Chapter 10

With mock dignity at first, Jarvis's voice grew more menacing as he completed the words of retort:

"Thanks, your Gracious Excellency!... I'll do my best to tie a can to the specter's tail--and the can will be loaded with fireworks!"

As he left, Warren turned with a cheery grin, to face Maria.

"We must start at once, Mr. Warren," she urged, "for any moment may be my brother's last."

"Courage! If your brother is there, I'll find him. You must be patient and remain here, where you are safe,--try to rest up from that blood-curdling trip from Paris."

"But, Mr. Warren, I cannot rest or even sit still until I know what has become of him. I shall go mad if I am left alone!"

The womanly tears began to stream down her face. They melted a hitherto calm portion of Warren Jarvis' heart.

"Now, my dear child," and he paused timidly, as though to learn whether or not the familiarity had offended her. Instead, she looked up through the long wet lashes with anything but an angry glance. "My dear child, I must insist on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Let me go ahead and look over the ground. I will signal when it is safe to follow. I have reasons of my own for wanting to get there without losing a minute; otherwise, I would wait until to-morrow, to look it over by daylight and lay my own trap. But I will surely let you know if I have found him."

"How can you signal, Mr. Warren Jarvis? We have no telephones in Seguro." Jarvis walked over toward the old paneled window.

"With a light. See over here--there is the castle; you can of course see it through the window. I was asking all sorts of questions of old Pedro when he was in my room. He knows every foot of that land, even if he has been afraid to go near it for fifteen years or so."

"Well, what will you do?"

"Just as Paul Revere's friend did in the early days in my country: I'll put a light somewhere in one of those towers, and you can see it from this room or through one of the windows upstairs here. It will shine in an hour at the most. You won't have long to wait!"

"But if it does not shine?" and she paled at the thought.

"I'll be too busy swapping lead for brimstone with Mr. Spook to stop and hang a lantern!"

XV

MYSTERIOUS INFLUENCES

The Princess of Aragon gazed into the republican eyes of the Kentuckian with a glowing fire which was contrary to all rules and conventions of the divine right of kings. No common man should have been given such a glimpse of empire; but, in justice to the magic of such glances which come once from the eyes of every good woman, for some good man, in each lifetime, it must be acknowledged that their potent wizardry turns the commonplace, even the tawdry surroundings of a thousand million every-day lives, into dazzling kingdoms of love.

Warren Jarvis felt the thrill, and he lost his humorous poise: the heart-breaking seriousness of it all now came to his realization. How he wanted to draw her to him, forgetting all the differences in nativity, the social and political conditions which separated them so insufferably!

Back in New York she had been to him as any other sweet, well-bred girl; but here, in the Land of the Middle Ages, there were centuries between them.

He wished to touch her hand, and yet so deep was his reverence--not for her family position, but for her own proud poise of soul--that he stifled his desire and dropped his eyes, ashamed of his own weakness!

The girl divined his thoughts better than he realized.

She had stepped upon the low platform at the base of the stairs, and thus her face was on a level with his.

"Oh, Mr. Jarvis--you are brave, so brave! I never can tell you how you have sustained me, in my fears and grief. I can never let you realize how gallant I believe you to be for what you are doing to-night for my sake."

Jarvis shook his head in deprecation.

"Are we not merely honest traders, your Highness? We made a compact, risking your life at the start to save mine. Now, is the completion--when I find your brother and solve the mystery of the fortune, I will know that our account is squared. Then, I may be--_human_!"

Her eyes dropped before his own ardent answer, and she turned to the stairs.

"I must go get the memorandum and the locket."

"Yes, of course? Where is it? You should have guarded that well."

"It is safe in my room, Mr. Jarvis,--I won't be long," and up the steps she fled as though trying to escape from her own heart, in some strange, new, yet not unpleasant panic.

"Rusty! Oh, Rusty!" called Warren. "Bring down my hat and coat, and the extra tinware."

The voice of the negro answered, choked and muffled in a mystifying way.

"Yassir! Yassir!"

"What are you doing up there? Hurry; we're starting."

"Yassir!"

Jarvis turned and walked toward the window, looking up at the dismal silhouette of the ancient castle. The moon had risen, on the edge of the horizon, and already the place was beginning to look ghostlike with the pale iridescence.

"I wouldn't change places," he soliloquized between efforts to light a fresh cigarette, "with that darned old spook ... that she thinks is in that castle ... for all the gold that she thinks is in that cussed old castle ... and all the rest of the motheaten castles in Spain!"

Rusty came down the stairs, his jaws working, and his cheeks puffing vigorously.

Jarvis spun around nervously at the sound. He was keyed up this evening, despite the humorous resolution which had straightened the lines of that amiable mouth.

"What have you been doing, Rusty? What's in your mouth?" he demanded impatiently.

"Yassir ... I mean, no, sir! I was jest slippin' a little snack dat young lady bring up to me. I was so hungry I could jest feel my stommick slippin' through my suspenders an' climbin' up my backbone on de other side.... Um, yum--an' some Spanish po'k-chop, at dat!"

He rolled his eyes in ecstasy and licked his lips.

"But it warn't near enough!"

Just then Jarvis heard a scream, from the elevation of the balcony. The Princess was calling, frantically.

"Mr. ... Warren ... Mr. Warren Jarvis!"

He darted toward the steps, and met her half-way up them, as she ran down, her face ghastly with fear.

"What is it? Tell me?"

"Oh ... Mr. Warren...."

"Yes, yes!"

"The locket...."

"The locket is gone?"

"Yes," and this was very weak.

"And the memorandum?"

"Gone, too!" she gasped.

Jarvis called to Rusty, interrupting the finish of the running meal.

"Quick, Rusty--the horses!"

"The hosses, boss? whar is dey?"

"Outside! Go get the girths tight. Have you got that extra supply of cannon?"

"Yassir! I'll go. I got enough to fight de Spanish War over agin. An' dis time I'm goin' up San Juan Hill myself."

"Shut up, and get out--do what I tell you."

He turned to her nervously, but the battle-light was in the blue eyes this time.

"Your Highness," and she stopped on the step above, "I've struck the first trail of the spook that is haunting your castle; he made a mistake by poaching on other preserves!"

The girl ran her hand through her hair, excitedly, bewildered.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you any idea of who could take it?"

"Why--no! I hid it in the corner of my grip, and was sure no one could find it."

Jarvis laughed grimly.

"Your castle ghost is no slouch at finding things. He is no ignoramus, either, for he must be able to read and write and understand geography to get any good out of that memorandum. Does it give the exact details of the treasure trove?"

"As plain as ABC!" she answered.

"You think...?"

"Yes, I've been thinking ever since you first told me the story. Now I'm going to load my revolver with those thoughts, and earn the title of my profession. Time is everything. I take the northern road, don't I?"

"Yes, and the second turn to the right, through a broken wall."

"Yes, you've told me all this a dozen times before. But it's life and death, and I want to make sure. What then?"

"That road leads to the postern gate at the top of the hill," she added.

The outer door had opened softly.

Its position, sheltered under the long sweep of the old balcony, was out of their immediate view.

They had been speaking in rapid English, but the man who slouched noiselessly through the entrance, toward the arch under the stairs, surmised the gist of the conversation.

He drew a revolver, well hidden in the shadow, and waited.

"I understand. I have my bearings, too."

Warren stepped down, to the level of the floor.

"Wait," said Maria Theresa softly. "This little cross--it is a token which I wish my knight to wear in the tourney--to-night!"

She slipped the golden chain, and the simple religious emblem, over his head and about his neck, with a movement which was a wireless touchless caress.

"Only for to-night?" asked the Kentuckian, as he looked squarely into the crimson face above him;--how the roses and lilies played hide-and-seek beneath the soft skin of those clear features!

"You may never see to-morrow," she murmured, and she drew up the cross, from its pendent position, pressing it to her red lips with reverence.

The American spirit cried out within for honest self-expression.

"Then, if I never see to-morrow, forgive me for telling you to-night that I love you."

She would have spoken, but he raised his hand for silence.

Beneath the archway the shadowed figure drew nearer, slipping into the sharp angle behind the stairs.

"Do not rebuke me to-night--wait until to-morrow--if to-morrow ever comes!"

He paused, and still she was silent--except for the soft music of her breathing--that regal bosom so close to his own upturned face!

"And now your humble vassal goes forth in his liege-lady's name and cause, and, while all Seguro waits, Ghost and Ghost Breaker shall stalk those haunted, melancholy halls!"

Again they looked into each other's eyes.

"Your Highness, within the hour I shall hang the signal of victory within the window of the castle!"

He carried her hand to his lips, even as he had done on the memorable night so far across the waters. But this time the fingers were burning, and the slim flower of a hand was not drawn away!

"God be with you!" she answered softly, and crossed herself. The Kentuckian watched her silently, a thousand mad thoughts whirling behind the calm and resolute brow. She slowly ascended the stairs and returned to her room.

He murmured tenderly under his breath:

"Highness ... Highness ... now, I understand how titles fit!"

A new noise came to his ears, and he listened without a tremor or movement of his body.

It was the click of a revolver cock!

The Kentuckian knew this sound too well to be deceived. Slowly he turned about, toward the large table on which stood the solitary oil lamp of the room.

He began to unfold his overcoat, which had been hanging over his left arm. Then he started whistling the first rippling bars of that good old Southern battle-song "Dixie."

Slowly he walked toward the lamp, apparently examining his overcoat.

The man drew out from the shelter of the arch, and the revolver was pointed straight at his back.

Suddenly the overcoat flew from the American's hands, covering and extinguishing the glass lamp, which fell with a crash in the darkness.

There was a portentous pause--it seemed hours; its length was the bare fraction of a second.

Two shots rang out, and scurrying feet were the only indication of life within the room. Another shot sent its tongue of blood-thirsty flame into the black void. There was a groan of anguish.

Then footsteps advanced to the door.

The cheery tune of "Dixie" was continued in the moonlight!

XVI

AS IN DAYS OF OLD

"Rusty! You lazy coon! Get on that horse of yours and hike along to the castle. See--the moon is helping us!"

"Yassir. I was jest finishin' another hunk of po'k-chops dat I forgot an' put in my pocket. Won't you have a bite?"

"No. I want to eat up something worse than pork to-night," and Jarvis swung into the saddle with the lithe skill acquired from childhood days on the backs of Blue-Grass thoroughbreds.

"What was dat gun-play, Marse Warren?" asked Rusty, after he had calculated that they had ridden a respectful distance for inquiries. Rusty had a certain inherited pride!

Jarvis laughed, and the dull glow of his cigarette tip was discernible.

"Oh, Rusty, why worry over history? Leave that sort of thing to these 'spigotties'--that's all they have to think about over here. It was just a question of being 'pinked' or 'pinking' a certain gentleman who was working beyond union hours."

"Huh!" snorted Rusty. "I'll bet de razor I has in my jeans dat he was moh red dan pink when you-all got finished wid dat cannon o' yourn, Marse Warren. It runs in de fambly ter shoot straight!"

"Well, Rusty, let's ride straight for a while. We must go up this road to the turn."

They passed dark cottages, and finally reached the fateful angle of the road. Rusty groaned apprehensively.

"Say, Marse Warren, I wouldn't mind dis all in de meanest moonshine district in Kaintuck, but I don't like for to ride in dis yere foreign district. W'y didn't you-all pick out some place w'ere dey speaks human talk, instead of dis on-Christian lingo? It don't seem releegious to me, Marse Warren."

"Rusty, I'm beginning to think you've got a yellow streak in you, with all this talk about objections. You used to have a name for not even being afraid of your weight in wildcats," said Warren.

Rusty nodded, as he clung tightly to the saddle, on the increasingly rough trail.

"Marse Warren, dat was right. But wildcats is purty heavy, an' you-all can hit 'em with a shotgun. De trouble wid ghosts is dat dey don't weigh nuffin!"

"Lookout, Rusty. Here's a brook," and suddenly Jarvis' horse stumbled to its feet, after sliding down a sharp declivity which had been hidden by the shadows of the big moonlit trees. Rusty was not so fortunate,--he was rolled off despite his efforts, to receive a ducking.

Then did his teeth have reason to chatter, as he mounted again to follow his master up the declivity with dripping clothes.

"Whaffor dey want a crick like dat just below de doors of a castle, Marse Warren?" he complained.

"That's how they got their water supply--I wouldn't be surprised if the old place weren't built right on top of that spring. You know when this place was built they didn't have any faucets or taps in these old places.--Except on the heads!"

They mounted higher, ever higher, swinging on their saddlebows the unlighted, antique lanterns. Rusty was unmistakably becoming more and more nervous.

The road took a sharp turn to the right now, and they clattered over the wooden bridge of the moat.

They faced the great doorway of the old castle now. In the moonlight it was an eerie sight indeed. The castle stood on a broad rocky shelf. A cold wind swept over the mountain top, rattling the naked branches near by the dismal walls.

"Ooooh!"

"What's that?" grunted Rusty in terror.

"Just the wind trying to get out through those barred windows up there, you fool."

"Laws-a-massy, I don't blame it fer gittin' out. I wish I wasn't goin' in."

A lone cloud took this occasion to cover the moon, and the shadow darkened the outlines of the sinister structure. The castle, so Warren had judged on his trip up the hill, must have been built in the period of the Spanish Moors. Later, perhaps when the Moors had been driven out of the country, two dismal wings, several towers and turrets had been added, reminding one of the castles on the Rhine cliffs.

The face of the structure, which Jarvis scanned quickly, was about two hundred feet long and maybe sixty feet high--with two stanch square towers at either end.

Thin slits in the walls and two round windows high up appeared to the mind of the Kentuckian (humorous in the face of the unknown danger) as "architectural bungholes." On either side of the great arched door jutted a turret, slit with many smaller openings and possessing castellated tops.

As they rumbled over the planking of the open drawbridge Rusty's chattering teeth were audible to the rider close at his side, and Jarvis muttered angrily, drawing up his horse by the gate which led to the inner courtyard.

"If you're still too much of a coward to go on, you can ride back, Rusty. This is the first time you've ever failed me in a time of danger."

The negro remonstrated nervously.

"I'm not skeered--Marse Warren, I'm jes' gittin' straight hair fer de fust time in my life. I'm goin' wid you. I'ze jes' mighty onhappy."

A doorway somewhere swung shut with an iron clang. Rusty's nerves were stronger now. He breathed hard but said nothing.

"They used to hitch their horses here, I suppose," said Jarvis, as he slid from the saddle. The moonlight gave them a better illumination by this time. He hitched his horse, and Rusty followed his example with trembling fingers.

"Now, light the lamps. My, but those lamps would sell for a fortune in a Fourth Avenue antique shop!"

Rusty obeyed silently.

Then followed the most horrible experience of Rusty's life, in what seemed an endless exploration. They trod along weirdly echoing corridors, through spacious chambers, where ancient tapestries hung from the walls, while strange _débris_ lay about amidst the curious carved furniture. Everything was covered by a pall of dust. Squealing and scurrying, the shining eyes and ghastly noises betrayed the presence of myriad rats.

"What can they find to live on?" wondered Warren.

From the high battlements they peered into the valley, and could see a few faint lights in the distant inn. Warren felt sure that one of those lights was in the room of her Highness.

They explored the bedchambers of the lords and ladies of the castle, the little pigeonholes in which the men-at-arms must have slept. Strange subtle odors met them like an actual presence as they peered into dungeons, stone chambers, and horrid vaults.

"I don't even see why a ghost would want ter hang around dis misserable place, Marse Warren," ventured Rusty, as for the second time they entered the largest room of all, within the central keep.

"We've been here before, Rusty," replied Warren, sitting down for a moment on an old bench. Rusty looked around with rolling eyes.

Suddenly Jarvis jumped up and sniffed.

"Yes, and someone else has been here before. Do you smell that, Rusty?"

"Marse Warren, I'm so skeered dat I can't smell nuthin',--I can' see nuthin', hear nuthin'--except dem moans and yowls in all dose powerful big rooms we was in."

"The room's full of smoke and the smell of oil." Jarvis walked about, to make certain. "Somebody's been carrying a smoky lantern. We're getting warmer with that ghost."

A dull thud came to their ears, from far within the building. Rusty jumped like a frightened fawn.

"Good godelmity! What's dat?"

Jarvis quietly walked across the room, to peer into the big stone fireplace.

"Oh, Marse Warren, I want to go home!"

Rusty had turned about, and his eyes took in two figures of ancient armor at the top of the broad half-flight of stairs, on a balcony daïs. He sank upon his knees and bobbed his head to the floor in obeisance.

"What's the matter?" and Jarvis whirled about, with revolver drawn. His own nerves were beginning to get too taut, with the tension exaggerated by the superstition and fright of the negro.

"Look! Look! Look at dem big black boogies standin' dere, Marse Warren. See 'em standin' dere?"

Jarvis laughed and put his gun into his side pocket.

"They're the same black things that scared you before, don't you remember?"

"Oh, I'm so skeered, boss, dat I can't remember nuthin' at all."

"Get up on your pins--they're nothing but old suits of armor, and you're liable to get some moonlight through you, Rusty, if there's another rear-end collision like that. You've been treading on my heels every step I take, and when I stop you bump into me."

"But Marse Warren," pleaded the frightened darky, "I'm powerful 'fraid I might lose you!"

"A fine chance," snorted Jarvis, looking about. "Well, Rusty, we've been through this old place pretty thoroughly, and not a sign of a soul--unless they pound or carry a smoky lantern. It's a clew, Rusty, it's a clew. We'll stick right here until we find out. This is the best room of the castle, and the ghost may prefer it."

Jarvis crossed to the fireplace again, and striking a match, held it into the opening. Its flicker indicated a good draught.

"There, Rusty," he said. "It's a good chance for a fire. The chimney's clear. Now break up that lopsided, rickety table there and make a fire. You won't feel half so scared with a good blaze behind you."

He turned toward the half-flight of stairs, with a studious expression as he mentally measured the heights and thickness of the walls and ceiling.

"I'll scout around a bit, Rusty."

"Don't you do scoutin' outsiden dis room."

Rusty crossed to the fireplace, with the pieces of easily-smashed table legs, and began to light the fire.

"This was probably the banquet hall, Rusty."

"Yes, and say, Marse Warren, when we-all goin' ter eat?"

"When we get through with this job." He turned thoughtfully toward the big windows on the south of the room, and mused aloud: "That's the way through the two long rooms to the postern gate. Umm."

"That's where that black thing followed me."

"Yes, and a black thing followed me, walking on my heels every step I took. I couldn't see where I was stepping."

"That goes to the armory."

"I seen eyes in dere and a cold grimy, green smell in dere. Ain't dat where dat broad-faced bird flew at me, an' I slipped down de stairs?"

"Don't you know an owl, Rusty? That's all it was."

Jarvis was walking across the room to another door. Rusty was close behind him, following by habit now.

"I wonder if that door is...."

He did not finish the sentence! His foot had touched a swiveled rock, so delicately balanced that he had noiselessly fallen half through the large opening in the rock floor when Rusty caught him by the collar and under the arm.

"Here, I'm holding on now better, Rusty. Give me your hand." They both tugged, and he was soon safe, peering into the black opening together.

"That was a close call. Give me that lantern, Rusty!"

He dropped an old pewter cup, left on a side table, down the opening. There was a delayed, faint splash.

"Lord!--water and a long drop. No wonder people disappear in this castle. Great Scott! What if her brother fell in there? Rusty, whatever happens, keep clear of this. Get me a burned stick, and I'll mark a cross on it, so we can tell--it makes me nervous to see that open mouth of death gaping for us. If you step on this you'll never see Kentucky again, for sure."

Rusty obeyed.

"Did you hear that groan, Marse Warren?"

"Groan--that's the wind!... There it is again--it does sound like a moan."

"Ough!" and Rusty's teeth chattered in perfect rhythm with his shaking knees. "Ough!"

"Shut up! Listen ... I guess it's the wind, at that. But this place is getting on our nerves all right."

Rusty controlled his teeth enough to talk now.

"Marse Warren, dat warn't no wind. Ah hope to die if dat warn't a shore 'nuff human groan." He turned and looked toward the big oil portrait of an ancient Spanish hidalgo over the fireplace. "An' I wants to tell you somepin else. Has you ever been in church or somew'ere an' all of a suddent a feelin' comes over you dat dere's someone's eyes a-starin' at de back of your haid ... you jest knowed it--until you couldn't stand it no longer, an' jest had to turn 'round an' see who it was?"

"Yes, Rusty, I've had that. Why?"

"Dat's jest de way I feel now. Like dem eyes in dat picture was a-lookin right through me. Like he'd like to step right outen de frame. Or dem two boogie battleship men would like to jump right down on me," and he pointed toward the two suits of armor on the landing above.

"It's been a good many hundred years since those boys jumped. But listen--there's someone running as sure as you're alive, Rusty."