The Ghost Breaker: A Novel Based Upon the Play Read online

  III

  IN THE ROYAL SUITE

  A beautiful young woman stirred uneasily in the early slumber of theevening. Eleven floors below her, in the foyer of the Hotel Manhattan,the after-theater crowd of visitors thronged and buzzed happily. Butthe girl, after an unusual day of anxiety in a strange land, was ill atease, with fitful dreams.

  The Paris clock of her Highness delicately struck two musical notesupon the chimes, to indicate the half-hour; at the same instant, asthough by echo and vehement confirmation, two revolver shots resoundedin the corridor.

  The girl shuddered as she opened her large dark eyes, sitting boltupright in bed. She heard a slamming of doors, a growing hubbub in theusually decorous hallway outside, and her feminine curiosity almostconquered the aristocratic reserve, to impel her to rise and discoverthe origin of the hubbub.

  She was spared the trouble, for suddenly the door of her boudoirreceived a vigorous thump. The lock crashed and it swung open,admitting the rays of a red electric lamp in the corridor outside. Theportal swung shut with even greater promptitude, as a dark body leapedover the threshold.

  "_Madre de Dios!_" she screamed. Then, after a gasp, "Who's there!"

  The intruder backed against the door, working with the top bolt, whichwas still intact. She could see the vague outline by the dim glow ofthe moonlight which streamed into her room.

  Then, as she seemed preparing for another cry, he turned toward her.

  "Ssssh! Don't make any noise," he whispered vibrantly, audaciously.

  The girl slipped from her bed and drew a flimsy dressing-gown abouther.

  "What do you want?"

  "Silence!"

  She had reached the lamp on the small boudoir table near the bed. Sheswitched on the electric light. They stared at each otherwide-eyed--but stirred by different feelings. Hers was the fright of awoman finding herself in the power of a strange and desperate man; histhe battling alertness of a man fighting for his own life against odds.

  It was Jarvis of Kentucky!

  It was Jarvis of Kentucky]

  Despite his immaculate evening clothes, the blanched face, drawn mouth,and the revolver in his hand made him appear to her as thepersonification of that vague terror of the unfamiliar dark which allwomen and children know so well. He crouched there, reading thecharacter in her haughtily tossed head and imperious eyes. The detailsof her beauty he ignored, remembering only three important facts: "Sheis young, she is frightened but has not lost control of herself." Hereached forward and touched the switch of the lamp. Again the moon wasthe sole illumination of the room!

  A voice outside in the corridor came to them.

  "What's the row?"

  "Somebody's shooting up the hotel!" was the reply, from another throat.

  "Not a sound ... do you understand?" whispered Jarvis, as he backedtoward the door again.

  "What right...?" she began.

  "Quiet!"

  The voices in the corridor were closer now.

  "Where'd he go? Look on the fire-escape."

  "No use--he's on this floor, I tell you."

  The girl advanced toward him, her own spirit asserting itself, as sherealized that help was within calling distance. Yet she did not call!

  "What is it? What do you want? What have you done?"

  Warren slipped the revolver into his pocket to reassure her.

  "It's all right now. I'm not going to harm you, if you will just keepquiet. Is that clear to you?"

  "Is it money you want? All the money I have is on that dressing-table.Take it and go."

  He shook his head, now observing the wealth of hair, the healthy,aristocratic poise of shoulders and arms, and the depths of her eyes.

  "I'm not a burglar. I don't want your money."

  "Well, then, what do you want?" She was beginning to be impatient.

  There was a sound of rapid steps down the corridor. Jarvis sprangtoward the door, his eyes still intent on hers.

  "Listen ... they're coming!... They mustn't search this room--do youunderstand--you must put them off." He assured himself that the upperbolt was intact and shot tightly. "I'm not what you think I am.... Isthere no way out that way, through the door over there behind you?"

  She shook her head.

  "No, that is my maid's room."

  "The fire-escape--where is that?"

  "In the hall opposite."

  Jarvis snapped a finger, angry at his own mistake.

  "I thought that red meant it was in this room. Oh, hell!... I beg yourpardon!"

  A faint smile turned up the corner of the red lips, and she shruggedher shoulders ever so lightly.

  "Well, you know where it is now; why don't you go?"

  Jarvis shook his head with determination: it was evident that thissurprised and surprising young person would be amenable to reason--hehad many logical reasons at his command.

  "I can't go that way--they'll be waiting in the hall," he declared, ashe studied the windows and portals. "The red light in the corridorfooled me--I thought the fire-escape would get me to the floor below,where I could take an elevator down during the hubbub. There they comeagain."

  As the odd pair stood, with bated breath, quick steps and a runningfire of conversation could be heard in the hall. It was evident thatthe chase was getting warm.

  The girl studied the pose of her curious visitor--it was not thecringing attitude of a criminal. In the lines of his well-built figurethere was the unmistakable grace of a gentleman to the manor born--thefearless confidence, despite his predicament, of a man confident of hisown justification.

  She was puzzled--her curiosity gradually overcoming her outragedfeelings and her natural resentment against his assured usurpation ofthe situation.

  This was a new experience for the lady of the lacy filaments and regalpoise; yet it was far from unpleasant to meet such calm masculinity.She switched on the light once more, to feel a surprising satisfactionin the impersonal, unabashed honesty of those steady blue eyes.

  Jarvis became conscious of a twinge in his hand, and looking down athis left hand, observed a little rivulet of blood dripping down to hisfinger-tips. He quickly drew his handkerchief from his pocket, asthough to cover the wound before she saw it. The action and its motivedid not escape the observant dark eyes. Her sex asserted itself; sheadvanced, nervous once more.

  "You are wounded? What has really happened? You must dress that hand..."

  "I almost stopped one of the bullets--that's all. You see it was notone-sided. But I am afraid it will be, if they get me now. I don't seehow the devil----" here he ran to the shaded window to peer at thetwinkling street lamps far below,----"Oh, damn!"

  The girl's manner froze again. She stepped back instinctively; and yetthat bandaged hand compelled her eyes. She spoke slowly.

  "You have evidently shot someone, and are making me shield you fromjustice."

  Warren Jarvis shook his head, with that straightforward look which wasso convincing.

  "Not from justice, but from the law?

  "I thought they were the same."

  His smile was bitter, as he retorted: "No, not always. There would beno justice for me at the hands of the law: justice was not accomplishedby the law in all these years."

  She dropped a white hand to the table by which she stood.

  "Well, that is not for me to decide. I must only...."

  "You must only listen--you shall decide. At least you shall listen, inorder that you may forgive my intrusion, my selfishness in compromisingyou as I have done." He hesitated, and for the first time color cameinto the drawn cheeks; a softening echo was observable in her own. "Ifyou find me guilty, when I tell you, I'll--well--I'll take that door oranything you say."

  "Your presumption is ridiculous," were her words, and yet she did notcall for assistance. Jarvis realized that he had at least won afoothold for his plea. And he had not given up his dogged hope.

  "I wouldn't call it ridiculous--a man has a right to argue for hislife."

  "But," she
parried, "could any decision be more unjust than mine mustbe, when delivered at the point of a pistol?"

  Jarvis took the challenge. He laid the weapon upon the dressing-tableby her side and crossed the room, leaving her between himself and thedoor.

  "Now, my dear lady, there's nothing to prevent you from covering me,calling for help, and solving the riddle as you please. After all, whatdoes it matter, whether the end comes to-day or to-morrow, for it wouldbe impossible to elude the police. You don't understand, I know--but Iam not flying from justice: it was a case of shoot or be shot. You willnotice that only one cartridge in that revolver has been used. But,listen--they're on the right trail at last."

  He noiselessly crossed to the door and listened to the renewedexcitement without. There was a triple knock, and the voice of a man,evidently of authority, rang out.

  "Open up here. Is there anybody in here? Open, I tell you."

  Jarvis turned toward the girl, whose face reflected a dozen curiousemotions as she watched him. He made his last appeal.

  "It's up to you to do with me as you like," he murmured.

  Her mind was made up quickly, and she pointed toward a door to theleft--it led to her bath. Jarvis disappeared behind its shelter. At thesame instant the door of the maid's room opened, and a chic littleservant ran out chattering, clinging to her mistress' arm forprotection.

  "Be silent," was the cool command. The knocking continued, with morevoices joining in the exhortations. The girl pointed to the door, andthe silent command was obeyed. Trembling like an aspen, the little maidopened it, and the burly form of a house detective appeared at theentrance.

  "Are you all right in here?" he asked, and then observing the twowhite-robed figures he doffed the conventional derby hat without whichno professional hotel detective would seem natural. "I beg your pardon,ma'am. I just came to see if you had had any trouble."

  "No," replied the mistress calmly. "What is the matter?"

  "Mighty sorry to trouble you, but we're looking for a party and weain't goin' to stop till we find him. We just thought he might havebeat it into this room for a getaway. If you want anything, just callus, for we'll be up and down these halls all night now."

  As he shut the door, the unusual young woman waved toward it once more.

  "Lock it well, Nita," she said in Spanish. "Control yourself, child.You have a chill. Go to bed again. I will not want you again until sixo'clock in the morning."

  As Nita retired she hesitated before her doorway. Her sharp black eyescaught the glint of the bulky revolver upon the library table. Thosesame black eyes dilated, her lips moved as though for anotherfrightened exclamation, but all she said was: "Thank you, madame! Iwill not bother you again until six o'clock. Good-night, madame!"

  Then she closed her door.

  Nita was as discreet as she was faithful, in the service of her belovedmadame. And she was essentially Spanish in her appreciative grasp of aromantic situation.