XIII
"GENTLEMEN, A MAN!"
Dolores had hurried upstairs, where she well knew there was a tiny attic in the rambling old building which acted as an excellent whispering gallery. Every word spoken in the larger room below could be heard from this vantage. She was no sooner secreted there than she heard the voice of the Duke.
"You received my telegram sent to San Fernandez?"
"Yes, Excellency. Antonio brought it over with the mail-bags."
"What about the Prince?"
"Ah, Excellency ... why ask? The same news as before. This stupid Vardos has been taking food to the castle every day, but he is too frightened to venture into the miserable old pile of stones. It is most droll, your Excellency."
"Well then, Robledo, I am satisfied as far as that goes. But you have work before you of a new character."
The swordsman struck a chair with his riding-crop. It seemed a favorite stage effect with him; the Duke was not slow in catching its significance.
"Just forget these little affectations, my good man," he said haughtily. "None of this blustering around me. I know that you do your work well, and at other times there is much to be desired. Now, in this case, you have a dangerous man to combat. And the combat must be final, no matter how difficult."
"How is he dangerous?" and there was a new note in Robledo's blustering voice.
"Unless he is stopped he may cause trouble for the traditions of Seguro. He is crafty as acontrabandisto, cunning as the snakes of the Pyrenees! He has been brought here by my cousin the Princess to make some special investigations." He laughed, with that cruel, mirthless inflection so characteristic. "She should have left that to me—and she will be sorry ere it is all over. This man has thwarted me twice already. Coming over on the steamer from America the scoundrel disappeared from the ship most remarkably, just when I had all arranged to put him into duress in Liverpool. I have yet to learn the secret of it. He must be discouraged ... you understand, Robledo?"
"Excellency, I can assure you that the Yankee pig will be convinced, in a language which he will understand, that his presence in the castle to-night is quite unnecessary. Have you any particular instructions?"
The Duke shook his head and grimaced suggestively.
"Any way you please, Robledo. You understand my general ideas on such subjects. Means are of no consequence to a born statesman. Results are the only permanent things in this world. However—I warn you. Don't underestimate your man. He will shoot; I imagine that he can shoot quickly and without a tremor."
"Ha, ha! Good opposition. I welcome such an antagonist—these fat-brained peasants about here are too simple to stimulate me to good work. I have been growing dull and commonplace—I am almost out of training, as they call it in the bull-ring."
"Come then, and I will give Pedro some money to buy drinks for the stupid dolts,—they can drink my health: it is none of the best these days, Robledo. My American trip was wearing. It is a wretched, unromantic hole—not a country, just a great mob of people."
"I can well believe your Excellency. This way, sir."
They returned to the big room of the tavern, and Dolores retired from the temporary confessional box. Her face showed mixed emotions—but predominating over any other influence was the great desire to serve the rulers of her family. Curiously loyal are these humble peasants of the inland Latin districts. Their lives follow the monotonous example of the generations before them: as their grandsires, their fathers were tradesmen of a certain calling, so do they follow the strata, contented to exist with the conventional beginning, moderately happy middle era, and inevitably stupid ending of their lives.
It is this which is so pleasing to the European aristocrats: no matter how bankrupt, incompetent, disreputable, the class theory which is recognized by the masses is, "Once a gentleman, always a gentleman."
It is inconceivable upon the Continent for a peasant's or even a tradesman's son or daughter to aspire to a higher level than that of the family. Exceptions to the rule are looked upon with distrust by superiors as well as the lowly equals: too much ambition is a temptation to the gods which is hardly respectable.
There is a smug contentment, then, in the feudal countries which is the surest bulwark of the "divine right of kings"—and courtiers! A pleasantly distended belly, a mellow thrill from cheap wine, a certainty about the repetition of regular meals and drinks, with enough clothes and shelter to maintain relative positions with the neighbors—this year, next year, and twenty years from now ... these things are the mess of pottage for which the Esaus of the kingdoms and principalities sell their birthrights and their souls!
Vardos—for instance—bodyservant and sole military retainer of a princely line which for generation after generation had considered itself in humiliating straits unless there were at least a thousand lances at beck and call—old Vardos had been thrown into a mental maelstrom by the sudden change in the lifelong existence. Sure of his meals and a modicum of money for occasional visits to taprooms, he was now placed in a position of responsibility, one where executive and aggressiveness were demanded. Here old Vardos failed, because he was a peasant true to his type. The poor fellow had struggled with his grief these fifteen days—now he felt, with a helpless aching of the faithful heart, that he must have been in a sense responsible for the death of his master. He had pleaded with the young Prince not to enter the accursed place.
Insanity and suicide though it seemed to be to him, he could not help it. That was bad enough—but with the prospect of the beautiful Princess going into the place as well: life had become a horrible thing to him.
He sought the wayside shrine down the crooked village street. He threw himself upon his knees before it, vowing candles to every saint who had granted petty favors to him in the past!
He faced the great cathedral, rearing its pale crest in the dim light from the stars, vast and exalted above the miserable squalor of those whose ancestors had created its grandeur with their inspired devotion. He told the Holy Family and the saints, with tear-choked voice, the quandary of his noble master, and begged that, though they should never grant him another request, somehow, somewhere, they find and bring a gallant adventurer who could turn defeat into victory, one more willing and competent than himself, to die!
And the answer to this prayer was unburdening his own soul with semi-religious phrases, in a Kentucky accent, addressed with unwonted and even picturesque fluency at the stumbling, stodgy Rusty Snow, who trudged along loaded with luggage and an insatiate hatred of this "cussed foreign joint," as he labeled it to himself.
The Princess and her maid had, at Jarvis' suggestion, left them with the automobile in its latest quagmire, to reach the shelter of the inn. So it was that, as her vassal and his vassal struggled with the luggage in the dark, she reached the portal of the house of Pedro.
Robledo was hearkening carefully to certain careful instructions from the Duke of Alva, nodding with a smile of malicious portent at the final words.
"I will not fall short of my former reputation, your Excellency," declared the Don. "When a man reaches my time of life, after a success in the bull-ring as toreador, in the army as a duelist, and in the private retinue of so distinguished a nobleman as yourself, he has a certain pride in his ability.... Indeed, I regret that I must waste my talents upon a stupid pig of a Yankee."
Shaking his head, Carlos drew out his purse.
"The man is no idiot, unfortunately. He has completely won the confidence of the Princess, despite his obvious trickeries. Now, however, I would like to attend to a few little tasks of cleaning up after that miserable trip."
Pedro was approaching them subserviently, a humble, bobbing head betokening his anxiety to please the fine folk.
"Anything else, your Excellency?" he stammered, overcome with the pomp and majesty of the situation.
"Here, my good man, take this coin and have the brave lads in the taproom drink to my health and that of her Exalted Highness, the Princess Maria Theresa."
With studied carelessness, he dropped the coin upon the floor, and Pedro chased the rolling golden disk with surprising agility.
"Then bring me up some hot water, soap, and towels. You may prepare a hasty supper, as well—but let it be fit for a gentleman to eat!"
"Yes, yes! Your Excellency!" and Pedro nearly brought back his rheumatic spell by the renewed bobbing of the stiff old back, as he retreated to the barroom.
He returned promptly after breaking the gladsome tidings of the treat, and led the nobleman up the stairway, as a chorus of cheers rang out from the alcoholic ward.
"The Duke! The Duke! His Excellency the Duke of Alva!"
Robledo walked to the door, with his characteristic swashbuckler rhythm, and stirred them up to more enthusiasm.
"Louder, you beggars, or I'll give you something to yell about—louder, I say!"
Dolores had slipped through the doorway, facing the road.
Suddenly she danced in through the entry again, happy and exultant.
"Her Highness has come, father. Her Highness!"
Old Pedro stumbled toward the balcony and peered over at her querulously.
"Father, father!"
"What is it, Dolores?"
"Her Highness, the Princess!"
The old man bustled down the stairs, trembling with added excitement, just as Maria Theresa and Nita were bowed into the tavern by a villager who had accompanied them from the delayed machine.
The peasants trooped into the room from the tap, howling with mediæval enthusiasm.
"Your Gracious Highness does my humble inn great honor," began Pedro, as his local guests imitated the clumsy courtesy with varying ability.
"Thank you, Pedro," replied the Princess graciously as one would address a polite child.
She held out her hand to Dolores, who kissed it reverently, with a bow and a bend of the knee.
"Your Highness, we are poorly prepared for this great favor, ill prepared indeed," apologized Dolores. "Your exalted cousin gave us but short warning of your coming. Our humble tavern is hardly fitting for a great lady."
"My child, any place to remove the dust of travel will do for me." She turned toward the villager at the door. "Tell my chauffeur that when he repairs the car I shall want it kept in readiness to use again."
Nita advanced anxiously.
"Your Highness is not thinking of going to the castle to-night, surely?" Her voice was politely remonstrative, with a note of apprehensiveness for the welfare of her mistress.
"But I must have news," declared the young woman impatiently. "I am frantic with worry, and the things which José has told me. Come to a room, Nita."
"Ah, your Highness, you are too brave, too determined. You are all worn out with this long trip. Better to wait until daylight, if I may be so bold as to suggest to your ladyship. You are all unstrung just now."
Maria Theresa did indeed show the strain of the nerve-racking trip, but she valiantly shook her head.
"Show me up, Dolores. When Mr. Warren, my representative, arrives inform him that I will be down very soon. Come, Nita, for I know that your hands can rest me, with their skillful massage," and she spoke wearily.
Pedro stepped forward, bowing.
"Allow me the honor, your Highness. I have the finest chamber in the tavern prepared for you—a fire to take the night chill from the largest bedroom."
She started up the steps, followed by her maid and the old man, still risking a strained back with his excited bows.
Again she turned to Dolores, with a strange nervousness, to say: "Do not forget to explain to Mr. Warren. He may think I have left the tavern. I will see him soon."
"I will give your commands to the Señor Americano, your Highness," promised the black-eyed Dolores, with a heightened color.
Then the Princess disappeared across the end of the balcony. Dolores walked to the doorway, and discerned two figures approaching with a strange slowness.
"Is this the inn?" cried a voice, with a slight foreign accent in the Spanish.
"Yes, yes, señor. Come in, señor, we are expecting you," replied the girl.
The villagers were still grouped about the door to the taproom. Dolores stepped back, as Warren Jarvis and Rusty Snow entered the big front hallway, and blinked in the unaccustomed glare of light.
They were both burdened with suitcases, and two of the Princess' hatboxes. These they dropped unceremoniously on the floor, with sighs of relief.
"We're here, Rusty, with both feet!"
"Yassir," and the negro groaned with exhaustion, "and I'd jest as lieve be back in Meadow Green. Dis don't look very scrumptious for a Mrs. Princessess' plantation house."
"This is no castle, Rusty. This is only the halfway house."
Dolores could not understand their low conversation in English—and Afro-Americanese! But she had studied the clear features, the nonchalant bearing of the tall American. She turned toward the sheep-like, staring villagers, and with an eloquent wave of her hand she cried out resonantly:
"Gentlemen—a man!"
"Gentlemen—a man"
"Gentlemen—a man"
Jarvis was lighting his cigarette, and he laughed, with a side-remark to his valet:
"Rusty, as the Indians said to Columbus: 'We're discovered!'" He turned toward the girl. "Did you by any chance address me, fair señorita?"
"I'm calling the attention of these valiant gentlemen of Seguro to the only man with spirit and bravery enough to enter the haunted castle," she declared.
"How did you know?" and his eyes widened with surprise. This was a queer place.
"All Seguro knows by this time, señor."
At these words, Don Robledo swaggered in through the door from the bar. He pushed the villagers aside with contemptuous roughness. He even thrust the girl out of his way as she tried to detain him. He laughed insultingly into the bland face of Jarvis.
"So, you are thebraveAmerican, are you?" he cried, surveying Jarvis, with hands on hips and stocky legs well spread.
"So, you are the brave American, are you?"
"So, you are the brave American, are you?"
Jarvis puffed cigarette smoke at him and answered with ingenuous modesty.
"I'manAmerican. And here" (he waved his hand to Rusty, who saluted with divination of the tenor of the interchange) "I present to your notice another American. In fact, we're both Americans!"
"And you both want to die?" cried Don Robledo, drawing a stiff forefinger suggestively across his brawny throat. Rusty was reading the pantomime with perfect understanding. He made a wry face and rolled his eyes at Jarvis, who responded with a droll wink.
"Well, now that you mention it, I'm in no hurry about it. I'm not at all anxious on the subject."
He sat down in one of the carven chairs and continued to puff his cigarette with provoking amiability.
Robeldo leaned forward toward him and snarled:
"You had better keep out of the castle then. It has a fatal climate."
Warren laughed, and flicked the ashes of the cigarette upon the sleeve of his interviewer.
"Oh, you mean the castle ghost—this old rummy who can't sleep in his grave of nights? Ha, ha! I'm not afraid of a little trifle like that, señor."
Robledo stepped back threateningly, and yet with hesitation caused by the perplexing simplicity of this foreigner.
"No?... Well, señorita, we gentlemen of Seguro will gladly drink to your American hero! Here, lads, is a toast to the maddest fool that ever came to Spain!"
He turned contemptuously on his heel, with military precision. Then he chuckled Dolores under the chin with a leer, to have his hand indignantly pushed aside. As the girl glared at him with a flash of hatred in her eyes, he stalked into the taproom, followed by the ready topers.
"Pile these bags on the table, Rusty," ordered Warren, as he smiled winningly at the girl.
"Yassir. We kin use 'em for one of these yere barracadies, if we has to."
"It looks as though we're booked for a warm reception in Seguro, Rusty. Doesn't it?"
Rusty rolled those chalky optics, with an expression of mingled drollery, apprehension, and confidence in his master's ability to lead the battle. It is wonderful how much expression can be condensed into a darky's eyes!
"Yassir. It's some tropical, dat's shore. But, you-all ain't no cold-storage rooster yohself, Marse Warren. A little Kaintucky ammanition might make some echoes 'round dis confabulation."
From the taproom came loud howls of derision from the associated village sports of Seguro.
"That ward heeler seems to be making a campaign speech, Rusty. He may be making a few promises that he can't fulfill after he gets elected," observed the Kentuckian, with pursed lips. "Listen to them holler!"
Rusty looked over his shoulder, while Dolores studied these two types with girlish curiosity, as they chattered in their alien tongue. She had never seen a man unafraid of Don Robledo but his distinguished Excellency, the Duke, before. It gave her a new thrill.
"He's a mighty nice man, he is. Mighty nice, Marse Warren. He's almos' too nice, ain't he?"
Warren shook his head, with a serious look on the usually laughing face.
"No, Rusty, not too nice—yet! He'll be a lot nicer before he's ten years older. I think his education has been neglected. You and I must begin to keep school around this township. There's nothing so nice as education, especially when the school-teacher has a nice long rattan concealed up his sleeve!"
XIV
MORE OBSTACLES
Dolores approached the Kentuckian politely, yet eagerly.
"Pardon, señor, but I have a message for you from her Highness."
"What is it?"
"She instructed me to tell you that she would see you very soon."
"Thanks, señorita. And may I ask—who was the cheerful, frolicsome individual who flattered me with that polite toast? Is he one of the royal family, taking a little vacation in this neighborhood?"
The girl reddened, then laughed.
"No, señor. He is well known in this part of our country. His name is Don Robledo."
Warren lit another cigarette, and studied her attractive face with the gallant interest of a Southerner, who is always prone to admire beauty. She was embarrassed, yet pleased, under the unmistakable scrutiny.
"Don Robledo. He seems to be well acquainted with you, señorita. Is he one of the family?"
"No, but he wishes to be!" she snapped out. "And he shall never be until he changes his manners and...."
"And his face? I don't really care for his face. If I were a girl I would never leave home and mother for that face. But of course, that's none of my business."
He stopped for an instant to absorb the rowdy racket from the taproom.
"Either he's a wonderful spender or he has unlimited credit with the bar cashier. Maybe he eats his checks ... it has been done. But I don't like that name. It sounds dangerous—and yet it doesn't seem to mean much, after all, to me."
The girl looked at him earnestly.
"It may mean much before you reach the castle. More than you suspect, señor—you have been the subject of much serious talk in this tavern before you were ever seen here."
"And how was that? I'm really a very unimportant person, you know."
"Let me tell you something, while I have the opportunity. You are in great danger here. Señor, I wish to help you. I have tried for weeks to stir up some manhood in the hearts of these cowardly sheep in Seguro. The Prince has been missing for days, since he went into that castle. I want to save my beloved Princess from the same fate which I fear overtook him when he braved the horrors of that castle. It is a place of Satan, señor."
The American smiled at her, as he asked:
"Now, do you really believe in all that superstitious trash, my good girl? You look intelligent."
The girl crossed herself piously.
"Have we not been taught by the priest, of the fiends who haunt the earth and wreck human happiness? How can I say such things could not happen, for the sins of bygone people? Not that I would think anything but love and respect for the Prince and his wonderful sister, her Highness! But, señor, I feel the same as do the other dwellers of Seguro."
"And how is that?"
"I feel that strange things have gone on in that castle. Even a great gentleman like the Duke says so. Surely if educated noblemen put faith in such things, we simple folk are not far wrong to believe what we are taught. But still..."
"Yes, there you are, my good girl. You have a 'but still'—and that means a doubt. The doubts of the world have been the foundation stones of modern freedom—it was the doubts of the old farmers and traders back in America which threw off the yoke of the old kingdom, and made a great free country. If you have a doubt you may be saved. As for the Duke—the only god he pays allegiance to is himself—and he's not been so sure of that divinity during these last iconoclastic ten days."
"I don't understand, Señor Warren?" she replied, in bewilderment.
"Of course you don't, or you wouldn't be kow-towing to this royalty stuff, and you would hand a bottle to that Don Roughhouse or whatever his name is, right on his classic brow, with a classic smash. You ought to see how an American girl would treat one of these big bullies! Well, what about my danger? It never worries me when I know where and when and how to expect it. Whatever you tell will be absolutely our secret."
Dolores looked at Rusty, who was struggling with a cigarette—he was more accustomed to Pittsburgh stogies, but his motto in life was based on the famous advice concerning Roman imitation!
"How about the Señor Moor, señor? May you trust him?" she asked nervously.
"Rusty is no Moor—he's an Afro-Methodist, my girl. He can't understand Spanish anyway, even though he's the best little guesser this side of the Ohio River. But I'd trust Rusty with my life. Go ahead with the danger signals."
She heard a footfall on the balcony above them.
"Let me pretend to read your palm, señor. I know we are being watched."
"All right, read away—my palm will show you that after this trip through Spain my clothesline needs washing. But, what's the fortune of the castle?"
It was the old Jarvis, now—blithesome, devil-may-worry, shrewd, and recovered completely, through the change of scene and a certain new interest in life which the reader may have already divined.
The girl led him away from beneath the balcony, to the side of the big fireplace. She took up his hand and examined it carefully.
Nor did her shrewd eyes miss the face on the balcony,—that of the Duke of Alva! She exaggerated her studious examination, and then in a low tone proceeded with the explanation of the lines of fate and life.
"Every one of these breaks in your lifeline shows a moment when you stood face to face with death. Ah, señor, in all my experience I have never seen such an adventurous palm.... You have stood elbow to elbow with death, and yet those little squares about the breaks show a guiding spirit of protection."
"Ah, señor, in all my experience I have never seen such an adventurous palm...."
"Ah, señor, in all my experience I have never seen such an adventurous palm...."
Warren was beginning to be bored. Yet something in the girl's furtive glances toward the balcony, which did not miss his own sharp eyes, convinced him that she was endeavoring to get a message to him.
She continued, her own hand trembling unmistakably.
"Ah, Señor Americano, there is one break which has not yet been reached by the line of time. The protecting square of your guardian saint is not perfect there, as with the others."
The Kentuckian laughed incredulously.
"Oh, I guess I can build up a square when the time comes and let the break take care of itself."
"But the time is now," and her voice was tremulously low.
"Now—what do you mean, now?"
She nodded her head, and with half-closed eyes gazed at the fireplace significantly.
"And are the fortune-teller's eyes so brilliant and so keen that they can light up the future and behold the day and the hour?" queried Jarvis.
"Not my eyes, señor," and her voice died down to a whisper, "but my ears."
The step of the Duke was upon the resonant stairs.
"In all my experience I have seen but one hand like yours, señor,—it speaks of danger; and that hand belongs to Don Robledo, to Don Robledo!"
The nobleman's voice cut short the séance. There was a warning note in it.
"Well, Dolores, and why are you not attending her Highness? You know the house, and she needs assistance."
"Pardon, señor." She stepped back and courtesied to Carlos, who came down the stairs, advancing toward Warren. "I will go at once, your Excellency."
"Good-by, señorita; I'll take good care of the little square. Thanks for your occult wisdom," were Warren's smiling words, as he looked at the Duke.
"Well, Mr. Warren. Looking into the future?"
"Yes, Duke, and the immediate future promises to be very interesting. That little fortune-teller has occult powers, indeed. A dark man is to cross my path soon."
Carlos had crossed the room to a position from where he could look into the taproom. He seemed to be satisfied with what he saw there. He turned toward the American.
"Do you believe in such foolery, Mr. Warren? I had thought you too intelligent to believe in superstitious things like fortune-reading."
"I like to believe some of these things on this occasion, for I hope it means someone I very much want to meet."
The Duke now approached him very earnestly.
"Mr. Warren, I feel a certain responsibility for her Highness, and all that pertains to my cousin. The prospect of your death to-night is most uncomfortable, when it can be so easily avoided by your own common sense. I seriously advise your waiting until the morning."
"So, you don't think I'll come back?"
"I think that if you go to the castle to-night, you take your life in your own hands."
Warren opened and shut his sinewy fingers, and laughed back: "I've got a pretty good grip."
"Look here," put in the nobleman. "You Americans are noted as being shrewd traders. You get dollar for dollar when you bargain—and generally a few extra dollars. You are not going to give your life away for nothing, are you?"
"Oh, it is not worth very much," retorted Jarvis. "The deal was made on a bargain day. My life happened to be a little below par, and a good customer came along."
There was a comprehensive sparkle in the dark Spanish eyes, to meet the twinkle in the firm blue ones.
"Ah, I begin to see a light. Well, Mr. Warren, I am willing to release you from your offer and the bargain and meet your terms now."
"Your Excellency, I am overwhelmed at the generosity, but the price was paid, the receipt given, and the bookkeeper has closed up the office. I'm on the job, and I'm certainly going to stay."
The Duke snarled, as he inquired: "I suppose that means that you are foolish enough to keep faith with her Highness?"
"Yes."
"I never saw a man quite so anxious to be killed, Mr. Jarvis; but such is sometimes the case where, as it has been said: 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'"
Jarvis laughed provokingly.
"I'd rather be an energetic fool than an angel with cold feet."
"I don't understand you, sir."
"Well, I understand you, your Excellency."
The Duke turned toward the fireplace.
"I am sorry for you," he remarked.
Jarvis walked over close to the nobleman and looked him straight in the eyes, as he spoke with unusual meaning vibrant in his voice.
"Your Excellency, your sympathy, your offer, and your advice are all declined, without thanks.... I once saw a gambler lay down four aces,—just think of it, four fat aces. He looked the dealer straight in the eye, as I am doing now with you. Then he said, 'The play ain't natural.'... Now, you have tried to have me arrested on the steamer, then you tipped off Scotland Yard and, for all I know, the Paris police, too. You have tried to block me every way you could, and you're a regular little prize blocker. Suddenly you express the utmost anxiety as to what's going to happen to me in the castle. You generously offer to buy me off. You advise me, with tears in your eyes, to stay away and save my life. Shall I take the bait—hook, line, and sinker? Duke, 'the play ain't natural'!"
The nobleman clenched his fists in anger.
"You have intruded into a matter which you neither understand nor appreciate. If, as you say, the play seems unnatural, then throw down your cards and stay out of the game."
"Oh, no, no, no!" and Jarvis' voice again had that provokingly teasing tone in it. "I'll just stay right in the game and play my hand out—and watch every deal."
He turned toward Rusty.
"Come along, and let's see if we can find the landlord. We'll have a look at our rooms," he said. "Hurry, Rusty—don't go to sleep—the bedrooms are upstairs."
Rusty was very thoughtful as he picked up the bags and began to follow. The Duke watched the two with sidelong glances. Both characters were mysteries to him—so different, nonchalant, and unaffected by this serious task. Europeans would have taken the case at least with greater seriousness.
"What's the matter with you, Rusty? In love?"
The negro was lost in a deep study, as he sniffed the air in a thoughtful, absent-minded fashion.
"Marse Warren, I'd like to find a piece of chicken!"
"Great Scott! What put that into your head?"
"Oh, lawsee, Marse Warren, I'se powerful hungry! It ain't human to be so hungry!"
"What—again?"
"No, sir; it's de same old hunger. No matter how fast de train go I jes' cain't leave it behin'. Oh my, if I on'y had some po'k chops an' a little real gin!"
Jarvis started on toward the steps.
"Well, you come on now, Rusty—you don't eat a thing until we finish this job."
Rusty shook his head despairingly.
"Good Lawd, does I have to wait ontel you is dead—before I kin eat my vittles?"
He followed his master across the room, just as the Princess came to the balcony and started down the stairs.
"Well, Mr. Warren," added the Duke, "all Seguro will be buzzing with your ghost-hunt to-night. The whole town will sit up to hear the outcome."
The Kentuckian turned to look at the speaker.
"And where are you going to hear the returns of the battle, your Excellency?"
"Unfortunately, I must leave at once—I have an urgent summons from Madrid."
Jarvis shook his head in mock sorrow.
"That's too bad, sure enough. I'm sorry we're to lose the inspiration of your company. Won't you even be around at the finish? Surely, you take that much interest in the little breaking party, your Excellency."
"I am sorry, Mr. Warren, but I must go," answered the nobleman, writhing under the sarcasm, but never losing the smooth control of his words and studied reserve.
"Well, I call that a doggoned shame!" and Jarvis started again for the stairs.
The beautiful girl was just coming down, and the Duke's eyes came together in an angry squint as he saw the warmth of the glance which she bestowed upon the American.
"Here, Pedro,—this is Mr. Warren and his man. Attend to his wants."
"Yes, your Highness," and Pedro once more strained the faithful spine with a series of gutta-percha bows. "This way, sirs, to your rooms," and he led them up the stairs.
Jarvis turned on the step and faced her.
"Your Highness, I would like to have a couple of good horses, and two lanterns. I don't want to let any grass grow under my feet on the trip to the castle to-night."
She gave the order to Pedro, and he promised to bring the required objects with sturdy steeds.
"Ah, Mr. Warren, looking for an honest man, like old Socrates?" inquired the Duke of Alva.
"Ah, Mr. Warren, looking for an honest man, like old Socrates?"
"Ah, Mr. Warren, looking for an honest man, like old Socrates?"
"Not in this neck of the woods, your Excellency!" and Jarvis disappeared in the balcony entrance to the old line of bedrooms.
Maria Theresa turned anxiously to her cousin.
"Carlos, what news of my brother? Have you heard anything yet?"
"Not a thing, Maria. I am very sorry."
"And yet I heard you say that you were leaving for Madrid?" she questioned.
"Yes. The message is from his Gracious Majesty the King. You know how important a summons that is."
"But why must you go so soon? Why not wait overnight at Pedro's tavern, here?"
"Ah, my dear cousin, you know how long the ride before I connect with the railroad to Madrid."
The girl wrung her hands, nervous at last, and her appealing eyes would have softened a gentler heart than that of the steely Carlos.
"But, Carlos, my brother—your princely cousin—may be dying, he may be dead. Here am I alone with no kinsman at my side if you leave."
The Duke protested, dramatically.
"Maria, I must obey my King!"
"To leave me, after all your protestations! You have not the time nor courage to stay and help me in this hour."
Carlos laughed bitterly, pointing toward the distant room of Warren's.
"What need of me, my dear? You have this marvel of Sir Galahads, the Ghost Breaker!"
She dropped her head and answered slowly, "So, that is your excuse?"
He caught eagerly at what he deemed his opportunity. He snatched her hand, although it was as promptly pulled away.
"I make no excuses, my dear Maria. I need none. But you know the truth—that Yankee adventurer stands between you and me. He is of the common herd,—you and I of the bluest blood in Spain. Send him away, now—to-night, and I will do anything for you. I will postpone my journey to the King, at any sacrifice of displeasure. I'll send one of my men into the castle to find your brother."
She turned scornfully toward him, her eyes flashing.
"Yes—you will send one of your men—but you are not brave enough to go there yourself. Yet you ask me to send away this man, who of all of you is the only one willing to sacrifice his life for me?"
Carlos snapped his tapering fingers angrily, as he clutched his sword-cane. His swarthy face was chalky under the stress of the emotion, as he replied savagely:
"If he stays, I go!"
"Very well; then, Carlos—you force me to make a choice. I choose a real man."
Carlos caught her by the arm.
"You are too interested in this worthless pretender, Maria! I love you myself, and with the keenness of love I have watched you follow him with your eyes, have seen the growing warmth in your voice—all through those days on the ocean, aboard theMauretania. I warn you—royal princesses must aim higher than the common herd."
"Go, Carlos Hernando! It is I who am the superior—I the one to abjure!"
Jarvis was sauntering down the steps, and he was greeted by a confused look in the girl's eyes. Carlos took his hat and coat from the table. Maliciously he hoped that the American had been eavesdropping, for thus he might be encouraged to presumption—and the Duke was certain that of all women in the world the least susceptible to presumption was his haughty kinswoman.
"Well, Maria, you are sending him to his death—and as for you, Mr. Ghost Breaker, I wish you success, when you beard the specter in his den!"
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!