Czytaj książkę: «Сердца трех / Hearts of three. Уровень 3»

Jack London

Hearts of Three

© Матвеев С. А., адаптация текста, комментарии, словарь, 2021

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2021

Chapter I

Events happened very rapidly with Francis Morgan¹, inheritor of many millions, that late spring morning.

“Parker²,” he said to the valet. “Parker, I’m going fishing.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I ordered some rods. Please bring them. I need two weeks in the woods. Do you remember Sir Henry³? the old Sir Henry, the buccaneer?”

“Yes, sir; I’ve read of him, sir.”

Parker paused in the doorway.

“Just an old pirate, you know.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Parker protested. “He was Governor of Jamaica⁴. He was a respectable man.”

“Hm, we Morgans never found his treasure.”

A telephone buzzed.

“One moment, sir,” said Parker. “It’s Mr. Bascom⁵, sir.”

Francis went to the phone.

“Hello, yes, this is I, Morgan. What is it?… To sell? Never! Of course. Sure… yes. Good-bye.”

While Francis returned delightedly to his arm-chair, Thomas Regan⁶ was in his office. Suddenly a clerk told him about a foreign visitor. Regan listened, glanced at the card, and said:

“Tell this Senor Alvarez Torres⁷ that I can’t see him.”

Five minutes later the clerk was back, this time with a message. Regan read it:

“Dear Mr. Regan,

“Honoured Sir:

“I have the honour to inform you that I know the location of the treasure that Sir Henry Morgan buried.

Alvarez Torres.”

Regan shook his head.

“Let him in!⁸ At once.”

Senor Alvarez Torres’ English was perfect.

“By great effort, and years of research, I have finally found the clue to the gold of Sir Henry Morgan,” he began. “Of course it’s on the Mosquito Coast⁹. The nearest town is Bocas del Toro¹⁰. I was born there, and I know the neighbourhood. A small schooner is cheap, very cheap; but the reward is the treasure!”

Senor Torres paused.

“You need the money,” the stock operator said brutally, and Senor Torres bowed.

Regan wrote a check, in the name of Alvarez Torres, and when that gentleman glanced at it he read the figures of a thousand dollars.

“Now listen to me,” said Regan. “I don’t believe your story. But I have a young friend, and he is too tired to live in a big town, you understand?”

Senor Alvarez Torres bowed.

“Now, for his health, as well as his wealth, the best thing for him is a trip after treasure, adventure, exercise, and… you understand, I am sure.”

Again Alvarez Torres bowed.

“You need the money,” Regan continued. “Try to interest him. That money if for your effort. If he departs after old Morgan’s gold, you will get two thousand more. If he remains away three months, two thousand more; six months – five thousand. Oh, believe me, I knew his father. We were comrades, partners, almost brothers. I can sacrifice any sum to his son. What do you say? Begin! Well?”

Senor Alvarez Torres folded and unfolded the check.

“I… I accept,” he stammered. “I… I… What to say?… I am yours. Mr. Regan, it is true. I need the money. You are so generous, and I’ll do my best…”

Senor Torres went away. In some minutes Francis Morgan came in.

“I need your advice,” he said. “You were a friend of my father. You and he were partners, I understand. He always told me to trust your judgment. And, well, here I am. What’s up with Tampico Petroleum¹¹?”

“Tampico Petroleum?” Regan asked.

“Exactly,” Francis answered. “I worry. Somebody is trying to get control, right?”

Regan shook his head.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“Of course it’s good,” was Francis’ response. “If it drops, I’ll buy.”

“Don’t you worry about that, my boy. Just go fishing and forget it.” Regan paused, picked up Alvarez Torres’ card. “Look, who’s just been here – Senor Alvarez Torres.”

Regan retained the card a moment.

“Look, your father always was always proud of that old family pirate.”

“I know about his treasure. And what?”

Francis looked up questioningly.

“Senor Torres,” Regan explained, “gave me the map. Here is the treasure. It is buried. Of course, I don’t believe him. But… You know, Sir Henry died practically a poor man, and they never found his treasure. Oh, I’m too old for that!”

“I’d like to meet this Alvarez Torres,” the young man responded. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The next morning the meeting took place in Regan’s office. They were examining modern maps and ancient charts, and old documents. Finally, Francis announced his next fishing: on the Bull Island¹², where – as Torres averred – the treasure lay.

“I’ll catch the train for New Orleans,” Francis said. “And then I’ll go to Colon¹³!”

“But don’t charter a schooner¹⁴ at Colon,” Torres advised. “It’s better in Belen¹⁵.”

“I always wanted to see the country!” Francis said. “And you, Senor Torres?”

“I’ll join you later, Mr. Morgan.” Alvarez Torres said. “I have some little business here.”

“And, before you go,” Regan noticed, “it’s reasonable to arrange with Senor Torres some division of the treasure… if you ever find it.”

“What’s that?” Francis asked.

“Equal division, fifty-fifty,” Regan answered.

“Fine!” Francis cried. “Good-bye, Regan. Good-bye, Senor Torres, until we meet somewhere around Bocas del Toro, or in on the Bull!”

And Senor Alvarez Torres remained with Regan some time longer. He was receiving instructions.

“You see,” Regan said, “I don’t care if he never comes back. Try to keep him down there as long as you can.”

Chapter II

So Francis Morgan found himself¹⁶ on board his schooner, the Angelique¹⁷. The water was glassy. Francis, through his glass, saw a white hacienda, and a woman on the beach.

“Who lives here?” he asked

“The Enrico Solano¹⁸ family, sir,” was the answer. “And they are prideful and fiery as cayenne pepper¹⁹.”

Francis took a boat to the shore. When the skiff grounded, he stepped out. Then he looked around. The beach to the jungle was bare.

Suddenly, the woman sprang out of the green wall of jungle and with both hands seized his arm. She muttered tensely:

“Quick! Follow me!”

She shook him.

He smiled and obeyed. Abruptly she stopped and sat down, her hand directed him to sit beside her. “Thank God!”

“My dear lady…” Francis began.

But he heard the movement of men several yards away. She slipped away down the runway. Francis followed her, through the jungle to the beach. She stopped.

“You fool!” she cried, and lifted her finger to his moustache. “That won’t disguise you!”

“But my dear lady…” he began to protest.

“I won’t talk with you,” she answered. “Go back to your schooner, and go away… Forever. If you ever come back I’ll shoot you.”

She showed him a revolver.

“So I’d better go, then,” he uttered, as he turned to the skiff. She followed him. The strange young woman was crying. Suddenly she stopped him.

“At least you can…” she began, then faltered and swallowed, “kiss me good-bye²⁰.”

She advanced impulsively. Francis hesitated a moment, then she kissed his lips. She lifted her face and kissed him again and again.

Then she menacingly directed him with the revolver to get into the boat.

From the edge of the jungle he saw three men. They were armed with rifles. They ran toward the woman. They saw Francis, who was rowing. The next moment, one of the tree men on the beach, an elderly man with a beard, was directing the girl’s binoculars on him. And the moment after, he was taking aim with his rifle²¹.

The bullet spat on the water within a yard of the skiff’s side. The girl sprang to her feet, knocked up the rifle with her arm, and spoiled the second shot. She was threatening the men with the revolver.

“Cayenne pepper, those damned, horrible, crazy Solanos,” the captain said.

“Yes, you’re right,” Francis agreed.

After breakfast Francis landed to reconnoiter on the Bull²². He found that was not merely thirty degrees of latitude from New York but thirty hundred years, or centuries. Nearly naked, armed with machetes²³, the Indians told him that the Bull belonged to them. But there lives a madly impossible Gringo²⁴.

Francis decided to meet the mysterious Gringo. He came down to the beach. On the shore, he saw a barefooted young man in the canvas trousers. That Gringo was standing behind a palm. The man had an automatic pistol in hand, and shouted:

“Get out!”

“I beg you pardon?” Francis grinned.

“Nobody invited you,” the stranger retorted. “You’re intruding. Get off my island. I’ll give you half a minute.”

Francis went behind the trunk. Suddenly a bullet thudded into the other side of it. Francis centered a bullet into the trunk of the other man’s palm. The next few minutes they were shooting each other.

“What gun are you using?” Francis asked.

“Colt’s,” came the answer.

Francis stepped boldly into the open:

“Then you don’t have bullets any more. I counted them. Eight. Now we can talk.”

The stranger stepped out. He looked like Francis himself. It was a replica of himself!

“Talk!” the stranger sneered. He threw down his pistol and drew a knife. “Now I’ll cut off your ears, and maybe scalp you.”

“Let’s wrestle,” Francis retorted

“I want your ears,” the stranger answered pleasantly.

“Sure. The man who wins gets the other fellow’s ears.”

“Agreed.”

The young man in the canvas trousers sheathed his knife. They began to fight. Francis was winning, but in a moment Francis was lying on his back.

“Why do you wear a mustache?” the stranger muttered.

“Cut my ears,” Francis gasped. “The ears are yours, but the mustache is mine.”

“As for your ears, keep them. Get up and get out of here. And don’t come here again!”

Francis turned down to the beach toward his canoe.

“Say, will you leave your card?” the victor called after him.

“My name’s Morgan, that’s enough,” Francis answered.

“Really? No wonder we look alike. Listen,” the stranger said. “I am a Morgan, too.”

“My first name is Francis,” Francis returned. “And yours?”

“Henry. We must be cousins. What are you doing here? As for me, I am looking for the old Morgan’s treasure.”

“So am I,” said Francis.

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.

“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. Then she said something about my mustache and pushed me back to the boat with a revolver. She told me never come back.”

“Where was this?” Henry demanded.

“The other end of Chiriqui Lagoon,” Francis replied. “I think, it was the ground of the Solano family; and they are a tough family. But that’s not the whole story. Listen. First she dragged me into the jungle and insulted my mustache; next she chased me to the boat with a revolver; and then she wanted to know why I didn’t kiss her.”

“And did you?” Henry demanded.

“You know, the girl was very pretty…”

“Oh, my God! That was Leoncia²⁵!” Henry said angrily.

“So what? Leoncia? Or Mercedes? Or Dolores? Why can’t I kiss a pretty girl?”

“You see, this pretty girl is going to marry me!”

“She took me for you²⁶,” Francis said. “And your Leoncia pulled her little revolver on an old fellow who wanted to kill me.”

“It was her father, old Enrico²⁷ himself,” Henry exclaimed. “And the other men were her brothers.”

“Henry, they all thought it was you, and not I. But 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.

“Yes,” Henry nodded. “His name was Alfaro Solano²⁸, and one day we quarreled. It was in the little town over there San Antonio²⁹. He didn’t want me to marry Leoncia, you see. He insulted me, and we promised to kill each other. Many people heard our threats. Within two hours the Comisario³⁰ himself and two gendarmes found Alfaro’s body in the town. He was killed. 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 could not go back, so I came over here to dig for Morgan’s treasure… I wonder who killed Alfaro. If want to find him! And then there’ll be a wedding.”

“Hmm,” Francis murmured. “That’s why her father and brothers wanted to kill me. When I look at you, I see we’re alike, 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’ll help you. Stay here, and I’ll go back and explain Leoncia and her family everything.”

“They can shoot you first before that, if you have no time to explain that you are not I,” Henry muttered bitterly. “Those Solanos shoot first and talk afterward.”

“I’ll try, old man,” Francis wanted to help Henry.

But the thought of her perplexed him. That lovely girl belonged to the man who looked so much like him! He sighed involuntarily.

“Leoncia is a very 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.

“Listen, Francis. First, 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. She was adopted when she was a baby.”

“And,” Francis laughed, “she believes that you killed her uncle.”

Henry nodded, and went on.

“The other thing is important, too. It’s a long way to Panama³¹, and the Jefe Politico³² 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 as a weasel. And his only delight is an execution³³. He adores hanging. So… Please get that ring back on Leoncia’s finger.”

Two days later, all the men of Leoncia’s family were away. Francis landed on the beach where he had first met her. Francis wrote 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.” Then he heard the Leoncia’s cry. Note and pencil fell to the sand. 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’ll be a dead woman in five minutes, and I am very glad, because I won’t see you again.”

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.

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

“Labarri³⁴! Labarri!”

“Lie down, and be quiet!” Francis repeated harshly.

“Oh!” she said. “It’s only a baby labarri, and its bite is harmless. I thought it was a viperine. They look alike.”

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. She was laughing.

“And now, Miss Solano,” he said, “please, listen and don’t interrupt me.” He stooped and picked up the note. “I was just sending that to you by the boy when you screamed. Take it. Read it.”

She looked at the paper.

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

“You… are… not… Henry?” she gasped.

“No, I am not.”

“But the name? your name?”

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

A great doubt suddenly dawned in her eyes.

“Henry,” she accused him. “You are joking. Of course you are Henry.”

Francis pointed to his mustache.

“You’ve grown that since.”

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

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

“Then say no more,” she interrupted joyfully. “First of all, you must go with me now to the house. And tell me everything about Henry.”

Alvarez Torres was sitting on the broad piazza of the Solano Hacienda³⁵. What he saw was Leoncia and Francis. Torres did not believe his eyes: Francis took a ring, and Leoncia extended her left hand and received the ring upon her third ringer.

So Henry’s ring came back on Leoncia’s hand. But Leoncia was not very glad to receive the ring.

Torres twisted his mustache fiercely, and advanced to meet.

“You, a shameless murderer!”

Francis smiled.

“Another lunatic,” he said. “The last time, Leoncia, that I saw this gentleman was in New York. 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 guests here.”

“Senor Torres,” Francis said, “I know your mistake. 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 uttered apologies both to Francis and Leoncia.

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

Torres was very amazed and angry. A newcomer, a stranger put a ring on Leoncia’s engagement finger! Leoncia, whom to himself he always named the queen of his dreams, engaged herself to a strange Gringo from New York. It was unbelievable, monstrous!

After lunch, Francis wanted to bring to Henry the good news. So he resolutely declined her hospitality to remain for the night and meet Enrico Solano and his sons. Moreover, Francis could not endure the presence of Leoncia. She charmed him, drew him. So Francis departed with a letter to Henry from Leoncia in his pocket. Leoncia stared at the ring on her finger.

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. One of the leaders was Torres.

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

“We want you,” answered the leader.

“And who are you?”

“He is the honorable Senor Mariano Vercara e Hijos³⁶, Jefe Politico of San Antonio,” Torres replied.

“Good night,” Francis laughed. “But I am only a passenger. You must talk to the Captain.”

“You are wanted³⁷ for the murder of Alfaro Solano,” was Torres’ answer. “You didn’t fool me, Henry Morgan. And you are the murderer. 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 with us?”

“Yes,” Francis answered. “I suppose you’ll hang me at daybreak.”

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

“Oh, I don’t care,” Francis retorted. “Eleven or twelve.”

“You will come with us, Senor,” Mariano Vercara e Hijos said. “Take his weapons.”

Francis found himself in a cell with walls five feet thick. It was half past eight in the evening. The trial began at eight. The execution was scheduled at ten next morning.

“The Jefe was right,” Francis acknowledged to himself. “Panama justice moves swiftly.”

The letter given him by Leoncia and addressed to Henry Morgan damned him. The rest was easy. Half a dozen witnesses identified him as the murderer. The Jefe Politico himself so testified. Torres was in love with Leoncia, and his jealousy knew no limits.

Leoncia was sobbing on his shoulder, in his arms: “It is a cursed country, a cursed country.”

Francis remembered Henry, in his canvas pants, bare-footed, under his sombrero.

“They just knew I was guilty and wanted to punish me. Why delay? They knew Henry Morgan had killed Alfaro. They knew I was Henry Morgan,” he said

She was in his arms, her lips raised to his; and his own lips to hers.

“I love you, I love you,” she whispered.

“No, no,” he said. “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. When she passed out the door she turned and whispered:

“I love you.”

At ten o’clock they brought Francis 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.

They had tied Francis’ legs, and were tying his arms, when the voice of a singer was heard. Henry Morgan was entering. He pushed aside the guards at the gate.

The Jefe shrugged his shoulders and announced that he was ready to hang both men. But Francis, from the scaffold, shouted:

“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, arrested Henry Morgan for the murder of Alfaro Solano.