Сердца трёх / Hearts of three

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 - if you will pardon me – если позволите]” 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 - Ricardo – Риккардо] 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 - Martinez Solano – Мартинес Солано] twin brother to Alvarado.[55 - Alvarado – Альварадо]

“That’s what I mean. You, Senor Solano, have plenty of saddle horses?[56 - saddle horses – верховые лошади] Good. And you, Alesandro,[57 - Alesandro – Алесандро] 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 - to check the horse – сдержать лошадь]

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 - Leopoldo Narvaez – Леопольдо Нарваэс] 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 - Tomas Romero – Томас Ромеро] who dwells in this pleasant city of San Antonio?”

“There are many Romeros who dwell everywhere in Panama,” laughed Pedro Zurita,[61 - Pedro Zurita – Педро Зурита] the assistant jailer.[62 - assistant jailer – помощник начальника тюрьмы] “Do you mean the rich Tomas Romero who owns many cattle on the hills?”

“Yes, senor, it must be he. I shall find him. If my precious stock-in-trade[63 - stock-in-trade – товар] can be safely stored, I shall seek him now.” As he talked, he took out from his pocket two silver pesos and handed them to the jailer.

Pedro Zurita and the gendarmes began to carry the boxes into the jail.

“Careful, senors, careful,” the old one pleaded, greatly anxious. “Handle it gently. It is fragile, most fragile.”

Then he added gratefully: “A thousand thanks, senors. It has been my good fortune to meet with honest men with whom my goods will be safe. Tomorrow I shall return, and take my goods. Adios, senors, adios!”

* * *

In the guardroom, fifty feet away from Henry’s cell, the gendarmes were robbing Leopoldo Narvaez. Pedro Zurita made a profound survey of the large box.

“Leave it alone, Pedro,” one of the gendarmes laughed at him. The assistant jailer sighed, walked away and sat down, looked back at the box, and sighed again.

“Take the hatchet there and open the box,” he said. “Open the box, Ignacio,[64 - Ignacio – Игнасио] we will look, we will only look. Then we will close the box again.”

“Whiskey! The old man was a fool,” laughed gendarmes. “That whiskey was his, all his, and he has never taken one little sip!”

In few minutes everybody was drunk. Pedro Zurita became sentimental.

“My prisoners,” he maundered. “I love them as brothers. Life is sad. My prisoners are my very children. My heart bleeds for them. Behold! I weep. Let us share with them. Let them have a moment’s happiness. Ignacio, carry a bottle of this elixir to the Gringo Morgan. Give him my love. He will drink and be happy today.”

The voice outside caught Henry’s attention, and he was crossing his big cell to the window when he heard a key in the door. Ignacio came in, completely drunk, bottle in hand, which he gravely presented to Henry.

“With the high compliments of our good jailer, Pedro Zurita,” he mumbled. “He says to drink and forget that he must stretch your neck tomorrow.”

“My high compliments to Senor Pedro Zurita, and tell him from me to go to hell along with his whiskey,” Henry replied.

The gendarme suddenly become sober.

“Very well, senor,” he said, then passed out and locked the door.

In a rush Henry was at the window just in time to encounter Francis face to face. Francis was thrusting a revolver to him through the bars.

“Henry,” Francis said. “Stand back in your cell, because there’s going to be a hole in this wall. The Angelique is waiting for you. Now, stand back.”

Hardly had Henry backed into a rear corner of his cell, when the door was clumsily unlocked and opened.

“Kill the Gringo!” cried the gendarmes.

Ignacio fired wildly from his gun, missing Henry by half the width of the cell. The next moment he went down under the impact of Henry’s bullet. Henry waited for the explosion.

It came. The window and the wall beneath it became all one aperture. Francis dragged him out through the hole.

“The horses are waiting up the next alley,” Francis told Henry, as they gripped hands. “And Leoncia is waiting with them. Fifteen minutes’ gallop will take us to the beach, where the boat is waiting.”

“The gendarmes got full of whiskey and decided to finish me off right away,” Henry grinned. “Funny thing that whiskey. An old man broke a wagon right in front of the jail.”

“A noble Narvaez, eh, senor?” Francis asked.

“It was you!”