CHAPTER XX
DOUBLE-CROSSED
UNDER the high window of Dan's room a peon stood erect—or as erect as a peon can stand—a carbine resting in the crook of his arm. In the hall outside the locked door of that same apartment a pair of servants were on guard, and they carried automatics. Within, Dan sat, his aching head in his hands, his sick thoughts whirling dizzily from the treachery of Hoagland to the possible fate of the señorita.
A key grated admonishingly. Swaggering like a hand-organ monkey, the hunchback marched in. His eyes were dull once more, and he smiled, but not even when he intended instant murder had he betrayed more malice.
“The señor that captured you was hurt at the start of our little scuffle,” he said. “We owe him the reward of good care. You have not shown yourself a successful doctor with our Señor Tucker, but you are all that we have—and so you are to attend this new patient.”
His tone was a grating insult, his speech Spanish. Dan stared at him impassively.
“Oh,” Peña mocked, “you can understand me well enough. I know it, for I heard you give orders to Luis in the dead room!”
Stone bit his lip; but after all, these minor discoveries mattered nothing now.
“How was he hurt?” he inquired in Fernando's own language.
“We do not know. We fear some internal injury. That, it is your business to discover—if you have the requisite skill.”
Not Dan's business, perhaps, but surely his unpleasant duty. He rose.
“Look here,” he said, “I'm going to attend to this fellow—not because I want to, for he double-crossed me, and not because you order it, for I'm past being afraid of you or anybody in the whole hacienda. You've got me and you'll do your worst to me, whatever I do. No, I'm going to treat your friend because, though I couldn't prevent your killing Tucker, I'm enough of a doctor never to refuse help. Only, don't you think I deserve a fee?” He resolutely bridled his pride. “Can't you pay for my services with a little scrap or so of information?”
Peña's crooked smile more than ever distorted his yellow face. Most of us judge our fellows by the sole standard of ourselves; this creature could not conceive of a prisoner in Dan's position as being anxious about any life except his own.
“You want to know what is going to happen to you?” he asked; and he answered the question: “What will happen is almost certain, but perfect certainty awaits the master's return.”
“I don't give a dominicano what happens—to me,” said Dan. “I want to know something about the Señorita Gertruda.”
He hated to mention her name in such a presence and might, indeed, have spared his pains. Fernando merely smiled the more—and the more evilly.
“That also awaits the master's word. Come now to your new sufferer. You are to employ your best skill with him, Señor Medico, for he is the last patient you will ever have. There is no need of physicians in heaven!”
With guards falling in before and behind, the hunchback conducted his prisoner to the room in which the New Englander had met his violent end. Any effort toward escape would have been futile, and unless it could help the señorita—which no effort now could do—Stone cared little enough to make one. Peña opened the fatal door.
Poor Tucker's body had been removed and Hoagland lay on the bed—probably between the very sheets that had recently covered the dead man. All signs of disturbance were, however, removed and all signs funereal—the snuffed candles were restored to their usual place on the mantelshelf.
Dan, disgust in every movement, approached the injured man. Whatever the hurt incurred by the Hawk's passenger, it seemed to he a severe one. There was no blood visible, but he lay with the relaxation of utter exhaustion. Stone studied the not ill-natured features under the thin mat of hair. It was hard to believe such a man a double dealer. Double dealer he had, however, patently proved himself, and the doctor could not curb a shudder of aversion.
Standing close beside him, Peña saw it. “You hate this man now?” he smiled. It was very pleasant to impose the unwelcome task.
“I'll do my best for him,” said Dan shortly.
“Ah,” laughed Fernando, “I know you will—because you hate him! Thus it is with you Americans. The more you dislike a work, the more you feel you should do it. Trust you; you'll go through with it. I have always heard so.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well, then, having a multitude of preparations to make for my master, I shall not take the joy of watching you. Do you think the case serious?”
“I'm no wizard,” Dan mumbled. “I can't tell anything at the first glance.”
“So?” said Peña. “Remember, your last patient! Make a fine job. You will have plenty of time. For double care of you, I shall lock the door, but there will be a guard outside of it with a key. Should you require anything, call. Do not be modest of your knowledge of our language; your excellent Spanish will be well understood, never fear, Señor Medico.”
He bowed with apish extravagance and impish irony. Dan could almost have found it in his heart to crush the poisonous creature as one might grind a venomous toad beneath one's boot heel.
Fernando left the room. The door was fastened.
Then Stone shook off his loathing. He returned perplexedly to the injured man.
Hoagland lay with closed eyes. The sheet was now slightly drawn back, and it revealed the fact that he was fully clothed. One touch showed that he had no fever, another discovered the pulse to be regular. Dan stripped off the patient's coat, the better to examine for internal injuries. As he did so, he saw that something protruded slightly from an inner pocket. It was a small, flat leather case.
Stone relentlessly opened it. Up at him, from under a glazed surface, there stared the certified information that Martin Patrick Hoagland was a special agent of the division of secret service, treasury department, U. S. A.
“Eh?”
That grunt of stupefaction was involuntary. Dan turned upon his patient.
Hoagland was grinning broadly. He was even administering to his physician the wholesome medicine of a slow wink.
“In Heaven's name,” began Stone, “what's the meaning of”
“That dwarf must be safe downstairs by now,” Hoagland cut in with a quick whisper. “I'm all right, of course. And don't take what I did to you too seriously.” His voice carried no farther than Stone's straining ears.
Dan was still gasping. “Who are you?”
“You've read that card.”
“Yes, but then why did you do—what you did? And what are you doing here in Santo Domingo?”
“Had to get inside this house somehow—some way that wouldn't excite suspicion. Any means were fair, in the circumstances. Besides, they had us dead to rights out there in the jungle. I couldn't help you, fighting four to one and everything in their favor.”
“You might have told me”
“There wasn't time. Besides, I wasn't sure of you and didn't know I'd need you even if you were O. K. And then, you'll kindly remember, you wanted to do the talking, and it was all about the little lady and yourself. No; I had my special job on hand. Why, it was on account of that—since you ask it and I'll need you now—that I came to the island. You said this Ramon was all kinds of a crook. Well”
A light broke on Dan. “I know. I found it out.”
“I was right about you just now. You're the hoy I'll need. Tell me what you want.”
“They are printing counterfeit U. S. money,”
“Well,” resumed Hoagland, “I got on the trail of some bank-note paper back home. It was to be shipped by the Hawk, and the Hawk was really booked for San Lorenzo, no matter what they said and no matter how much condensed milk they meant to take to other places later. I don't know how deep Goldthwaite and his cross-eyed Johnson were in the thing—don't know how much they knew—but I had a couple of men on the mate's track in Brooklyn, and he didn't look good to them. Down here, I found out that Ramon had to leave the landing of the paper and the first two land hauls to an agent—between stumbling over you and that runaway niece that he'd followed—oh, the Sanchez café keeper knew a little and talked more. Doctor Gurney! Why, Villeta had his hands full.” Hoagland groaned: “And then I had mine full. Gee, but I'm stiff! I rode a mule till I killed it.”
“But you can't do anything in this house!” cried Dan, wildly waving the leathern case. “They'll only kill you, too. They've killed a lot already—and I'm next! I don't care about myself; it's the girl I'm thinking of. I was on my way to give myself up for the Goldthwaite killing”
Hoagland lifted his thin eyebrows. “Did you really think you did for that pirate?”
Dan cried out.
Hoagland put a cautioning finger to his lips. “Can the noise, sonny, and never mind the details. Goldwaithe's as good as ever by now—or as bad—more's the pity. And what's more than that, your new boss knew it was so, or soon would be, when he hired you!”