Сердца трёх / Hearts of three
Шрифт:
“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.
45
Mariano Vercara e Hijos –
“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.
46
Juan! Ignacio! –
47
Gregorio – Грегорио
48
whitewashed cell – выбеленная камера
The Jefe was right, “Francis acknowledged to himself Panama justice moves swiftly.”
The letter given him by Leoncia and addressed to Henry Morgan had damned him. The rest had been easy. Half a dozen witnesses identified him as the murderer. The Jefe Politico himself had so testified. Torres was in love with Leoncia, and his jealousy knew no limits.
Leoncia broke down, sobbing on his shoulder, in his arms: “It is a cursed country, a cursed country.”
And as Francis held her pliant form, he remembered Henry, in his canvas pants, bare-footed, under his floppy sombrero, digging holes in the sand of the Bull.
“They just knew I was guilty and were eager to punish me. Why delay? They knew Henry Morgan had knifed Alfaro. They knew I was Henry Morgan,” he said.
Deaf to his words, she was in his arms, against him, to him, her lips raised to his; and his own lips to hers. “I love you, I love you,” she whispered.
“No, no,” he denied what he most desired. “Henry and I are too alike. It is Henry you love, and I am not Henry.”
She drew Henry’s ring from her finger, and threw it on the floor. Francis slipped Henry’s ring back on her finger and kissed her hand in farewell. When she passed out the door she turned and with a whispered movement of the lips told him: “I love you.”
At ten o’clock Francis was brought to the gallows. All San Antonio was present, including Leoncia, Enrico Solano, and his five tall sons. In vain Leoncia’s father and brothers protested that Francis was not the man. The Jefe Politico smiled and ordered the execution to proceed.
Standing on the trap, Francis declined the ministrations of the priest, telling him that an innocent man needed no intercessions.
They had tied Francis’ legs, and were tying his arms, when the voice of a singer was heard. Henry Morgan was entering, thrusting aside the guards at the gate who tried to bar his way. [49]
The Jefe shrugged his shoulders and announced that he was ready to hang both men. And here arose contention from the Solano men that Henry was likewise innocent of the murder of Alfaro. But it was Francis, from the scaffold, who shouted:
49
to bar his way – преграждать ему путь