Caught

by O. Henry

　　

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The plans for the detention of the flying President Miraflores andhis companion at the coast line seemed hardly likely to fail. DoctorZavalla himself had gone to the port of Alazan to establish a guardat that point. At Solitas the Liberal patriot Varras could bedepended upon to keep close watch. Goodwin held himself responsiblefor the district about Coralio. The news of the president's flight had been disclosed to no one inthe coast towns save trusted members of the ambitious political partythat was desirous of succeeding to power. The telegraph wire runningfrom San Mateo to the coast had been cut far up on the mountain trailby an emissary of Zavalla's. Long before this could be repaired andword received along it from the capital the fugitives would havereached the coast and the question of escape or capture been solved. Goodwin had stationed armed sentinels at frequent intervals alongthe shore for a mile in each direction from Coralio. They wereinstructed to keep a vigilant lookout during the night to preventMiraflores from attempting to embark stealthily by means of some boator sloop found by chance at the water's edge. A dozen patrols walkedthe streets of Coralio unsuspected, ready to intercept the truantofficial should he show himself there. Goodwin was very well convinced that no precautions had beenoverlooked. He strolled about the streets that bore such high-sounding names and were but narrow, grass-covered lanes, lending hisown aid to the vigil that had been intrusted to him by Bob Englehart. The town had begun the tepid round of its nightly diversions. A fewleisurely dandies, cald in white duck, with flowing neckties, andswinging slim bamboo canes, threaded the grassy by-ways toward thehouses of their favored senoritas. Those who wooed the art of musicdragged tirelessly at whining concertinas, or fingered lugubriousguitars at doors and windows. An occasional soldier from the~cuartel~, with flapping straw hat, without coat or shoes, hurriedby, balancing his long gun like a lance in one hand. From everydensity of the foliage the giant tree frogs sounded their loud andirritating clatter. Further out, the guttural cries of maraudingbaboons and the coughing of the alligators in the black estuariesfractured the vain silence of the wood. By ten o'clock the streets were deserted. The oil lamps that hadburned, a sickly yellow, at random corners, had been extinguishedby some economical civic agent. Coralio lay sleeping calmly betweentoppling mountains and encroaching sea like a stolen babe in the armsof its abductors. Somewhere over in that tropical darkness--perhapsalready threading the profundities of the alluvial lowlands--the highadventurer and his mate were moving toward land's end. The game ofFox-in-the-Morning should be coming soon to its close. Goodwin, at his deliberate gait, passed the long, low ~cuartel~ whereCoralio's contingent of Anchuria's military force slumbered, with itsbare toes pointed heavenward. There was a law that no civilian mightcome so near the headquarters of that citadel of war after nineo'clock, but Goodwin was always forgetting the minor statutes. "~Quien vive,~" shrieked the sentinel, wrestling prodigiously withhis lengthy musket. "~Americano,~" growled Goodwin, without turning his head, and passedon, unhalted. To the right he turned, and to the left up the street that ultimatelyreached the Plaza Nacional. When within the toss of a cigar stumpfrom the intersecting Street of the Holy Sepulchre, he stoppedsuddenly in the pathway. He saw the form of a tall man, clothed in black and carrying a largevalise, hurry down the cross-street in the direction of the beach.And Goodwin's second glance made him aware of a woman at the man'selbow on the farther side, who seemed to urge forward, if not evento assist, her companion in their swift but silent progress. Theywere no Coralians, those two. Goodwin followed at increased speed, but without any of the artfultactics that are so dear to the heart of the sleuth. The Americanwas too broad to feel the instinct of the detective. He stood asan agent for the people of Anchuria, and but for political reasonshe would have demanded then and there the money. It was the designof his party to secure the imperilled fund, to restore it to thetreasury of the country, and to declare itself in power withoutbloodshed or resistance. The couple halted at the door of the Hotel de los Extranjeros,and the man struck upon the wood with the impatience of one unusedto his entry being stayed. Madama was long in response, but aftera time her light showed, the door was opened, and the guests housed. Goodwin stoodin the quiet street, lighting another cigar. Intwo minutes, a faint gleam began to show between the slats of thejalousies in the upper story of the hotel. "They have engaged rooms,"said Goodwin to himself. "So, then, their arrangements for sailinghave yet to be made." At the moment there came along one Esteban Delgado, a barber,an enemy to existing government, a jovial plotter against stagnationin any form. This barber was one of Coralio's saddest dogs, oftenremaining out of doors as late as eleven, post meridian. He wasa partisan Liberal; and he greeted Goodwin with flatulent importanceas a brother in the cause. But he had something important to tell. "What think you, Don Frank!" he cried, in the universal tone of theconspirator. "I have tonight shaved ~la barba~--what you call the'weeskers' of the ~Presidente~ himself, of this countree! Consider!He sent for me to come. In the poor ~casita~ of an old woman heawaited me--in a verree leetle house in a dark place. ~Carramba!~--el Senor Presidente to make himself thus secret and obscured!I shave a man and not see his face? This gold piece he gave me, andsaid it was to be all quite still. I think, Don Frank, there is whatyou call a chip over the bug." "Have you ever seen President Miraflores before?" asked Goodwin. "But once," answered Esteban. "He is tall; and he had weeskers,verree black and sufficient." "Was any one else present when you shaved him?" "An old Indian woman, Senor, that belonged with the ~casa~, and onesenorita--a ladee of so much beautee!--~ah, Dios!~" "All right, Esteban," said Goodwin. "It's very lucky that youhappened along with your tonsorial information. The newadministration will be likely to remember you for this." Then in a few words he made the barber acquainted with the crisisinto which the affairs of the nation had culminated, and instructedhim to remain outside, keeping watch upon the two sides of the hotelthat looked upon the street, and observing whether any one shouldattempt to leave the house by any door or window. Goodwin himselfwent to the door through which the guests had entered, opened it andstepped inside. Madama had returned downstairs from her journey above to see afterthe comfort of her lodgers. Her candle stood upon the bar. She wasabout to take a thimbleful of rum as a solace for having her restdisturbed. She looked up without surprise or alarm as her thirdcaller entered. "Ah! it is the Senor Goodwin. Not often does he honor my poor housewith his presence." "I must come oftener," said Goodwin, with a Goodwin smile. "I hearthat your cognac is the best between Belize to the north and Rio tothe south. Set out the bottle, Madama, and let us have the proof in~un vasito~ for each of us." "My ~aguardiente~," said Madama, with pride, "is the best. It grows,in beautiful bottles, in the dark places among the banana-trees.~Si, Senor~. Only at midnight can they be picked by sailor-menwho bring them, before daylight comes, to your back door. Good~aguardiente~ is a verree difficult fruit to handle, Senor Goodwin." Smuggling, in Coralio, was much nearer than competition to being thelife of trade. One spoke of it slyly, yet with a certain conceit,when it had been well accomplished. "You have guests in the house tonight," said Goodwin, laying a silverdollar upon the counter. "Why not?" said Madama, counting the change. "Two; but the smallestwhile finished to arrive. One senor, not quite old, and one senoritaof sufficient hadsomeness. To their rooms they have ascended, notdesiring the to-eat nor the to-drink. Two rooms--~Numero~9 and~Numero~ 10." "I was expecting that gentleman and that lady," said Goodwin. "I haveimportant ~negocios~ that must be transacted. Will you allow meto see them?" "Why not?" sighed Madama, placidly. "Why should not Senor Goodwinascend and speak to his friends? ~Esta bueno~. Romm ~Numero~ 9 andromm ~Numero~ 10." Goodwin loosened in his coat pocket the American revolver that hecarried, and ascended the steep, dark stairway. In the hallway above, the saffron light from a hanging lamp allowedhim to select the gaudy numbers on the doors. He turned the knob onNumber 9, entered and closed the door behind him. If that was Isabel Guilbert seated by the table in that poorlyfurnished room, report had failed to do her charms justice. Sherested her head upon one hand. Extreme fatigue was signified inevery line of her figure; and upon her countenance a deep perplexitywas written. Her eyes were gray-irised, and of that mold that seemsto have belonged to the orbs of all the famous queens of hearts.Their whites were singularly clear and brilliant, concealed abovethe irises by heavy horizontal lids, and showing a snowy line betweenthem. Such eyes denote great nobility, vigor, and, if you canconceive of it, a most generous selfishness. She looked up whenthe American entered, with an expression of surprised inquiry, butwithout alarm. Goodwin took off his hat and seated himself, with his characteristicdeliberate ease, upon a corner of the table. He held a lighted cigarbetween his fingers. He took this familiar course because he wassure that preliminaries would be wasted upon Miss Guilbert. He knewher history, and the small part that the conventions had played in it. "Good evening," he said. "Now, madame, let us come to business atonce. You will observe that I mention no names, but I know who is inthe next room, and what he carries in that valise. That is the pointwhich brings me here. I have come to dictate terms of surrender." The lady neither moved nor replied, but steadily regarded the cigarin Goodwin's hand. "We," continued the dictator, thoughtfully regarding the neat buckskinshoe on his gently swinging foot--"I speak for a considerable majorityof the people--demand the return of the stolen funds belonging tothem. Our terms go very little further than that. They are verysimple. As an accredited spokesman, I promise that our interferencewill cease if they are accepted. Give up the money, and you and yourcompanion will be permitted to proceed wherever you will. In fact,assistance will be given you in the matter of securing a passageby any outgoing vessel you may choose. It is on my personalresponsibility that I add congratulations to the gentleman in Number10 upon his taste in feminine charms." Returning his cigar to his mouth, Goodwin observed her, and saw thather eyes followed it and rested upon it with icy and significantconcentration. Apparently she had not heard a word he had said.He understood, tossed the cigar out the window, and, with an amusedlaugh, slid from the table to his feet. "That is better," said the lady. "It makes it possible for me tolisten to you. For a second lesson in good manners, you might nowtell me by whom I am being insulted." "I am sorry," said Goodwin, leaning one hand on the table, "that mytime is too brief for devoting much of it to a course of etiquette.Come, now; I appeal to you good sense. You have shown yourself,in more than one instance, to be well aware of what is to youradvantage. This is an occasion that demands the exercise of yourundoubted intelligence. There is no mystery here. I am FrankGoodwin; and I have come for the money. I entered this room at aventure. Had I entered the other I would have had it before me now.Do you want it in words? The gentleman in Number 10 has betrayeda great trust. He has robbed his people of a large sum, and it isI who will prevent their losing it. I do not say who that gentlemanis; but if I should be forced to see him and he should prove to bea certain high official of the republic, it will be my duty to arresthim. The house is guarded. I am offering you liberal terms. It isnot absolutely necessary that I confer personally with the gentlemanin the next room. Bring me the valise containing the money, and wewill call the affair ended." The lady arose from her chair and stood for a moment, thinkingdeeply. "Do you live here, Mr. Goodwin?" she asked, presently. "Yes." "What is your authority for this intrusion?" "I am an instrument of the republic. I was advised by wire of themovements of the--gentleman in Number 10." "May I ask you two or three questions? I believe you to be a manmore apt to be truthful than--timid. What sort of town is this--Coralio, I think they call it?" "Not much of a town," said Goodwin, smiling. "A banana town, as theyrun. Grass huts, 'dobes, five or six two-story houses, accomodationslimited, population half-breed Spanish and Indian, Caribs andblackamoors. No sidewalks to speak of, no amusements. Ratherunmoral. That'a an offhand sketch, of course." "Are there any inducements, say in a social or in a business way,for people to reside here?" "Oh, yes," answered Goodwin, smiling broadly. "There are noafternoon teas, no hand-organs, no department stores--and thereis no extradition treaty." "He told me," went on the lady, speaking as if to herself, and witha slight frown, "that there were towns on this coast of beauty andimportance; that there was a pleasing social order--especially anAmerican colony of cultured residents." "There is an American colony," said Goodwin, gazing at her in somewonder. "Some of the members are all right. Some are fugitives fromjustice from the States. I recall two exiled bank presidents, onearmy paymaster under a cloud, a couple of manslayers, and a widow--arsenic, I believe, was the suspicion in her case. I myself completethe colony, but, as yet, I have not distinguished myself by anyparticular crime." "Do not lose hope," said the lady, dryly; "I see nothing in youractions tonight to guarantee you further obscurity. Some mistake hasbeen made; I do not know just where. But ~him~ you shall not disturbtonight. The journey has fatigued him so that he has fallen asleep,I think, in his clothes. You talk of stolen money! I do notunderstand you. Some mistake has been made. I will convince you.Remain where you are and I will bring you the valise that you seemto covet so, and show it to you." She moved toward the closed door that connected the two rooms, butstopped, and half turned and bestowed upon Goodwin a grave, searchinglook that ended in a quizzical smile. "You force my door," she said, "and you follow your ruffianly behaviorwith the basest accusations; and yet"--she hesitated, as if toreconsider what she was about to say--"and yet--it is a puzzlingthing--I am sure there has been some mistake." She took a step toward the door, but Goodwin stayed her by a lighttouch upon her arm. I have said before that women turned to lookat him in the streets. He was the viking sort of man, big, good-looking, and with an air of kindly truculence. She was dark andproud, glowing or pale as her mood moved her. I do not know if Evewere light or dark, but if such a woman had stood in the gardenI know that the apple would have been eaten. This woman was to beGoodwin's fate, and he did not know it; but he must have felt thefirst throes of destiny, for, as he faced her, the knowledge of whatreport named her turned bitter in her throat. "If there has been any mistake," he said, hotly, "it was yours. I donot blame the man who has lost his country, his honor, and is aboutto lose the poor consolation of his stolen riches as much as I blameyou, for, by Heaven! I can very well see how he was brought to it.I can understand, and pity him. It is such women as you that strewthis degraded coast with wretched exiles, that make men forget theirtrusts, that drag--" The lady interrupted him with a weary gesture. "There is no need to continue your insults," she said, coldly."I do not understand what you are saying, nor do I know what madblunder you are making; but if the inspection of the contents ofa gentleman's portmanteau will rid me of you, let us delay it nolonger." She passed quickly and noiselessly into the other room, and returnedwith the heavy leather valise, which she handed to the American withan air of patient contempt. Goodwin set the valise quickly upon the table and began to unfastenthe straps. The Lady stood by, with an expression of infinite scornand weariness upon her face. The valise opened wide to a powerful, sidelong wrench. Goodwindragged out two or three articles of clothing, exposing the bulk ofits contents--package after package of tightly packed United Statesbank and treasury notes of large denomination. Reckoning from thehigh figures written upon the paper bands that bound them, the totalmust have come closely upon the hundred thousand mark. Goodwin glanced swiftly at the woman, and saw, with surprise anda thrill of pleasure that he wondered at, that she had experiencedan unmistakeable shock. Her eyes grew wide, she gasped, and leanedheavily against the table. She had been ignorant, then, he inferred,that her companion had looted the government treasury. But why,he angrily asked himself, should he be so well pleased to think thiswandering and unscrupulous singer not so black as report had paintedher? A noise in the other room startled them both. The door swung open,and a tall, elderly, dark complexioned man, recently shaven, hurriedinto the room. All the pictures of President Miraflores represent him as thepossessor of a luxuriant supply of dark and carefully tended whiskers;but the story of the barber, Esteban, had prepared Goodwin forthe change. The man stumbled in from the dark room, his eyes blinking at thelamplight, and heavy from sleep. "What does this mean?" he demanded in excellent English, with a keenand perturbed look at the American--"robbery?" "Very near it," answered Goodwin. "But I rather think I'm in timeto prevent it. I represent the people to whom this money belongs,and I have come to convey it back to them." He thrust his hand intoa pocket of his loose, linen coat. The other man's hand went quickly behind him. "Don't draw," called Goodwin, sharply; "I've got you covered frommy pocket." The lady stepped forward, and laid one hand upon the shoulder of herhesitating companion. She pointed to the table. "Tell me the truth--the truth," she said, in a low voice. "Whose money is that?" The man did not answer. He gave a deep, long-drawn sigh, leanedand kissed her on the forehead, stepped back into the other roomand closed the door. Goodwin foresaw his purpose, and jumped for the door, but the reportof the pistol echoed as his hand touched the knob. A heavy fallfollowed, and some one swept him aside and struggled into the roomof the fallen man. A desolation, thought Goodwin, greater than that derived fromthe loss of cavalier and gold must have been in the heart of theenchantress to have wrung from her, in that moment, the cry of oneturning to the all-forgiving, all-comforting earthly consoler--tohave made her call out from that bloody and dishonored room--"Oh,mother, mother, mother!" But there was an alarm outside. The barber, Esteban, at the soundof the shot, had raised his voice; and the shot itself had arousedhalf the town. A pattering of feet came up the street, and officialorders rang out on the still air. Goodwin had a duty to perform.Circumstances had made him the custodian of his adopted country'streasure. Swiftly cramming the money into the valise, he closed it,leaned far out of the window and dropped it into a thick orange-treein the little inclosure below. They will tell you in Coralio, as they delight in telling thestranger, of the conclusion of that tragic flight. They will tellyou how the upholders of the law came apace when the alarm wassounded--the ~Comandante~ in red slippers and a jacket like a headwaiter's and girded sword, the soldiers with their interminable guns,followed by outnumbering officers struggling into their gold and laceepaulettes; the bare-footed policemen (the only capables in the lot),and ruffled citizens of every hue and description. They say that the countenance of the dead man was marred sadly bythe effects of the shot; but he was identified as the fallen presidentby both Goodwin and the barber Esteban. On the next morning messagesbegan to come over the mended telegraph wire; and the story of theflight from the capital was given out to the public. In San Mateothe revolutionary party had seized the sceptre of government, withoutopposition, and the ~vivas~ of the mercurial populace quickly effacedthe interest belonging to the unfortunate Miraflores. They will relate to you how the new government sifted the townsand raked the roads to find the valise containing Anchuria's surpluscapital, which the president was known to have carried with him,but all in vain. In Coralio Senor Goodwin himself led the searchingparty which combed that town as carefully as a woman combs her hair;but the money was not found. So they buried the dead man, without honors, back of the town nearthe little bridge that spans the mangrove swamp; and for a ~real~a boy will show you his grave. They say that the old woman in whosehut the barber shaved the president placed the wooden slab at hishead, and burned the inscription upon it with a hot iron. You will hear also that Senor Goodwin, like a tower of strength,shielded Dona Isabel Guilbert through those subsequent distressfuldays; and that his scruples as to her past career (if he had any)vanished; and her adventuresome waywardness (if she had any) lefther, and they were wedded and were happy. The American built a home on a little foothill near the town. It isa conglomerate structure of native woods that, exported, would beworth a fortune, and of brick, palm, glass, bamboo and adobe. Thereis a paradise of nature about it; and something of the same sortwithin. The natives speak of its interior with hands uplifted inadmiration. There are floors polished like mirrors and covered withhand-woven Indian rugs of silk fibre, tall ornaments and pictures,musical instruments and papered walls--"figure-it-to-yourself!"they exclaim. But they cannot tell you in Coralio (as you shall learn) what becameof the money that Frank Goodwin dropped into the orange-tree. Butthat shall come later; for the palms are fluttering in the breeze,bidding us to sport and gaiety.

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