
within that mediaeval stronghold. While it haunts those musty halls it
is madness for any man to expose himself there."
"You could write a good book on it, Duke," observed Jarvis
irreverently. "Have you ever seen this ghost?"
"My brother has," interrupted Maria Theresa impetuously. "Twice, to my
knowledge, before I left Seguro. So had my father and the others who
disappeared from human ken!"
"Good Lord!" and there was a touch of the mock-heroic in the
Kentuckian's voice, which escaped his companions.
"According to the family tradition," continued the Princess, "no one
has ever seen it three times, and lived to tell the story."
"How do you connect this gentlemanly spook with the treasure, your
Excellency?" burst in Jarvis, with a swift look of interrogation which
discomfited the nobleman.
"Spook? Treasure? I see no connection. What do you mean?"
"Oh, there is always money when the ghost walks," was the mysterious
reply of the American, wasted on the untheatrical Spaniards. "That is
the first premise upon which a reliable scientific Ghost Breaker begins
his task of investigation."
"I don't know what your experience may have been, Mr. Warren. You are
evidently a brave man, but you have yet to encounter a ghost like this
supernatural spirit. Things are different in the Old World!"
Warren Jarvis sniffed.
"Huh! Brave? It takes no bravery to fight a coward--that is what the
ghost is. It's a coward like every other stealthy, sneaking spirit,
afraid to show itself by daylight, in the glare of the sun. I can tell
you now that men are not half so afraid of spirits as the spirits are
afraid of men. If you face the supernatural, it is more than half
beaten to a frazzle, before the fight begins. In my professional career
I have learned that ghosts, horse thieves, and peevish wildcats can all
be tamed by the same little charm."
The Princess was mystified.
"Charm? What do you mean--a relic?"
The Duke leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"What is it?"
"I'd hate to tell you," responded Warren Jarvis. "It's part of my
system."
And he forthwith drew out the revolver, caressing it with an
unmistakable confidence.
"I had been hoping, Mr. Warren," remarked the Duke, "that you had some
subtle method worthy of handling this problem, and justifying the
reputation for such work which you say you maintain through America.
You evidently propose to meet the forces of the supernatural with
firearms.... I may as well tell you that this specter has been shot at
before without the slightest effect."
The Kentuckian smiled gently.
"Quite likely, your Excellency. I have seen rifle-fire that had not the
slightest effect on a wildcat for the simple reason that the firing was
wilder than the cat!"
The Duke of Alva bestowed a pitying glance upon the weapon and its
owner.
"I'm sorry for you, Mr. Warren. You will find that the ghost is more
real than the treasure."
The Princess arose indignantly. She interrupted, with feminine betrayal
of her own hand.
"But the treasure is real, Carlos. Would I have crossed the ocean for
this locket unless I knew?"
Carlos looked at her sharply.
"I know I am right, now, Carlos. With the memorandum which I found
inside the old locket, anyone, a total stranger, could walk right up to
the very stone that hides it."
There was a meaning tone in Jarvis' voice, as he added: "A pretty
dangerous paper to have around--look out that somebody else doesn't get
there ahead of you."
The Duke shot back a quick answer to the message between the words:
"Yes, it is a dangerous paper--if it leads anyone into the castle."
"Well, despite the danger and the threats of--the ghost--I'd go a long
way for the fun of unraveling a good mystery with a little spice of
danger thrown in."
The Duke scowled, and then with a peculiar emphasis on his words drew a
newspaper from the breast pocket of his coat.
"You needn't have taken such a long trip, Mr. Warren. You are leaving
behind you, in New York, a very interesting and unusual mystery. The
papers are full of the story to-day.... It will interest you too,
cousin. You were stopping at the Manhattan Hotel last night, I
believe?"
"Yes," said the girl indifferently; but she and Jarvis exchanged
eloquent glances.
The Duke was reading with unusual interest, it seemed to Jarvis.
"Why, no..." he began. "I was so wrapped up in my baggage that I really
didn't have the time nor inclination to bother with the scandal of the
day. Tell us about it?"
The nobleman began to read:
"'Pistol duel in Manhattan Hotel.... Colonel James Marcum, a wealthy
and prominent Kentucky sportsman, nearly met death at an early hour
this morning in a revolver battle in his hotel room...'"
He glanced down the column and continued:
"'Even at a late hour the police had no clew to the identity of his
assailant, except the remarkable fact that the person is still hiding
somewhere in the hotel...'"
The Kentuckian interrupted:
"The villain is probably a long way from the hotel by this time if he
knows what's what!"
"But they say he couldn't have gotten out without being seen,"
continued the Duke, still studying the printed column.
"Oh, that's the theory of the reporters. They'd lose their jobs if they
ever told the real truth in a criminal case," remarked Jarvis coolly.
"Don't believe what the papers say--unless it's nice and about
yourself!"
"Well, Mr. Ghost Breaker, what is your own opinion? You are an expert
in these matters," insisted the Duke. "This affair interests me."
Jarvis was more than nonchalant.
"He might have escaped in a thousand ways. But such work is not in my
line: that's 'gum-shoe' stuff--for plain common or garden detectives."
Nita entered the cabin, and Maria Theresa arose uncertainly.
"I'll call you when I need you, Nita." There was some hidden portent in
her tone which Jarvis failed to divine. He decided that discretion was
the better part of valor. He rose, and walked toward the door to the
promenade deck.
"We are keeping you from getting settled, I fear," he declared. "So, if
you'll excuse me at this time, I'll hope to see you at luncheon.... And
as for you, Duke, it's a great pleasure to meet your Excellency."
Carlos bowed with military grace.
"Thank you, Mr. Warren. I find you most interesting. I shall be glad to
hear more of your remarkable profession. Good-morning, sir."
The Kentuckian turned away.
As Warren reached the deck door there was a knock upon the portal to
the cabin passage.
Nita followed him, and then turned to open the second entrance. Two
pompous, red-cheeked, red-necked individuals stepped forward, without
so much as a "by-your-leave!"
The first one spoke, reading from a smudgy memorandum book.
"You are Miss M. T. Ar-r-ragan?"
The Princess acquiesced.
"You was at the Hotel Manhattan last night?"
"Yes."
"The lock on your bedroom door was broken?"
"Yes?"
The speaker jerked back the left lapel of his coat, displaying a silver
badge with great satisfaction.
"I am from headquarters, madame, and I have orders to clear up one or
two little matters connected with that affair at the hotel last night."
The speaker glared at them suspiciously.
The chivalry of Spain asserted itself. The Duke stepped forward with
spirit, gripping the cane as though it were a cavalry saber.
"Orders--orders--what orders? To break into this lady's private cabin?
What headquarters?"
"It seems to me, bo, that you're in a lady's private cabin yourself.
I'm from police headquarters, bo!"
"Do you know whom you are addressing, fellow?"
"Say, nix on this _fellow_ stuff. That'll be about all from you."
Maria Theresa interceded with her winsome grace and irresistible smile.
"Yes, Carlos, let me attend to the matter. Won't you come into the
cabin, gentlemen, and be seated?"
The two detectives beamed, their bosoms heaved with pride at this
unexpected recognition of their importance. They entered, waving away
the steward and closing the cabin door behind them.
"We're just been discussing that mystery, Inspector!" observed Jarvis,
coming nearer and taking his seat upon the trunk once more. This
irritated the Duke, who added: "You are, I take it, one of the 'gum
shoes'?"
Jarvis turned toward Maria Theresa, disregarding all properties due to
the presence of the aristocracy, and yielded to that nervous twitching
of the left eye which expresses such manifold meaning with such minimum
of sound!
The detective whirled about, from his scrutiny of the cabin, walking
toward the Duke. He fairly howled in the surprised nobleman's face:
"Gum shoe! Say, are you trying to kid me?"
The Duke replied with asperity:
"Well, sir. You are speaking rather loudly. I presume that I have
offended you?"
"You presume! I should say you do. That's a hot one. Who are you,
anyway?"
"I am Carlos, Hernando y Calderos, Duke of Alva. I have other titles,
but they would hardly interest you."
The detective glared at him malevolently, mimicking the crisp
enunciation of the nobleman.
"But you interest me, sweetie. Dook of Alver--and then some, eh? Ain't
that just too cutey-cutey for any use? Say, I'm used to these dooks and
counts--I've been around Peacock Alley at the Waldorf too long not to
know 'em by their checkered pants and them canes! Say, Dook! If you was
the Archbishop of Canterbury I'd run yer in and take yer ashore, if yer
give me any more of yer lip."
Jarvis, bumping his heels against the trunk, smiled with diabolical
enjoyment in the face of his Excellency!
IX
CHECKMATE THE FIRST
The detective glared at the nobleman, with fingers obviously itching
for action. He sucked his teeth contemptuously, and then turned his
back squarely upon the noble countenance. Over his face spread the
beatific smile which strong, rough men deem overpowering with a member
of the weaker sex.
"As you was saying, lady, before we was so impolitely interrupted, you
was in the hotel when this gunplay went on. Did you hear it?"
"Yes, sir, I heard two shots."
"Did you hear anything else?"
"Yes, indeed. I heard a great many people running up and down the
corridor, outside my door."
The detective scribbled away in his notebook. Jarvis winked again at
the Princess, over the doughty shoulders which were backed toward him.
The Duke caught the wink, and pondered over it.
"Did anyone come in your room, miss?"
"Yes. My maid was frightened, poor child. She came in, and begged me to
protect her."
"Ah-ha! A-hum! And how did your lock get broken?"
"It was broken when we came to the room. I was foolish not to complain
to the management at once, for I might have been robbed by some
sneak-thief. I explained all that at the hotel."
"Um ... All right. What about the colored man who came to your room
afterwards and carried away a large bundle?"
The Duke's eyes were sparkling now. He was biding his chance to
intervene. Jarvis watched him without the flicker of an eyelash.
"That was my servant," explained the Princess, easily. "I sent for him,
because I had made a number of purchases too late to get them into my
trunk. They are here unopened; you may examine them if you wish."
The detective waved aside the offer: he was nothing if not gallant--if
the questioned one were fair enough!
"Oh, that's all right. But what do you know about this, miss?"
He produced a pocket-knife, and walked toward her slowly, examining it
with care. The Duke of Alva leaned over his shoulder with absorbed
interest.
"This knife has the initial '_W_.' How about it?"
The girl reached forward, with a graceful hand.
"Oh, I'm so glad you found it! Thank you for bringing it to me."
"Then it's yours? Who is this party '_W_'? Your name is Aragon, I
believe."
The Princess laughed.
"I am Maria Theresa of Aragon, you see."
"I don't see. Where does the '_W_' come in? I know how to spell, you
know, even if I'm only a bull." And he glared pugnaciously at the duke.
"Why ... it isn't '_W_'--can't you understand? You're holding it upside
down. It is '_M_'--standing for my first name: Maria Theresa."
The detective grudgingly handed her the trinket. He looked into his
memorandum book again, chewing the end of his pencil.
"Now, there's just one more thing, Miss..."
Carlos could control himself no longer. He caught the officer's arm in
a feverish grip, which was as promptly thrown off.
"You will pardon me, but I wish to inform you that this man's name is
Warren..." he began.
The detective spun about, and protruded his heavy chin at the Duke.
"Say, who's running this 'Third Degree'--you or me?"
The Duke tried to temporize.
"But, my dear man..."
"Say, cull, I ain't your dear man. Cut that guff--don't dearie me. I'm
a big rough fellow, but I've got some gumption. You get out of here."
He gave him a thoroughly plebeian push toward the door.
"Yes, Carlos, do go. Leave us to attend to this matter. These gentlemen
are so kind and so sympathetic. I am sure we can finish this better
without you."
"I merely wished to point out..."
"You point _him_ out, Jim," ordered the first detective to his
assistant. "You hear what the lady says. This is her cabin."
The second official caught the aristocrat with a rude grasp of the
velvet coat-collar and shook him as one would a child. The Duke's teeth
chattered.
"Out yer goes, and if yer butts in again I'll fan yer. Beat it! Do yer
hear? Do yer get me? Skibooch!"
The Duke tried to regain his equilibrium before braving the publicity
of the saloon. His voice trembled with passion, as he retorted: "An
infernal outrage! I'll report this to his Majesty, the King."
The first detective looked at the jocular Warren Jarvis, who published
his third wink, this time in the direction of the big sleuth.
"King! Huh! Roosevelt wasn't elected! Did yer get that, Jim? Well, what
do you know about that?"
Jarvis leaned forward, with a sibilant whisper of secrecy:
"Sssh! Gentlemen. Don't be disturbed. He is quite harmless. You heard
him raving about a king? He suffers from pernicious megalomania. That's
all--nothing more. He has grandiose ideas."
Jim coughed apologetically as his superior officer blinked.
"What does them words mean, Jim?"
"Wheels--bats in his belfry--just plain nutty, Mike."
"You mean he is crazy, mister?"
Jarvis nodded.
"Yes, he is at times. But don't be cross with him, for he has a
beautiful nature, except when the ravages of the disease are upon him.
You know, he doesn't even like _me_ when he has a spell like this. But
he's not at all dangerous. It is just necessary to humor him--he's not
to blame--it's the way he was raised."
"Then you're looking out for him?" and the detective looked furtively
toward the door, as he reassured himself by fumbling with the revolver
in his own hip-pocket.
"Yes, that's my job."
The big sleuth shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry I had to be rough with him, like that, miss. But you seen as
well as I did that he was gumming the game. Why, with some boob
detectives that I know, a feller like that might queer the crowd of
you--making it look as though you was implicated." He looked into the
ubiquitous notebook. "One question more. How do you account for the
blood on the knob of the door--from the _inside_, too?"
The girl was honestly surprised this time.
"Blood on my door? Why--I----?
"I can explain that, Inspector."
"Go ahead, then, Doctor."
"Do you mind?" and the Kentuckian turned politely toward the girl. She
shook her head, wondering what could be in his mind.
"You see, that colored man--the one you were talking about--brought the
bundle there. He tied it up and, cutting the string carelessly, broke
the blade of the knife and cut his hand. That was it, wasn't it? You
see the long blade snapped off near the handle."
The detective nodded--not completely convinced.
"Where is this colored man now?" was his question.
It seemed to Maria Theresa that they were getting hopelessly into the
toils. She was discouraged, as she glanced at the imperturbable Jarvis.
He nodded ever so slightly, and she caught her cue.
"He is in stateroom 729," she said.
"All right. I'll look at him. 729? Thanks, miss. You know, this ain't
personal at all. I'm just taking the chief's orders. I'm sorry to
bother you."
He walked toward the door with the dignified flat-footed gait which
distinguishes the Manhattan sleuth and all others in the world.
"Good-by, miss. Watch that maniac, do! He looks like a bad actor to
me."
They were gone, and Maria Theresa sank into a chair weakly. Jarvis
energetically sprang to the telephone.
"Hello! Give me room 729."
After a pause he continued: "Hello, hello, hello, Rusty! Yes, Rusty.
Damn it all, answer me, do you hear me?"
There was another pause, and the girl began to lose her control again.
"Yes, I know I told you to keep mum, but I'm telling you to talk now."
Jarvis knew that every second was precious. "Do just what I tell you
and do it quick. Take your knife and cut your left hand.... What?...
No, don't cut it off, you damn fool. Just enough to make it bleed a
little, and then tie it up with a handkerchief.... Never mind ...
That's none of your business! Remember don't answer questions! You're
deaf and dumb again."
He hung up the receiver and turned toward the Princess with a newborn
laugh.
"By George, blood will tell! You're game. You certainly handled the
detective with European statecraft. Then your cousin Carlos broke in at
the psychological moment to scatter their gum-shoe wits. It was
beautiful comedy."
"Now they believe him crazy!" she answered. "How will that turn out?"
"Nothing could be better. They won't believe a word he says. He'll be
crazy before he gets through with it. Could you handle him all right
now?"
She nodded abstractedly. She was looking at his hand, which had gone
without attention all this time, and which had been adroitly snuggled
inside his pocket during the visit of the New York detectives.
"Yes. You must hurry and have your hand dressed before it develops into
something serious."
"All right. The ship's surgeon will dress it, with collodion so that
you can't even see that it's hurt.... Crazy! Hum! That's funny!" And he
left by the door to the promenade deck, with a merry laugh which showed
how the nervous strain had lightened, after all these solitary, bitter
hours.
There was a knocking on the entry from the saloon, and at her word it
opened. The Duke entered, glaring savagely.
"Well!"
"Well!"
"Well--I'm waiting!" he exclaimed.
"Waiting for what, Carlos?"
"For some explanation of all this deceit. Who is this man Warren? Alone
with you here in your cabin!"
She raised her eyebrows in beautiful surprise, as she asked:
"Must I tell you all over again? He is a professional ghost breaker,
just as he said."
"How did you find such a creature?"
"I met him quite by accident. I knew at once that he was a man in a
thousand."
"What do you know about him, Maria?"
"Why ... that he is as well known in America as you are in Spain."
The Duke sniffed.