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only females in the car.
Most of the passengers were familiar. She d had ample time to
study them on the way up to the cut. One man, however, was new.
Claire realized that he must have boarded the train for the first time
at the cut. His back was turned toward her, but she could see that he
was stocky and dark. A finely woven Panama hat covered his shiny
black hair.
The train began to move once more. Evidently disliking his posi-
tion, the man shifted to the opposite seat so that Claire was now look-
ing at his face.
Her heart jumped into her throat. How could she ever forget those
tanned, hawkish features, that yellow scar, running like jagged light-
ning down the side of his face? Noticing her, the man tipped his hat
and grinned mockingly, drawing his thin lips back over two gold
teeth. It was Lopez, the man from the Universel! Prestan s man!
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Eleven
Claire tried to keep her features composed, but André, facing her,
had noticed the widening of her eyes. His back was turned to the man,
so he had not seen him.  What s wrong, Claire? he whispered.
She did not want to speak. That dark weasel would know she was
talking about him. Finally she reached for André s hand. L, she traced
the letter on his soft, white palm. O, P, E, and Z.
André stiffened.  Where? he whispered.  Behind me? Claire nod-
ded slightly. Lopez smiled again. Her heart pounding, she looked
down at the top of Marie-Thérèse s head.
 It s all right, Claire. He wouldn t try anything here, with all these
people watching. And I put him in his place once, remember?
There was no way she could explain it to him now. Lopez, here at
the cut, at the precise moment in which the man who had taken Paul s
job had died in a so-called accident. Paul. The dynamite. The smug-
gling. Poor Duval. Lopez and Prestan. Somehow they had to be
linked. She ached to talk with André alone.
The train rolled down out of the hills and into Panama City, an
unimpressive place for someone who d seen Paris and London, but
not without its own charm. It was considerably bigger than ram-
shackle Col n. The two and three story buildings that lined the
plazas were mostly of stone or masonry. The narrow streets were
cool and inviting and, wonder of wonders, they were paved with
cobblestones.
 What do you think of it? André beamed at her.
 It s  rather nice, Claire said, still casting furtive glances at
Lopez, who pretended to be asleep.
 After Colon, anything looks good!
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Elizabeth Lane
Lopez disappeared as soon as the train had panted to a stop along
one side of a triangular plaza filled with cabs and carriages. They
hired a hack and let themselves be driven slowly through streets so
narrow that the balconies nearly met above their heads, around sleepy
plazas filled with trees, flowers, and fountains, where derelicts dozed
on the benches. They passed through bustling thoroughfares lined
with casinos and oriental shops, open-air markets where vendors
squatted beside heaps of mangoes, plantain, papayas, coconuts, beans,
rice, live chickens, and fresh fish. Such beautiful fish! Red snappers,
gleaming scarlet next to swordlike barracudas: amberjacks with their
delicate forked tails, yellow pompano, mackerel, corvina, and chunky,
big-scaled tarpon. On a long wooden table, a Japanese fishmonger
was chopping a huge sawfish into sections with a cleaver, pausing
now and again to brush away swarms of flies.
 It stinks! Marie-Thérèse complained, wrinkling her nose.  Let s
go, Uncle André!
So they drove down to the seawall where the tide was out, reveal-
ing the nakedness of a rubbish-strewn beach that was all rocks and
ugly, black mud. Still, the view of the Bay of Panama, dotted with fish-
ing boats, and the tiny, green islands beyond was lovely. They shared
the seawall with a flock of black-hooded vultures that hopped com-
panionably out of their way when they came too near.
Claire held Marie-Thérèse s hand and let her run along the top of
the wall, squealing with delight as the big, black birds squawked and
flapped out of her path.
 I m hungry! she announced next.  Let s have our picnic here!
 Here? André recoiled in mock horror.  And share it with all these
charming black fellows? Not on your life! I know just the place! Into
the carriage with you!
 Where are we going, André? The breeze had loosened the hair
around Claire s face. She felt pretty and a little reckless.
In answer to her question, André only smiled mysteriously.
 I know! Lizette gave a bounce on the seat.  Panama viejo, eh,
M sieu André? Oh, wait till you see it, Mam selle!
Panama viejo. Old Panama. They trotted along the edge of the bay,
through the outskirts of town and beyond until they saw what
looked like the ruined tower of an ancient church looming up out of
the horizon.
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Drums of Darkness
 It s a castle! laughed Marie-Thérèse, remembering her picture
books.
 Well, hardly . . . but I think you and your Mademoiselle will like
it! said André.
The hack driver pulled the horse to a stop beneath the spreading
shade of a tulip tree that was aflame with red blossoms. Marie-Thérèse
was already clambering out of the carriage. To be sure, the ruined site
of Old Panama was no fairy castle, but it would do. Claire caught her
breath as André helped her out of the carriage, leaving Lizette to wres-
tle with the picnic basket.
The ruins were set on an attractive patch of land, surrounded by
palms and flowering trees. Not much was left of the old city, Panama s
original capital that had been sacked and destroyed by Henry Morgan
in 1671 and never rebuilt. Time-etched skeletons of old Spanish-colo-
nial buildings rose out of the greenery  here a crumbling stone wall;
there an archway, a well. The four-story bell tower of the cathedral
stared at the sea through its empty windows. Claire gazed up at the
place where the missing bells had hung and she could almost hear
them ringing for the last time, pealing out a warning to the doomed
town below as Morgan s cannons smashed into the walls. She heard
the screams, the running feet, the falling stones . . . she could almost
feel the flames.
 Where are you, Claire? André s voice next to her ear brought her
back to the present.  Your eyes had such a faraway look . . . 
 It s this place, she said.  So beautiful, and yet, thinking about [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]