Chapter 6

"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.

"Indeed! Well, he will be better known when I turn him over to the police. He will get much of that free advertising which Americans love so well."

"Why, Carlos, what do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean," and there was a threat in his manner. Just then the large detective thrust his red face into the door.

"It's all right, miss. We're going ashore now in the pilot boat. But you should have told us that your nigger was a dummy!"

Here was the last chance for the Duke. He grasped it, hurrying toward the door.

"One moment, gentlemen, one moment!" and he laughed in Maria's face, confident of his success. "If this person is famous, these gentlemen should know him.... Do you know Warren, the Ghost Breaker?"

"The what?" asked the detective.

"The Ghost Breaker!"

Both men now entered the room, grinning at each other.

"He's off his trolleys again, Jim," said the big fellow to the other.

Jarvis stepped in through the deck door.

"Is this man Warren, the famous Ghost Breaker? This man right here!"

"The guy's dippy all right, cull," remarked the nearest sleuth to Jarvis, who nodded most seriously.

"Agree with anything he says. You know!" he muttered.

The Duke was beside himself with rage.

"Answer my question! Is this man Warren the Ghost Breaker?"

"Aw, Dook, old top, that's all right. Don't worry about it!... Sure he's a ghost breaker, ain't he, Jim?"

"Best bet you know," replied obliging Jim. "He's the prince of all ghost breakers!"

The Duke smote his breast furiously, while the detectives smiled sympathetically into Jarvis' serious face.

"_Sacristi!_ Am I Carlos Hernando, Duke of Alva, to be mocked at by two grinning bull-necked scullions?"

"Whatever you say goes, Dook!" amiably replied the first detective.

A ship's officer appeared on the promenade deck and called through the open door at them.

"Hurry up, if you're going ashore with the pilot, officers."

The two men bowed with their best imitation of gallantry, to the Princess Maria Theresa of Aragon. Nita, standing in the vestibule, sent a melting glance at the faithful Jim, who stumbled over the treacherous cabin threshold.

The superior of the two shook hands pompously with Jarvis, whose left hand was still in his pocket.

"Be kind to the little rascal, Doc. He might not get such good treatment from them Scotland Yard bulls, on the other side. They don't understand human nature like us fellers--they ain't got no education over there. Good-by, Doc! Don't let your foot slip!"

He turned toward the Duke, as he passed through the door.

"You're all right, Dook, old boy, if you do have fits! Ghost Breaker--ha, ha!"

Carlos started toward the other door, with a bound.

"It's not too late. I'll see the captain."

Jarvis, sitting on the trunk, whistled with typical American lack of reverence. As the nobleman turned about, he found himself looking into the barrel of the revolver. A quizzical smile played about the firm lines of the Kentuckian's mouth.

"Don't be in too big a hurry, your Excellency. The captain is apt to be busy just now. And besides, he may not believe in ghosts!"

X

A WAGER WITH THE DUKE

What a curious sea voyage!

The Duke's attempt to warn the captain of the nature of this one particular passenger never eventualized. When the _Mauretania_ had finally left behind all sight of America, Jarvis relaxed his severity.

"You may enjoy yourself, Excellency," he said, as he put away the revolver. "But I would like to speak to you alone. As the representative of the Princess, on a most important mission, I am compelled to look after her interests in a definite manner."

He faced the girl meaningly.

"Will you excuse us for a moment's interchange of pleasantries?"

She nodded, and retired to her bedroom with Nita.

"What do you want, you scoundrel? I know that you are an impostor--a make-believe, and worse!"

"Take it easy, Duke. I'm really not too enthusiastic over you. But this Colt revolver is not a make-believe. I am only going to bother your aristocratic memory with this one little idea--that if there is any reporting to the captain or ship's officers, to interfere with my services as Ghost Breaker for the royal house of Aragon, there is going to be a nice band concert in the public square of your native town--and the special number on the programme will be the 'Dead March from Saul,' with pretty black crêpe on the ducal doorknob! Do you catch my meaning?"

"You Yankee pig!"

"I'm not a Yankee--I'm a Johnny Reb, by birth and education. But both Yankees and Rebels acquired a reputation for marksmanship about fifty years ago." The jest died out of his voice. "One whimper from you, damn you, and I'll shoot you as I would a mad dog!"

There was such a savage rasp in that mellow Southern voice that the Duke instinctively dodged backward, as though expecting the first volley.

"We shall see what we shall see!" were his final words. "And if I see you about the cabin of my cousin again,--well, perhaps the officers of this ship may take a hand."

Warren pursed his lips into an ironical grin.

"You know, a member of my profession doesn't take a solemn oath to wait until the remains are resting in pieces: it might not be a difficult task to take up an avocation as well as a vocation. I wonder if I couldn't be a pretty good Ghost Maker? Think it over."

Jarvis, with a simple word of good-bye to the Princess, returned to his own cabin, where he lost himself in slumber. The tortures of his trunk trip were still with him, in aching muscles and strained ligaments.

The girl wondered what had become of him, for it was not until late in the evening that he telephoned to her at the suite.

She was on the deck, listening to the orchestra concert. Nita responded at the 'phone. Jarvis surprised the girl by a voluble discourse in Spanish. He had mastered it in his tropical travels. It was to come in as a life-saving accomplishment before the end of the adventure.

"Tell me, Nita. Have you good eyes?" he curiously inquired.

"Ah, señor, so I am told," was the ingenuous reply.

"Well, in that sense I have my doubts about their goodness ... but what I want you to do, for the sake of your Princess and her brother, is to keep those black eyes eternally watchful. I am expecting some curious tricks from one we know. Let her know what you see--and she will tell me. Remember--keep looking, listening all the time."

Nita promised, and Warren repaired to the lounge, where he observed the Duke nursing his ill-humor over a lonesome absinthe _frappé_.

Warren did not seek companionship either, upon this journey. He knew too many men in the ranks of the international traders, to dare risk recognition. The great roadway between New York and the European ports has now become a veritable promenade, thronged with travelers: it is no longer a lonely passage.

The great steamship was crowded on this trip, Rusty being in good luck to obtain a stateroom relinquished just before sailing time. With nearly two thousand people on board, it was a floating town--and more than once in the crowded decks and saloons he caught glimpses of men he knew in club, college, or business. He would invariably beat a precipitate retreat. His daily procedure was hermit-like. With the exception of an early morning stroll, alone, on the promenade deck, he took no more chances after that first morning. His meals were served in his stateroom. From the splendid library of the ship he secured ample reading material to while away the time.

At night he spent an hour in walking with the Princess--and they were wonderful moments. Each evening he seemed to grow better acquainted with this unusual woman--finding beneath the surface of courtly reserve a depth of feeling, a breadth of humanity which would hardly have been believable from her calm, almost indifferent manner.

Her education in an English school had internationalized her--her wide knowledge of books, in all the literatures of Europe, her familiarity with the best of art, poetry, the drama and music--had made of her a delightful, ever surprising traveling companion.

The girl was interested in everything American. She plied him with questions about the city, the country, the customs. Her brief stay in New York had been all too limited--her curiosity was only whetted by the brief survey of externals which is all that a stranger may get, without the guidance of an initiate.

To her, America represented a great new universe, teeming with vitality. Compared with the mediævalism of her own country, the modernity of the States was a wonderful poetic drama of ideals, accomplishment, and goals worth while.

"What do you think of titles, Mr. Jarvis?" asked the girl, one evening. "When you made your recessional into the Middle Ages by taking the feudal oath to me, you were flippant, almost sarcastic: yet by my standards, I could not feel that any man could defend my interests with propriety unless he were of my own people--so, you were adopted with more seriousness than you supposed."

Jarvis flicked a cigarette into the swirling waters far beneath them, as he answered.

"Titles do not appeal to Americans, as a general thing. To the simpler folk, they represent the yoke of the ancient Lion whose mane was cropped in 1776. To the broader folk, they are no more than the marks of family: although I must confess that your worthy cousin would create much fluttering of hearts and waving of ivory fans around Newport and Lennox,--where American hearts, of a sort, and American fortunes of questionable worth are bartered for a tin-plated coronet. But that's the revenge of the Great God of Misfits."

He turned toward her, resting his hand upon the rail.

"You are no different physically, mentally, socially from many of the Southern, Northern, and Western girls I have met in my own country. You are dependent upon the fashions, to bring your charms to the utmost effectiveness." The Princess blushed in the dark. "But, differing from many of them, you do succeed!" he added.

"You are just as human as the fine girls I have met back home--your titled classes correspond with the fine old families of the United States--and we have the advantage over you that by our own endeavor we can change the titles, by our own efforts, without waiting for the death of our loved ones."

His mind turned to his own mother, to whom his successes had been a source of increasing happiness.

"I was only a little knight back home in Kentucky--when I was a tiny chap. As I went into the world, and fought the battles, and won some (after losing more), to my dad and the mother I became a prince.... And the great thing about being a prince--to your family--in a republic, as compared with being a prince in a monarchy, is that a chap must keep on making good in the job, or he'll fail of election, just in the years when he wants it most!

"To tell you the truth, your Highness, America is crowded with 'wealthy families,' 'socially prominent,' 'old Colonial families,' two or three million _Mayflower_ blossoms, and similar Philistines! There are hundreds of clever people who make good annual incomes in our country with their ingenuity in connecting the Joneses and the Browns and the Smiths with Richard the Lion-Heart and Bill the Conqueror, by marriage. In my native State, Kentucky, there are enough majors, colonels, and generals to officer the armies of Europe--and as for judges!... There are enough badges, fraternity pins, cockades, and association medals to keep second-hand jewelers busy for their lifetimes! My countrymen are the most passionate collectors of heraldic certificates and genealogical maps in the world. The instinct for decoration is prevalent--the more obscure the family, the more plentiful the framed diplomas of aristocratic origin on the walls!"

The Princess was unable to follow the cynicism of the speech, but a growing admiration for Jarvis' analytical powers led her to put confidence in his opinions.

"And what harm does it do?" he concluded. "They are titles of universal brotherhood, and peace breeds more American colonels and majors than an international Armageddon. And it is all in the game!"

"And then, you do not have such a disgust for titles and the marks of good family, after all?"

She was almost eager in her inquisition of the vassal.

"Your Serene Highness has no cause for worry: although you will doubtless never need care for any American opinion" (and Warren studied her face, as the fine silhouette was illumined by the nearby deck light), "for in my country a princess is recognized whether she wear ermine robes, or a calico shirtwaist and a ragged skirt. You see,--a republic is at least well illuminated. We're not afraid of the light!... However, I imagine that your title will be changed before another year, and in that case you will have no cause for curiosity!"

The girl's eyes burned as she questioned him.

"What do you mean, Mr. Jarvis? For a vassal, you are decidedly presumptuous. You need not come to court again until you are summoned. Good-night."

And then she turned, as Jarvis maintained a discreet silence, walking rapidly toward the promenade door of her suite. He bade her good-night, without response.

Jarvis remembered an old verse of the greatest balladist of the century:

"_For Julia O'Grady and the Colonel's lady, Were both the same, under the skin-- And I learned about women from 'er!_"

Maria Theresa was not in a mood to see Jarvis for two more days. Instead of trying to win her forgiveness for a wrong--he had not committed--he stuck the closer to his stateroom, where, with the solicitous attention of Rusty, he lived a drone-like and peaceful existence, poring over books. They were not fiction or philosophy--the Kentuckian's interest was in Baedeker and other books on Spain. With the same application which had carried him over the thin ice of college examinations, he had grasped a valuable understanding of the customs and peculiarities of Spain. He gave especial attention to the railroad maps, for Warren was not trusting too implicitly to the permanent humility of the Duke.

That worthy was passing a most disagreeable voyage.

He was naturally of an irascible, dictatorial temperament--accustomed to flattery and adulation. On this return trip to the Continent, the ship's list comprised Americans for the most part. They were in little humor to cajole the swarthy, sarcastic, and unsociable Spaniard. Their minds were too full of the pleasures of the months to come, of plans and frolics in contemplation, to sacrifice their time to this dour personage.

The Duke endeavored to mellow his own discomfiture at Maria Theresa's coldness with numerous visits to the grill. The result was a morning "grouch," an afternoon headache, and a twilight bitterness which kept him permanently aloof from all companionship.

On two occasions he had observed Warren in earnest and apparently friendly conversation with the captain and first officer. He was not aware that it was intended for his own benefit--and that nothing more intimate than the weather was under discussion. But it presaged a prompt information to the "Ghost Breaker" in case he registered his complaint. The Duke's methods of warfare were not of the gallant-charge-against-intrenchments variety. He specialized in the executive ability which directs the activities of other men; and so he bided his time.

The fifth evening out from New York harbor--they were due some time the following day in the Mersey, dependent largely upon the tide and weather--he could stand no longer the evident growth of friendliness between his cousin and her "employed" assistant.

Maria Theresa had forgiven the Kentuckian for his jest--without the formality of an apology, because she was a woman. She had once more yielded to her loneliness, and walked the wind-swept promenade deck to discuss their common subjects.

As Jarvis bade her good-night and stepped into the shadow of the deck, he observed the aristocrat knocking angrily upon the cabin door.

"Let me in, Maria," cried the Duke, in Castilian. "I must talk to you, for your own good."

"I suppose that means my bad," muttered Jarvis. "I'll just smoke another cigarette in the neighborhood, to see how things go."

The Duke was admitted--his conversation in the parlor of the suite seemed to last for half an hour. At last the door opened, and he reappeared. He was talking excitedly at the doorway.

"What I have said to you, I would say before him, were he not skulking in his cabin, afraid of justice. He is a pig of a poltroon!" cried his Excellency. "I wish he were here now, and I would tell it to his face."

The girl replied calmly--so quietly indeed that Jarvis could not distinguish the words.

But he stepped forward, and laid a hand upon the nobleman's arm. Carlos jumped nervously, as though bitten by a snake.

"Here I am, your Excellency. Let's hear what it is you have to say?"

The other swallowed his choler, speaking with difficulty.

"I ... I ... cannot speak on the deck of the ship!" he exclaimed.

"Then come into my cabin again," said the Princess with pardonable asperity. "You may tell Mr. Jarvis your opinion of him now."

Jarvis gave the Duke an ungentle shove, with the result that the troublesome door threshold again intercepted to demonstrate the laws of gravity. The Duke sprawled most unromantically upon the deck inside. He scrambled to his feet, muttering Spanish oaths.

"Dog! If you were my equal socially I would challenge you!" he spluttered.

"If you were my equal physically I would punch your head," was the apt reply of the American. "Now, let's hear this opinion which you were so anxious to tell to my face."

There was a humorous twinkle in the dark eyes of the Princess, and Warren observed, down the passageway to the private stateroom, the smiling face of Nita, the maid.

"Well, Mr. Warren ... I ... merely ... said that I know you to be what you Yankees call a humbug! For some purposes of your own--perhaps to attempt a theft of this imaginary fortune, you are trying to get to Seguro ... However," and at the quiet interest on the face of Jarvis he was emboldened to make his statements more emphatic, "I have my doubts about your honesty in the whole matter."

"And that means what, your Excellency?"

"I don't believe you even intend to risk the chances in Spain. You have duped my cousin, a helpless, innocent girl--ignorant of the sharp ways of American adventurers. You have secured a free passage on this ship, and doubtless an advance payment, to engage you. I would wager anything that you will never see Spain, in this case."

Jarvis smiled ingratiatingly.

"You are a clever student of character. Such men make good gamblers. How much are you willing to wager on this little affair? How much will you bet that I do not appear in Spain?"

The Duke of Alva bit his lip. He had lost too much in recent gamings to afford greater risks just now. But he was a sportsman--particularly did he wish to impress his kinswoman.

"I will wager a thousand pounds of English money,--five thousand dollars in your American rags,--that you will not appear at Seguro in time to help the Princess."