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Ghost Breaker, The

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V EXIT JARVIS, LAUGHING The Princess turned toward the door, for a step could be heard in the corridor. "Before that official returns we must have a plan. I thought it out while you were behind the door. But, perhaps, it will be too hard a task for you." "I'll try it. Anything to get out of here! And I would like to know what it is you want me to do for you—what about the ghost?" "I will tell you in good time. Just now for your escape. It is getting late, and the hours are speeding past. You are in a hopeless trap here. Now, my trunk..." "What about it?" "I am sending it on board the Mauretania at six o'clock, and no one could possibly suspect." Jarvis turned to study this curious vehicle of transportation. It was a strong, well-built piece of baggage, indeed; but to be cooped up in it, at the mercy of baggageman and truckman, hoisters and stewards—the thought was staggering. "You're joking," he began, but she resolutely shook her wealth of hair. "It's the only chance, and a daring one at that. I am jeopardizing my own safety by assisting you. Surely, if life is so uncertain for you at best, you cannot lose by a trial." Jarvis stooped over it, and began lifting out the trays, to study the questionable roominess of the interior. "What about these?" he asked, and as he spoke a locket dropped to the floor. The girl darted forward to pick it up, and Jarvis observed it for the first time. Her solicitude seemed unusual to the Kentuckian. "Did I break something?" "No. It's nothing. I mean, it's all right. It's just a locket. I broke it myself yesterday, on purpose. It means a great deal to me, and perhaps to you. Some day you may know the reason why ... Shall we send the trays to the steamer by messenger?" Jarvis thought for an instant. Here was such an utterly improbable method of escape, such a strange new twirl in his whirlpool of adventure, that he had to find his bearings. "I have it now," he explained. "You had better telephone—we must have someone we can trust implicitly." The Princess crossed toward the desk telephone on the small table by her bed, and looked at him inquiringly. "Ask the operator to connect you with the Hotel Belmont. That's just across the street. My room is 417. Rusty, my servant, is there. He is waiting for some word from me, as he knew the possibilities when I met Jim Marcum. He can be counted on till Judgment Day and then a few hours afterwards! Tell him to come here at once—mention my first name only, with no other explanation—that will bring him and give no other clew to an outsider. You never can tell about a telephone. But fortunately, I registered there under a different name. Try it now." The girl had the receiver off the hook. After a short delay she was talking directly with the faithful servitor, whose trembling voice betokened his anxiety. But Rusty was too sage to ask too many questions—he had served in affairs of delicacy before this. "Hello—is this Mr. Rusty?... Yes? Well, listen carefully. You are to come right over to the Manhattan Hotel across the street and a bellboy will be waiting for you at the desk. He is to bring you up to room 1121." Jarvis interrupted: "Tell him to keep his mouth shut!" The Princess balked at the colloquialism. "And—and—don't talk to anyone ... What's that?... Oh, yes. 'Warren.'... There, he'll be coming over immediately." Jarvis, the executive, was now in action. He had emptied the trunk as she was talking, tossing out fascinating feminine mysteries of lace and silks, with a nonchalance which brought a twinkle into the dark eyes. He turned again. "Hurry, now—call up the clerk downstairs. Tell them to look out for Rusty and send him up here." More delicate symphonies of Parisian architecture were thrown on the floor, and Warren had taken out his pocket-knife. "Hello, hello," called the Princess. "I'm expecting a man." "A colored man," was Warren's parenthesis. "Yes,... a colored man ... to get some bundles. He will come right to the desk ... please send him up at once ... It is very important." The Princess observed Jarvis' attempt to bore a hole in the side of the trunk. He was laboring diligently, until the blade snapped. "Confound it!" "Why are you doing that?" "I must breathe, you know ... Now, how can I cut a hole in the blessed thing?" He scratched his forehead in a quandary. The Princess brought him her shears from the dresser. In a few minutes he had made two openings which seemed to satisfy him, but it had been no easy task. "What time does the boat sail?" "Nine o'clock." "Good. That will give Rusty time to get aboard with these trays and my baggage. Let me see, it is a quarter of six now—how quickly the dawn has slipped in!" There was a knock on the outer door, and Jarvis again disappeared behind the bathroom portal, with instinctive caution. At a call from the Princess, the door opened after she had slid back the upper bolt. The girl stepped back abashed at the appearance of the excited negro. Rusty rolled his eyes, suspiciously taking in the contents of the room. "Whar's Marse Warren?" and his voice was hoarse. Jarvis stepped into view. "Lawd bless you, Marse Warren. I done thought dat Marcum got you dis time." "Never mind what you thought. Help me wrap up these trays. We sail for Europe in two hours." Rusty gasped, shot another big-eyed look at the beautiful girl and then at his master. "Two hours—good Lawd!—you mean WE?" The Princess was holding out a steamer rug in silence. "Yes, Rusty, you and I. Here, give me a hand with this rug," and with the aid of his servant he made a quick job of the bundling. "Now, take these—with our baggage from the Belmont—to the steamship Mauretania of the Cunard line. Buy accommodations.... Mind, you won't see me until after we get out to sea. You stay in your stateroom and sit tight until you hear from me." He took out his wallet. "You understand now? Cunard line. You can find it some way—just take a taxi, and get there as fast as you can. The clerk at the hotel will get the tickets over the telephone, and you can pay him when you settle for the whole bill, with that other money I gave you. Now, get hold of this money, and keep hold of it. No gin now, Rusty!" He turned around, and observed the amused surprise on the face of his fair companion. "I beg your pardon.... This is Rusty;—Rusty, this is the Princess of Aragon...." Rusty bowed. "Howdy do, Mrs. Princess!" "There, that will do. Is it all clear for you now?" "Yassir. I takes everything to the steamboat—gets accommo—accommo—wall, I knows what you means, Marse Warren, if I cain't spell it. I gets them things for us and Mrs. Princess." The girl reddened under the beaming smile, but Jarvis quickly interceded. "Not for the Princess; just for us two. What's the name of the boat?" "The Mary Tania!" "That'll do. Now be off, and don't get left behind." As Rusty made his exit with the bulky bundle, the Princess smiled: "Good-by, Rusty," and he bobbed his head with a broader grin than ever as he disappeared down the corridor toward the elevator. "Time nearly up," muttered Warren, as he took off his coat. "Pardon the disrobing—but I'll be more at ease in my shirt-sleeves. It's a stingy little room to spend three hours in. I'll lie this way, with my head toward this corner. Remember, this trunk must not go into the hold of the ship—have it marked 'Wanted' and 'This End Up.' I'll take the shears along and cut another hole from the inside if it gets too suffocating." The girl walked to the table and picked up the revolver, which she held out. "You'd better take this, too." "How do you know you can trust me now?" There was a veiled irony in her retort, although it was accompanied by a smile: "I don't. I have to take that chance. I have no other choice at this late hour." "You must have a pretty good reason for it in the back of your head. But what about this ghost? I may never hear the sequel. At least give me some food for thought during my travels in the dark." "Are you afraid?" "Lord, no! I merely wanted to know. Well, I'll wait. But, now, honest Injun, as we say down in Kentucky, are you a really, sure-enough princess?" "Why do you ask that?" "Oh, I don't know. Somehow you are not quite like what I thought a princess would be.... I mean, you're different from the popular conception of a royal person. Your English is so perfect." "I learned it in an English boarding-school." "Your informality—for it has been put to a severe test these last few hours,—your adaptability,—you have more understanding, more sympathy, more heart." She turned away and tilted a haughty chin. "In that last respect, sir, you will find me quite like the popular conception." A knocking on the door interrupted further interchanges on the peculiarities of royalty. Jarvis clambered inside the vehicle of his escape, and drew down the lid, with a farewell smile. "Trunks, lady, for the steamer!" came the voice of the porter, as he resumed his thumping on the door panel. "Just a minute." The Princess hurriedly bundled up the scattered garments, jumbling them upon the bed. She turned the key in the trunk and, with a quick feminine survey of the field for damaging, overlooked evidence, called to her maid. "Nita, admit the porter." The servant appeared with surprising promptness. The man pushed in his truck, with the obsequious manner which is a prelude to the smirking appreciation of a handsome gratuity. "Have the other trunks gone, my good man?" queried her Serene Highness. "Yes'm. Last night, mum." "This trunk goes on a special wagon." "Yes'm." At this juncture the house detective appeared at the doorway. He stopped and looked questioningly at the broken lock. He was alert as a weasel despite his ponderous physique: he fingered it, and studied the evidence of fresh splinters. The Princess continued calmly. "Have it marked 'Wanted'" (and as she indicated with a jeweled finger), "'This End up with Care.'" The porter nodded. "I'll put special stickers on it, mum. You'll find it in your stateroom when you get to the steamer. Is that all, mum?" "Handle it gently, porter." "Shure, lady and I never smashed one in me life! I'll handle it as rivirintly as if it held the relics of a saint, mum. I'm that careful in me worruk. So don't worry one little bit, mum." As he started out with the heavy piece of luggage on his truck, the detective stopped him sternly. "Just a minute. How did that lock get broken?" <ANTIMG src="images/003.jpg" alt=""Just a minute. How did that lock get broken?"" width-obs="500" height-obs="375"> "Just a minute. How did that lock get broken?" The Princess felt herself changing color, yet she shrugged her shoulders as she turned away. Nita suddenly chattered in Spanish to her, and the detective shot a sharp glance at the girl. "What does she say?" he cried. "She knows something about it." "She says the other porter banged the door before we came in, for it was that way when she entered to arrange my clothes. I have had my sleep interrupted all night long, and I do not care for any insolence now." The detective looked a bit sheepish, but stuck to his inquest. "When did you come?" "Yesterday." "And when do you go away?" "We sail this morning for Europe." "Huh," and there was a suggestion of doubt in his grunt. "The police are making an investigation in the hotel. They would like to have a look at these rooms. Do you mind?" "Not at all. My maid will show them around." "What time do you sail? Does this trunk go on board?" "Yes,—I want it sent on a special wagon, for I fear we will be late. The steamer sails at nine o'clock." The detective nodded to the porter, who brushed close by the Princess with his cargo. "Bon voyage!" she said with a smile. "What's that?" asked the detective. "I merely called my maid. You're an unusually impertinent and inquisitive man. In my country gentlewomen are shown some degree of courtesy, even by hotel servants," she remarked icily. The detective's ruddy face grew redder. "Well, I dunno about your country, whatever that is. But in this country, and in this hotel there don't nothin' get by me. That's all. Come on in, boys." Two bluecoats entered the room, gazed awkwardly about, and walked to the window to peer down at the street. Then they passed out, not without, it must be admitted, an envious glance at the collection of jewels on the table. As the door closed behind them, her Serene Highness turned toward Nita, as she relaxed in the chair by the dressing-table. "You may dress my hair, child. I wonder how the door was broken?" "Ah, madame," was the guileless response. "Quién sabe?" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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