the windmills of Spain on an old mule like Don Quixote. He prefers
modern methods--such as dynamite, and other pleasant little novelties."
He pressed her hand with a returning warmth, slipped the belt about
him, and started down the promenade deck again. Something prompted him
to step into the black shadow of a companionway as a figure crossed
beneath an electric overhead lamp far forward on the deck.
He waited.
The figure approached noiselessly.
It was the Duke! He was wearing slippers, with felt soles apparently,
for his steps caused no sound. Jarvis watched him with a strange
misgiving--a fear not for himself. Yet he deemed it wiser to wait for
developments.
Up and down the deck paced the nervous, noiseless figure. At last the
Duke returned and disappeared from view, through the door by which he
had entered the Kentuckian's view.
"I wonder what that meant?" thought Jarvis. "Perhaps he is having a
fight with his conscience--just as I have been doing."
And he watched the speeding waves, racing past the great vessel as it
seemed--for so steady was the swift advance of the ship that it seemed
they were on dry land, rather than the boundless expanse of the depths.
"Here I am--after all my education, all the work of years, to advance
myself, running away from my own country--an escaped gun-man, just like
an East Side thug."
In the comfortable calm of the shipboard life, with unfamiliar scenes,
away from the reminders of his tragedy at Meadow Green, it did not now
seem a fine thing that he had done.
Man is not normally a destroyer of his own kind--and his fine instincts
were asserting themselves. Yet, after all, despite his vow to his
father, this had been actual self-defense.
The other had fired the first shot: he had planned to trap him with a
decoy, and in the end it was survival of the fittest.
These thoughts had been frequently in his mind, but he had resolutely
driven them from him. Now they were nearing another port, a great
commercial cross-ways of the travel world. Here again he was coming
within the grasp of the law.
He was not too certain that all had been given up, in that questioning
pursuit of the Princess and her party. That broken door lock might yet
admit the hand of legal vengeance.
"And that Duke? He'll try to earn that five thousand dollars surely
enough now. Well, I'd better be worrying over my own future instead of
the dead past. They've said 'let the dead past bury itself, and don't
climb the graveyard fence.' That's good logic. But I'd better be
looking toward some of the fences ahead. I wonder what is on the
paper?"
He returned to his stateroom, where Rusty was dozing in a chair,
waiting for the good-night instructions.
Jarvis sat down and studied the fragment. He sat bolt upright, at first
with rage and then a growing amusement.
"Look here, Rusty. This Duke is trying to put one over on me," he
declared, waking his servant.
"Huh? What's dat, Marse Warren?" and Rusty rubbed his eyes drowsily.
"Do you see what this paper is?"
"Looks like a telegram letter, boss."
"That's a wireless blank, Rusty. It has never been sent. It is the
first draft. See--the words are crossed out here, and a sentence
changed there. The person who wrote this message tried to save money,
by cutting it down, just as we, back home, waste a dollar's worth of
time, trying to shorten a telegraph message into ten words. Isn't that
reasonable?"
"Yassir. But what does it mean? I don't read no sich langwidge."
Jarvis smiled.
"It's in Spanish. It's addressed to Scotland Yard, in London."
"What's dat? Is it some schoolhouse lot?"
"It's detective headquarters, Rusty. And it is about me."
"About you-all!" Rusty was wide awake by this time, in all truth. He
had an instinctive suspicion of anything connected with brass buttons
and detectives.
"Yes. It warns Scotland Yard that a man named Warren, on this
steamship, is wanted by the New York police, and that I should be
arrested before the passengers can leave."
"Who signed dat mizzable contraption?"
"It isn't signed, Rusty. The only person who writes Spanish and who
could be so deeply interested in my wickedness is that high and mighty
relative of the Princess. He wrote it in Spanish so the wireless
operator probably wouldn't notice or understand the message."
"Well, Marse Warren, dis is a ship--dey alluz has ropes. Can't you
climb overboard when she is hitched to de wharfboat?"
Jarvis was thinking rapidly. He looked at his watch.
"The detectives will come on with the pilot boat, Rusty, which I
understand meets the _Mauretania_ about eight or ten miles offshore.
There won't be any chance on the wharfboat. But that gives me a good
idea--however, it doesn't seem right to make the Duke of Alva waste his
hard-earned coin on wireless messages. There's no free list with
Marconi, you know."
Jarvis was walking up and down the stateroom nervously by this time.
"Rusty, in my suitcase is an old suit of clothes which I put in to use,
if I had to jump the town on account of Marcum. I thought I might go to
the mountains when I went over to the Belmont Hotel. Now, get it out,
and those old tennis shoes, and that cap."
"Whaffor, Marse Warren?" The big whites of his eyes were rolling--an
indication that Rusty Snow's mind was not as much at ease as usual.
"You ain't gonta do nothin' dangerous, is you, Marse Warren? Remember
you-all is de oney one left in de fam'ly an' you's got to look after
yohself."
Warren placed a kindly hand on the negro's shoulder.
"Rusty, I remember that once when Meadow Green got too small for you,
years ago, you started out with a minstrel show--'The Darktown
Merrymakers,' they called it."
This leap over the chasm of years was too much for Rusty.
"Yassir," he agreed, after recovering from his surprise. "But, I had to
walk back home."
"The thing I want to know, Rusty, is whether you learned how to act
when you were with that troupe. Did you?"
"Did I? Marse Warren, dere wasn't no _amotion_ dat wasn't developed in
me on dat trip--I started off laughin' and came back like a weepin'
angel."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Jarvis. "That's splendid. Now, Rusty, I want to have
you do some more play-acting--only turn it around. This time I want you
to go away weeping, and we'll come back laughing!"
Rusty was actually offended.
"Ah, Marse Warren. You's pickin' on de ole nigger. Dat was w'en I was a
young an' sassy coon. No moh actin' fer mine."
"That's just what you've got to do, Rusty. Obey orders or walk back to
New York!"
Rusty blinked and grumbled to himself. Then, as usual, he acquiesced
with that famous grin.
"Oh, Marse Warren, I'm game fer anything dat you is. What is de play?"
"I think we can call this one 'Why Dukes Leave Home,' Rusty. Now, you
get busy with those clothes, and pack up the suitcases again, so they
won't be missed. I'm going on the boat deck, over us, for a little walk
and some thinking."
Jarvis was gone for about fifteen minutes. Rusty was beginning to get
nervous by the time he had returned. His hands and face were sooty.
"Where you-all been, Marse Warren? Climbin' up on de smokestack?"
"No, just investigating things. Now, after I write this note I will
tell you about your acting and give you a rehearsal. I haven't any time
to lose, Rusty."
Warren wrote very carefully, tearing the paper up several times and
throwing the fragments through the open porthole, for this was an
outside stateroom. At last he had finished it.
He smiled over it more than once, finally sealed it, and laid it
carefully in the center of the little folding writing-desk, where it
was in plain view from the door.
Then he began to disrobe, changing to the rough old suit and the tennis
shoes. He dispensed with undergarments and hose.
"Now, Rusty, I want you to go down to the steward of the second cabin
and tell him you are very hungry. Get some good sliced meat, some
biscuits, and some fruit. Wrap it up in paper--I know it's late, but
there's always someone on watch in the pantry. A little American money
will go a long way with these British stewards. Hurry back."
As soon as Rusty was out of the room, Jarvis wrapped the money-belt
firmly about his body, under the flannel shirt. He placed some gold
coins in a handkerchief, which he tied into a knot. Then he slipped out
to the promenade deck, walking along its deserted length to the room of
the Princess. He tapped on the window of the parlor of the suite until
the door opened slightly.
Nita's frightened voice came to him. He answered reassuringly.
"It is Warren. I want to speak to the Princess."
The maid hurried back, and brought her mistress. Warren spoke to her in
a whisper.
"I understand the treachery," he said. "Have no fear. I will meet you
at Seguro when you arrive. Be surprised at nothing--and take care of
Rusty, if he needs it. I intend winning that five thousand dollars even
if the Duke's note goes to protest! Good-by!"
She felt his warm, strong hand clasping hers. A great dread came over
her--an unusual sensation it was. Yet she said nothing, for some
strange reason inexplicable to herself.
She passed a sleepless night.
Next morning the news spread over the ship like wildfire that a first
cabin passenger was missing!
All his belongings were in order; his clothes hung up carefully in the
wardrobe, just as he had undressed, assisted by his faithful valet.
And that poor unfortunate--how he sobbed and beat his portly bosom over
the grief which was racking the loyal African heart. The Duke of Alva
went to the captain to inquire about the terrible affair.
"Yes, sir. He is gone. A pleasant, courteous fellow, too. Always minded
his own business, never complained. It's too bad. Too bad. And that
letter he left--it nearly broke my heart--and I'm a gruff old sea-dog,
and have seen many a tragedy in my years as a master!"
The captain wiped his eye with the back of his hand.
The Duke fingered his cane nervously.
"But the note, sir. What did that say? As the cousin of her exalted
Highness, Princess Maria Theresa of Aragon, I insist on knowing about
this strange person. He was in my cousin's employ. She is entitled to
know what sort of a person he was."
The captain glared angrily at the Duke.
"I am the commander of this vessel, sir. On the high sea, I am in
supreme control, and know how to run the _Mauretania_ without advice
from a bloody Spanish popinjay! I will turn that letter over to the
authorities when we land." The captain spluttered indignantly.
"They will meet the boat as the pilot comes on board. I sent them a
wireless!" cried the Duke.
"How dare you go over my head, in any matter of discipline on this
vessel?" cried the raging commander. "What do you mean by such a thing?
I am the one to warn."
The Duke was embarrassed, for he felt the helplessness of his position
before this legalized tyrant of the deep.
"I've a mind to think all was not well with this unfortunate young man,
from the tone of his letter before he jumped overboard. Not a thing was
missing from his wardrobe, but the pajamas he wore--when he ran out on
the deck. At least, we find no clothes missing! I'll have something to
say to Scotland Yard myself!"
"But the man threatened to shoot me if I spoke to you or any of the
officers about him. Now that he is dead I don't fear him."
"Huh!" snorted the captain. "You look about the type of man who
wouldn't fear the dead. But what about ghosts, young man! What about
_ghosts_? Did you stop to think of ghosts after people are dead?"
This perfectly innocent question of the seafaring, superstitious mind
had a curious effect upon the nobleman.
"_Carramba!_" he muttered between his teeth, and turned away with a
white face. "I wonder what could have been in that letter?"
And the captain glowered at him as he walked nervously down the
companionway to his lonely stateroom, to brood in a state of miserable
apprehension.
Toward dinner-time the pilot boat was sighted. Several men clambered on
board, as well as that official. They sought the captain, and then
visited the Princess. Carlos took good care to be in her suite when
they came.
Rusty, weeping as though his heart were broken, detailed the sad
conversation which he had held the preceding night with his unfortunate
employer.
"Poh Marse Warren! Ah'll nebber see 'im again--until de time for de
ghost!"
At this speech Maria Theresa observed a nervous twitching about the
mouth of her noble kinsman.
Then Rusty became so incoherent in his sorrow that they could get no
satisfaction out of him. They studied the circumstances of the case and
made their notes, with frequent whispered conferences. Next to Rusty,
the Duke was the most unhappy person present, although the Princess
showed the strain of her uneasiness.
After the men completed the first quizzing, they repaired once more to
Warren's stateroom to seek for other papers.
When they had been gone a minute or so, Carlos waved Nita out of the
room. That young person could look otherwise than melting with her
black eyes when occasion demanded. This glance was of the sparkling
kind which would kill!
"Tell me, my dear Maria Theresa," began Carlos, after some stammering,
"did you inform the detectives about the money-belt which he gave to
you?"
"Naturally not. That was his affair, and the property passed out of his
possession when I became stakeholder, according to the laws of wagers,
did it not?"
"Ah, yes. You are a brilliant girl. And a logical one, too. Well, give
it to me, then, as the affair is settled. I have several debts which I
would like to pay as we pass through London."
The Princess' eyes blazed but her voice was smooth.
"So, my cousin, you claim your wager thus promptly. Are you aware that
it would look bad for you if the detectives knew you had bet this
enormous sum--and now were the gainer because of his disappearance?
Tell me, Carlos, do you know any more than the rest of us about the
Ghost Breaker?"
The man rose to his feet, his knees wavering, and then with a supreme
effort he steadied himself against the back of the chair. His eyes were
distended and the handsome mouth sagging.
"_Madre de Dios!_" he cried appealingly--all nonchalance and scorn now
missing from his mien, "You don't mean to say that _you_--my blood
relative--the woman I adore, could _believe such a thing_?"
The girl looked away. He could not see the ironical smile on the
scarlet lips.
"Carlos, I have said no such thing. But wouldn't it be better to wait
until we reach Seguro--as a matter of sportsmanship? Our family has had
the reputation of being honorable, even in games and wagers. I am
nervous, Carlos. This has upset me more than you can believe. I will
never mention the wager again, until you bring up the subject."
And she retired to her stateroom, where Nita dressed the soft dark hair
with her accustomed skill--and a smile concealed with difficulty.
The search was ended. The Scotland Yard men scoured all the cabins,
from steerage up; they even quizzed the engineers, the stokers, the
cooks, the multitude of men and passengers. No clew could alter the sad
deduction which they had drawn.
"Well, Captain," said the detective in charge of the case, "it's a sad
affair. But he's better off. We'll take this letter to headquarters,
sir, with your written report of the circumstances. What will be done
about the negro servant?"
The captain shook his head.
"Poor fellow, he is heartbroken. The Princess has very kindly offered
to take him into her service. The letter asked that all the baggage,
clothes, and personal property in the stateroom be given as a farewell
gift to the faithful fellow. If you have no objection I will let him
take the luggage along, when he leaves the ship with the party of her
Highness."
And that is how it was, that evening, that out through the dismal
drizzle of an interminably long day Rusty Snow marched down the dock,
carrying Warren Jarvis' luggage and two satchels of the Princess of
Aragon--another loyal retainer in her service.
It was a curious ending to an unusual voyage.
And Carlos, Duke of Alva, breathed a sigh of relief as he passed the
last dock policeman, to assist his cousin into a waiting taxicab. They
were to take the night train for London.
XII
WELCOME TO SEGURO!
The Princess and her party were delayed in Liverpool by the queries of
the authorities just long enough to make them miss connections with the
boat train at London. The trip had been carefully planned; this one
provoking delay cost them another close connection at the station in
Paris.
"Confound it," declared the Duke of Alva; "after all this long trip it
seems to take us longer still to get back to Seguro. Maledictions on
that miserable American pig. He brought bad luck from start to finish."
His cousin's face had not its usual color, but now a rosy tint flushed
up for a moment as she answered sharply.
"I will not permit you to speak so of the man who at least volunteered
to risk his life for me and for my brother. He proved himself more the
gentleman, Carlos, than you--with all the boasted advantage which we
believe accompanies a title."
The Duke was silent, morose and uncertain himself, for the remainder of
the tiresome ride.
Rusty was humble as ever, but there was an expectant look in his rotund
face. He inquired many times as to the exact time for the arrival of
the train at San Fernandez, the nearest railroad station to Seguro.
From here the party would travel by motor to the old estate of the
Princess and her family. It was a twenty-five-mile ride. The country
through which the train was passing grew rougher with every mile.
After irritating delays and interminable waits at stations--for train
service in Spain is the worst in Europe--San Fernandez was reached.
Here they were compelled to wait in the semi-modern hotel until an
automobile could be obtained. The long ride was begun, over rough
roads, no roads at all, and through mud-holes which seemed relics of
the Flood.
"This makes me think of de Arkansaw Traveler," muttered Rusty, but his
reminiscence was unappreciated by his tired companions.
A blow-out, delay with the mending of the tire, and the fall of
darkness wore out what spirits were left among the four voyagers. At
last the little town was reached, and the machine was compelled to stop
on the outskirts of the village, by the old post-road house, where a
sleepy soldier was guarding the road for some government purposes.
As the lights of the car threw their garish glare upon the portico of
the dilapidated structure, a man in English clothes, carrying a small
satchel, stepped out and ran down toward the machine.
"Hoopey!" howled Rusty Snow, with such sudden gusto as to frighten his
companions. The Duke stood up, trembling: he could not believe his
eyes. Even Nita drew back with a scream of horror, which turned into
dumfounded happiness as the unmistakable features of Warren Jarvis
appeared in the bright glow.
"The Ghost Breaker!" exclaimed the Duke.
The Princess merely held out her hands, with a happy warmth which
Jarvis could feel through her gloves.
"How did you spring out of the earth, just here?" she cried.
"Well, I got to the town a bit late. The old carry-all that brought me
broke down three miles back and I stumbled along, knowing this was the
only road which could bring you. I stopped here for something to
eat--and the place is so old that not even the townspeople come there
any more.... The food was older than the town."
He tossed his grip to Rusty, and turned toward the Duke.
"It strikes me that I won my bet, your Excellency!"
"Where did you come from? We thought you were drowned at sea."
"I _was_ nearly drowned when I slid down a rope, outside the ship and
flopped into the harbor as she lay at the dock. After hiding under the
cover of a lifeboat for twelve hours, I was so stiff that my
quarter-mile swim was the hardest job I ever did. On shore I bought new
clothes, and took the first train. Q.E.D."
"How did you get here ahead of us?" asked the Princess, still
misbelieving her senses. "I knew you would make it--but how so fast?"
"I had a good day's start of you--even without this automobile. But
let's get on up to that castle of yours, for I want to finish up my job
and get back to America."
The Duke had been watching the expression of the American, trying in
vain to fathom the mystery.
"This has been a wretched hoax--you have all been in league to trick
me!" he began.
But Jarvis interrupted menacingly.
"Now, listen. No whining. I stood for a good deal--I knew about that
wireless, and I guess tricks can be played both ways. May I ride with
your chauffeur, your Highness?"
She nodded, and, the obstruction in the road removed, they journeyed
on, slowly but more or less surely, toward the distant castle.
"We will stop at old Pedro's inn to-night, for I am frantic to hear of
my brother," she said as they advanced. Carlos was too deep in thought
to speak again.
And up at that same inn the usual nightly round of mediaeval revelry was
going on. This ancient structure, indeterminate in age and style of
architecture, was built upon uneven ground. To save expense and
trouble, in the distant days of its inception, it had been built upon
two levels, without the excavating for foundations. Time and the
weather had warped and twisted the old wooden floors and beams so that
by this date it had numerous levels. Yet the remaining furniture was of
substantial oak, and here and there could be seen evidence of the
expenditure, in days long past, of good Spanish gold.
Asleep, with his head on the square table by the fireplace, was Pedro,
the old proprietor. Two villagers sat at another table in the side of
the big room playing cards, with wordy arguments about their winnings
and losses.
A young woman of perhaps twenty-three, dark-skinned, dark-eyed and
dark-tressed, crossed the floor from an adjoining room, to answer a
knock at the door.
From the room she had left came the sound of singing and mandolines.
"Hello, Vardos--any more news?" she asked of the peasant who entered
the portal bearing a basket of food.
"Still no word or sign of the Prince," he said apologetically, avoiding
her scornful look. "Here's yesterday's basket untouched as usual."
"And you left to-day's basket at the castle gate?" she asked sharply.
"Yes, this is the fifteenth night," he replied, looking back at the
door.
"You haven't given up hope yet?"
The man shook his head sadly.
"I gave up hope when he went in. I waited to-night until dark before I
came away from the moat."
"Once to-night I thought I saw a light in the tower, Vardos."
"If you did, Senorita Dolores, it was an unblessed flame." He sank into
a chair weakly. "Once when I called to-night a wail came back to me. It
sounded like a sigh of the damned. It may have been only the wind
through the grated window. But it chilled my heart."
"You are a silly coward," retorted Dolores. "But what then, Vardos?"
"When I called the second time something moved in the turret of the
keep, and my soul was joyful. Then, with a harsh cry, a black ugly bird
flew from the turret, straight toward where the sun had set.... On my
left, mind you, the sinister side,--the left--the left!"
The castanets and music in the other room grew louder.
"Oh, if the good Princess were only here!" moaned the girl. "She could
help. She could do something."
"She's on her way," he told her hopelessly, "but what can she do--what
can anyone do, with the imps of darkness all about her?"
"She would go straight into that castle after her brother. Ah, she is a
great lady, with a great heart. Then will the villagers have it said
that they let their own Princess go in alone, as they did their
Prince?"
"God forbid that it should come to that!" muttered the Prince's
retainer, as he handed her the basket. "Good-night, senorita."
As he started for the door the girl called after him.
"Will you go again to-morrow, Vardos?"
"Yes, senorita. I will go forever, until I know for sure that it is
useless. Good-night."
His words as he passed through the old portal were drowned by the
cheering and applause which followed some especial favorite who had
ended a song.
Dolores looked sadly at the basket, the tears streaming down her face.
She lifted the napkin, showing the simple but nourishing food which had
been untouched by the missing Prince. She crossed herself, with a
whispered prayer for his safety, crossing the room to the ancient
pantry.