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Ghost Breaker, The

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VIII THE NEW PROFESSION A knock on the door brought them both back to—the deck of the Mauretania, with terra firma not so far distant below! "There he is now," she whispered nervously. "Who shall I say you are? And what?" "Oh, any old thing—Warren, Mr. Warren. Leave the classification to me. Self-identification is an American trait!" She crossed the cabin, and after a timid pause opened the door. "Come in," she murmured. "Ah, I'm intruding," exclaimed Carlos, Duke of Alva, with an intonation which expressed an invitation for Warren Jarvis to make a graceful exit. "Not at all," blankly observed Jarvis. "I've just been discussing my professional task at the castle; as a member of the family you can give me some good working material." "I don't understand," spluttered Carlos, taken aback. "Pardon me, cousin. This is Mr. Warren, of America, who has consented to help me. My cousin, the Duke of Alva." She walked behind the two men, comparing them keenly: the deadly parallel column was not at all unfavorable to the insouciant Kentuckian. "Glad to know you," volunteered Jarvis. "Have a cigarette?" "I never smoke in the presence of ladies," retorted the Duke. Then with a patronizing air he added: "I am honored to meet you, sir, if you are in my royal cousin's employ. So, you are interested in the castle?" "Oh, not so much in the castle as in the ghost. I'll attend to him." "And is that your regular profession?" "You are a good guesser, my dear Duke. That is my business—solving mysteries—locking up family skeletons—chasing spooks and putting salt on their tails. We have a professional name for it in the United States." "And what is that, sir?" asked Carlos, uncertain whether to be affronted or to draw out this strange bird to a confidence. A quick glance at his cousin's immobile face gave him no hint. Jarvis continued amiably. "We are living in an age of specialists. You have doubtless heard of Farley the Strike Breaker, of Roosevelt the Trust Breaker. I forgot to bring my business cards with me; but if I may be so immodest as to tell the truth, I am known from Bowling Green to the Golden Gate as Warren the Ghost Breaker!" <ANTIMG src="images/004.jpg" alt=""I am known from Bowling Green to the Golden Gate, as Warren the Ghost Breaker"" width-obs="500" height-obs="385"> "I am known from Bowling Green to the Golden Gate, as Warren the Ghost Breaker" This astounding news fairly took the Duke off his feet. He mentally clawed the air for his equilibrium. "Madre de Dios!" ejaculated the Duke, dropping his sword-cane. As he recovered from his astonishment, the Princess interceded: "I am so glad you came. I promised the Ghost Breaker that you would join us shortly. You will be able to tell him, so much better than I, of all the strange circumstances. I have only given him a rough outline of what happened up to the time I left my brother on his way to the castle." Carlos sank into a chair, irritated at the American's disinterested lack of courtesy: Jarvis had not even risen from his seat on the trunk. Somehow or other Carlos despised that trunk! "I will be delighted to throw any possible light on the mystery of the castle. But first let us leave your brother in peace, to let me know why you came to America?" Maria Theresa drew the locket from her reticule. "This is what brought me." "May I see it?" and the Duke held out his hand, ingratiatingly. "What a charming old antique!" "No, Carlos. Rather you may see the locket, but not the memorandum in the back." The Duke registered an expression of polite surprise. "Memorandum?" "Yes," and the Princess removed a small bit of paper from the ivory back, swinging it forward to her cousin's hand, on the long silver chain. The nobleman's dark face assumed a ruddier hue, as he caught the trinket in fingers which Jarvis noticed were trembling in tell-tale manner. Jarvis watched the two of them in silence. "It's a curious old piece of work. And you came all the way to New York to get it?" "Yes." "You were fortunate to find it so soon." "I knew where to find it, Carlos; yet I was almost too late. Think of it, after that dear old family heirloom had lain in an antique shop for nearly ten years—suddenly there came two inquiries for it in a day, two beside my own. The first was from a distinguished-looking gentleman who had called early in the morning, describing it roughly to the old man, urging him to hunt for it. It took an hour to find it—and I happened to come in at the end of the hour. I doubled the offer of a museum collector, and trebled that of the distinguished-looking gentleman. I secured it." Here, the Princess shot a sharp look into the half-closed eyes of the Duke. "Who do you suppose could have wanted that locket but myself, Carlos?" "I suppose," and it was the assumed indifference of a cornered schemer, "it has already occurred to you that I am the 'distinguished-looking gentleman.' Has it, cousin?" The girl's curiosity piqued her. "But how did you learn about the memorandum, Carlos?" "I didn't, cousin. I had not the slightest suspicion that the locket contained an important secret; I doubt it now. I was merely following my pet hobby, in addition to a little family sentiment. I wanted to recover some of those precious heirlooms which had been scattered to the four winds." "When did you know that this one had been scattered to New York,—on your last visit to the boulevards of Paris?" And Jarvis' smile was as ingenuous as that of a babe of two. The Duke of Alva scowled. There seemed something uncanny in the sharpness of this American; but he prided himself upon the power of diplomacy. "I have seldom been in Paris: they are not so much interested in antiques as in very lively moderns, Mr. Ghost Breaker!... But there, you interrupted my thought! You would be surprised to see the collection which I have already rescued, and which, Maria, will some day be yours. You Americans are not noted as really astute collectors, Mr. Jarvis." "Well, our collectors who don't worry over millions are frequently stung by clever counterfeits. But we laboring men, who must devote all our time to our work, are usually able to tell imitations from the real thing. We are not impressed by 'four-flushing,' your Excellency!" The Duke scowled at Warren, vainly attempting to divine the meaning of the Yankee slang. But the Kentuckian was impatient: he knew that debates were seldom as productive as labor in a workshop, when it came down to fundamentals. Carlos was impatiently interrupted. "Well, so much for the treasure—let's hear about the ghost. Of course I'm certain that there's no connection between the two, in such an aristocratic land as Spain, which scoffs at the American pursuit of the miserable, despised dollar.... What's your private opinion of this ghost? Is he a real, dependable, hell-bent spook, deserving all this press stuff which has been given to him? I've had so much experience with spirits—being a native Kentuckian—that they must be 100-proof to interest me!... Do you really put any stock in ghosts, Duke?" "Yes, Mr. Warren, I am convinced that there are such things. This world is filled with evidences of the supernatural." "Then you honestly believe this castle is haunted?" "I know it!" And the Duke's black eyes sparkled with an intensity which had its effect even upon the cynical Warren Jarvis. "So you think this ghost is dangerous to encounter—that it is the cause of the mysterious deaths and disappearances in the old castle?" "I do, Mr. Warren!" Jarvis whistled meditatively. The Duke looked disgusted; this was so absolutely against all rules of his own conduct with women. "Well, what do you know about that?" Warren was again silent. The Duke was tabulating his own material and preparing his next charge of ammunition. "Ghost is a broad term, your Excellency. There are fifty-seven varieties of them, just like good pickles. They're equally bad for the digestion. What is your particular conception of this particular ghost?" The Duke answered impatiently. "There are certain occult forces in this world, Mr. Warren, that science cannot classify or fathom. Some of them are at work in that castle, manifesting their weird powers. A priest might call them demons or fiends—a psychologist might term them, perhaps, returned spirits.... I can't say; but I have been there, and heard their curious warnings and manifestations. There is something definable there, in the periphery of those ancient ruins. A malignant spiritual force lurks within that mediæval stronghold. While it haunts those musty halls it is madness for any man to expose himself there." "You could write a good book on it, Duke," observed Jarvis irreverently. "Have you ever seen this ghost?" "My brother has," interrupted Maria Theresa impetuously. "Twice, to my knowledge, before I left Seguro. So had my father and the others who disappeared from human ken!" "Good Lord!" and there was a touch of the mock-heroic in the Kentuckian's voice, which escaped his companions. "According to the family tradition," continued the Princess, "no one has ever seen it three times, and lived to tell the story." "How do you connect this gentlemanly spook with the treasure, your Excellency?" burst in Jarvis, with a swift look of interrogation which discomfited the nobleman. "Spook? Treasure? I see no connection. What do you mean?" "Oh, there is always money when the ghost walks," was the mysterious reply of the American, wasted on the untheatrical Spaniards. "That is the first premise upon which a reliable scientific Ghost Breaker begins his task of investigation." "I don't know what your experience may have been, Mr. Warren. You are evidently a brave man, but you have yet to encounter a ghost like this supernatural spirit. Things are different in the Old World!" Warren Jarvis sniffed. "Huh! Brave? It takes no bravery to fight a coward—that is what the ghost is. It's a coward like every other stealthy, sneaking spirit, afraid to show itself by daylight, in the glare of the sun. I can tell you now that men are not half so afraid of spirits as the spirits are afraid of men. If you face the supernatural, it is more than half beaten to a frazzle, before the fight begins. In my professional career I have learned that ghosts, horse thieves, and peevish wildcats can all be tamed by the same little charm." The Princess was mystified. "Charm? What do you mean—a relic?" The Duke leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with interest. "What is it?" "I'd hate to tell you," responded Warren Jarvis. "It's part of my system." And he forthwith drew out the revolver, caressing it with an unmistakable confidence. "I had been hoping, Mr. Warren," remarked the Duke, "that you had some subtle method worthy of handling this problem, and justifying the reputation for such work which you say you maintain through America. You evidently propose to meet the forces of the supernatural with firearms.... I may as well tell you that this specter has been shot at before without the slightest effect." The Kentuckian smiled gently. "Quite likely, your Excellency. I have seen rifle-fire that had not the slightest effect on a wildcat for the simple reason that the firing was wilder than the cat!" The Duke of Alva bestowed a pitying glance upon the weapon and its owner. "I'm sorry for you, Mr. Warren. You will find that the ghost is more real than the treasure." The Princess arose indignantly. She interrupted, with feminine betrayal of her own hand. "But the treasure is real, Carlos. Would I have crossed the ocean for this locket unless I knew?" Carlos looked at her sharply. "I know I am right, now, Carlos. With the memorandum which I found inside the old locket, anyone, a total stranger, could walk right up to the very stone that hides it." There was a meaning tone in Jarvis' voice, as he added: "A pretty dangerous paper to have around—look out that somebody else doesn't get there ahead of you." The Duke shot back a quick answer to the message between the words: "Yes, it is a dangerous paper—if it leads anyone into the castle." "Well, despite the danger and the threats of—the ghost—I'd go a long way for the fun of unraveling a good mystery with a little spice of danger thrown in." The Duke scowled, and then with a peculiar emphasis on his words drew a newspaper from the breast pocket of his coat. "You needn't have taken such a long trip, Mr. Warren. You are leaving behind you, in New York, a very interesting and unusual mystery. The papers are full of the story to-day.... It will interest you too, cousin. You were stopping at the Manhattan Hotel last night, I believe?" "Yes," said the girl indifferently; but she and Jarvis exchanged eloquent glances. The Duke was reading with unusual interest, it seemed to Jarvis. "Why, no..." he began. "I was so wrapped up in my baggage that I really didn't have the time nor inclination to bother with the scandal of the day. Tell us about it?" The nobleman began to read: "'Pistol duel in Manhattan Hotel.... Colonel James Marcum, a wealthy and prominent Kentucky sportsman, nearly met death at an early hour this morning in a revolver battle in his hotel room...'" He glanced down the column and continued: "'Even at a late hour the police had no clew to the identity of his assailant, except the remarkable fact that the person is still hiding somewhere in the hotel...'" The Kentuckian interrupted: "The villain is probably a long way from the hotel by this time if he knows what's what!" "But they say he couldn't have gotten out without being seen," continued the Duke, still studying the printed column. "Oh, that's the theory of the reporters. They'd lose their jobs if they ever told the real truth in a criminal case," remarked Jarvis coolly. "Don't believe what the papers say—unless it's nice and about yourself!" "Well, Mr. Ghost Breaker, what is your own opinion? You are an expert in these matters," insisted the Duke. "This affair interests me." Jarvis was more than nonchalant. "He might have escaped in a thousand ways. But such work is not in my line: that's 'gum-shoe' stuff—for plain common or garden detectives." Nita entered the cabin, and Maria Theresa arose uncertainly. "I'll call you when I need you, Nita." There was some hidden portent in her tone which Jarvis failed to divine. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He rose, and walked toward the door to the promenade deck. "We are keeping you from getting settled, I fear," he declared. "So, if you'll excuse me at this time, I'll hope to see you at luncheon.... And as for you, Duke, it's a great pleasure to meet your Excellency." Carlos bowed with military grace. "Thank you, Mr. Warren. I find you most interesting. I shall be glad to hear more of your remarkable profession. Good-morning, sir." The Kentuckian turned away. As Warren reached the deck door there was a knock upon the portal to the cabin passage. Nita followed him, and then turned to open the second entrance. Two pompous, red-cheeked, red-necked individuals stepped forward, without so much as a "by-your-leave!" The first one spoke, reading from a smudgy memorandum book. "You are Miss M. T. Ar-r-ragan?" The Princess acquiesced. "You was at the Hotel Manhattan last night?" "Yes." "The lock on your bedroom door was broken?" "Yes?" The speaker jerked back the left lapel of his coat, displaying a silver badge with great satisfaction. "I am from headquarters, madame, and I have orders to clear up one or two little matters connected with that affair at the hotel last night." The speaker glared at them suspiciously. The chivalry of Spain asserted itself. The Duke stepped forward with spirit, gripping the cane as though it were a cavalry saber. "Orders—orders—what orders? To break into this lady's private cabin? What headquarters?" "It seems to me, bo, that you're in a lady's private cabin yourself. I'm from police headquarters, bo!" "Do you know whom you are addressing, fellow?" "Say, nix on this fellow stuff. That'll be about all from you." Maria Theresa interceded with her winsome grace and irresistible smile. "Yes, Carlos, let me attend to the matter. Won't you come into the cabin, gentlemen, and be seated?" The two detectives beamed, their bosoms heaved with pride at this unexpected recognition of their importance. They entered, waving away the steward and closing the cabin door behind them. "We're just been discussing that mystery, Inspector!" observed Jarvis, coming nearer and taking his seat upon the trunk once more. This irritated the Duke, who added: "You are, I take it, one of the 'gum shoes'?" Jarvis turned toward Maria Theresa, disregarding all properties due to the presence of the aristocracy, and yielded to that nervous twitching of the left eye which expresses such manifold meaning with such minimum of sound! The detective whirled about, from his scrutiny of the cabin, walking toward the Duke. He fairly howled in the surprised nobleman's face: "Gum shoe! Say, are you trying to kid me?" The Duke replied with asperity: "Well, sir. You are speaking rather loudly. I presume that I have offended you?" "You presume! I should say you do. That's a hot one. Who are you, anyway?" "I am Carlos, Hernando y Calderos, Duke of Alva. I have other titles, but they would hardly interest you." The detective glared at him malevolently, mimicking the crisp enunciation of the nobleman. "But you interest me, sweetie. Dook of Alver—and then some, eh? Ain't that just too cutey-cutey for any use? Say, I'm used to these dooks and counts—I've been around Peacock Alley at the Waldorf too long not to know 'em by their checkered pants and them canes! Say, Dook! If you was the Archbishop of Canterbury I'd run yer in and take yer ashore, if yer give me any more of yer lip." Jarvis, bumping his heels against the trunk, smiled with diabolical enjoyment in the face of his Excellency! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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