A ready murmur of assent answered.
"Hell!" said a man. ''Trim my heard, and Fll trim your topknot, It'd be a poor thing if we couldn't do that much for the Bull. He wouldn't blab on us. Wish I didn't have more on my conscience than a good drunk."
"And, gentlemen," said Pedro, "not a word about me in this. I'm supposed to be on guard."
The turbulent Velasquez burst out: "What do you take us for. Redhead? Get back to your post. I'll cut the ears off of any loose-talker."
Reassured by the gang spirit in the company, which did not encourage talebearing, Pedro now returned across the increasingly silent courtyard; but he breathed freer on catching sight of Nino and Navarro still on guard in front of the treasure room. They reported all well. Pledging them to secrecy, as he had the others, Pedro told them briefly about Garcia. Then, unlocking the door, he went inside to inspect the chests.
The mastiff, Tigre, nosed him as he entered. Everything was in order. He congratulated himself on the happy ending of what might have been a fatal mess. All that remained now was to comfort the remorseful Garcia in the morning and to make sure that he stuck to water from then on. As if reflecting the general serenity, Tigre sank down and went to sleep.
It wanted a half hour until the guard would change and Cristobal
de Gamboa, his fellow equerry, would relieve him. About to sit down on one of the chests, Pedro stood up again. Something different in their arrangement struck him. He thought he remembered this large one as more to the left, with a smaller box on top. Probably a quirk of memory or trick of the moonlight. The six chests were all there. Only he could have sworn—
As he hesitated, a faintly luminous zigzag on the blank rear wall of the room caught liis attention. What the deuce was that? It hadn't been there before. But when he strode across to look more closely, his heart turned to water.
The luminous arabesque was simply moonlight between the irregular edge and jamb of a concealed door in the masonry, which had not been entirely closed. Except for this, no one would have suspected the existence of the door, which fitted perfectly into the surrounding stonework.
Using the tips of his fingers, Pedro swung open the narrow entrance, and found himself looking out at an empty street behind the teocalli. Then, appalled, he closed it again and turned back to the chests. Whatever had happened, it was plain that someone had entered the room since he left it.
Various possibilities crossed his mind, as he tried the lids and padlocks. Perhaps a temple priest creeping back for some purpose of his own. But in that case the dog, who was trained to attack Indians— He glanced at the mastiff outstretched and asleep. A full meal? And yet Tigre wouldn't have taken meat from an Indian, at least not without a first challenge when the door opened. Or wouldn't he? Big, fighting dogs were often silent.
No, thank God, everything seemed all right. The lids were firm, the padlocks in place. He came to the last chest, the one containing the gold disc and the emeralds; fingered the padlocks. And at that moment, as he tried it again, one of them dropped off.
He crouched, staring, as if turned to stone, the sense of calamity holding him in a kind of vise. Weakly he tested the other padlock and found that it too was broken.
Vith fingers trembling so that he could hardly manipulate the tinderbox and stump of candle which he drew from his wallet, he struck a light and raised the lid of the chest. The gleam of metal beneath reassured him. Too much weight for a thief to carr)-, thank heaven. Then he remembered the emeralds and looked for the doeskin pouch, which had been tucked into one corner between the edge of the disc and the chest. Yes, viva! It was still there.
He drew it out—and stopped breathing. The bag was empty. In his absorption, he did not hear the footstep behind him. "Hm-m," said a cold voice. "Since when have you taken the Hberty of opening these chests?"
Jerking around, Pedro looked up into the face of Hernan Cortes.
XXXI
No CRIMINAL had ever been more plainly caught in the act than Pedro de Vargas at that moment. He still held the limp pouch in one hand, his candle in the other; the golden contents of the open chest shone dully in the light; the broken padlocks lay on the floor.
"By your leave," said Cortes, taking the pouch. And when he found it empty, "Be good enough to hand over those stones."
His quietness gave a razor edge to the suppressed passion behind it.
"I don't have them, sir."
"No? Are you sure? Didn't you think this was the night to make your fortune in, while I was otherwise taken up? Well, my friend, it will be a cold night when I do not keep my eyes open for the profit of this company."
"But, Your Excellency, I had just discovered that the locks were broken—"
"Don't lie to me." The vibration of Gortes's voice had the quality of a taut bowstring. "I saw to the locks myself no later than three hours since. Have you the face to tell me that someone entered here while you were on guard, opened the chest, and departed, and that you then 'discovered' it? Do you take me for a fool?"
The truth had to come out. Damning as it might be, it was not so deadly as the charge of theft.
"Your pardon, sir," Pedro stammered, "the fact is that I was off guard for a while."
"Indeed? And why?"
Pedro equivocated. "Juan Garcia was ill. Velasquez de Leon summoned me."
"When?"
"A half hour ago. I've just returned."
Cortes digested this in hot silence. Then he said: "Very well. An officer in command of an important post walks off at his pleasure to hold the hand of a sick friend. Very charitable. We'll deal with that
in its place. What were your two men, Nino and Navarro, doing— not to speak of the watchdog?" He glanced at the mastiff, who had straightened up and was yawning at him. "Were they off for a stroll too? Or are you hinting that they rifled the chest?"
"Sefior, no. I locked the door when I left. The dog was inside. I found the men on guard and the lock untampered with."
"Well, then—God give me patience!—would you have me believe that someone walked through solid masonry into this room and took the jewels, while the dog kept quiet? Would you palm off a phantom on me, when I find you With the chest open and the jewel pouch in your hand? Find a better tale." The cold sarcasm dropped suddenly. "Meanwhile, hand me those stones, and you can romance later."
Cortes's eyes blazed. Taking a step forward, he caught Pedro's doublet close to the throat in a steel grip.
"Do you want me to call the guards and have you stripped?"
Until then Pedro's bewilderment had half-paralyzed his tongue, but the General's words and action brought him to himself. His pride rebelled. A de Vargas was no thief. Cortes might be a hidalgo, but so was he, and his honor hung in the balance. His hand closed on the General's vrist.
"Kindly unloose me, sir, and listen," he said.
"I'm listening." But Cortes did not relax his hold. "Make it short."
Pedro played his trump card. "Whoever it was came through the door in that wall. It was ajar when I got back. That's how I knew—"
"AVhat door?" Cortes turned his head to look. "I see none."
Nor could Pedro. He remembered now that he had closed it: and that part of the wall looked as solid as the rest.
"A moment, sir, by your leave."
Cortes dropped his hand, and Pedro, hurrdng over to the wall, looked in vain for indications of the door. His fingers moved here and there between the stones, prying, attempting to get a purchase. The wall remained blank as before.
"My faith, you're a poor liar, de Vargas! It Would have been likelier to have had your thief drop through the roof. At least that's not of stone."
Frantically Pedro fingered and pried, straining his nails between the cracks. "I'm not lying. On my honor, sir, there's a door—"
"Don't talk of honor," snapped Cortes. "We've wasted time enough." But he broke off in amazement. "By my soul—"
Whether Pedro had at last found the outline of the door, or whether by accident
he had pressed the secret release, in any case a crack
now showed, and he was able to swing back the irregular stone panel.
"By my soul," Cortes repeated. "You're right."
He looked out thoughtfully into the street, then examined the door and closed it, taking care to mark its position by several smudges from Pedro's candle.
"The mastiff?" he pondered.
"I think he was well fed by the thief," Pedro ventured—"from the looks of him."
"So it probably wasn't an Indian." Cortes picked up one of the broken padlocks. "Filed," he nodded. "The Indians have no steel."
Closing the still open chest, he walked to the main doorway. Pedro heard him questioning Navarro as to whether the dog had given tongue during Seiior de Vargas's absence.
"No, my General. At least nothing but a growl or two; we thought nothing of it."
When the man had returned to his post, Cortes re-entered and, seating himself on one of the chests, fell into thought. Everything considered, Pedro wondered at the General's self-control. Others of the captains, Alvarado, for instance, or Olid, would by this time have stirred up a commotion; but so far not even the men outside knew that the chest had been opened. Cortes sat fingering his beard, his face expressionless except for the occasional glancing of his eyes. With the sense of fault weighing upon him, Pedro stood shifting from foot to foot.
He started when Cortes remarked suddenly, "I shall hate to hang you, de Vargas." And as Pedro could find nothing to answer, "But, I have no doubt, that will be the decision of the captains—unless these jewels are recovered. They are the property of His Majesty. As you well know, they are a chief item of the treasure intended to incline the Sovereigns to our petition. Be the thief who he will, you were responsible. You deserted your post without leave from me. Because of that desertion, the robbery was possible."
Step by step, Pedro could follow the perfect logic of the accusation. He could not refute one article of it, and he realized that any military court must find him guilty. A cold numbness crept over him.
"Unless the jewels are found . . ." Cortes repeated. "They were your charge. Perhaps you can recover them. I give you until tomorrow night. Until then I shall say nothing of this. But tomorrow night, you understand?"
"Your Excellency, how—"
"Use your wits. It's your affair since your neck depends on it."
A light flashed in Pedro's mind. Was Escudero's baiting of Garcia, who made no secret of his weakness, a practical joke, after all? Trouble would almost certainly follow from Garcia's drinking. In that case, it was natural that Pedro should be turned to. The messenger, Varela, might even have been tipped off to summon him. Escudero was a partizan of the Governor of Cuba and a reputed enemy of Cortes. He had opposed the secession of the army from the jurisdiction of Cuba; he opposed the projected march across the mountains; he opposed sending the treasure to Spain. He and Cermeno headed a group of the same stripe. Of course Pedro might be on the wrong track; but in his present straits, it seemed by all odds the likeliest.
"I'll do my best," he said. "Thank Your Excellency for the delay. Whatever happens, be assured that no one can judge me harder than I do myself. I deserve the consequences."
Cortes nodded. "Good luck to you."
"May I ask one favor?"
"Well?"
"That if I don't find the stones, if I can't clear myself, the news may be kept from my father."
"That can be managed," said Cortes.
The cadenced tramp of the relieving guard, coming on duty, sounded in the now silent enclosure. Automatically Pedro walked out to the platform and stood at attention, as the detail assigned to his post came up. It occurred to him that it might be the last time he played this part.
iJuien Vive:
"Cristobal de Gamboa, in command of the treasure guard."
"Watchword?"
"Santa Trinidad."
"Advance, Cristobal de Gamboa."
The two swords rose in salute; the soldiers handled their pikes. Gamboa mounted the platform and saluted Cortes, who appeared in the doorway.
"Sir," the General directed, "you will call additional men and convey the military chests to my quarters. You will mount guard there. I have reason to believe that this room is unsafe."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Cortes glanced at Pedro. "You are dismissed, Seiior de Vargas. Your men will give a hand in conveying the chests."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Pedro relayed the order—perhaps his last—to Nino and Navarro.
Dismissed! Gamboa would think nothing, but Pedro caught the dry note in Cortes's voice. Moving off, he watched furtively the transfer of the chests from the room which he had left undefended. Even if he recovered the stolen jewels, he felt that it would be a long time before the black mark against him was canceled.
A seething hatred for the thieves who had used him as a cat's-paw possessed him. If they could fill their dirty pockets, the disgrace or death of Garcia and himself meant nothing to them. Escudero and Cermefio: with every moment, Pedro felt more confident of their guilt. If he accomplished nothing else during his eighteen hours of respite, he vowed that he would make them pay for it.
And yet, practically considered, how? As he turned the problem over, it seemed more hopeless at each new angle. The five emeralds were easy to conceal and would no doubt be carefully hidden. They would not be carried about in the wallets of the thieves, who could expect a hue-and-cry as soon as the loss was discovered. How many men were involved in the robbery? Even if Pedro was right about Escudero and Cermefio, they were possibly in league with others, to whom they could hand on their booty. Or again, they might have acted only as decoys, while the real thief did the work.
But there was no use counting difficulties. Pedro had to follow the first obvious plan and trust to luck. It seemed to him, for lack of any better idea, that he must play the thief himself, gain admittance somehow that night to the suspects' quarters, and search their effects. The dangers of this were too plain to dwell upon; but a condemned man does not need to fear danger.
He knew that Escudero lodged in one of the temple rooms not far from Velasquez, but he was not entirely certain which, and he proceeded at once to reconnoiter. It was now ten o'clock and bedtime, for the army kept early hours even upon nights of celebration. The bridal parties in the captains' quarters had died out, leaving a drowsy aftermath of sound and a few loiterers straggling to their sleeping mats. The angles of the pyramid and of the temple enclosure, sharp in the moonlight, seemed to accentuate the quiet and the emptiness.
Pedro found Lazarillo Varela yawning on the steps of one of the apartment platforms.
"A hot night, Seiior de Vargas. Going to have a look at Juan Garcia? He's sleeping like a stone."
"No, I'm looking for Juan Escudero. Where's his place?"
Varela gave an understanding grin. "Oh, come, sir," he answered. "Nothing happened to Garcia. All's well that ends well. It was only a prank. No use making bad blood over it."
"Just the same, I'd like a word with him. Where's he quartered?"
Varela jerked his head backwards. "In here. There're ten of us together. Only you'll not find him and Cermeilo tonight; they're gone."
"Gone where? What do you mean?"
"Well," smiled Varela, "it may be they thought you'd like a word with them and they took a walk. They weren't waiting for trouble."
"A walk? Where?"
It was absolutely forbidden to leave the temple enclosure. Both for the safety of the army and to protect his Indian allies, Cortes permitted no Spaniards out of the camp.
"To Villa Rica," answered Varela. "They left before Garcia got started."
Pedro flared up. "Don't joke with me, homhre."
"I'm not joking, sir. They got permission from the General. . . . It's something to do with the stores. . . . They got it this afternoon, but stayed on for a part of the fun."
"You mean to tell me that they left at night to walk twelve miles to
Villa Rica?"
"Yes, sir. They said it was cooler at night." Varela turned to a soldier who had come up. "Ask Panchito here, if you don't believe me. He's been on duty at the gate."
The sentry nodded. "Yes, we passed them through."
"When?"
"Maybe an hour ago."
Pedro calculated. The time coincided exactly with his absence from the treasure room. They would have had a half hour in which to circle the teocalli from outside and commit the theft. No one could connect them with it, assuming, as they probably had, that the secret doorway remained undiscovered. Likely enough, Pedro's return had been earlier than they expected. This explained the imperfectly closed door, the one saving piece of luck in the whole afTair.
Suspicion of the two men had now become practical certainty; but at the same time Pedro found himself in a worse impasse than before. As long as Escudero and his companion were in Cempoala, he could have made an attempt, at least, to recover the jewels. Villa Rica was
another matter. He was shut up here, while they had every opportunity to dispose of the emeralds as they pleased.
For an instant he thought of turning to Cortes for permission to follow them, but that would be useless. He was under too dark a cloud to be given so obvious a chance of escape. Of course he might accuse Escudero and Cermeno; he might even prevail on Cortes to arrest them tomorrow; and torture might accomplish the rest of it. But they were not unimportant men; they were ringleaders of a faction that Cortes was trying to propitiate. People of that sort were not easily arrested and put to the question, especially not on the word of someone, like Pedro, who was bent on saving his own skin.
No, the upshot was that he must follow them to Villa Rica without permission. Having been condemned on one count, he might as well be condemned on two. His salvation anyhow consisted solely in recovering the emeralds.
These thoughts chased through his mind, as he stood looking vacantly at Panchito and Varela.
"Too bad, sir," grinned the latter. "But believe me it's better as it is. Remember the proverb: Hahlar sin pensar es tirar sin encarar. No use quarreling over a joke which did no harm. You'll feel cooler in the morning."
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