he fragment. He sat bolt upright, at first
with rage and then a growing amusement.

"Look here, Rusty. This Duke is trying to put one over on me," he
declared, waking his servant.

"Huh? What's dat, Marse Warren?" and Rusty rubbed his eyes drowsily.

"Do you see what this paper is?"

"Looks like a telegram letter, boss."

"That's a wireless blank, Rusty. It has never been sent. It is the
first draft. See--the words are crossed out here, and a sentence
changed there. The person who wrote this message tried to save money,
by cutting it down, just as we, back home, waste a dollar's worth of
time, trying to shorten a telegraph message into ten words. Isn't that
reasonable?"

"Yassir. But what does it mean? I don't read no sich langwidge."

Jarvis smiled.

"It's in Spanish. It's addressed to Scotland Yard, in London."

"What's dat? Is it some schoolhouse lot?"

"It's detective headquarters, Rusty. And it is about me."

"About you-all!" Rusty was wide awake by this time, in all truth. He
had an instinctive suspicion of anything connected with brass buttons
and detectives.

"Yes. It warns Scotland Yard that a man named Warren, on this
steamship, is wanted by the New York police, and that I should be
arrested before the passengers can leave."

"Who signed dat mizzable contraption?"

"It isn't signed, Rusty. The only person who writes Spanish and who
could be so deeply interested in my wickedness is that high and mighty
relative of the Princess. He wrote it in Spanish so the wireless
operator probably wouldn't notice or understand the message."

"Well, Marse Warren, dis is a ship--dey alluz has ropes. Can't you
climb overboard when she is hitched to de wharfboat?"

Jarvis was thinking rapidly. He looked at his watch.

"The detectives will come on with the pilot boat, Rusty, which I
understand meets the _Mauretania_ about eight or ten miles offshore.
There won't be any chance on the wharfboat. But that gives me a good
idea--however, it doesn't seem right to make the Duke of Alva waste his
hard-earned coin on wireless messages. There's no free list with
Marconi, you know."

Jarvis was walking up and down the stateroom nervously by this time.

"Rusty, in my suitcase is an old suit of clothes which I put in to use,
if I had to jump the town on account of Marcum. I thought I might go to
the mountains when I went over to the Belmont Hotel. Now, get it out,
and those old tennis shoes, and that cap."

"Whaffor,