Сердца трёх / Hearts of three - Лондон Джек. Страница 5

“You cannot hang a man without trial! He must have his trial!”

And when Francis had descended from the scaffold, the Comisario, with the Jefe at his back, arrested Henry Morgan for the murder of Alfaro Solano.

Chapter IV

“We must work quickly,” Francis said to the Solanos on the piazza of the Solano hacienda.

“We must save him!” Leoncia cried out.

“All Gringos look alike to the Jefe,” Francis said. She was splendidly beautiful and wonderful, he thought. “He’ll give Henry no more time than he gave us. We must get him out tonight.”

“Now listen,” Leoncia began again. “We Solanos cannot permit this… this execution. Our pride… our honor. We cannot permit it. Speak! Any of you. Father! Suggest something…”

And while Enrico Solano and his sons talked plans and projects, a house servant came, whispered in Leoncia’s ear, and led her away.

Around the corner, Alvarez Torres, in all the medieval Spanish splendor of dress, greeted her, bowed low with a sombrero in hand.

“The trial is over, Leoncia,” he said softly, tenderly, as one speaks of the dead. “He is sentenced. [50] Tomorrow at ten o’clock is the time. It is all very sad, most very sad. But…” He shrugged his shoulders. “No, I shall not speak harshly of him. He was an honorable man. His one fault was his temper. It was too quick, too fiery.”

“He never killed my uncle!” Leoncia cried.

“And it is regrettable,” Torres said gently and sadly, avoiding any disagreement. “The judge, the people, the Jefe Politico, unfortunately, are all united in believing that he did. Which is most regrettable. But I came to offer my service in any and all ways you may command. My life, my honor, are at your disposal. Speak. I am your slave.”

Dropping suddenly and gracefully on one knee before her, he caught her hand from her lap.

“I knew you when you were small, Leoncia, so very, very charmingly small, and I loved you always. No, listen! Please. My heart must speak. When you returned from schooling abroad, a woman, a grand and noble lady, I was burnt by your beauty. I have been patient. I refrained from speaking.”

She listened patiently. Henry… And Francis… Why did this stranger Gringo so enamore her heart? Was she a wanton? Was it one man? Or another man? Or any man? No! No! She was not fickle nor unfaithful. And yet?… Perhaps it was because Francis and Henry were so much alike, and her poor stupid loving woman’s heart failed properly to distinguish between them. And she could follow Henry anywhere over the world, but now she would follow Francis even farther. She loved Henry, her heart solemnly proclaimed. But she loved Francis, too. There was a difference in her love for the two men; so she, the latest and only woman of the house of Solano, was a wanton.

Torres continued:

“You have been the delicious thorn in my heart. I have dreamed of you… and for you. And I have my own name for you. The Queen of my Dreams. And you will marry me, my Leoncia! We will forget this mad Gringo who is as already dead. [51] I shall be gentle, kind. I shall love you always. For you… I shall love you so that it will be impossible for the memory of him to arise between us and.”

Leoncia was silent. How to save Henry? Torres offered his services.

“Speak!” Torres urged.

“Hush! Hush!” she said softly. “How can I listen to you, when the man I loved is yet alive?”

Loved! The past tense of it! She had said “loved”. She had loved him, but no longer. Torres was glad. The one thing is clear: if he wants to win Leoncia quickly, Henry Morgan must die quickly.

“We will speak of it no more… now,” he said with gentleness, as he gently pressed her hand, and rose to his feet.

“Come,” she said. “We will join the others. They are planning now, or trying to find some plan, to save Henry Morgan.”

“I have a plan, if you will pardon me, [52]” Torres began. He smiled, and twisted his mustache.

“There is one way, the Gringo, Anglo-Saxon way, and it is simple. That is just what it is. We will go and take Henry out of jail in brutal and direct Gringo fashion. It is the one thing they will not expect. Therefore, it will succeed. There are enough rascals on the beach with which we can storm the jail. Hire them, pay them well, but only partly in advance, and the thing is accomplished.”

Leoncia nodded. Old Enrico’s eyes flashed. And all looked to Francis for his opinion or agreement. He shook his head slowly.

“That way is hopeless,” he said. “Why should all of you risk your necks in a mad attempt like that?”

“You mean you doubt me?” Torres bristled. “You mean that I am forbidden by you from the councils of the Solanos who are my oldest and most honored friends.”

Old Enrico began to speak.

“There are no councils of the Solanos from which you are barred, Senor Torres. You are indeed an old friend of the family. Your late father and I were comrades, almost brothers. But truly your plan is hopeless. To storm the jail is truly madness. Look at the thickness of the walls. They could stand a siege of weeks.”

Torres briefly apologized and departed for San Antonio.

“What have you against Senor Torres? Why did you reject his plan and anger him?” Leoncia demanded of Francis.

“Nothing,” was the answer, “except that we do not need him. He is a fool and he will spoil any plan. Maybe he can’t be trusted. I don’t know. Anyway, what’s the good of trusting him when we don’t need him? Now his plan is all right. We’ll go straight to the jail and take Henry out. And we don’t need to trust to rascals. Six men of us can do it.”

“There is a dozen guards at the jail,” Ricardo, [53] Leoncia’s youngest brother, a lad of eighteen, objected.

Leoncia frowned at him; but Francis took his part.

“That’s true,” he agreed. “But we will eliminate the guards.”

“The five-foot walls,” said Martinez Solano, [54] twin brother to Alvarado. [55]

“That’s what I mean. You, Senor Solano, have plenty of saddle horses? [56] Good. And you, Alesandro, [57] can you supply me with a couple of sticks of dynamite? Good, and better than good. And do you have in your store-room a plentiful supply of rye whiskey?”

Chapter V

It was in the mid-afternoon, and Henry, at his barred cell-window, stared out into the street. The street was dusty and filthy. Next, he saw a light wagon drawn by a horse. In the seat a gray-headed, gray-bearded ancient man strove vainly to check the horse. [58]

Henry smiled. When directly opposite the window, the old man made a last effort. The driver fell backward into the seat. Then the wagon was a wreck. The old man swung the horse in a circle until it stopped.

The gendarmes erupted from the jail. The old man went hurriedly to the wagon and began an examination of the several packing cases, large and small, which composed its load. One of the gendarmes addressed him.

“Me? Alas senors, I am an old man, and far from home. I am Leopoldo Narvaez. [59] I have driven from Bocas del Toro. It has taken me five days, and business has been poor. My home is in Colon. But tell me, is there Tomas Romero [60] who dwells in this pleasant city of San Antonio?”