VII
THE ROMANCE OF THE CASTLE
Warren hobbled painfully to the telephone on the wall. This connectedwith a central switchboard from which he knew he could reach his ownstateroom--provided Rusty had not failed in his trust.
"Great Scott! Suppose it is impossible to get accommodations! I'll haveto ride as a stowaway in the hold, after all!" he thought.
At any rate he knew that the ten minutes were rapidly dissipating, andfrom what he had learned by eavesdropping through the trunk, the Dukewas not the kindliest person in the world for a man in such apredicament.
"Hello!" he called. "Hello, there.... Yes. I want the stateroom of Mr.Jarvis.... Yes, Warren Jarvis.... No, I don't know the number of theroom.... All right."
There was a pause, and he improved the opportunity to unlimber his armsand legs, while waiting by the instrument. At last came the welcomevoice with the African accents: "Yassir, hello. Who do you want?"
"Hello, Rusty!... Good boy.... Listen, come up to this stateroom, andbring me an overcoat and a scarf. Yes, and bring me a damp towel withsome 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 cabinpassageway, and squinted at the number plate. Back again to thetelephone he continued: "Stateroom A, Promenade deck.... And bring upthat big bundle in the steamer rug. Quick now."
Jarvis hung up the receiver and walked stiffly to the window, peeringout at the disappearing shores.
"Well, good-by, Uncle Sam. I don't know when I'll see you again. And asfor you, Miss Liberty--I don't believe there will be any of yoursisters 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 sneeredat; that's certain."
There was a knock at the door. Warren was uncertain as to the wisestthing to do. He called: "Go away--we're all very ill!" Then he dartedfor one of the side staterooms.
But the door opened slowly, and the plump physiognomy of Rusty Snowappeared. 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?" complainedRusty, scrambling up with a bruised shin, the tenderest spot of anegro.
His master worked feverishly, untying the trays and fitting them intothe trunk from which he had tardily removed his dress coat, and therevolver. Then he smiled at Rusty.
"How in de name of Moses did you-all git on de steamboat, MarseWarren?" was his servant's next remark, as he helped on with the coatover the painful shoulders.
"I came in the trunk--and it was almost as good traveling as some ofthose mountain railroads back in Kentucky. Quick, hand me thattowel--my face is bleeding."
A few quick movements, the use of the comb, and he looked morepresentable, 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. Itwas 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 acquaintanceextended. 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, andamusingly pathetic look. The bruises of his trip were evident upon theclear-cut features.
"I am so glad that you made it all right. But how they must have bumpedand banged and wabbled and whirled you!"
"I believe I could go over Niagara Falls in a barrel now, withoutturning a hair."
She saw the hand--with its red wound. She winced, and reached for thehand, womanlike.
"Oh, that's dreadful. You must have it attended at once. Let me getsomething."
Warren stoically drew it away from the gentle touch of the whitefingers.
"Oh, it's all right. The ship's surgeon will welcome a littleprofessional exercise. I'll be the first patient, as we're not out farenough for the seasickness practice yet."
He turned toward Rusty, who was making a mental comparison of the roomwith the steamboat cabins back on the Ohio River. Rusty decided thateven the old _Gallia Queen_, in her palmiest days, could not have beenmuch 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 differentlyat the other hotel."
"Oh, I jest told 'em dey was for Mr. R. Snow, a rich Southerngentleman. When I gits down here, I tells Mr. Snow has decided to sendhis repersentative! Den I had de name changed--dat's all, MarseWarren."
Maria Theresa smiled again, and Rusty accepted it as a supremecompliment.
"You are a diplomat, Rusty," she said.
"No, lady--I mean, Mrs. Princess.... I'm a Republican," and Rustystarted for the door.
"Go lock yourself in there, and don't talk to anyone. Remember you aredeaf and dumb. Understand, deaf and dumb!"
"Yassir--dumb's de word!"
As the door closed behind him, the girl turned toward Jarvis, atroubled cloud overshadowing her pleasant features.
"There is something I must tell you ... my cousin, the Duke of Alva, ison board of the _Mauretania_."
He smiled whimsically as he replied, "Yes, and he professes to love youdevotedly."
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'reafraid 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 thedoor to the promenade deck.
"If I fail," and Warren was dumbfounded, even after the unreal sceneswhich had prologued this situation. "If _I_ fail. What do you mean?Wait a minute--let me get my bearings: things are coming too fast andfurious for my poor intelligence.... I--you--the Duke--how do I fitin?"
The girl tried to regain her composure.
"You mustn't ask now: take things for granted until we can explain themtogether, alone. He may come in any minute. I can tell you before weget to the castle."
Warren lost his patience.
"I think I should know about this castle nonsense now. I admit yousaved me from the police last night--although undoubtedly they may beon 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 ofallegiance which I took?"
"It was not ridiculous, Mr. Jarvis. It was in life-and-deathearnestness. I would not have felt that I could truly trust you unlessyou had gone through that. Remember, I am a product of a differentcivilization from your own: I am still superstitious, if you please toterm it so, in the Old-World sense. I speak your language, and indeedthink in it with you. But back in the inner shrine of my being I am aSpanish woman, true to my heredity. You are essentially anAmerican--droll, well-balanced, cynical--and oblivious to any othernational psychology than your own."
The girl's earnestness was droll.
"I am a bit hard and unsympathetic," agreed Warren softly. "I did notmean to be so. You and I came into each other's lives in a wild unrealway which an outsider would hardly believe possible. The truest thingin real life is its melodramatic, unbelievable unrealism. That's wherethe
novelists, the poets, and the play-makers have a terrific handicapagainst them. Things which happen every day would be ridiculed inprint. 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 shareyour opinion of the Duke of Alva. I would never nominate him forPresident!"
The girl wrung her hands nervously--the first signs he had seen of aspiritual weakening.
"I am completely in the dark," added Jarvis; "I'm just a plain man, nota mindreader. Let's get down to brass tacks!"
She did not understand the local idiom. But she realized that at lastshe had found a sympathetic confessor.
"I hardly know where to begin. It seems absurd--in this pleasantday-lit stateroom--to talk of ghosts. But the fact is that my familycastle is haunted."
Jarvis was lighting another cigarette from the battered silver case; heburned his fingers, as he studied her, in surprise. Then he laughedprovokingly. "So I gathered from your amiable cousin. What kind ofspecters? 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 Iwould not exaggerate _now_! My grandfather was one of the wealthiestnobles in Spain. When he died my father went to take possession of thefamily estates in Seguro. The little town--as you count populations inAmerica--was buzzing with weird stories of uncanny things andsupernatural happenings in the old castle on the hill. It was deserted,after centuries of loyal occupancy. All the retainers had desertedtheir posts and fled. All told of a weird, horrible thing in armorwhich stalked the ancestral halls at night--of agonized groans,clanking chains, infernal fumes of sulphur--you know how ghost storiesrun?"
"I know the ghost stories, and most of the people who tell them runbecause of their own yellow streaks!" retorted Warren. "But, go on,your Highness. It's fascinating--I haven't heard a good 'hant' yarnsince old Mammy Chloe died, back at Meadow Green."
She pouted, for his cynicism struck home. Yet was she earnest, andagain she endeavored to impress him.
"Laugh, sir, as much as you please. My father laughed the same way. Hecalled them silly, ignorant peasant tales. He said he would show themthat it was now the twentieth century, and teach them how foolish weretheir fears."
She hesitated. Her dark eyes burned as she continued slowly: "He wentthere, 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 slightestclew. 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 wealthinto Spanish gold to finance a Spanish colonization scheme in the WestIndies. It amounted to about a million dollars in your American money."
Warren whistled, and twisted his intertwined fingers about an elevatedknee--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 samehorrible manner as my father did. Not a trace of their leaving: it isso horrible that it makes my heart creep to tell it. And yet youscoff!"
"I'm sorry," he said penitently. "But what's the latest news from thetrenches?"
"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 mea cable every day. Everything was well until Sunday. Then his messagesstopped. All this week there has not been a word, not even answering mycables!"
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 haddrawn a secret map showing exactly where his treasure was located. Itwas not safe to let the public know where wealth was located, fifteenyears ago, in Spain."
"From the extremely businesslike devotion of that ghost, it doesn'tseem that conditions have improved in the district of your exaltedestates!"
"Oh, Mr. Jarvis, can't you be serious? I learned from an old letter tomy grandmother, from her husband the Prince, that this plan had beenhidden in the back-clasp of a locket containing her miniature. Withoutletting my brother know of the secret, for fear that he would foolishlytell it, I engaged a secret-service man from Paris to look the matterup. When my grandparents died, much of the estate was sold--for theSpanish-American War had wrought havoc with the family income. Thatlocket had been sold to an American collector, and I came to Americajust in time to save it from being sold to some museum. I pawned mymother's jewels to buy it. That was the locket which dropped from thetrunk, 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 tofind your brother and solve the mystery? In other words, you want me toput this infernal, tin-plated, panhandling ghost out of his misery?"
"Yes ... Mr. Jarvis!" and the Princess was more humble than he hadnoticed her during the hours of their acquaintance. "Are you frightenedby the ghost?"
"You asked that question before. Where I came from only negroes andpoor whites fear the departed spirits. Perhaps this spirit is not asdeparted as circumstances would indicate. But, how about the Duke? Whatis his interest in the ghost?"
"He fears it, too. He has begged me to stay away from the wretchedcastle altogether. If it were not for my brother's future, and thefortune of the family--his family, and perhaps ... my family ... someday ... I would shun the place. We are not completely destitute, youknow!"
Jarvis studied the luxurious furnishings of the cabin, the jewels andaristocratic modishness of the girl's attire, and nodded.
"I imagine you're not! But this high, exalted, and altogether superiorcousin 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 usualtheory, is apt to interfere with his sleep. Beware, your Highness, ofmen 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 goodvassal?"
"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 lipsbelow it!
"By the way, Mrs. Princess--as Rusty so beautifully phrases it--justhow should a vassal, a fine A-number-One vassal, address his liege-ladyand the owner of his soul? What is the _au fait_ procedure in thiscase? 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 Fateon the eleventh floor, as I recollect. Tell me, Highness: a vassaldoesn't amount to much, does he? I always considered him a piker!"
She was mystified. These phrases had not been in the curriculum of theexclusively 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 pawnsaving a game, in the hands of an expert. By the way, and apropos ofnothing-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 aLord, 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 theirheads--literally speaking. I'm afraid you wouldn't be content withanything less than a kingship."
The Kentuckian spoke with meaning behind his jest.
"A king--a prince--or a bandit!"
"A bandit--why a bandit? Th
at is essentially Spanish!"
Jarvis lit another cigarette.
"A king could command--a prince might request--a bandit generallyseizes!"
"What?" and the woman emerged from the hauteur of the royalpersonality.
"That which a vassal can only admire!"
The Ghost Breaker: A Novel Based Upon the Play Page 7
