"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!"