Королі та капуста
The Remnants of the Code
Butthere’snomorerumfor—‘Beelzebub,’astheycallme.BytheflamesofTartarus!ifI’mtositattherighthandofSatansomebodyhasgottopaythecourtexpenses.You’llhavetoponyup,Mr.FrankGoodwin.You’reagoodfellow;butagentlemanmustdrawthelineatbeingkickedintothegutter.Blackmailisn’taprettyword,butit’sthenextstationontheroadI’mtravelling."
WithpurposeinhisstepsBlythenowmovedrapidlythroughthetownbywayofitslandwardenvirons.Hepassedthroughthesqualidquartersoftheimprovidentnegroesandonbeyondthepicturesqueshacksofthepoorermestizos.Frommanypointsalonghiscoursehecouldsee,throughtheumbrageousglades,thehouseofFrankGoodwinonitswoodedhill.AndashecrossedthelittlebridgeoverthelagoonhesawtheoldIndian,Galvez,scrubbingatthewoodenslabthatborethenameofMiraflores.BeyondthelagoonthelandsofGoodwinbegantoslopegentlyupward.Agrassyroad,shadedbyamunificentanddiversearrayoftropicalflorawoundfromtheedgeofanoutlyingbananagrovetothedwelling.Blythetookthisroadwithlongandpurposefulstrides.
Goodwinwasseatedonhiscoolestgallery,dictatingletterstohissecretary,asallowandcapablenativeyouth.ThehouseholdadheredtotheAmericanplanofbreakfast;andthatmealhadbeenathingofthepastforthebetterpartofanhour.
Thecastawaywalkedtothesteps,andflourishedahand.
"Goodmorning,Blythe,"saidGoodwin,lookingup."Comeinandhaveachair.
