“No,” Henry shook his head. “That represents part of the old Maya
treasure——about a third of it. We’ve got another third down with Enrico
Solano, and the last third’s safe right here in the Jewelers and
Traders’ National Bank.—Say, I’ve got news for you when you’re ready to
listen.”
And Francis was quickly ready. Bascom knew even better than he what was
to be done, and was already giving his orders to his staff over the
telephone—buying orders of such prodigious size that all of Regan’s
fortune would not enable him to deliver what he had sold short.
“Torres is dead,” Henry told him.
“Hurrah!” was Francis’ way of receiving it.
“Died like a rat in a trap. I saw his head sticking out. It wasn’t
pretty. And the Jefe’s dead. And ... and somebody else is dead——”
“Not Leoncia!” Francis cried out.
Henry shook his head.
“Some one of the Solanos——old Enrico?”
“No; your wife, Mrs. Morgan. Torres shot her, deliberately shot her. I
was beside her when she fell. Now hold on, I’ve got other news.
Leoncia’s right there in that other office, and she’s waiting for you to
come to her.—Can’t you wait till I’m through? I’ve got more news that
will give you the right steer before you go in to her. Why, hell’s
bells, if I were a certain Chinaman that I know, I’d make you pay me a
million for all the information I’m giving you for nothing.”
“Shoot——what is it?” Francis demanded impatiently.
“Good news, of course, unadulterated good news. Best news you ever
heard. I—now don’t laugh, or knock my block off——for the good news is
that I’ve got a sister.”
“What of it?” was Francis’ brusque response. “I always knew you had
sisters in England.”
“But you don’t get me,” Henry dragged on. “This is a perfectly brand new
sister, all grown up, and the most beautiful woman you ever laid eyes
on.”
“And what of it?” growled Francis. “That may be good news for you, but I
don’t see how it affects me.”
“Ah, now we’re coming to it,” Henry grinned. “You’re going to marry her.
I give you my full permission——”
“Not if she were ten times your sister, nor if she were ten times as
beautiful,” Francis broke in. “The woman doesn’t exist I’d marry.”
“Just the same, Francis boy, you’re going to marry this one. I know it.
I feel it in my bones. I’d bet on it.”
“I’ll bet you a thousand I don’t.”
“Aw, go on and make it a real bet,” Henry drawled.
“Any amount you want.”
“Done, then, for a thousand and fifty dollars.—Now go right into the
office there and take a look at her.”
“She’s with Leoncia?”
“Nope; she’s by herself.”
“I thought you said Leoncia was in there.”
“So I did, so I did. And so Leoncia _is_ in there. And she isn’t with
another soul, and she’s waiting to talk with you.”
By this time Francis was growing peevish.
“What are you stringing me for?” he demanded. “I can’t make head nor
tale of your foolery. One moment it’s your brand new sister in there,
and the next moment it’s your wife.”
“Who said I ever had a wife?” Henry came back.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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