Part 57 (1/2)

The _alcayde_ thrust his immense hat, blood-red face, and long, ragged, silver locks out of the little door. His features were convulsed with indignation. He had been whispering with the Civil Guard.

”Are you mad, gentlemen?” he said. ”Do you wish to visit h.e.l.l before your times? Do you know who the senor is? Did you ever hear of Carlos el Demonio? This is the _Inglesito_ of Rio Medio!”

It was plain that my deeds, such as they were, reported by O'Brien spies, by the _Lugarenos_, by all sorts of credulous gossipers, had got me the devil of a reputation in the _patio_ of the jail. Men detached themselves from the crowd, and went running about to announce my arrival. The _alcayde_ drew his long body into the _patio_, and turned to lock the little door with an immense key. In the crowd all sorts of little movements happened. Women crossed themselves, and furtively thrust pairs of crooked, skinny, brown, black-nailed fingers in my direction. The man like Caesar said:

”I ask your pardon, Senor Caballero. I did not know. How could I tell?

You are free of all the _patios_ in this land.”

The tall _alcayde_ finished grinding the immense key in the lock, and touched me on the arm.

”If the senor will follow me,” he said. ”I will do the honours of this humble mansion, and indicate a choice of rooms where he may be free from the visits of these gentry.”

We went up steps, and through long, shadowy corridors, with here and there a dark, lounging figure, like a stag seen in the dim aisles of a wood. The _alcayde_ threw open a door.

The room was like a blazing oblong-box, filled with light, but without window or chimney. Two men were fencing in the illumination of some twenty candles stuck all round the mildewed white walls on lumps of clay. There was a blaze of silver things, like an altar of a wealthy church, from a black, carved table in the far corner. The two men, in s.h.i.+rts and breeches, revolved round each other, their rapiers clinking, their left arms scarved, holding b.u.t.toned daggers. The _alcayde_ proclaimed:

”Don Vincente Salazar, I have the honour to announce an English senor.”

The man with his face to me tossed his rapier impatiently into a corner.

He was a plump, dark Cuban, with a brooding truculence. The other faced round quickly. His cheeks shone in the candle-light like polished yellow leather, his eyes were narrow slits, his face lugubrious. He scrutinized me intently, then drawled:

”My! You?... Hang me if I didn't think it would be you!”

He had the air of surveying a monstrosity, and pulled the neck of his dirty print s.h.i.+rt open, panting. He slouched out into the corridor, and began whispering eagerly to the _alcayde_. The little Cuban glowered at me; I said I had the honour to salute him.

He muttered something contemptuous between his teeth. Well, if he didn't want to talk to me, I didn't want to talk to him. It had struck me that the tall, sallow man was undoubtedly the second mate of the _Thames_.

Nicholas, the real Nikola el Escoces! The Cuban grumbled suddenly:

”You, Senor, are without doubt one of the spies of that friend of the priests, that O'Brien. Tell him to beware--that I bid him beware. I, Don Vincente Salazar de Valdepefias y Forli y...”

I remembered the name; he was once the suitor of Seraphina--the man O'Brien had put out of the way. He continued with a grotesque frown of portentous significance:

”To-morrow I leave this place. And your compatriot is very much afraid, Senor. Let him fear! Let him fear! But a thousand spies should not save him.”

The tall _alcayde_ came hurriedly back and stood bowing between us. He apologized abjectly to the Cuban for intruding me upon him. But the room was the best in the place at the disposal of the prisoners of the Juez O'Brien. And I was a noted _caballero_. Heaven knows what I had not done in Rio Medio. Burnt, slain, ravished.... The Senor Juez was understood to be much incensed against me. The gloomy Cuban at once rushed upon me, as if he would have taken me into his arms.

”The _Inglesito_ of Rio Medio!” he said. ”Ha, ha! Much have I heard of you. Much of the senor's valiance! Many tales! That foul eater of the carrion of the priests wishes your life! Ah, but let him beware! I shall save you, Senor--I, Don Vincente Salazar.”

He presented me with the room--a remarkably bare place but for his properties: silver branch candlesticks, a silver chafing-dish as large as a basin. They might have been chased by Cellini--one used to find things like that in Cuba in those days, and Salazar was the person to have them. Afterwards, at the time of the first insurrection, his eight-mule harness was sold for four thousand pounds in Paris--by reason of the gold and pearls upon it. The atmosphere, he explained, was fetid, but his man was coming to burn sandal-wood and beat the air with fans.

”And to-morrow!” he said, his eyes rolling. Suddenly he stopped.

”Senor,” he said, ”is it true that my venerated friend, my more than father, has been murdered--at the instigation of that fiend? Is it true that the senorita has disappeared? These tales are told.”

I said it was very true.

”They shall be avenged,” he declared, ”to-morrow! I shall seek out the senorita. I shall find her. I shall find her! For me she was destined by my venerable friend.”

He s.n.a.t.c.hed a black velvet jacket from the table and put it on.

”Afterwards, Senor, you shall relate. Have no fear. I shall save you. I shall save all men oppressed by this scourge of the land. For the moment afford me the opportunity to meditate.” He crossed his arms, and dropped his round head. ”Alas, yes!” he meditated.