Сердца трёх / Hearts of three

Chapter III

Henry rowed off to the Angelique with orders from his visitor to the skipper to stay at anchor. Francis slept until late in the morning of the following day.

“Let me tell you an interesting story,” Francis said to Henry. “Day before yesterday, I rowed ashore over on the mainland. The moment I landed, the prettiest girl in the world dragged me away into the jungle. I thought she was going to eat me or marry me. I didn’t know which. Then she passed uncomplimentary remarks on my mustache and pushed me back to the boat with a revolver. She told me never come back.”

“Where on the mainland was this?” Henry demanded.

“The other end of Chiriqui Lagoon,” Francis replied. “It was the ground of the Solano family, I learned; and they are a tough family. But I haven’t told you all. Listen. First she dragged me into the jungle and insulted my mustache; next she chased me to the boat with a drawn revolver; and then she wanted to know why I didn’t kiss her.”

“And did you?” Henry demanded.

“What could a poor stranger in a strange land do? The girl was very pretty.”

“Oh, my God! That was Leoncia!^[34]” Henry said angrily.

“What if it was Leoncia? Or Mercedes? Or Dolores? Can’t a fellow kiss a pretty girl?”

“You see, this pretty girl is engaged to marry the ruffian in the dirty canvas pants!”

“She took me for you,^[35]” Francis said. “And your Leoncia pulled her little revolver on a long-bearded old fellow who wanted to kill me.”

“It was her father, old Enrico^[36] himself,” Henry exclaimed. “And the other chaps were her brothers.”

“By the way, Henry, since they all thought it was you, and not I, why did they want to kill you?”

Henry looked at him a moment, and then answered.

“I quarreled with her uncle. He was her father’s youngest brother.”

“Was?” interrupted Francis.

“Was, I said,” Henry nodded. “He isn’t now. His name was Alfaro Solano,^[37] and one day we quarreled. It was in the little town over there San Antonio.^[38] He always was looking for trouble with me, he didn’t want me to marry Leoncia, you see. He insulted me all right, and we promised to kill each other. Our threats were heard by many people. Within two hours the Comisario^[39] himself and two gendarmes found Alfaro’s body in a back street in the town. He was killed. I haven’t been back in San Antonio since. Alfaro was very popular, and everybody is sure that I killed him. In Bocas del Toro, a messenger from Leoncia delivered back the engagement ring. I didn’t dare go back, so I came over here to dig for Morgan’s treasure… I wonder who killed Alfaro. If ever I find him, then I clear myself with Leoncia and the rest of the Solanos and there isn’t a doubt in the world that there’ll be a wedding.”

“Hmm,” Francis murmured. “No wonder her father and brothers wanted to kill me. Why, the more I look at you, the more I see we’re as like as two peas, except for my mustache-”

“And for this…” Henry rolled up his sleeve, and on the left forearm showed a long, thin white scar. “I got that when I was a boy. I fell oft a windmill.”

“Now listen to me,” Francis said. “I shall help you. You stay here, while I go back and explain things to Leoncia and her people.”

“If only they don’t shoot you first before you can explain you are not I,” Henry muttered bitterly. “That’s the trouble with those Solanos. They shoot first and talk afterward.”

“I’ll take a chance, old man,” Francis wanted to clear up the distressing situation between Henry and the girl.

But the thought of her perplexed him. That lovely creature belonged to the man who looked so much like him! He saw again the vision of her on the beach. He sighed involuntarily.

“Leoncia is an exceedingly pretty girl,” Francis said. “Where’s that ring she returned? If I don’t put it on her finger for you and be back here in a week with the good news, you can cut off my mustache along with my ears.”

An hour later, Captain sent a boat to the beach from the Angelique. The two young men said good-bye.

“Just two things more, Francis. First, and I forgot to tell you, Leoncia is not a Solano at all, though she thinks she is. Alfaro told me himself. She is an adopted child, Alfaro said she wasn’t Spanish at all. I don’t even know whether she’s English or American. You see, she was adopted when she was a baby, and she’s never known anything else than that Enrico is her father.”

“And no wonder she scorned and hated me for you,” Francis laughed, “She believes that you killed her uncle.”

Henry nodded, and went on.

“The other thing is fairly important. And that’s the law. Or the absence of it, rather. They make it whatever they want it. It’s a long way to Panama,^[40] and the Jefe Politico^[41] at San Antonio is a very sly man. He’s the little czar of that land, and he’s a real scoundrel, believe me. He’s as cruel and blood-thirsty as a weasel. And his only delight is an execution.^[42] He adores hanging. And, well, so long. And half of whatever I find on the Bull is yours… and please get that ring back on Leoncia’s finger.”

* * *

Two days later, after the news that all the men of Leoncia’s family were away, Francis had himself landed on the beach where he had first met her. As Francis scrawled on a sheet of paper from his notebook, “I am the man whom you mistook for Henry Morgan, and I have a message for you from him,” he heard Leoncia’s cry. Note and pencil fell to the sand as he sprang toward the direction of the cry. Soon he saw her. Leoncia’s face was colorless.

“What is it?” Francis demanded. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

She pointed at her bare knee with two tiny drops of blood.

“It was a viperine,” she said. “A deadly viperine. I shall be a dead woman in five minutes, and I am glad, glad, for then my heart will be tormented no more by you.”

She sank down in a faint.

Francis pulled out his handkerchief and tied it loosely around her leg above the knee. Next, he opened the small blade of his pocket-knife, burned it with several matches, and cut carefully into the two lacerations made by the snake’s fangs.

The girl began to move restlessly. “Lie down,” he commanded, as she sat up.

At the same instant the Indian lad ran out of the jungle, swinging a small dead snake by the tail and crying:

“Labarri!^[43] Labarri!”

At which Francis assumed the worst.

“Lie down, and be quiet!” he repeated harshly. “You haven’t a second to lose.”

But watched only the dead snake.

“You dare!” she threatened him. “It’s only a baby labarri, and its bite is harmless. I thought it was a viperine. They look alike when the labarri is small.”

The constriction of the circulation by the tourniquet pained her, and she glanced down and discovered his handkerchief knotted around her leg.

“Oh, what have you done? It was only a baby labarri,” she reproached him.

“You told me it was a viperine,” he retorted.

She hid her face in her hands. He could say that she was laughing.

“And now, we’ll talk business, Miss Solano,” he said in changed tones. “And you will listen. Please, don’t interrupt me.” He stooped and picked up the note he had been writing. “I was just sending that to you by the boy when you screamed. Take it. Read it. It won’t bite you. It isn’t a viperine.”

Though she refused to receive it, her eyes involuntarily scanned the opening line:

“I am the man whom you mistook for Henry Morgan…”

“You… are… not… Henry?” she gasped.

“No, I am not. Won’t you please take it and read.”

“But the name? Your name?”

“Morgan, Francis Morgan.” He bowed. “As I explained there, Henry and I are distant relatives, or something like that. Moreover, Henry did not kill your uncle.”

To his bewilderment, a great doubt suddenly dawned in her eyes.

“Henry,” she accused him. “This is a devil’s trick you’re trying to play on me. Of course you are Henry.”

Francis pointed to his mustache.

“You’ve grown that since,” she challenged.

He pulled up his sleeve and showed her his left arm from wrist to elbow.

“Do you remember the scar?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then find it.”

“I… I ask your forgiveness. I was terribly mistaken, and I’ve treated you…”

“That kiss was delightful,” he naughtily disclaimed.

“Do you have a message from Henry,” she changed the subject abruptly. “Is he innocent…? This is true? Oh, I want to believe you!”

“I am morally certain that Henry did not kill your uncle!”

“Then say no more, at least not now,” she interrupted joyfully. “First of all, you must go with me now to the house. And you can tell me about Henry on the way.”

* * *

Alvarez Torres was sitting on the broad piazza of the Solano Hacienda.^[44] What he saw was Leoncia and Francis. Next and Torres could scarcely believe his eyes, he saw Francis take a ring, and Leoncia extend her left hand and receive the ring upon her third ringer. Engagement finger it was!

What had really occurred was the placing of Henry’s engagement ring back on Leoncia’s hand. And Leoncia, she knew not why, was not very glad to receiving the ring.

Torres tossed the dead cigarette away, twisted his mustache fiercely, and advanced to meet them across the piazza.

“One does not expect to see a shameless murderer here.”

Francis smiled.

“Another lunatic in this lunatic land,” he said. “The last time, Leoncia, that I saw this gentleman was in New York. He was really anxious to do business with me. Now I meet him here and the first thing he tells me is that I am a shameless murderer.”

“Senor Torres, you must apologize,” she declared angrily. “We don’t insult guest in the house of Solano.”

“Senor Torres,” Francis said. “I know what your mistake is. You think I am Henry Morgan. I am Francis Morgan, and you and I, not long ago, transacted business together in Regan’s office in New York.”

Torres, overwhelmed for the moment by his mistake, uttered apologies both to Francis and Leoncia.

“And now,” said Leoncia, “Senor Torres, we will tell you about Henry.”

While she departed, Torres found he was more amazed and angry than ever. A newcomer, a stranger put a ring on Leoncia’s engagement finger! He thought quickly and passionately for a moment. Leoncia, whom to himself he always named the queen of his dreams, had engaged herself to a strange Gringo from New York. It was unbelievable, monstrous. He clapped his hands, summoned his hired carriage.

After lunch, Francis, eager to bring to Henry the good word that his ring adorned Leoncia’s finger, resolutely declined her hospitality to remain for the night and meet Enrico Solano and his sons. Francis had a further reason for hasty departure. He could not endure the presence of Leoncia. She charmed him, drew him, to such extent that he dared not endure her charm. So Francis departed with a letter to Henry from Leoncia in his pocket. Leoncia stared at the ring on her finger with a vaguely troubled expression.

From the beach, Francis signaled the Angelique to send a boat ashore for him. But suddenly half a dozen horsemen rode down the beach upon him at a gallop. Two men led. The following four had guns. Of the two leaders, Francis recognized Torres.

“Now, sirs, tell me, what do you want? Is it my ears, or merely my mustache, you want?”

“We want you,” answered the stranger leader.

“And who might you be?”

“He is the honorable Senor Mariano Vercara e Hijos,^[45] Jefe Politico of San Antonio,” Torres replied.

“Good night,” Francis laughed, remembering the man’s description as given to him by Henry. “I suppose you think I’ve broken some sanitary regulation by anchoring here. But I am only the charterer of the schooner just a passenger. You must talk to the Captain.”

“You are wanted for the murder of Alfaro Solano,” was Torres’ answer. “You didn’t fool me, Henry Morgan, with your talk up at the hacienda that you were some one else. I know that some one else. His name is Francis Morgan, and he is not a murderer, but a gentleman.”

“Oh!” Francis exclaimed. “But you recognized me, Senor Torres!”

“I was fooled,” Torres admitted sadly. “But only for a moment. Will you come peaceably?”

“Yes,” Francis shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose you’ll hang me at daybreak.”

“Justice is swift in Panama,” the Jefe Politico replied. “But not so quick as that. We will not hang you at daybreak. Ten o’clock in the morning is more comfortable, don’t you think?”

“Oh, by all means,” Francis retorted. “Make it eleven, or twelve noon I won’t mind.”

“You will come with us, Senor,” Mariano Vercara e Hijos said. “Juan! Ignacio!^[46]” he ordered in Spanish. “Take his weapons. No, it will not be necessary to tie his hands. Put him on the horse behind Gregorio.^[47]”

* * *

Francis found himself in a whitewashed cell^[48] with walls five feet thick. The hour was half-past eight in the evening. The trial had begun at eight. He was scheduled at ten next morning to swing off into space supported from the ground by a rope around his neck. The trial had lasted half an hour by his watch. Leoncia burst in and prolonged it by the ten minutes.