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Title: The presidental snapshot
       or, The all-seeing eye

Author: Bertram Lebhar

Release Date: March 30, 2023 [eBook #70413]

Language: English

Produced by: Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood,and the Online Distributed
             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
             of the Digital Library@Villanova University.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRESIDENTAL
SNAPSHOT ***


Transcriber’s Notes:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

       *       *       *       *       *

_The_ ADVENTURE LIBRARY No. 69

_The_ PRESIDENTIAL SNAPSHOT

_By_ Bertram Lebhar

[Illustration: _STREET & SMITH CORP. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK_]

       *       *       *       *       *

A CARNIVAL OF ACTION

ADVENTURE LIBRARY

Splendid, Interesting, Big Stories

This line is devoted exclusively to a splendid type of adventure story,
in the big outdoors. There is really a breath of fresh air in each of
them, and the reader who pays fifteen cents for a copy of this line
feels that he has received his money’s worth and a little more.

The authors of these books are experienced in the art of writing, and
know just what the up-to-date American reader wants.

_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK

   1--The Desert Argonaut
   2--A Quarter to Four
   3--Thorndyke of the Bonita
   4--A Round Trip to the Year 2000
   5--The Gold Gleaners
   6--The Spur of Necessity
   7--The Mysterious Mission
   8--The Goal of a Million
   9--Marooned in 1492
  10--Running the Signal
  11--His Friend the Enemy
  12--In the Web
  13--A Deep Sea Game
  14--The Paymaster’s Special
  15--Adrift in the Unknown
  16--Jim Dexter, Cattleman
  17--Juggling with Liberty
  18--Back from Bedlam
  19--A River Tangle
  20--Billionaire Pro Tem
  21--In the Wake of the Scimitar
  22--His Audacious Highness
  23--At Daggers Drawn
  24--The Eighth Wonder
  25--The Cat’s-Paw
  26--The Cotton Bag
  27--Little Miss Vassar
  28--Cast Away at the Pole
  29--The Testing of Noyes
  30--The Fateful Seventh
  31--Montana
  32--The Deserter
  33--The Sheriff of Broken Bow
  34--Wanted: A Highwayman
  35--Frisbie of San Antone
  36--His Last Dollar
  37--Fools for Luck
  38--Dare of Darling & Co.
  39--Trailing “The Josephine”
  40--The Snapshot Chap                    By Bertram Lebhar
  41--Brothers of the Thin Wire             By Franklin Pitt
  42--Jungle Intrigue                     By Edmond Lawrence
  43--His Snapshot Lordship                By Bertram Lebhar
  44--Folly Lode                        By James F. Dorrance
  45--The Forest Rogue                  By Julian G. Wharton
  46--Snapshot Artillery                   By Bertram Lebhar
  47--Stanley Holt, Thoroughbred             By Ralph Boston
  48--The Riddle and the Ring              By Gordon McLaren
  49--The Black Eye Snapshot               By Bertram Lebhar
  50--Bainbridge of Bangor              By Julian G. Wharton
  51--Amid Crashing Hills                 By Edmond Lawrence
  52--The Big Bet Snapshot                 By Bertram Lebhar
  53--Boots and Saddles                   By J. Aubrey Tyson
  54--Hazzard of West Point               By Edmond Lawrence
  55--Service Courageous               By Don Cameron Shafer
  56--On Post                              By Bertram Lebhar
  57--Jack Cope, Trooper                    By Roy Fessenden
  58--Service Audacious                By Don Cameron Shafer
  59--When Fortune Dares                    By Emerson Baker
  60--In the Land of Treasure               By Barry Wolcott
  61--A Soul Laid Bare              By J. Kenilworth Egerton
  62--Wireless Sid                        By Dana R. Preston
  63--Garrison’s Finish                 By W. B. M. Ferguson
  64--Bob Storm of the Navy  By Ensign Lee Tempest, U. S. N.

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

To be published in July, 1927.

  65--Golden Bighorn                    By William Wallace Cook
  66--The Square Deal Garage                By Burt L. Standish

To be published in August, 1927.

  67--Ridgway of Montana                   By Wm. MacLeod Raine
  68--The Motor Wizard’s Daring             By Burt L. Standish
  69--The Presidential Snapshot               By Bertram Lebhar

To be published in September, 1927.

  70--The Sky Pilot                         By Burt L. Standish
  71--An Innocent Outlaw                By William Wallace Cook

To be published in October, 1927.

  72--The Motor Wizard’s Mystery            By Burt L. Standish
  73--From Copy Boy to Reporter               By W. Bert Foster

To be published in November, 1927.

  74--The Motor Wizard’s Strange Adventure  By Burt L. Standish
  75--Lee Blake, Trolley Man         By Boland Ashford Phillips

To be published in December, 1927.

  76--The Motor Wizard’s Clean-up           By Burt L. Standish
  77--Rogers of Butte                   By William Wallace Cook

When you get the S & S Novels you get the best!




The Presidential Snapshot


  OR
  THE ALL-SEEING EYE

  BY
  BERTRAM LEBHAR

  Author of “On Post,” “His Snapshot Lordship,”
  “Snapshot Artillery,” etc.

  [Illustration]

  STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
  PUBLISHERS
  79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

       *       *       *       *       *

  Copyright, 1913-1914
  By STREET & SMITH

  The Presidential Snapshot

  All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
  languages, including the Scandinavian.

  Printed in the U. S. A.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PRESIDENTIAL SNAPSHOT.




CHAPTER I. A CABINET DISCUSSION.


The President of the United States shook his head with an emphasis
which caused the other men gathered around the massive mahogany
table to realize that it would be almost a waste of time to pursue
the discussion. “It is my opinion, gentlemen, that if there were the
slightest basis for this rumor, Mr. Throgmorton’s report would not be
couched in such positive terms!” he declared, pointing to a paper on
the table before him. “There isn’t a man in the diplomatic service more
alert or level-headed than he, so far as I know. I am confident that it
would be impossible for Portiforo to pull the wool over his eyes.”

“Possibly Portiforo has not pulled the wool over Throgmorton’s eyes,”
the little man who sat at the president’s right suggested quietly. “He
may not have found it at all necessary to do that.” There was something
about the speaker’s tone which caused the other members of the cabinet
to look at him curiously, and prompted the president to ask, quite
calmly: “Will you say what you mean to imply by that remark, Mr.
Attorney General?”

The little man smiled--a peculiar form of smile which seemed to be
done with his eye only. “The American minister to the Republic of
Baracoa has never given the impression of being exactly hostile to the
Portiforo administration,” he remarked dryly.

The president frowned. “Are we to understand this as an insinuation
against his good faith?”

“To be quite frank, Mr. President, I have never credited Mr.
Throgmorton with a superabundance of good faith,” the attorney general
replied. “I have known him for a long time--in fact, we were at
college together, and--well, it would take more than his unsupported
word to convince me that there is no truth in this startling story of
Portiforo’s perfidy. He and the President of Baracoa are reputed to be
close friends, and it is possible that his investigation might not be
unbiased.”

“I protest against that remark,” the secretary of state exclaimed
indignantly. “I, too, have known Mr. Throgmorton for a long time, and
there isn’t a man living, Mr. President, in whose integrity I have
greater confidence. If this hideous thing were true he would have told
us so, no matter how amicably disposed he might be toward the Portiforo
administration.”

The president nodded an acquiescence. “I have as much confidence in
Throgmorton’s honesty as I have in his good judgment,” he declared. “As
I said before, gentlemen, he is too conservative a man to have made
such a positive denial unless he had good ground for doing so. I have
felt all along that this rumor was nothing more than a concoction of
Portiforo’s enemies; now I am sure of it.”

“And nothing would cause you to change your mind, Mr. President?” the
attorney general inquired.

“I would not say that. I am always open to conviction. Of course, if
you could bring me a photograph of Felix in a dungeon cell, I might
be ready to believe that Portiforo has him in captivity. But even at
that,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes, “I would have to be convinced
that the snapshot was genuine.”

The attorney general smiled deprecatingly. “Then I’m afraid it will
never be possible to convince you, Mr. President. I don’t imagine that
there’s a photographer in all the world who could break into a South
American dungeon, snapshot a prisoner, and get out again.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” put in the secretary of the interior. “I
know of one man who might be able to accomplish even that remarkable
feat. He’s a New York newspaper man named Hawley. He’s on the staff of
the _Sentinel_. I met him some months ago, when I was in New York, and
the experience I had with him then leads me to believe that there is
scarcely any feat impossible of accomplishment where he is concerned.”

“Isn’t that the man they call ‘the Camera Chap’?” the president
inquired, evincing keen interest.

“I believe they do call him that,” the secretary of the interior
replied. “He is truly a wonderful photographer. I believe that if
Portiforo really has Felix locked up in El Torro Fortress, Hawley could
get a picture of him.”

The president made no comment on this, but, later that day, when the
cabinet meeting was over, he said to his secretary: “I wish you would
send word to Mr. Bates, of the New York _Sentinel_, that I would like
to see him at his earliest convenience.”

Bates, the _Sentinel’s_ Washington correspondent, hurried over to
the White House immediately upon receipt of this information, hoping
that the head of the nation contemplated favoring his paper with some
exclusive information. What the latter actually said to him caused him
some mystification.

“Mr. Bates,” the president began, “I believe you have a photographer
named Hawley employed on your paper?”

“You mean the Camera Chap, Mr. President?”

“Yes. I have heard a great deal about his exploits, and if what I have
heard is true, he must be a very unusual fellow. Tell me more about
him, if you don’t mind.”

The _Sentinel’s_ star correspondent launched into the subject with
enthusiasm. There was not a man on his paper, from the editor in chief
down to the youngest office boy, who was not proud of the fact that
Frank Hawley was connected with it. The Camera Chap occupied a position
unique in the newspaper world. He commanded a large salary, and his
extraordinary achievements had made him famous in every newspaper
office in the country, and caused other managing editors to envy the
_Sentinel_ for having him under contract.

It took Bates more than half an hour to tell of some of Hawley’s
most notable performances, and the president’s face lighted up as he
listened. “Why,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, “the Camera Chap must
be a remarkable character! Does he ever come to Washington? I should
very much like to meet him. You might make it a point to mention that
to your managing editor the next time you communicate with your office,
Mr. Bates.”

“I will be sure to do so, Mr. President,” said the _Sentinel_
representative, who, being far from dull-witted, and well acquainted
with the chief executive’s methods, surmised that there was behind this
request some special motive.

As a result of the message which Bates sent over the wire which
connected the _Sentinel’s_ Washington bureau with the home office, a
tall, slender young man, with a prepossessing countenance and a twinkle
in his keen eyes, arrived at the capital the following afternoon.

Bates greeted him effusively. “Welcome to our city, Hawley, old man!”
he exclaimed. “I don’t know whether the president contemplates offering
you a position in his cabinet or whether he merely wants his picture
taken, but, whatever the reason, he’s very keen to meet you. His
secretary called me up this morning to make sure you were coming; and
when I told him that you were on your way to Washington he sent over
this note for you.”

Bates handed Hawley a square envelope, on which the address of the
executive mansion was embossed. The Camera Chap opened it, and read
its contents over twice, the expression of surprise on his face
intensifying as he did so.

“Are you sure this isn’t a practical joke?” he inquired half
incredulously, handing Bates the note.

An envious look came to the other’s face as he glanced at it. “That’s
going some!” he exclaimed. “You certainly are lucky, old man. Some of
us Washington correspondents pride ourselves on being pals with the
president, but he’s never invited any of _us_ to lunch at the White
House.”




CHAPTER II. A MATTER IN CONFIDENCE.


When the Camera Chap went to keep his luncheon appointment the
following morning, Bates, who had some business to attend to at the
treasury department, accompanied him as far as the White House grounds.
As they were walking along Pennsylvania Avenue, a splendid touring car,
with a silver crest on the door panels and a liveried footman on the
box, passed them by. It contained two women, one of them a blonde, the
other very dark. The former, recognizing Bates on the sidewalk, bowed
graciously.

“That is Mrs. Fred V. Cooper, wife of the attorney general,” the
correspondent explained to his companion, noting that the latter was
staring at the automobile, as though fascinated. “She’s one of the
beauties of Washington.”

“And the other woman--the dark one--who is she?” the Camera Chap
demanded eagerly.

Bates smiled. “There’s a woman with a history,” he said. “She is Señora
Francisco Felix, wife of the former president of the Republic of
Baracoa. You remember reading about him, of course?”

“Oh, yes. He’s the chap who disappeared a couple of years ago.”

“Disappeared is a gentle way of putting it,” returned the other,
grinning. “He sneaked away in his private yacht, one memorable night,
and the good people of Baracoa awoke next morning to find that they
were minus a president, and incidentally the greater part of the
national treasury. The scamp took away with him every bolivar he could
lay hands on. The little republic would have gone bankrupt if General
Portiforo hadn’t stepped in and saved the situation.”

Hawley nodded. “Yes, I remember. What is his wife doing in Washington?”

“She’s been living here ever since her husband absconded. I guess she
didn’t find it exactly comfortable in Baracoa after the scandal. She
and Mrs. Cooper are great friends; they’ve known each other since they
were girls. The señora was educated in the United States; I believe
she and the attorney general’s wife were in the same class at Vassar.
She--why, what’s the matter, old man?”

Hawley had given vent to a sharp exclamation, at the same time gripping
his companion’s arm excitedly. “Did you notice that swarthy chap in the
taxicab which just passed?” he asked.

“The fellow with a beard? Yes. What about him?”

“Don’t happen to know who he is, do you?”

Bates shook his head. “I suppose he’s connected with one of the
Spanish-American embassies. There are so many of those fellows running
around Washington that it isn’t possible for us to know them all. Why
the interest in him?”

“This isn’t the first time I have seen him. I saw him in New York a
couple of weeks ago. He was shadowing Señora Felix.”

“Señora Felix!”

“Yes; this is not the first time I’ve seen her, either, although I did
not know who she was until now. The other day, Bates, I witnessed a
queer incident outside the Hotel Mammoth. I was passing there just as
that woman came out of the Thirty-fourth Street entrance and entered
a taxicab. My attention was attracted to her not only because of her
striking beauty, but because of the nervousness she displayed. As she
stepped into the cab she kept glancing about her in all directions, as
though aware that she was being watched. As she drove off I noticed
a man skulking in the doorway of a store on the opposite side of the
street. It was that same dark-skinned, bearded chap who just passed us.
I saw him hurry across the street and rush up to another taxi that was
waiting at the cab stand. I heard him instruct the driver to follow the
woman’s cab, no matter where it went. He spoke in English, but with
a decidedly foreign accent. My curiosity was aroused, and I decided
to see the thing out. I, too, jumped into a taxi and joined in the
procession.

“Straight down Fifth Avenue we went, as far as Washington Square.
Then the three of us turned into a side street, and came to a stop.
The woman’s cab had halted outside the door of a dingy-looking house
in a neighborhood which had seen better days, but which now consists
mostly of cheap rooming houses. The bearded man’s cab had drawn up
about fifty yards away. He jumped out quickly, and I alighted, too, as
inconspicuously as possible. A surprise awaited us both. The first cab
was empty. The woman had disappeared.”

Bates laughed knowingly. “She must have been wise to the fact that
she was being shadowed, and took advantage of a chance to drop out
somewhere along the trail.”

“Of course. It’s an old trick. You ought to have seen our bearded
friend’s face when he found that he had been fooled. He said a lot of
things to himself in Spanish. I have enough knowledge of that language
to know that his utterances weren’t fit for publication. Wonder if he’s
shadowing her again now.”

“Most likely,” said Bates. “I suppose he’s one of Portiforo’s spies.
Naturally, the present government of Baracoa would be interested in the
movements of Señora Felix. I presume they hope, by watching her, to get
a line on where her husband is.”

“You think she knows that?”

“It is more than a bare possibility. Felix hasn’t been heard of since
he landed from his yacht on the south coast of France two years ago,
but it is exceedingly likely that he has been in communication with his
wife. I understand they were a very devoted couple. In fact, it was a
surprise to everybody that when he skipped he didn’t take her along.
Well, here we are at the White House grounds. See you later, old man. I
am burning up with curiosity to know what the president wants of you.”

Bates’ curiosity in that respect was not destined to be gratified that
day, nor for many days after. When the Camera Chap returned from his
interview with the president, and dropped in at the _Sentinel_ bureau,
he was provokingly uncommunicative.

“It was a fine lunch,” he said. “The White House chef certainly knows
his business; and the president is a genial host. He is one of the most
democratic men I have ever met.”

“But what did you talk about?” Bates asked impatiently. “I know very
well that he didn’t send for you merely to make your acquaintance. What
did he want, old man? You can trust me, you know.”

“Of course I can,” the Camera Chap agreed cheerfully. “We discussed
many things--ranging all the way from Park Row to South America.”

“South America!” the correspondent exclaimed eagerly. “What did he have
to say about that?”

Hawley’s eyes twinkled. “He asked me whether I’d ever been out there,
and when I told him no he expressed great surprise, saying that I
certainly ought to make it a point to go; that he felt sure I would
find many interesting things to photograph in that part of the world.”

Hearing which Bates had a shrewd suspicion that the president had
suggested some particularly interesting thing to photograph in some
part of South America; but, although he was a past master in the art of
extracting information from unwilling lips, his efforts failed to draw
out the Camera Chap further along this line.

It was the president’s closing remark to Hawley which had compelled the
latter to adopt this sphinx-like attitude.

“I will not pledge you to secrecy,” the chief executive had said. “I
will merely urge you to be discreet, Mr. Hawley. I think I am able to
estimate a man at first sight, and if I did not feel that you could be
relied upon I would not have asked you to undertake this mission. You
realize, of course, that in addition to the risk you will be running, a
human life may depend upon your discretion.”




CHAPTER III. PAXTON’S WARNING.


Inasmuch as the president had not pledged him to secrecy, the Camera
Chap decided to take one person into his confidence regarding his visit
to the White House. He knew that Tom Paxton, managing editor of the
_Sentinel_, could be trusted, and there were reasons why Hawley felt
that it was necessary to have him know the purpose of the undertaking
on which he was about to embark. So he returned to New York that night,
and arrived at the _Sentinel_ office just as Paxton was closing down
his desk with the intention of going home.

“Back so soon!” The boyish-looking managing editor greeted him,
grinning. “I supposed it would take you at least a couple of weeks to
tell the president all you know about how to run the ship of state.
Seriously speaking, though, old man, I’m glad you’ve returned. I’ve got
a little job for you up in Canada that needs your immediate attention.
It----”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” the Camera Chap interrupted, “but I’m afraid I’ll
have to ask you to hand that assignment to somebody else. I can’t touch
it. I’ve got to have a couple of months’ leave of absence--to begin at
once.”

Paxton looked his astonishment. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I am going to South America,” Hawley announced. “To Baracoa, to be
precise. I suppose you recall, Tom, the sensational disappearance of
President Felix, a couple of years ago?”

“Of course,” Paxton replied. He had a phenomenal memory for
contemporaneous history. It was the boast of the _Sentinel_ staff that
he could give, offhand, facts and figures of any event of importance in
any part of the world within the past ten years.

“Francisco Felix,” he went on, as though reading from a book, “the
poor Baracoa laborer who became president. They called him ‘the South
American Abraham Lincoln.’ He was the idol of the people--the most
beloved and respected executive Baracoa has ever had--until he proved
himself to be a crook by absconding with the contents of the national
treasury.”

The Camera Chap smiled. “That is the story which is generally
accepted,” he said quietly. “But there is a possibility that the world
may have done President Felix a great injustice.”

“What do you mean?” Paxton asked, looking searchingly in the other’s
face.

“It now appears,” said the Camera Chap, “that instead of being a
fugitive and an absconder, Felix may really have been the victim of a
daring conspiracy; that instead of being free in some part of Europe
at this moment, living in luxury on his loot, the unhappy man is in
reality eating out his heart in a South American dungeon--where he has
been ever since that fatal night that he is supposed to have skipped
from Baracoa in his private yacht. In other words, Tom, it was all a
frame-up. According to this story, Felix was kidnaped by the Portiforo
party, who, realizing that he was too strong with the people to be
deposed by an ordinary revolution, took this means of discrediting him
and seizing the reins of government.”

Editor Paxton smiled incredulously. “Sounds pretty far-fetched. Yet
I don’t know,” he added musingly. “Almost anything is possible down
in that part of the continent; and I recall that there were some
circumstances about Felix’s disappearance which struck me at the time
as queer. There is the fact, for instance, that he has never been seen
since the day his yacht reached the south coast of France.”

“He wasn’t seen even then,” Hawley reminded him. “At least, there is no
proof that the man who came ashore was really Felix. The only persons
who saw him were some French peasants, and, of course, they wouldn’t
know Felix by sight.”

“There was the crew of the yacht,” Paxton suggested. “You are
forgetting, perhaps, that later on they were caught and they admitted
the whole business.”

“It is possible that they were in the conspiracy,” Hawley argued.
“Every member of the crew could have been a Portiforo agent, carefully
instructed as to the story he was to tell.”

The managing editor nodded. “Yes; that’s possible. By George!” he
added, a glint in his eyes, “what a wonderful story--if it should be
true. Where on earth did you get hold of it?”

“At the White House,” the Camera Chap replied, sinking his voice almost
to a whisper.

“What! You don’t mean to say the president believes it?”

“Not exactly. In fact, he is strongly inclined to think that it is a
preposterous theory concocted by Portiforo’s enemies. Still, there is a
doubt in his mind. That is why I am going to Baracoa.”

“He is sending you there to investigate this yarn?”

“To find Felix, if he is really in Baracoa, and to bring back a
snapshot of him,” Hawley said simply.

“Good stuff!” Paxton approved. “If we had photographic evidence the
United States would be in a position to intervene, and demand Felix’s
immediate release. That, of course, would mean the finish of Portiforo,
and I happen to know that there are reasons why Washington wouldn’t be
exactly sorry to see a change in the government of Baracoa. But I say,
old man,” he added anxiously, “do you appreciate the magnitude of the
job you’re tackling? Do you realize the danger?”

“Surely I do,” Hawley answered. “The president warned me that I would
have to be very careful--that if the story happened to be true, and
Portiforo should find out the object of my trip to Baracoa, the
consequences would be serious. They would probably seek to remove the
evidence--by murdering poor Felix before I had a chance to get to him.”

Paxton frowned. “Yes, I have no doubt they would do that. They would
make short work of Felix. But I wasn’t referring to him; I was thinking
of what might happen to you if they were to nab you in the act of
trying to get that snapshot.” His tone was very grave. “I am afraid,
old man, that they would stand you up against a stone wall, with a
handkerchief around your eyes and spray you with lead from their guns.”

The Camera Chap laughed. “Not as bad as that, I guess. A dungeon cell
and a ball and chain would be about the limit.”

“I’m not so sure,” Paxton muttered. “What protection does the president
promise you in case you are caught?”

“He didn’t promise me any protection,” the Camera Chap replied
cheerfully. “On the contrary, he gave me clearly to understand that
I am going into this thing at my own risk. He explained that if I am
apprehended in the act of violating any of the laws of a friendly
nation, the United States government wouldn’t have any right to
intervene.”

“I thought so,” growled Paxton. “Why the deuce couldn’t he have given
this job to a secret-service man instead of you?”

“I didn’t ask him that,” Hawley answered, smiling. “But don’t worry,
Tom. I’m going to get along all right. They’re not going to catch me,
you know.”

The managing editor shook his head forebodingly. “I’ve a good mind
to refuse you that leave of absence,” he said. “I’d do it, too, if I
didn’t know that you’d go, anyway--and if you were working for anybody
else but the President of the United States. When do you expect to
start?”

“To-morrow. The _Colombia_, of the Andean line, sails for South
American waters at two p. m. I’ve engaged passage on her.”

“You’re certainly not losing any time,” Paxton chuckled. “Would you
like me to send somebody along to help you, old man? You can have the
pick of our staff.”

The Camera Chap declined this offer. “I’m ever so much obliged,” he
said, “but I have decided that I had better work alone. It seems to
me that this is one of those cases where one head will be better than
two.” He extended his hand. “Good-by, Tom. I’ll trot along. I’ve got to
go home and pack my trunk.”

“Good-by, old man,” said the managing editor, gripping the outstretched
hand with a fervor he rarely displayed. “Good-by, and good-luck to you!
You’ll need all the luck you can command; for this is by far the most
dangerous job you’ve ever tackled. By the way, let me give you a little
tip that may prove valuable. If you should happen to get into trouble,
and have to appeal to the American minister to save you, you’d better
not let him know, if you can help it, that you are a member of the
_Sentinel_ staff.”

“Why not? I should think----”

“Minister Throgmorton doesn’t like the _Sentinel_,” Paxton interrupted
dryly. “He has good reason for his prejudice. We have been roasting him
editorially ever since he was appointed. So, under the circumstances,
I scarcely think he would move heaven and earth to help a _Sentinel_
man.”




CHAPTER IV. SEÑORA FELIX.


The Andean line steamship _Colombia_ was about to weigh anchor when the
Camera Chap came aboard. He was not the only passenger who narrowly
missed being left behind. As his taxicab drew up at the wharf two
women were just alighting from an electric brougham. One of them was
a blonde, and the other a pronounced brunette. Hawley gave a start of
surprise at sight of them.

“Bon voyage, dear,” the blond woman was saying. “I trust that
everything will come out all right, and that you will soon be back in
Washington. After all, your father’s condition may not be as serious as
the telegram makes out. You know how doctors sometimes exaggerate.”

The dark woman smiled faintly. “I pray that it may be so,” she said;
“but I am greatly worried. They would not have sent for me unless it
was very serious. Au revoir, and thank you a thousand times for all
your kindnesses.”

“All aboard, ladies!” the officer at the gangplank cried. “Please
hurry.”

The women embraced, and the blonde, whom Hawley had recognized as the
wife of the United States attorney general, reëntered the brougham. The
other hurried up the gangplank, the Camera Chap following close behind
her.

“Señora Felix!” he said to himself. “I didn’t expect to have her for a
fellow passenger. Lucky, I guess, that I decided to take this boat.”

On board the señora was greeted by a younger woman, whom she addressed
as Celeste, and who, Hawley learned later, was her maid. They went
immediately to her stateroom.

Hawley soon learned that Señora Felix’s departure from the United
States was no secret. He had brought an evening newspaper on board,
and on an inside page he came across the following heading, so
inconspicuously displayed that it had first escaped his notice:

  “Fugitive President’s Wife Goes Back.--Victoria Felix, ‘Grass Widow’
  of Baracoa’s Missing Chief Executive, Sails To-day for Her Native
  Land After Two Years’ Exile in Washington.--Serious Illness of Her
  Father Given as Cause of Trip.”

From the quarter of a column of smaller type which appeared beneath
this heading he learned that Señora Felix’s father was Doctor Emilio
Hernandez, a prominent physician of San Cristobal, the capital of
Baracoa. He had been seized with a paralytic stroke, and his daughter
had been hurriedly summoned.

It was not until the vessel was well out at sea that the Camera Chap
saw the señora again. She did not appear in the dining saloon for the
evening meal, nor did she show herself on deck during the first day of
the voyage. He inquired of one of the stewards, and learned that she
was indisposed. But on the second day he saw her reclining in a steamer
chair on the promenade deck, apparently absorbed in the pages of a
French novel. He stood with his back against the starboard rail at a
sufficient distance from her chair to avoid making his attention too
marked, and covertly studied her.

She was slender, dark-eyed, about forty, and of aristocratic bearing.
She was still beautiful, although suffering had imprinted deep lines on
her olive skin. The set of her chin and the shape of her delicate mouth
denoted character; in that respect the young man who was so intently
watching her felt that he had never seen a face which impressed him
more favorably. He recalled what Bates had said about the probability
of her knowing the whereabouts of her fugitive husband, and he decided
that the Washington correspondent must be wrong about that.

“If Felix isn’t the martyr I believe him to be--if his disappearance
was voluntary, that woman was not a party to it, either before or
afterward,” he told himself confidently. “A woman with a face like hers
wouldn’t shield a crook, even if he was her husband. I take her to be
the kind that would go through fire for a man worthy of her love, but a
woman who wouldn’t have a particle of use for a moral weakling.”

As he was thus soliloquizing, the subject of his thoughts looked up
from her book, and their eyes met. A faint tinge of pink made itself
visible beneath her dark skin, as though she were embarrassed by his
scrutiny. She frowned slightly; then resumed her reading.

Feeling that he owed her an apology for his seeming rudeness, Hawley
was debating in his mind whether it would be discreet to take her
into his confidence as to his mission to Baracoa, when an incident
occurred which diverted his attention. Two men strolling along the
promenade deck suddenly halted a short distance from where the señora
was sitting, and stood leaning with their elbows resting on the rail.
Hawley recognized both of these men. One of them, in fact, occupied
the stateroom opposite his own. He was a clean-shaven, swarthy man of
middle age, who was down on the passenger list as Señor José Lopez.
The first time he had seen him on the boat it had struck Hawley that
there was something familiar about the fellow’s face, but so far he had
cudgeled his brain in an effort to recall when and where he had seen
him before.

The other man was of striking appearance. He was tall, and of soldierly
carriage. His dark, curly hair was gray at the temples, but, apart
from this evidence of years, his handsome face was so youthful looking
that he could easily have passed for a man in the early thirties. His
complexion was ruddy, his dark eyes were sparkling. His well-waxed
mustache, the ends of which were as sharp as stiletto points, gave his
countenance a decidedly foreign aspect, otherwise he might have been
taken for an American. The Camera Chap had learned that his name was
Juan Cipriani, that he was a native of Argentine, and on his way back
to that country.

The pair had been engaged in conversation as they approached, and now,
as they leaned against the rail, they continued talking. They spoke in
Spanish, and it seemed to Hawley that their voices were pitched above
their normal register.

“In my opinion, it is a piece of impertinence for her to return to
Baracoa,” the one known as Cipriani said emphatically. “If she has any
delicacy she must realize how unwelcome she will be to the people whom
her rascally husband robbed and betrayed.”

“But if her father is dying,” the other argued tolerantly.

“Bah!” retorted Cipriani, with a contemptuous gesture. “Who would
believe that story? You can depend upon it, my friend, her sole purpose
in going back there is to make trouble. If your President Portiforo
were wise he would instruct his port officers to refuse to permit her
to leave the ship. That is the only way to deal with a woman of her
stripe.”

“But, after all, it is scarcely fair to blame her for her husband’s
sins,” Lopez suggested mildly. “We must admit that the abominable Felix
treated her as shabbily as he did my unfortunate country. I understand
that she has not once heard from him since he fled.”

The other laughed ironically. “Are you so ingenuous, my friend,
as to believe that? You can be sure that he has been in constant
communication with her, and that she is only waiting for a chance to
join him and help him spend his stolen fortune. No doubt, she would
have done so before now if she had not feared that she was too closely
watched to---- I beg your pardon, sir--what did you say?”

This last remark was addressed to the Camera Chap, who, unable to
contain himself any longer, had stepped up, frowning angrily, a
menacing glint in his eyes. He knew Spanish well enough to make out
most of their conversation, and although he had stood some distance
away, every word that they had uttered had reached his ears. He knew,
too, that the señora had heard. She was making a brave pretense of
being absorbed in her novel, but the book trembled perceptibly in her
hand. Up to this point Hawley had hesitated to interfere, feeling that
such a course might only add to her embarrassment; but now he decided
that this cruelty must be stopped. If these men were permitted to go on
there was no telling what they might say next.

“I say that your conversation is offensive,” he repeated quietly, but
with emphasis. “I ask you to stop it immediately.”

He spoke in English, and Cipriani answered him in that language, which
he spoke fluently, although with a marked accent. “It seems to me that
you are impertinent, sir,” the latter said, his dark eyes flashing.
“Might I inquire in what way our conversation could possibly be
offensive to you?”

The Camera Chap lowered his voice. “Don’t you realize that every
word you are saying is being heard by Señora Felix? What kind of men
are you, any way, to insult a woman like this? I thought you South
Americans boasted of your chivalry.”

Señor Cipriani glanced toward the woman in the steamer chair. Suddenly
she rose and walked away with dignity. A look of astonishment came in
Cipriani’s face. “Señora Felix!” he repeated. “My dear sir, you don’t
mean to tell me that is she?”

“Of course. Didn’t you know it?”

Cipriani shook his head. “How unfortunate!” he murmured, and if the
regret in his tone was feigned, it was skillfully done. “I assure you,
sir, that I would rather have had my tongue cut out than intentionally
make such remarks in the presence of the lady. I would apologize to her
most abjectly, but I fear that would only be making matters worse. You
see, I’ve never met the señora--this is the first time I have seen her
since she came aboard.” Then, seized with a sudden thought, he turned
upon Lopez, his face flaming with rage. “But you must have known her!”
he declared hotly. “It is not possible that you did not recognize the
wife of your former president. Why did you let me go ahead? Why did you
not warn me of what I was doing?”

The clean-shaven, swarthy man shrugged his shoulders. “I did not notice
that the señora was sitting there,” he said deprecatingly. “I was
so engrossed in your interesting remarks that I did not observe our
surroundings.” As he spoke he smiled--an expansive grin which bared his
large, exceedingly white teeth, which somehow reminded the Camera Chap
of the fangs of a wolf.

“Now, where the deuce have I seen that man?” Hawley asked himself. “The
more I see of him, the more I feel that we met before we came aboard,
but to save my life I can’t place him.”




CHAPTER V. BOLD CURIOSITY.


Muttering an apology, Lopez walked away, and as he strode rapidly
across the deck toward the companionway, the Camera Chap noted
curiously that his footsteps were uncannily noiseless. Cipriani, too,
seemed to observe that fact, for he remarked, with a smile: “Our friend
certainly is most appropriately named. Does not his walk suggest to you
the lope of a wolf?”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” said the Camera Chap. “Who is he?”

“His name is José Lopez, and he hails from Baracoa. That is all I
can tell you about him. I have just made his acquaintance. We got to
talking about his country, and that is how we came to discuss Señora
Felix. I wish I could express to you how deeply I regret that I so
cruelly hurt her feelings. If you are acquainted with the lady and----”

“I am not,” Hawley hastily interrupted. “I merely know her by sight.
She was pointed out to me the other day in Washington.”

“Ah! You are from Washington?” It seemed to the Camera Chap that the
other looked at him very keenly.

“Not guilty,” he said, with a laugh. “New York is my stamping ground. I
merely happened to be in Washington for a couple of days.”

“I see. And you are now bound for----” Cipriani paused interrogatively.

“I am going as far as Puerto Cabero.”

Once more the other looked at him searchingly. “Might I inquire the
object of your visit to Baracoa, if the question is not too personal?”

Hawley smiled. “I haven’t any great objection to answering it,”
he said. “I am an artist, and I am going to make some pictures. I
understand that the landscapes there are very fine.”

“An artist,” the other exclaimed. “That is interesting. I should very
much like to see some of your work.”

“Perhaps some day I will show you,” said the Camera Chap, his eyes
twinkling. “And now, having answered your question, may I ask you one
in return?”

“I am at your service, señor.”

“I would like to know why you are so bitterly prejudiced against Señora
Felix. She doesn’t strike me as being the sort of woman who deserves
the unkind things you said about her.”

Cipriani shrugged his shoulders. “You are young, my friend. When you
have lived as long as I you will not judge by appearances,” he said
gravely.

“But that isn’t answering my question,” Hawley insisted. “Have you any
special reason for believing that the señora knows where her husband
is?”

“Only my knowledge of human nature,” Cipriani replied. “As I said
before, it is only logical to suppose that Felix has communicated with
his wife since he ran away. I understand that they were a most devoted
couple. I presume that when he fled they had an understanding that she
was to join him later on; probably she has found it impossible to do so
because of the close watch that Portiforo has kept on her.”

“How do you know that Portiforo has been keeping a close watch on her?”
Hawley asked quickly.

Cipriani seemed discomfited by the question. He winced, and his ruddy
face changed color; but his confusion quickly passed. “Of course, I do
not know it,” he said suavely. “I only assume it. Is it not logical
to suppose that the government of Baracoa would keep the wife of an
absconding president under close surveillance? If you had ever lived in
South America you would not have asked that question. There are more
spies down there than there are people to spy on.”

He threw the stub of his cigarette into the sea, and took a gold case
from his pocket to supply himself with another. “May I offer you one of
these?” he said. “They are of my own manufacture. I am in the cigarette
business in Buenos Aires.”

“No, thank you,” said Hawley. “I prefer a pipe.” He felt in his pocket.
“That reminds me; I left my brier in my stateroom. I’ll go and get it.
See you again, sir.”

The South American smiled and bowed, but as the Camera Chap walked
away the smile abruptly left his face, and was replaced by an anxious
expression. “We must find out more about that interesting young man,”
he mused. “I don’t think he is going to Baracoa to paint landscapes.”

When Hawley reached his stateroom he made a disconcerting discovery.
The room had been entered since he was there last, and somebody had
been through his baggage. He knew that such was the case because
certain articles were not as he had left them. Nothing was missing--a
close inventory of his effects satisfied him as to that; but the
contents of his trunk and his suit case were slightly disarranged.

With a frown he stepped out into the corridor, and went in search of
the steward. “Didn’t happen to see anybody go in or out of my room
during the last two hours, did you?” he inquired.

The man looked worried. “No, sir; I--I didn’t actually see anybody--go
in or out,” he stammered. “But, now that you speak of it, I saw
something that was rather queer.”

“What was that?”

“As I was passing your door, ten minutes ago, I saw a man fumbling with
the lock. It looked to me as if he was just locking the door; but when
I stepped up to him he explained that he had made a mistake, and was
trying to get in, thinking it was his own room.”

“Ah!” Hawley exclaimed. “Do you know who he was?”

“Yes, sir; it was the gentleman who occupies the room across the hall
from yours--Señor José Lopez.”

“The deuce!” muttered Hawley. “No wonder he has such a catlike tread.
Evidently he needs it in his business. Begins to look as if he might
be one of Portiforo’s spies sent---- By Jove! I’ve got the answer,
now, as to where I’ve seen his face. What a chump I am not to have
remembered before. It was the absence of his whiskers that fooled me.
His appearance is considerably changed without them, but I’m quite
sure, now, that he’s the same busybody who was trailing Señora Felix in
a taxicab.”




CHAPTER VI. A MEETING AFTER DARK.


If the Camera Chap had witnessed a meeting which took place that
night between Señora Felix and a certain tall, soldierly-looking male
passenger, and if he could have overheard their conversation, he would
have been greatly amazed and perplexed.

It was well on toward midnight. The musicians had long ago ceased
playing, and most of the passengers had turned in. The promenade deck
was as deserted as Broadway after four a. m. The señora, as she stood
at the rail, pensively watching the moonbeams playing upon the waves,
was as motionless as a wax figure. She was wrapped in a long, black
silk shawl so arranged about her head that most of her face was hidden,
but the tall, soldierly-looking man who stepped up to her had no
difficulty in recognizing her.

She turned swiftly at the sound of his footfall behind her, and an
exclamation of pleasure escaped her lips. “So you managed it all
right!” she whispered in Spanish.

“Yes, señora; but it is very unwise. I got your message, and I felt
that I had to obey this time--but it must not occur again. The risk is
too great.”

“I know,” she acquiesced. “As you say, it must not occur again. From
now on we must be as strangers; but I felt that I must have this one
talk with you. I am so very anxious.”

A frown darkened his handsome features. “It is exceedingly unfortunate,
señora, that you should have sailed on this boat,” he said
ungraciously. “Your presence here is likely to prove disastrous. If
only you had waited for another week.”

“I couldn’t,” she answered deprecatingly. “They sent me word that my
father’s condition was most serious, and I felt it my duty to go to him
at once. But I had no idea that you would be here. I understood that
you were to sail next Tuesday on the _Panama_.”

“Such was my original intention,” he answered; “but there were good
reasons why I had to alter my plans. I certainly would have delayed
my sailing, however, if I had suspected that there was the slightest
chance of your being here. I greatly fear the fact that we are
traveling on the same boat is regarded as more than a mere coincidence
by our friend who calls himself José Lopez.”

A worried expression came to the señora’s face. “How much does he
know?” she inquired.

“I would give much to be able to answer that question,” her companion
replied, with a grim smile. “Of this much I am sure, however: He
already has a strong suspicion that my name is not Juan Cipriani, and
that my destination is not Buenos Aires. He forced his acquaintanceship
upon me in the smoking room to-day, and began straightway to
cross-examine me in a manner which, no doubt, he considered adroit, but
which I saw through immediately. In an attempt to lull his suspicion
I went through that painful little scene in front of you. I need
scarcely assure you, señora, of my profound regret at being obliged to
hurt your feelings so cruelly.”

“That is all right,” she answered. “I realized the necessity. You
managed it very skillfully. I feel sure that he must have been
convinced that you were unacquainted with me, and that we have no
interest in common.”

“I am not so certain of that,” the man answered, shaking his head.
“The best that we can hope is that I succeeded in establishing a doubt
in his mind; but I fear that he guessed it was all a trick contrived
to deceive him. For the rest of this voyage, I am afraid, he will be
watching us closely--on the alert for the slightest glance that passes
between us. You must be very careful, señora.”

“I will,” she promised. “Where is he now?”

“Asleep in his stateroom. I made sure of that before I came here to
keep this appointment.” The man paused. “But it is not him alone we
have cause to fear,” he exclaimed suddenly. “There is somebody else on
board whose presence is a grave menace to us. That good-looking young
American who so impulsively came to your rescue this afternoon--do you
know who he is?”

The señora shook her head. “That was one of the reasons I felt it
necessary to have this talk with you. I, too, am uneasy about that
young man. In spite of his interference in my behalf this afternoon, I
have reason to suspect that he belongs to our enemies.”

Her companion frowned. “Would you mind telling me your reasons for
thinking that, señora?” he asked.

“The first time I noticed him was in New York, several days ago,” the
woman explained. “It was that day I visited your headquarters. You
remember my telling you that I had been followed?”

The man nodded. “That was the time you worked that clever trick with
the taxicab,” he said, with a smile. “But I understood you to say that
it was Lopez who was shadowing you?”

“There were two of them. Lopez was in one cab, but there was another
taxi behind his. It contained that young American. I had previously
noticed him watching me as I came out of the Mammoth.”

Her companion uttered a sharp exclamation.

“And that wasn’t the only time,” the señora went on. “I saw him in
Washington, the day before he sailed. I was driving in Pennsylvania
Avenue, and I noticed him on the sidewalk. That may have been a
coincidence, of course, but I am afraid not. I noticed that he was
observing me very closely. And then, again, he came on board this ship
at exactly the same time I did. He was close behind me as I walked up
the gangplank. All of which leads me to believe that he is on this
vessel for the purpose of spying upon us. I have had Celeste make
inquiries about him, and she has learned that he is a New Yorker named
Hawley. He claims to be an artist on his way to Baracoa to paint some
landscapes, but I am sure that that is only a bluff. The man is one of
Portiforo’s spies.”

Her companion smiled. “You are mistaken about that, señora. I, too,
have been making inquiries about this young man. I was fortunate enough
to get hold of a fellow passenger, an American, who could tell me
all about him. He is not connected with Portiforo--but he is just as
dangerous to us as if such were the case.”

“Who is he?” the señora asked quickly.

“Hawley is his right name, and, as he has said, he is an artist. But he
does not wield a brush. He makes his pictures with a camera. He is a
newspaper photographer--on the staff of the New York _Sentinel_.”

The señora gave vent to a faint cry. “Hawley, of the New York
_Sentinel_!” she exclaimed agitatedly. “I have heard of him. He is that
wonderful photographer they call the Camera Chap.”

Her companion nodded. “I see that you realize, señora, how careful we
must be of him. The press is as much to be feared by us as our enemies
in Baracoa. If a Yankee newspaper were to get hold of our secret we
should be lost. I don’t know what he is after, but I shall----”

“I do,” the señora interrupted tensely. “Now that I know who that young
man is, I understand fully why he is going to Baracoa. And he must be
stopped,” she added, her voice vibrant with emotion. “He must not be
permitted to go ahead. We must find some way of preventing it.”




CHAPTER VII. DISCOURAGING NEWS.


It was not until the _Colombia_ was approaching Puerto Guerra, the
first port of call in Baracoa, that the Camera Chap exchanged a single
word with Señora Felix. Possibly he could have conversed with her
before that had he desired to do so, for she spent much time on deck,
and on several occasions, as he passed her steamer chair, he caught her
dark eyes regarding him with keen interest. Several incidents arose,
too, which seemed to offer him an opportunity to make her acquaintance,
and, modest young man though he was, he could not help suspecting that
these incidents were arranged by her in an effort to bring about that
result.

Once, for instance, as he walked past where she sat, she dropped the
magazine she was reading, and it seemed to Hawley that it was done
somewhat ostentatiously, as though she fully expected him to pick it
up. On another occasion her shawl fell from her shoulders to the deck
as she was promenading, when Hawley was standing near by, and once more
it seemed to him that the act was done deliberately.

But even at the sacrifice of having to appear boorish, he ignored these
and other advances--if they were advances--for although, under other
circumstances, he would have been delighted to make the fair señora’s
acquaintance, he had decided that it would be most indiscreet to do
so now. He had made up his mind to keep away from her throughout the
entire trip.

It was the mysterious, soft-treading passenger known as Señor José
Lopez who was responsible for this decision on his part. There was no
doubt now in Hawley’s mind that the fellow was a spy, a secret agent of
the Portiforo government, and such being the case he deemed it highly
necessary to keep Lopez from guessing that there was aught in common
between himself and the wife of the missing president of Baracoa. The
slightest evidence of friendship between himself and the woman, he
surmised, might give the spy cause to suspect the real object of his
mission to South America.

But one evening, as the vessel was approaching the hilly coast line
of Baracoa, a steward handed him a note. The missive was in a woman’s
handwriting, and although it bore no signature he guessed at once from
whom it had come. It was short--merely a couple of lines stating that
the writer would appreciate it very much if Mr. Hawley would make it a
point to be on the promenade deck after eleven o’clock that night.

Guessing whom he would meet there if he kept this appointment, the
Camera Chap’s first thought was to ignore the summons. But upon
reflection, he changed his mind. “It would be a pretty shabby way to
act,” he told himself. “Besides, I’m too curious to know what she wants
of me to be able to resist the temptation. I’ll take a chance--provided
I can dodge that infernal busybody with the gumshoes. I’m afraid
I can’t afford to keep the appointment if he’s going to be there.
However, I think I’ll be able to get rid of him.”

That evening most of the passengers retired unusually early. The
_Colombia_ was to dock at sunrise the following morning, and everybody,
even those who were not going ashore, desired to be awake early to get
the first sight of land. At nine-thirty, as the orchestra finished its
final selections, Hawley exchanged “Good night” with several of his
acquaintances, and went to his stateroom. A few minutes later, Señor
José Lopez came down the corridor with his noiseless, catlike tread,
and stood listening intently outside the Camera Chap’s door.

The latter grinned as he heard the eavesdropper’s soft breathing.
He was aware of the fact that his neighbor across the hall paid him
this attention each night, never going to bed until he had made sure
that Hawley had retired. That cautious young man now went through the
formality of disrobing. Señor Lopez heard the thud of his shoes as he
allowed them to drop noisily to the floor. Shortly afterward there was
the click of the electric light being switched off, and soon after that
a sound like a buzz saw in action satisfied the eavesdropper that the
occupant of the room was well settled in the land of dreams. Then Lopez
stole across the corridor to his own stateroom, and turned in with an
easy mind.

A little more than an hour later the Camera Chap arose, dressed himself
in the dark, and, with his feet incased in a pair of tennis shoes,
emerged from his stateroom, and moved along the corridor with a secrecy
which would have done credit to Lopez himself.

When he reached the promenade deck and strode past the long row of
empty chairs, there was not a person to be seen. He was beginning to
wonder if he were not the victim of a practical joke, when suddenly he
espied a shrouded figure, which looked almost ghostly in the moonlight,
coming toward him. With a cautious glance behind him, he stepped
forward to meet her.

“It was very good of you to come,” the woman said softly. “But I knew
that you would--just as I feel confident that you will grant me the
favor that I am going to ask of you.” As she spoke she drew aside the
silken, fringed mantilla which concealed all of her face except her
eyes, but even before she did this the Camera Chap knew with whom he
was talking.

“If there is any service I can render you, señora, you have only to
name it,” he avowed impulsively. And he meant it, for as he gazed into
her dark, sad eyes all the chivalry in him was stirred, and he thrilled
with pity for this frail, unhappy woman. At that moment he would have
been prepared to go to the rescue of her husband with a sword instead
of a camera if more could have been gained that way.

“I am glad to hear you say that,” Señora Felix said gratefully. “I
trust that you will not change your mind, Mr. Hawley, when I tell you
that the favor I am going to ask of you concerns the errand which has
brought you to Baracoa.”

The Camera Chap gave a start of surprise. “Then you know----” he
began excitedly, but suddenly on his guard, abruptly checked himself.
“The errand which has brought me to Baracoa!” he exclaimed, with
well-feigned bewilderment. “I beg your pardon, señora; I’m afraid I
don’t quite understand.”

The woman laughed softly. “You can be quite frank with me,” she said.
“I know who has sent you to Baracoa, and what you expect to find--in
the fortress of El Torro.” She paused, and an anxious expression
flitted across her face. “And the favor I’m going to ask of you, Mr.
Hawley, is--to give up this undertaking.”

The Camera Chap stared at her in astonishment. “To give it up!” he
exclaimed incredulously. “Surely you can’t mean that, señora! If you
really know who sent me and what I hope to accomplish, it seems to me
you are the last person in the world who should make such a request of
me.”

The woman sighed. “There is a good reason for what I ask. You would be
running a great risk, and----”

“Don’t worry about the risk, señora,” the Camera Chap interrupted
cheerfully. “If that’s your only reason for asking me to quit, I’m
afraid I’ll have to refuse to listen to you.”

“It isn’t the only reason,” she rejoined. “If there was anything to
be gained by it, I’m afraid I would be selfish enough to let you go
ahead in spite of the danger you would incur; but when I know that you
have come on a wild-goose chase, I feel it my duty to prevent you from
sacrificing yourself.”

“A wild-goose chase!” the Camera Chap repeated.

“Yes; for your president is misinformed,” the señora declared tensely.
“My husband is not confined in El Torro. He is not in Baracoa. There is
no truth in the rumor which has brought you here.”

It was almost as if she had struck Hawley a physical blow. Although,
of course, he had realized all along that there was a possibility
of the story turning out to be baseless, and although the president
had intimated that he himself placed no stock in the sensational
rumor, and was merely sending Hawley to Baracoa in order to remove
the last possible doubt from his mind, somehow the Camera Chap had
been confident until that moment that he was embarked on no fruitless
mission. Instinctively he had felt that Felix was a martyr instead of
the rogue which the world believed him. But now this statement, coming
from the missing man’s wife, seemed to dispel all hope that such was
the case.

“Do you know where he is, señora?” he inquired, his disappointment
evident in his voice.

The woman hesitated, and he caught the shade which flitted across her
face. “I do,” she said at length, almost in a whisper. “He is--in
Europe.”

“You are quite sure, señora? Is it not possible that you, too, have
been deceived?”

She shook her head. “No; that is not possible--for I have been in
constant communication with him. I received a letter from him only last
week.” She smiled sadly. “So you see, Mr. Hawley, there is nothing for
you to do.”




CHAPTER VIII. THE LOST CAUSE.


The Camera Chap was noted on Park Row, among other things, for the
buoyancy of his nature and his refusal to permit disappointments and
setbacks to ruffle him. But he was scarcely in a cheerful frame of mind
as he took his leave of Señora Felix and went back to his stateroom.
To have traveled several thousand miles only to discover that he had
come on a fool’s errand, and, what was worse, to have had all his
dreams shattered, was a severe strain even for his abundant stock of
philosophy.

For a long time he sat on the edge of his berth, meditating on his
conversation with the wife of the missing president. One thing puzzled
him exceedingly: Why had the woman taken him into her confidence
to the extent of telling him that she knew the whereabouts of her
husband? Why was she so keen to dissuade him from persisting in his
undertaking? He took no stock in her assertion that solicitude for his
welfare had caused her to take this step. Surely, he told himself, she
would not have jeopardized her husband’s safety and confessed herself
an accessory to a crime merely to save a stranger from getting into
trouble. There must be some more weighty reason which had prompted her
to intrust him with her secret.

Suddenly his face lighted up, and he gave vent to a joyous
ejaculation. “Of course, that must be it,” he muttered. “The poor
little señora! I hate to doubt the word of a lady, but I’m afraid I’ll
have to take your statements with a grain of salt.”

His mind more at ease now, he climbed into his berth, and was soon in a
sound sleep. He was awakened early in the morning by the voice of the
steward in the corridor notifying those passengers whose destination
was Puerto Guerra that their port had been sighted.

Hawley hurried into his clothes and went on deck. He was not going
to disembark at that point; he had decided to land at Puerto Cabero,
farther on along the coast of Baracoa, and only a few miles from the
capital. Yet he was anxious to get his first sight of the land which
was to be the scene of his activities.

The ship was picking her way through the coral reefs as he walked to
the bow, and stood gazing with interest at the palm-fringed harbor.
There he was soon joined by other passengers, among them Señora Felix.
She was not going ashore at this port; like Hawley, she was booked to
land at Puerto Cabero, but she had left instructions to be awakened
as soon as land was sighted, and she now stood against the rail, a
pathetically wistful expression on her sad countenance as she stared at
the blue-black mountains which formed a background to the quiet little
village of thatched houses.

There was only one pier in the harbor. It projected from a low stone
structure which, the Camera Chap overheard somebody say, was the custom
house. A handful of swarthy-faced men in blue uniforms stood on the
pier, languidly watching the approach of the steamship. When the
_Colombia_ had docked and began to unload freight, these men gathered
around six huge packing cases which were carried ashore, and studied
them with great interest.

A fat official whose blue uniform was decorated with much gold lace
gave some orders to two of the men, who grinned and began to pry off
the lid of one of these packing cases. As she watched this act from
the deck of the ship an involuntary exclamation escaped Señora Felix.
It was only a slight murmur, but it reached the ears of the Camera
Chap, who was standing near by. He glanced at her, and observed that
her hands were gripping the top of the rail so hard that the knuckles
showed white through the nut-brown skin. Evidently she was under a
great nervous strain.

Abruptly his attention was drawn from the woman at his side to what was
taking place on shore. A force of men on horseback, fifty strong, had
galloped up to the group of soldiers gathered around the packing cases.
The newcomers were wild-looking fellows, raggedly dressed, and all of
them armed. They uttered loud cries as they surrounded the handful of
soldiers, who promptly threw up their hands in surrender.

Astonished as the Camera Chap was by this spectacle, he presently
witnessed something which amazed him still more. A man rushed from the
ship to the pier, and as he went down the gangplank he was greeted
by cheers from the wild-looking horsemen. The man was the tall,
handsome passenger whom Hawley had known at Señor Juan Cipriani, of
Buenos Aires. He was clad now in a gorgeous uniform of blue and gold,
and he brandished a sword which flashed in the sunlight. As he joined
the group on the pier they gathered around him, and welcomed him with
shouts of “Viva Rodriguez! Viva el general!” He acknowledged this
ovation with a graceful sweep of his sombrero, and as he happened
to turn toward the ship, Hawley saw that his face was aglow with
enthusiasm.

Something caused the Camera Chap to glance, just then, at Señora Felix.
A great change had come over her. Her face, too, was radiant with
happiness, and she was sobbing softly.

But suddenly she uttered a cry of mingled horror and dismay; she
clutched the rail in front of her, as though to save herself from
falling. The Camera Chap had only to glance toward the dock to realize
the cause of her agitation. With the swiftness of a moving-picture
drama, the scene there had changed. A regiment of infantry, springing
up apparently from nowhere, had surrounded the group of horsemen. The
latter were now surrendering as meekly as the handful of soldiers had
previously surrendered to them. The only man making the slightest
attempt to fight was Cipriani. He was struggling frantically in the
grasp of two burly infantrymen.

These two successive bloodless victories struck Hawley as so ludicrous
that he would have laughed but for the evident grief of the woman
beside him. There was not the slightest doubt that this latest
development meant tragedy to her, however amusing it might appear to a
disinterested spectator. Making a valiant effort to regain her calm,
she hurried below to her stateroom.

The Camera Chap did not see her again until the _Colombia_ arrived at
Puerto Cabero. But before they arrived at the latter port a steward
stealthily handed him at note. The missive was unsigned, but he
recognized the handwriting, and although to anybody else its wording
might have been vague, he had no difficulty in grasping its meaning.
The note ran:

“Pay no attention to what was said to you last night. What you have
witnessed has changed the situation. Now, our only hope lies in your
discretion and your ability to carry out the mission intrusted to you.”




CHAPTER IX. THE GIRL IN PINK.


As the _Colombia_ steamed into the harbor of Puerto Cabero the
following day, the Camera Chap caught sight of a turreted,
forbidding-looking gray edifice on the east shore, and he did not have
to make inquiries in order to know what this building was. Although he
had never seen it before, he knew that he was gazing on the fortress
of El Torro, which, in addition to being the main defense of Baracoa’s
chief seaport, was also internationally famous as the living tomb of
several ill-starred wretches whose political activities had earned for
them the grim decoration of the ball and chain.

According to the rumor which had brought Hawley to South America, it
was within this building that Portiforo had the unhappy Felix locked
up; therefore the Camera Chap viewed it with more than idle interest.
As he noted the sentries marching to and fro in front of the gray walls
it impressed him as being “a pretty formidable sort of a joint,” and he
didn’t imagine that it was going to be exactly a picnic to get inside
of it.

“I observe that the señor is interested in El Torro,” exclaimed a voice
close behind him. “It is a place much easier to enter than it is to
leave.”

Coming as though in response to his unspoken thought, the words
startled Hawley. He wheeled swiftly, and found himself gazing into the
swarthy countenance of Señor José Lopez.

“What do you mean by that remark?” he demanded sharply. Then, suddenly
on his guard, he added more mildly: “What makes you think that I am
particularly interested in El Torro?”

The other bared his large teeth in a wolflike grin. “I judged that such
was the case from the manner in which the señor was staring at it,” he
replied quietly.

The Camera Chap laughed. “It is a picturesque pile,” he declared. “From
an artistic standpoint it appeals to me greatly. I certainly will have
to make a picture of it before I return to the United States. That is,
of course, if it isn’t against the rules.”

Lopez shrugged his shoulders. “I dare say there will be no objection to
Señor Hawley making as many pictures as he desires--of the outside of
El Torro,” he remarked.

“Now, I wonder what the deuce he meant by that!” Hawley reflected, as
the other walked away. “I’d give a lot to know whether that confounded
spy suspects anything.”

Until that moment he had felt confident that he had his inquisitive
fellow passenger guessing as to the object of his visit to Baracoa,
but the significant remark which the latter had just let drop made him
exceedingly uneasy. There being no doubt in his mind that Lopez was a
secret agent of the Portiforo government, he feared that he was going
to have a hard time losing him when they got ashore; in fact, he was
now even prepared to be challenged by the immigration authorities, and
told that his presence in Baracoa was not desired. But, greatly to his
relief, both these fears proved unfounded. When the vessel docked, the
pier authorities manifested no more interest in him than in any of
the other passengers; on the contrary, the customs officers were so
careless in their examination of his baggage that they did not even
discover the big camera in his trunk. And when he went ashore, Lopez
made no attempt to shadow him; in fact, he saw the latter board a train
without even a glance in his direction.

Another circumstance which surprised him somewhat was that Señora
Felix was also permitted to land without undue attention from the
authorities. In view of what had happened at Puerto Guerra, and her
obvious interest therein, he had been wondering ever since whether she
would not be placed under arrest as soon as she attempted to land, on a
charge of being in some way connected with the affair, and he was very
glad to find that such was not the case.

Hawley watched the landing of the señora with great interest. He
observed that as she and her maid stepped from the pier, many people
stared at her, recognizing her as the wife of their missing president;
but nobody spoke to her, with the exception of a blond-haired,
blue-eyed girl in a pink dress, who stepped up and greeted her
effusively.

This young woman aroused the Camera Chap’s curiosity. It was quite
evident that she was not a native of Baracoa; at first sight he would
have been willing to bet all the money he had in his pocket that she
was of his own people. She appeared to be still in her “teens,” and
was of such an attractive personality that almost any one would have
bestowed more than one glance upon her, even if his interest had not
been intensified by the fact that she was there to welcome Señora Felix.

For a few minutes the two women stood chatting together in the plaza
in front of the steamship pier, Celeste, the señora’s maid, hanging
respectfully in the background. Then, followed by the latter, they made
their way toward a touring car standing near by, which they entered.
The girl in pink gave some instructions to the liveried negro at the
wheel, and the car dashed up one of the steep roads which led to the
capital.

Not once since she had come ashore had the señora appeared to notice
the Camera Chap--he suspected that she studiously refrained from
doing so for reasons which he fully appreciated--but just before the
automobile started she whispered something to her fair companion, and
the latter turned in her seat and looked deliberately toward where he
was standing. There were several other persons in his vicinity, and
it might have been any of these at whom her glance was directed, but
Hawley, modest man though he was, felt positive that he was the object
of her scrutiny, and somehow the thought afforded him much satisfaction.

He was not left long in ignorance as to the identity of this
prepossessing young woman, for, as the car started off, the
conversation of two natives standing near him supplied him with that
information.

“Is it not somewhat surprising that the daughter of the American
minister should be on such friendly terms with the wife of the
abominable Felix?” Hawley overheard one of them remark in Spanish. To
which the other responded, with a shrug: “Nothing is surprising about
those Yankees.”

The Camera Chap was too much absorbed in the information he had gleaned
even to feel like resenting the slur upon his countrymen. So the girl
in pink was Miss Throgmorton, the daughter of the American minister to
Baracoa! And she was on such intimate terms with Señora Felix that she
alone had come to welcome the latter back to her native land! Here was
an interesting discovery, indeed.

At that moment there flashed through his mind what his friend and
managing editor, Tom Paxton, had said about the sentiments of the
United States minister to Baracoa toward the _Sentinel_, and all
men connected with it. He devoutly hoped that the daughter did not
share her father’s prejudices in that respect, for he had already
fully decided that if it were possible he was going to make Miss
Throgmorton’s acquaintance before he had been many days in Baracoa.




CHAPTER X. AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE.


The Camera Chap did not linger long at Puerto Cabero. He had decided
to make Santa Barbara, the capital, his headquarters, that city being
only ten miles away from the seaport. It is situated on a highland
three thousand feet above the sea level, and, as Hawley traveled on
the antiquated railroad, he marveled at the manner in which the line
twisted and turned like a huge corkscrew.

When he arrived at his journey’s end he found the city in gala attire.
The streets and shops were decorated with flags and bunting, and a band
was playing in the plaza. At the Hotel Nacional, where he registered,
he inquired whether he had struck town on a national holiday, and was
informed that the festivities were the result of the extraordinary
scene he had witnessed at Puerto Guerra the previous day.

“You see, señor,” explained the hotel clerk, who spoke very good
English, “President Portiforo has ordered a day of public rejoicing
because of the defeat of General Rodriguez.”

“Rodriguez!” exclaimed Hawley, who recalled that he had heard the man
whom he had known as Juan Cipriani hailed by that name by the group of
wild-looking horsemen on the pier. “What was he trying to do? Was he
starting a revolution?”

The clerk nodded, and proceeded to tell Hawley a story which fully
enlightened him as to the significance of the drama he had seen enacted
at the customhouse at Puerto Guerra. The Camera Chap learned that the
big packing cases which the steamship _Colombia_ had brought, and
which were invoiced as containing farming implements, had in reality
contained machine guns intended for the use of the new revolutionary
party which General Emilio Rodriguez, alias Juan Cipriani, had come to
Baracoa to lead.

Rodriguez, Hawley was informed, was a native of Baracoa, but had been
in Europe for the past ten years. He had held a commission in the
French army, which he had resigned in order to come back and attempt to
overthrow the Portiforo government; which attempt, however, had been
rendered futile by the alertness of President Portiforo.

“But you don’t mean to tell me that that chap was going to have the
nerve to buck against the government forces with that handful of men
I saw at the pier?” the Camera Chap exclaimed in astonishment. “Why,
there couldn’t have been more than fifty of them in all.”

The clerk smiled deprecatingly. “That was only the beginning, señor.
If Rodriguez’s plans had not miscarried, he was to have taken to the
hills with that escort, and there proclaimed the revolution. He had
been assured that the people would flock by thousands to his banner,
and that as soon as he gave the word the army was prepared to revolt
and go over to him. But things didn’t go just as he expected. President
Portiforo learned of the plot in time to nip the revolution in the
bud. A few days ago he raised the pay of everybody in the federal army,
from the commander in chief down to the newest recruit, and thereby
kept the troops loyal to him. He set a trap for Rodriguez, and when
that unhappy man stepped off the boat at Puerto Guerra yesterday,
expecting the whole country to be ready to respond to his call to arms,
he was seized and thrown into jail.” The clerk grinned. “One has to get
up very early in the morning in order to catch our President Portiforo
napping, señor,” he said.

“So I have heard,” the Camera Chap responded dryly. “What do you
suppose will happen to Cipriani--I mean Rodriguez?”

The clerk shrugged his shoulders. “There is only one fate for those
who conspire against the government of Baracoa,” he said quietly. “I
understand that the president has already signed his death warrant.”

Hawley was silent for a while after that. “Do you happen to know,” he
inquired suddenly, “whether your former president, Francisco Felix, was
mixed up in any way with this revolutionary plot?”

The clerk stared at him in astonishment. “If such is the case, it is
the first time I have heard of it!” he declared. “Might I inquire what
put such a thought in your head, señor? Have you any information to
that effect?”

“I?” exclaimed Hawley, with a deprecating smile. “I arrived at Baracoa
only a few hours ago. What should I know about the affairs of your
interesting country?”

Later that day, Hawley got his first sight of Miguel Portiforo,
President of Baracoa. There was a big military parade in honor of “the
overthrow of the revolution,” and the president rode at the head of
his troops in an open carriage, flanked on each side by an escort of
cavalry.

Standing in front of the Hotel Nacional, the Camera Chap gazed with
great interest upon the man with whom he realized he must expect to
match wits in order to carry out the delicate and difficult errand
which had been intrusted to him. At first sight the president did not
impress him as being a man of formidable personality. Although he wore
a glittering uniform of scarlet and gold, he was far from presenting
a military appearance. He was undersized and exceedingly fat, and his
bloated face was as round as a pumpkin. As he smiled in acknowledgment
of the plaudits of the crowds, he looked like an easy-going, jovial
old boy, who would have been more at home at a banquet table proposing
a toast to “the ladies--God bless ’em,” than ruling with an iron hand
over the political destinies of a turbulent South American republic.

That was the first impression which the Camera Chap formed of Miguel
Portiforo, but just then an incident happened which quickly caused him
to change his estimate of that dignitary. As the president’s carriage
was passing, a man in the front rank of the crowd on the sidewalk
outside the Hotel Nacional stepped forward, and, gesticulating wildly,
began to abuse Portiforo in a tone loud enough to reach the latter’s
ears. The man was staggering as though intoxicated. Hawley learned
later that he was a humble shoemaker of Santa Barbara, who, when in a
normal condition, was as meek and law-abiding a citizen as was to be
found in all Baracoa, but who now had been celebrating the overthrow of
the revolution to such an extent that he was not responsible for what
he said or did. Although the fellow’s condition was obvious, Portiforo
made no allowance for it. Glancing at the latter, the Camera Chap was
appalled by the change which had come over him as the drunken man’s
abuse fell upon his ears. The jovial smile had disappeared. In its
stead had come an expression terrible to behold. The beady eyes were
snapping with rage. The thin lips were parted in a snarl. Curiously the
president’s plump face seemed suddenly to have lost all its roundness,
and to have been remolded into lines sinister and cruel. It was not
until he had seen several soldiers rush forward, seize the offender,
and drag him off, struggling and screaming, that his features relaxed,
and the jovial smile returned.

“I wonder what will happen to the poor beggar,” said a dapper,
good-looking young man who was standing close behind Hawley. “I suppose
they’ll give him the limit, eh?”

“I am afraid so,” replied his companion, a blond-haired, blue-eyed
young woman. “Inasmuch as the city has been put under martial law,
Portiforo can do as he pleases with him, and that brute isn’t likely
to show much clemency to a man who has publicly insulted him.”

“Be careful,” entreated the young man nervously. “Aren’t you taking
an awful chance, Virginia, talking like that in public? There may be
people around us who understand English, and even though you are the
daughter of the United States minister, you can’t--well for the love of
Methusaleh! If it isn’t old Frank Hawley, of the _Sentinel_!”

Regretting the impulse which had caused him to turn his head at this
hint of the girl’s identity, Hawley stared at the speaker in some
consternation, for the recognition was mutual. The Camera Chap was
well acquainted with Miss Throgmorton’s dapper companion. The latter’s
name was Gale, and he was a reporter on the New York _Daily News_, the
_Sentinel’s_ most bitter rival. Incidentally he was the last man in the
world whom Hawley would have desired to meet in Baracoa.




CHAPTER XI. A DIPLOMAT’S DAUGHTER.


Between the Camera Chap and Gale there existed a feud of long
standing, the intensity of which was based upon more than mere loyalty
for their respective newspapers. Hawley knew the _News_ man, from
past experience, as the trickiest, most unscrupulous member of the
journalistic profession he had ever matched wits with on an assignment,
and for that reason disliked him exceedingly. But dislike would hardly
be a strong enough word to characterize the sentiments of Gale toward
Hawley. Jealousy and resentment for many past defeats at the latter’s
hands had engendered in him a feeling of downright hatred for the
clever, good-humored chap who generally managed to turn the tables on
him in spite of his underhand methods.

There was nothing of this feeling evident in Gale’s manner now,
however, as he greeted the Camera Chap. On the contrary, if he had
loved the latter like a twin brother his demeanor could scarcely have
been more cordial. “Well, this is, indeed, a big surprise, Hawley, old
scout,” he exclaimed exuberantly. “I didn’t have any idea that you were
in Baracoa.”

“I scarcely expected to find you here, either,” the Camera Chap replied
quietly. “Might I inquire what you are doing so far away from Park Row?”

“I’m not down here on business,” the other replied. “I was so busy
covering the street cleaners’ strike last summer that I didn’t have
time to take a vacation then, so the boss is giving me a few weeks now.
I thought I might as well run down here and visit my old friend, the
American minister.”

“Oh, an old friend,” Hawley repeated, glancing at the girl.

“Yes, I have had the honor of knowing Minister Throgmorton for a long
time, and when he was appointed to this position he was kind enough to
extend me a standing invitation to come to Baracoa and be his guest. As
you say, it’s a long way from Park Row, but I am having a great time.”

Hawley looked at him searchingly, but said nothing.

“And now, how about yourself, old top?” the _News_ man demanded. “Tit
for tat, you know. What particular bunch of trouble has brought you
down this way? Haven’t come to lead a revolution, have you?”

“Scarcely,” the Camera Chap replied, smiling. “It is a curious
coincidence, but I, too, happen to be here on a leave of absence. I
haven’t had a vacation in three years, so I figured that the paper owed
me a holiday.”

“What made you select Baracoa?” Gale demanded suspiciously.

“Why not?” the Camera Chap rejoined. “I’ve always had a hankering to
visit South America. Some people prefer going to Europe, but I’ve
always believed in seeing our own hemisphere first.”

Gale was not satisfied by this answer. “Brought your camera along with
you?” he inquired abruptly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t travel without it--even on a pleasure trip. I
hope to land some good snapshots before I go back.”

“Snapshots of what?” Gale demanded quickly.

Hawley shrugged his shoulders in a manner which would have done credit
to a native of Baracoa. “That is hard to say, at present,” he answered.
“I have no doubt that in a land as interesting as this, there must be
many attractive things to photograph.”

As he spoke he looked into the eyes of Gale’s fair companion, and saw
lurking in their blue depths an appreciative twinkle which warned him
that she knew his secret. Evidently her friend, the señora, had taken
the girl into her confidence. The situation disturbed him greatly. He
wondered uneasily whether the American minister’s daughter could be
relied upon to keep what she knew to herself, or whether she would pass
it along to Gale, with whom, evidently, she was on friendly terms.

“Miss Throgmorton,” said Gale suddenly, “may I present my friend, Mr.
Hawley? You remember my telling you the other day about Hawley, of the
_Sentinel_?”

“Oh, yes,” the girl replied mischievously, as she extended her hand; “I
recall your telling me how often you scooped him on pictures. I really
felt quite sorry for you, Mr. Hawley, when I heard Mr. Gale’s stories.
Newspaper work must be a cruel game.”

The Camera Chap smiled, and Gale looked somewhat sheepish. In boasting
of his exploits to his host’s daughter, he had departed from the truth
to an extent which covered him with glory, but did not do justice to
the _Sentinel_ man.

“Suppose we change the subject,” Gale said quickly. “Possibly Mr.
Hawley might find it painful, you know. By the way, Frank, old man, I
wonder if you’d mind taking care of Miss Throgmorton for a few minutes,
while I go and make some inquiries about the attempt that was just made
on President Portiforo’s life? Even though I’m on my vacation, I can’t
afford to pass up a story like that.”

“The attempt on Portiforo’s life?” the Camera Chap repeated, in
astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you see that fellow try to throw a bomb at him just now?”

“Why, Mr. Gale!” Miss Throgmorton cried indignantly. “You know very
well he didn’t do anything of the sort. The man was intoxicated, and
he didn’t do anything except call Portiforo names. Surely you are not
going to send your paper such an exaggerated account!”

“I am positive I saw something in his hand that looked like a bomb.
He was just about to throw it when they grabbed him,” insisted
Gale, according to whose code of journalistic ethics it was always
justifiable to “color” a story, provided one could get away with it.
“So long, folks. I’ll be back in a little while,” he said, as he walked
off.

The Camera Chap was grateful for this unlooked-for opportunity to speak
to the girl alone. “I must have a talk with you, Miss Throgmorton,” he
began, in an eager whisper; “but not here. There is too much danger of
our being overheard. I hope you will not consider me presumptuous, but
it is really very important. Isn’t there some place near here where we
can talk in safety?”

The girl nodded. “The Botanical Gardens are only a short distance from
here,” she suggested. “They will be deserted now; every one is on the
street watching the parade. I, too, am anxious to have a talk with you;
in fact, even if we hadn’t met now, I was going to make it a point
to communicate with you and arrange a meeting. I have a message for
you--from a mutual friend.”

Hawley smiled. He thought he could come pretty near guessing the
identity of the sender of the message. “Don’t say any more about it
now,” he warned her hastily. “Wait until we reach the gardens.”

They forced their way to the rear of the throng on the sidewalk, and
a few minutes later were strolling along the graceful walks of the
Botanical Gardens, which, although usually crowded at that hour of the
day, were now, as the girl had surmised, as desolate as a desert island.

“Did I understand Gale to say that he is stopping at your house?”
Hawley began abruptly.

“Yes; he is spending his vacation with us. My father has taken a great
fancy to him. When dad was a deputy police commissioner in New York,
Mr. Gale wrote some very flattering things about him in the _News_,
and he has never forgotten it. Dad just hates to have the newspapers
publish nice things about him,” she added, with a laugh.

“I don’t care very much for Mr. Gale myself,” she added frankly. “In
fact, I do not like him at all. When he first came to us I did. I was
so favorably impressed with him that I was on the point of taking him
into my confidence about--poor President Felix.”

Although her words greatly interested the Camera Chap, his face was
as a mask. “President Felix?” he repeated, with an interrogative
inflection.

“Yes. You see, I felt that I must share my secret with some one, and I
believed at first that Mr. Gale would be just the person to help get
that poor man out of El Torro,” the girl said. “But after I had studied
him for a few days,” she added, “I decided that he wouldn’t do at all;
he isn’t trustworthy. I feel sure that if he got even a hint of the
story he would publish it in his paper, regardless of the consequences.”

Hawley felt pretty sure of that, too. Inwardly he rejoiced that Miss
Throgmorton had changed her mind about taking the perfidious Gale into
her confidence. Aloud he said, after a cautious glance all around him:
“So you suspect that President Felix is confined in El Torro?”

Her reply almost took his breath away. “Suspect!” she exclaimed
tensely. “I know it. I have seen him!”




CHAPTER XII. ON THE RIGHT TRACK.


The Camera Chap stared at the girl with as much incredulity written on
his face as if she had just told him that she had been present when
Columbus landed in the New World. “You have seen him!” he exclaimed.
“Surely you can’t mean that you have been inside El Torro?”

“Yes, I do!” the girl declared, smiling slightly at the effect her
announcement had upon him. “I mean just that. I have been inside El
Torro, and I have seen President Felix.”

“When was this?” Hawley demanded.

“Several months ago. I saw him only once--and then only for one brief
second. Since then I have been trying my hardest to get in there again,
but I haven’t been able to manage it.”

“How did you manage it that time?” the Camera Chap inquired, his manner
still slightly incredulous, although he did not intend it to be so. “I
shouldn’t imagine that it was an easy thing, even once.”

Virginia hesitated. She was debating with herself as to whether this
prepossessing, frank-looking young man from her own country could
safely be taken into her confidence. “I feel that I can trust you, Mr.
Hawley,” she said suddenly. “If I didn’t I shouldn’t tell you what I
am going to tell you now. For if it were to become known to others the
consequences might be serious.”

She glanced around her in all directions, and even when she had
ascertained that there was nobody within earshot, lowered her voice
almost to a whisper. “There is a certain young man of my acquaintance,”
she began, “who is an officer in the Baracoan army. His name is
Reyes--Captain Ernesto Reyes. You must promise me to forget that name
as soon as you have heard the story, Mr. Hawley.”

“I have forgotten it already,” the Camera Chap assured her.

The girl smiled. “I met him at an embassy ball, about a year ago, and
we became very good friends. He was attached to El Torro and had charge
of the prison guard. It was through him that I was able to visit the
prison.”

“He permitted you to enter the prison?”

“Yes; he smuggled me in there. He was running a great risk, of course.”

“So I should imagine,” said the Camera Chap. “He must be very fond
of--President Felix,” he added dryly.

Virginia blushed. “No; I’m sorry to say that isn’t the case. If it
were so it would make things so much easier for us. It wasn’t out of
any consideration for President Felix that Captain Reyes allowed me to
visit his prison. It--there were other reasons. Captain Reyes is far
from being a Felix sympathizer. On the contrary, he has a deadly grudge
against him. I guess that is why Portiforo has put him in charge of El
Torro prison; he knows that there is no chance of Felix being allowed
to escape while he is in charge.”

Hawley frowned. “Why is he so bitter toward Felix?” he inquired.

“He has cause, I must admit,” the girl explained, her face clouding.
“Captain Reyes’ father was a colonel in the Baracoan army when Mr.
Felix first became president. He was caught conspiring against the
government, and Felix ordered him to be shot. I don’t know anything
about the merits of the case, but, right or wrong, I suppose it is only
natural that the son should hate the man who signed his father’s death
warrant.”

Hawley nodded. “But if he feels that way about it, whatever could have
possessed him to consent to your communicating with the prisoner?” he
exclaimed.

Virginia’s blue eyes twinkled. “He didn’t consent to any such thing,”
she said demurely. “He didn’t have any idea that I desired to see
President Felix, or that I had the slightest interest in him. He
supposed that my anxiety to inspect the dungeons was prompted solely by
morbid curiosity.”

“Still, I can’t understand his being so rash as to let you in there,”
said Hawley.

The girl’s face dimpled. “He couldn’t help himself; I called his
bluff,” she announced, laughing apologetically at her own frank use of
American slang.

“His bluff?”

“Like most of his countrymen, Captain Reyes has the habit of indulging
in very extravagant language when he is talking to women,” Miss
Throgmorton explained naïvely. “One evening when he was at our house he
was assuring me, with his hand on his heart, of his readiness to lay
down his life for me, and I laughed at his protestations and told him
that in my native land that brand of talk was known as ‘hot air.’ He
urged me to put him to the test, and, after pretending to consider for
a while, I told him that I wouldn’t ask him to risk his life, but that
if he really wanted to show that he was willing to take chances for my
sake, he could do so by taking me on a tour of inspection through El
Torro prison.”

Hawley chuckled. “Clever work! You knew, then, that President Felix was
there?”

“I had heard the rumor, and I thought it was a good chance to find out
whether it was true. I could see that poor Captain Reyes was startled
by my request. He protested that it was against the rules to admit
visitors to El Torro. He begged me to put him to some other test. But
I insisted that it must be that or nothing. I taunted him with being
afraid to take a chance, and at last I got the poor man so worked up
that he gritted his teeth and said that he would do it, no matter what
the consequences might be.”

“Good for him!” said Hawley. “He must be a pretty plucky chap.”

“He is no coward,” said the girl soberly. “I hated to demand such a
sacrifice of him; for although I didn’t let him know it, I realized
that I was making him do something which, if he had been caught, would
have meant the ruin of his career--and, perhaps, worse. But it was for
a good cause, and I considered myself justified. Anyway,” she added
brightly, “thank goodness, nothing like that happened.”

“He got away with it, all right?”

“Evidently; for that was several months ago, and he is still in command
of the prison guard; which wouldn’t be the case, of course, if even a
hint of my visit to El Torro had reached the ears of Portiforo.”

“So he is still in charge of the prison guard!” murmured the Camera
Chap, inwardly resolving to make the acquaintance of Captain Ernesto
Reyes at the earliest possible opportunity. “Do you mean to say that
he took you all over the prison--even to the cell in which they’ve got
Felix locked up?” he continued wonderingly. “Surely it would have been
an easy matter for him to avoid showing you that particular cell.”

The girl laughed. “He didn’t find it so easy. He did attempt to hurry
me past that cell, but, to borrow your own expression, he couldn’t get
away with it. I peeped through the hole in the panel before he had a
chance to stop me.”

“The hole in the panel?”

“They have put sheets of tin over the bars of President Felix’s dungeon
to prevent anybody in the corridor from getting a glimpse of him,”
the girl explained. “But the tin had rusted, and there was a tiny
hole in one corner which evidently had escaped the attention of the
prison officials. It was through this hole that I got my peep at the
unfortunate man.”

“How did you know he was in there?” the Camera Chap queried.

“I didn’t know, of course. I merely guessed it. As soon as I saw that
covered door it flashed through my mind that it would most likely
be the place where they would have him. And Captain Reyes’ manner
confirmed my suspicions. When I inquired of him why the door of this
cell was covered with sheets of tin instead of being grilled like
all the other doors on that gloomy corridor, he became perceptibly
nervous. He explained that the cell was unoccupied, and was used as a
storage room; but while he was talking I heard the sound of somebody
coughing behind that screened door, and I knew that he had lied to me.
Captain Reyes heard it, too, but evidently he was in hopes that it had
escaped my ears, for he tried to hurry me away by telling me that he
had something exceedingly interesting to show me in another part of the
prison. But I broke away from him and stepped close up to the door. It
was then that I discovered the tiny peephole which the rust had eaten
in one part of the tin, and before he could stop me I had put my eye to
it.”

“And you saw?” The Camera Chap’s voice was tense with eagerness.

Virginia shuddered slightly. “I saw a man seated at a rough wooden
table reading a book. Just at that moment he happened to look up, and
I got a good view of his face. He had changed terribly since I had
last seen him. His hair was snowy white, his face was pitifully thin,
and looked as if it didn’t have a drop of blood in it. His eyes were
sunken. But it was President Felix; I am absolutely positive of that.”

The Camera Chap’s face was grim. “You say that he was reading. Was his
cell light enough for that?”

“Oh, yes; there was plenty of light, and air, too. I must say in
justice to Portiforo that he has made his prisoner as comfortable as
possible under the circumstances. The dungeon is much bigger than the
other cells, and there is a large window, barred, of course, which
commands a view of the sea.”

Hawley’s face lighted up with excitement. “I rather like the idea of
that window!” he murmured, as if to himself. “Our friend Portiforo is
much more accommodating than I dared hope.”

Guessing what was in his mind, Virginia shook her head. “I’m afraid
you won’t be so optimistic when I tell you that there is a sentinel
on guard every hour of the night and day outside of that window,” she
said. “You couldn’t possibly get to him in that way.”

Hawley received the announcement cheerfully. “I expected that,” he
informed her. “I didn’t suppose for a minute, you know, that Portiforo
would be so careless as to leave the window unguarded. Still, it’s
easier to tackle the problem of a flesh-and-blood sentry than an
inanimate stone wall. But go on with your story, please. What happened
after you took that peep at Felix? Captain Reyes saw what you were up
to, of course?”

The girl smiled. “Of course; and the change that came over him was
truly startling. His face went white with rage, and his voice trembled
as he accused me of being a spy, and of having tricked him. I was
actually afraid at first that he was going to order poor little
me arrested and put in irons. It was a great relief to me when he
apologized.”

Hawley smiled. “You made him apologize?”

Virginia nodded, and her blue eyes twinkled. “When he was through with
his violent outburst,” she said demurely, “I decided that it was my
turn to become indignant. I told him haughtily that I didn’t see why he
should make such a fuss just because my curiosity had got the best of
me. I complained tearfully that I was sorry now that I had consented
to come to his horrid old prison, and that I had been through jails
in my own country, which I found much more interesting. I guess my
words and my manner must have satisfied him at length that I had not
recognized the prisoner, for, after he had asked me a few questions, he
suddenly became very remorseful for his rough treatment, and begged me
to forgive him. Later on, when we were good friends again, I inquired
of him carelessly as to the identity of the man I had seen in that
cell, and he informed me glibly that he was a political agitator named
Pedro Velasquez, who had been in captivity for the past fifteen years.
He was even ingenious enough to tell me that the poor fellow had gone
out of his mind, and had hallucinations that he was President Felix. I
smiled at this and replied that there certainly wasn’t much resemblance
between the prisoner and President Felix as I remembered him, which was
literally true.”

The Camera Chap bestowed upon her a look of frank admiration. “You’re a
wonder, Miss Throgmorton!” he declared impulsively. “I don’t know any
girl who could have handled the situation more cleverly. I suppose,” he
added anxiously, “you told your father of your discovery?”

Miss Throgmorton shook her head. “No; I decided that it wouldn’t do
to tell dad a word about it. He thinks so highly of Portiforo that I
felt sure that he would only laugh at my story, and tell me that my
imagination had got the best of me. Besides, I had to consider Captain
Reyes. I was afraid that if I told my father of my visit to the prison
he might mention the matter to President Portiforo, and thus get
Captain Reyes into trouble. I haven’t confided my secret to anybody
except yourself and Señora Felix. By the way!” she exclaimed. “Speaking
of the señora reminds me that I have a message for you from her. She
told me to assure you that she has the greatest confidence in your
ability and discretion, but she wishes to urge upon you the necessity
of being most careful. On no account must you attempt to see her at her
father’s house. The place is watched by spies all the time. If for any
reason you should wish to communicate with her, she suggests that it be
done through me.”

The Camera Chap bowed. “A very sensible arrangement,” he said, “and one
that is eminently satisfactory to me.”

The girl laughed, and her color deepened. “I think we’d better be
getting back,” she suggested. “The parade must be over, for people are
beginning to come into the park.”

As they stepped outside the Botanical Gardens they encountered Gale.
That young man frowned at the sight of them. “Why, here you are!” he
exclaimed reproachfully. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought
you promised to wait for me outside the Hotel Nacional.”

“We got tired of watching the parade, so we thought we’d walk around a
bit,” Hawley replied. “Did you get the information you wanted about the
attempted assassination of Portiforo?” he inquired quizzically.

Gale nodded. “I found out the fellow’s name and business,” he replied.
“That’s all I needed. It’s a peach of a story. I’m going to put it on
the wire in a little while. Would you like to send it to your paper,
too, old man?”

Hawley smiled. He knew from past experiences that when Gale offered
to share a story with a rival newspaper, it was never out of motives
of altruism, but because the story was so much the product of his
imagination that it gave him a greater sense of security to have his
statements backed up by another sheet. “No, thanks,” he said dryly.
“I guess I won’t touch it. I’m a snapshotter, and sending stories is
somewhat out of my line. Besides, I’m on my vacation, so why should I
work?”

Gale looked at him searchingly. “Of course, you wouldn’t think of
working on your vacation, would you?” he rejoined, with an ironical
smile.

When, a few minutes later, the Camera Chap took his leave, the _News_
man turned eagerly to Virginia. “Did he happen to drop you any hint of
what he’s doing in Baracoa, Miss Throgmorton?” he inquired.

The girl’s blue eyes opened wide in childlike wonder. “A hint?” she
said innocently. “Why didn’t he tell us outright that he’s spending his
vacation here?”

Gale smiled sapiently. “Vacation or no vacation, that fellow didn’t
come here to study the scenery!” he declared. “He is here for a
purpose, and before I’m many days older I’m going to find out what it
is.”




CHAPTER XIII. TRUTH WILL OUT.


It was not often that the Washington correspondent of the New York
_Daily News_ visited the home office of that newspaper, particularly
when Congress was in session. Therefore Ben Stephens, the managing
editor, looked up from his desk in astonishment one afternoon when that
young man stepped into his office.

“I’ve got a line on something so important,” the latter explained,
“that I was afraid to trust it to the wires. I might have sent it in
by mail, of course, but I thought it would be more satisfactory to run
into town and talk it over with you. I think you’ll agree that it’s one
of the hottest tips that ever came out of Washington.”

“A scandal?” eagerly exclaimed Stephens. “Haven’t caught a United
States senator with the goods, have you?”

The correspondent smiled. “Not exactly. It’s a scandal, all right,
and a whopping big one, but a little farther from home than that. You
remember that chap Felix, President of Baracoa, who skipped with the
national treasury a couple of years ago?”

The managing editor nodded. “What about him? Have they caught the
rascal?”

The Washington correspondent lowered his voice. “According to the tip
I’ve got, he never went away,” he announced. “It was all a frame-up on
the part of his political enemies, headed by Portiforo. They’ve got
him locked up in a dungeon of El Torro fortress, where he’s been ever
since the night he’s supposed to have beaten it.”

Stephens smiled skeptically. “What kind of tobacco do you smoke?” he
sneered.

“It isn’t a pipe dream,” the other said earnestly. “At least, I’m
pretty well satisfied that the tip is straight goods. It comes from a
most authoritative source.” He dropped his voice even lower. “I got it
from Attorney General Cooper.”

The managing editor’s face lighted up. “From Cooper himself?”

The correspondent hesitated. “Well, I didn’t exactly hear it from his
own lips, but it came from him, all right. The fact is I got the tip
from one of the servants of the attorney general’s household--his
butler. But the fellow is absolutely to be relied on. I have had him
on my pay roll for the last six months, and he’s never given me a
wrong steer yet. You remember that scoop last winter about the wife of
that European ambassador losing twenty-five thousand at bridge? Well,
that tip came from him. That chap is a regular bear for news. There is
mighty little going on at the capital that he doesn’t hear about.”

Stephens grinned appreciatively. “Where did he get this fairy story
about Felix?” he demanded.

“From Mrs. Cooper’s maid. You know that until recently Señora Felix
has been stopping at the attorney general’s house. She and Mrs. Cooper
are very chummy. Naturally they talked together frequently about the
matter, and the maid managed to overhear most of what they said, and
passed it along to my trusty informant. It seems that the women have
been getting at the attorney general to put the proposition before the
president, and have him order an investigation, and a few weeks ago
Cooper brought it up at a cabinet meeting.”

Stephens became more interested. “Have you asked the president about
it?” he inquired.

“No, indeed! I was afraid that instead of telling me anything, he’d
make me promise not to print a line about what I already knew, and then
I’d have to take my choice between passing up the story or being in bad
at the White House. Either that, or else, seeing that the _News_ has
the tip, he’d hand out the story to the whole Washington bunch; for the
president makes it a rule not to play any favorites.”

Stephens nodded. “Under those circumstances, you were quite right not
to take any chances. Still,” he added pensively, “I don’t see what we
can do with the tip in its present form. It would hardly pay us to send
a man down to Baracoa.”

“Why not?” the correspondent protested. “It’s a big story if it’s true
and----”

“Yes, if it’s true!” the managing editor interrupted doubtfully. “If
I thought there was a ten-per-cent chance of there being anything in
this wild rumor, I wouldn’t mind the expense of sending five men down
there to dig up the story, even if we had to charter a private yacht,
but with all due respect to your friend, the attorney general’s butler,
this sounds to me like the effects of a combination of Welsh rabbit
and strawberry shortcake, with a couple of slabs of custard pie thrown
in. I don’t feel like spending even ten cents on such an impossible
yarn.”

Then, suddenly, his face lighted up. “By Jove! I was forgetting!” he
exclaimed. “We don’t have to send a man down there. We’ve got a man in
Baracoa now--and a good one, too.”

“Who is it?”

“Gale, of our city staff. He’s taking a month’s vacation, and that’s
where he went to spend it. He sent us a good story from there a couple
of days ago about an attempt on the life of Portiforo. I couldn’t have
picked a better man than Gale for an assignment of this sort. He’s got
more gall than any other reporter on our staff. If Felix is locked up
in El Torro fortress, I’ll bank on Gale being able to locate him. I’ll
wire him to-day to get busy.”

Thus it came about that a week after the Camera Chap’s arrival in San
Cristobal, Gale received a dispatch, the laconic but comprehensive
contents of which caused him to seek an immediate interview with his
host, the United States minister to Baracoa.

Minister Throgmorton was in his library in conversation with a tall,
bearded man, when Gale knocked on the door. “I beg your pardon, I
didn’t know you were busy,” the _News_ man said. “Perhaps I’d better
come back later. It isn’t anything important.”

“Come right in,” the United States representative responded genially.
“I want you to meet General Replife, minister of war in President
Portiforo’s cabinet. General, permit me to present my friend, Mr.
Gale, a New York journalist of distinction. Now, Gale, what can I do
for you?”

“It is nothing important,” Gale repeated. “I merely wanted to ask you
whether it would be possible for you to get me a pass to go through the
fortress of El Torro.”

“El Torro!” exclaimed Minister Throgmorton sharply. “For what reason do
you want to go there?”

Gale shrugged his shoulders. “Merely on a sightseeing tour, sir,” he
replied, conscious, as he spoke, that the dark eyes of General Replife
were fixed scrutinizingly on his face. “I’ve heard that it is an
interesting sort of place, and I shouldn’t like to return to New York
without being able to say that I had included it among the places I
visited.”

Minister Throgmorton frowned. He was a stout, pompous little man, with
an odd little gray beard, which sprouted from his chin like a miniature
whisk broom. “I am afraid that is out of the question,” he said. “I
believe visitors are not welcome at El Torro, eh, general?”

The minister of war bowed. “There is a strictly enforced rule to that
effect, señor,” he replied.

“I know there is,” said Gale, smiling. “That is why I have come to
you, Mr. Throgmorton, to ask you to use your pull to get me in.” He
hesitated; then, with a sudden show of candor: “I might as well be
quite frank with you, sir. It isn’t merely idle curiosity which makes
me desirous of visiting the fortress. I don’t know whether I have
mentioned it to you before, but the study of prisons has always been
my hobby. I have visited nearly all the big jails in the United States,
and some in foreign countries. Some day I hope to get up a magazine
article on the subject.”

“Ah!” exclaimed General Replife, addressing the minister. “Then it is
the dungeons of El Torro, not the fortifications, in which your friend
is interested? I think that might be arranged, Señor Throgmorton. If
you will vouch for this gentleman, there will be no objection to his
being shown through the prison part of the fortress. I will make out a
permit now.”

Gale expressed his gratitude and delight; but, as a matter of fact, he
was secretly disappointed. When entering the room, he had been fully
aware of the identity of his host’s distinguished visitor, and he had
made his request, not with the idea of having it granted, but with the
expectation that when he heard it, Portiforo’s minister of war would
be filled with consternation. In that case Gale would have had cause
to believe that there was something in the tip which his paper had
instructed him to investigate. But now, General Replife’s willingness
to let him go through the prison caused him to doubt that Felix was
confined there.

“Present this order to the commandant of El Torro, and he will show you
all that you wish to see,” said the minister of war graciously, handing
him the paper which he had just made out. “I trust you will find there,
señor, some interesting material for the magazine article you wish to
write.”




CHAPTER XIV. A MYSTERIOUS SUMMONS.


The end of the Camera Chap’s first week in Baracoa found him not
much nearer to the fulfillment of his mission than on the day of his
arrival. He had made several trips on the crooked little railway which
connected the capital with Porto Cabero, and as unobtrusively as
possible had hung around the cafés and public places of the seaport. As
the soldiers from the fortress, when off duty, patronized these places,
he was in hopes that by mingling with them, and keeping his eyes and
ears wide open, he might pick up something which would aid him in the
performance of his task.

In addition to this he had chartered a motor boat and made many
excursions into the harbor, hovering around El Torro fortress, and
making a careful, though futile, study of the exterior of that grim
edifice. Although none of these efforts had as yet been productive
of results, he was not discouraged. With characteristic patience and
optimism he felt confident that sooner or later he would hit upon a
solution of the big problem which confronted him.

During this time he had held several consultations with his fair
confederate, Virginia Throgmorton. The latter, who was fond of
horseback riding, was in the habit of taking long rides daily out into
the country. At her suggestion, the Camera Chap hired a mount, and
went for frequent canters in the same direction. Thus they were able to
meet and compare notes, safe from prying eyes and ears--or, at least,
so they believed. But one afternoon, when Hawley galloped off into the
outskirts of San Cristobal, to keep one of these trysts, Virginia met
him with a troubled expression on her usually serene countenance.

“This is the last time that we must meet here--or anywhere else, for
that matter!” she declared firmly. “I’m afraid we’ve been inexcusably
careless.”

“Careless?” the Camera Chap repeated wonderingly. “My dear Miss
Throgmorton, what’s the matter?”

The girl turned in her saddle, and shot nervous glances about her in
all directions. “We ought to have foreseen the folly of this,” she said
severely. “We might have known that we couldn’t meet like this without
being found out.”

“You don’t mean to say that such a thing has happened?” exclaimed the
Camera Chap.

Virginia nodded gloomily. “My father was asking me about you this
morning,” she announced. “He wanted to know how many times I had met
you. He also evinced painful curiosity as to where I go, and whom
I meet, when I take my daily canter. I could tell from his mode of
questioning that he knows about these meetings.”

“Who could have told him?” said the Camera Chap. “I have always been
careful when coming out here to make sure that I was not shadowed.”

“So have I,” returned the girl, with a rueful smile. “Nevertheless,
we have evidently been spied upon. I have a shrewd suspicion that
it was Mr. Gale who told my father. He and dad were talking very
confidentially together as I came into the room this morning, and I’m
almost positive that I heard your name mentioned.”

Hawley frowned. “I guess that is very probable,” he said. “I’ve run
into Gale quite often during the past few days, and I’ve had reason
to believe that the encounters weren’t accidental--that he’s been
paying me the compliment of watching me very closely. I hope he doesn’t
suspect the reasons for our meeting, Miss Throgmorton. He’s the last
man on earth that I would want to have know what I am doing here.”

Virginia sighed. “My great fear is that Portiforo, too, has learned
about these meetings of ours,” she said anxiously. “If so, I am afraid
that he’ll put two and two together. They know that I visit Señora
Felix, and they might easily assume from the fact that you and I meet
so often that your presence in Baracoa is in relation to her cause.
That, of course, would be fatal to your chances of success--and,”
she added, with a shudder, “perhaps fatal to President Felix, too.
We ought to have thought of that before; but at least we must take
the precaution of avoiding each other from now on. You must hold no
communication with me whatever--not even through a third person. We
cannot be too careful.”

The Camera Chap was forced to admit the wisdom of this decision.
From that day he seemed suddenly to have lost all interest in
horseback riding, for he took no more canters into the outskirts of
San Cristobal. And when, on one or two occasions, he encountered Miss
Throgmorton, riding or walking on the streets of the capital, he merely
saluted her formally, and passed her by without a word.

One evening, about a week later, as he was entering his hotel, a man
stepped up close to him and covertly slipped a small envelope into his
hand. “Don’t open this, señor, until you are alone in your room,” he
cautioned in a hurried whisper.

The contents of the envelope puzzled the Camera Chap exceedingly. In
the seclusion of his room he read and reread the mysterious message in
English, and evidently in a man’s handwriting:

  “It is of urgent importance that you call upon Doctor Gaspard Bonsal,
  at nine o’clock, this evening. The address is Avenida Juarez,
  opposite the cathedral. Please come alone, and make sure that you are
  not followed before entering the house.”

Hawley’s first impulse was to go downstairs and ask the hotel clerk
whether he knew of any such person as Doctor Gaspard Bonsal, and, if
so, what he knew about him. But, on second thought, he decided that in
the event of the mysterious message being genuine, and not the hoax
he was inclined to suspect that it might be, such a step might prove
unwise. The clerk was a talkative chap, and might repeat to others any
questions that were put to him.

So Hawley decided to take a chance and call upon the mysterious
Doctor Gaspard Bonsal without taking the precaution of making any
inquiries about him. There was one fact which he considered slightly
reassuring. Although there was nothing about the note to indicate
whether the person referred to was a physician, a horse doctor, or
a doctor of philosophy, Hawley recognized the address as being in
the most exclusive residence section of the capital. He had walked
several times along the Avenida Juarez, and had noted the pretentious
residences which lined that well-lighted thoroughfare, particularly in
the vicinity of the cathedral; so he felt satisfied, at least, that
this was no ruse to lure him into some dark alleyway in the slums of
San Cristobal.

The address was only a short distance from the hotel, and Hawley
proceeded there on foot, carefully observing the warning which the
message had contained to make sure that he was not followed. He had
no difficulty in picking out Doctor Gaspard Bonsal’s house, for there
was a brass plate on the door bearing that name. This discovery added
greatly to his confidence; nevertheless, as he climbed the low stoop
and pressed the bell button, he took the precaution of keeping one hand
in his coat pocket, with a businesslike grip on the automatic pistol it
contained.

The door was opened by an aged negro servant, who, without asking any
questions, ushered him into a handsomely furnished reception room, and
quietly disappeared.

A few minutes later, as Hawley was appreciatively studying one of the
oil paintings which lined the walls, a gray-bearded, fine-looking old
man entered the room.

“You are Mr. Hawley?” he inquired. He spoke excellent English, although
his appearance was decidedly Latin.

“Yes; and I presume I have the honor of addressing Doctor Bonsal?” As
Hawley spoke, his hand came out of his pocket; for the sight of this
fine, courtly old man removed his last apprehension.

Doctor Bonsal bowed. “I must apologize most profoundly for having
summoned you here in such a mysterious way,” he said, with a smile,
“but I assure you, sir, it was most necessary. The circumstances are
such that we cannot be too careful. Had I sent my carriage for you, as
I would have liked to do, it might have aroused suspicion.”

“That’s all right,” Hawley assured him. “It was only a short walk.”

“You are quite sure that you were not followed here?” There was great
anxiety in the other’s tone.

“Positive. At least, if there were any spies trailing me, I’m satisfied
that I’m a good case for an oculist,” said the Camera Chap, with a
laugh. “I kept a sharp lookout for them.”

“I trust you were not deceived,” remarked Doctor Bonsal gravely. “If
you will be good enough, Mr. Hawley, to accompany me into the next
room, I think you will immediately realize the wisdom and necessity of
these extreme precautions.”

He drew aside some sliding doors, and the Camera Chap followed him
into the room adjoining. A woman was seated there. She rose as they
entered, and, as he gazed into her dark, sad eyes, Hawley gave a start
of astonishment. Although he had suspected ever since entering the
house that Señora Felix was connected in some way with this mysterious
summons, he had not expected to find her there.




CHAPTER XV. THE PLEA.


Although only a few days had elapsed since the Camera Chap had last
seen Señora Felix, he was shocked at the change which had come over her
in that time. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her face was
drawn and haggard. She seemed to be on the verge of a nervous collapse.

“I suppose it is a surprise to you to find me here, Mr. Hawley?” she
began, with a pathetic smile.

“Somewhat, I must confess, señora, in view of the warning you sent me
not to attempt to communicate with you,” he replied.

“I felt that I must see you, in spite of the great risk,” she said.
“I feared that there was slight chance of persuading you to grant the
great favor I am compelled to ask of you, unless I made the appeal in
person. I am confident that no matter what it will mean to you, you
will not refuse to be moved by the pleadings of a most unhappy woman.
So I induced our good friend, Doctor Bonsal, to arrange this meeting.”

The venerable physician acknowledged this reference to himself by a
bow. “It was the only safe way, sir,” he explained simply to Hawley.
“The señora’s home is watched so closely that it would have been out
of the question for her to receive you there. As I am in attendance,
professionally, upon her father, and it is known that she calls here
frequently to consult me about his condition, it looked to me like a
feasible plan to have you meet here.”

“An excellent idea,” the Camera Chap returned. “You spoke of a favor
you wished to ask of me, señora. Without waiting to hear what it is, I
assure you that if it lies within my power to grant it----”

“It does,” she interrupted eagerly. Then, with startling abruptness: “I
want you to leave Baracoa immediately, Mr. Hawley. I want you to give
up this mad attempt to help my unfortunate husband. No good can come
of it--nothing but a great deal of harm. The steamship _Panama_, bound
for New York, is due to arrive at Puerto Cabero to-morrow. If you are
sincere in your desire to be of service to us, you will prove it by
engaging passage on her.”

The Camera Chap smiled regretfully. “I am afraid I cannot promise to
do that, señora--not unless there is a very good reason. May I inquire
why you have so suddenly lost faith in me? The other day, on the
_Colombia_, you sent me a message that your only hope was in my ability
to carry out the mission intrusted to me; and later you sent me another
message that you had the greatest confidence in me. What can have
happened to cause you to change your mind?”

The señora sighed. “I have not lost confidence in you,” she said. “From
what I have heard of your great skill and courage, I think it quite
likely that you would succeed in doing what you have been sent to do.”

The Camera Chap stared at her in astonishment. “Then why----” he began.

“Because whether you succeed or fail,” she broke in passionately, “the
result must be the same. When I urged you, the other day, to persevere
in your desperate undertaking, I had not stopped to consider that. I
believed, then, that your success would bring about my poor husband’s
freedom. But now”--she paused, and a look of great fear came into
her dark eyes--“now I know that inevitably it would mean his death.
Whatever the outcome of your adventure, its price would be my husband’s
life--and that is too great a price to pay, even for his vindication.”

“But it won’t be that way if I get the snapshot,” Hawley protested
confidently. “I can understand your fears, señora; but, believe me,
they are groundless. If we can get photographic evidence that President
Felix is locked up in El Torro they won’t dare touch him. Portiforo
is too smart a man to try anything of that sort. Once he knows that
we’ve got the evidence, he’ll realize that the game is up, and that
he’d only be making matters worse for himself if he were to attempt to
assassinate your husband. So you see,” he concluded cheerfully, “if I
can get the picture everything will be all right.”

The señora shook her head. “You don’t know Portiforo,” she said
bitterly. “He’d assassinate my husband first, and argue about the
genuineness of the photograph afterward. If for no other reason, he’d
do it out of revenge. No, Mr. Hawley, you cannot save my husband that
way. The only way you can help us is by doing nothing.”

“But maybe your fears are exaggerated,” the Camera Chap suggested, as
a new argument presented itself to his mind. “If Portiforo is capable
of committing such a cold-blooded murder, why hasn’t he done it before
now? Surely it would have been much safer for him to have put President
Felix to death in the first place, instead of throwing him into prison.
Doesn’t the fact that he didn’t take that course indicate that he draws
the line at assassination?”

“It wasn’t mercy, sir, which made Portiforo spare his victim’s life,”
said Doctor Bonsal quietly. “It was necessity. At least, so we have
cause to believe.”

“Necessity?” Hawley repeated curiously.

“Yes; our theory is that he was compelled to do so. General Replife,
although one of Portiforo’s intimates and fellow conspirators, was
under great obligations to President Felix,” the physician explained.
“It is our belief that it was he who saved him from assassination.
Replife had a little more conscience than the others, and although he
was willing to take part in the dastardly plot, his past friendship
for Felix caused him to insist that the victim’s life be spared. He
persuaded Portiforo that their ends could be served just as well
by locking up the president in El Torro as by murdering him. And
Portiforo, afraid to antagonize Replife, was forced to consent to this
plan. That is our theory, and we feel sure that it is the correct one.”

“Well, if it is,” argued Hawley, “isn’t that good reason to assume that
President Felix’s life isn’t in danger? If Replife wouldn’t stand for
assassination before, the chances are that he won’t stand for it now.
So you see, señora, there is nothing to fear.”

Señora Felix looked at him in astonishment. “Can it be possible that
you have not heard the news?” she exclaimed. “General Replife was shot
down by an assassin as he was leaving the war office this afternoon.
There is now nobody to prevent Portiforo from doing as he pleases with
my unfortunate husband.”




CHAPTER XVI. THE SEÑORA OR THE PRESIDENT.


“To-day’s tragedy has made the situation a hundred times worse than
it was before,” moaned Señora Felix despairingly, looking appealingly
at Hawley and the old physician. “Replife was a bad man, but, at
least, there was a spark of humanity in him which made him unwilling
to countenance the murder of his former benefactor. He was our only
hope. Now that he is gone, it will take only the slightest provocation
to make Portiforo do away with my poor Francisco.” She paused, and a
shudder shook her frail frame. “Who knows that he has not already been
butchered! I cannot help fearing that the assassin’s act was inspired
by Portiforo, who realized the necessity of getting out of the way the
only man who stood between him and his helpless victim.”

She covered her face with her hands, and burst into a violent paroxysm
of weeping. The Camera Chap and Doctor Bonsal looked at each other
helplessly. The latter shook his head commiseratingly. Presently he
walked over to the grief-stricken woman and placed his hand gently on
her shoulder. “Courage, my dear señora,” he murmured, his voice as
tender as a woman’s. “Be brave, I entreat you, my dear friend. After
all, we have not yet heard from the hospital. Until we get word from
Doctor Picard we will not give up hope.”

He turned and explained to Hawley: “We have hope that Replife’s injury
may turn out to be not so serious as was at first reported. He has been
taken to the Red Cross Hospital, and an operation, I understand, is to
be performed. My good friend, Doctor Picard, the house surgeon, has
promised to apprise me as soon as there is news.”

Hawley nodded. “Let’s hope that when it comes it will be good news!”
he exclaimed briskly. “Señora, I know from my newspaper experience
that such reports are usually exaggerated. There may still be lots
of fight left in General Replife. And even if there isn’t,” he added
confidently, “even if the worst comes to the worst, so far as he is
concerned, you are wrong in saying that there will be nobody to prevent
Portiforo from doing as he pleases with President Felix.”

“What do you mean?” cried the woman and Doctor Bonsal, in an eager
chorus.

“I am referring to a powerful old gentleman named Uncle Sam,” Hawley
said smilingly. “Portiforo no doubt is wise enough to realize that he
would have the United States to reckon with if he tries any treachery
of that sort.”

The señora breathed a murmur of disappointment. “Your government can do
nothing--absolutely nothing,” she said hopelessly.

“I beg your pardon, señora, but you are mistaken about that,” the
Camera Chap protested. “Once the photographic evidence is placed in the
hands of the President of the United States, nothing----”

The woman interrupted him with a cry. “I tell you that must not be,”
she exclaimed, almost fiercely. “Surely, Mr. Hawley, after what you
have heard, you will not persist in going on with your impossible
adventure? You must realize that our only hope of saving my husband’s
life, now, lies in our ability to prevent anything from being done
which would provoke that tyrant to take desperate measures.”

“Señora Felix is right, sir,” Doctor Bonsal chimed in earnestly. “I
sincerely trust that you will not refuse to be guided by her wishes
in the matter. You must appreciate the logic of our contention. If
Portiforo and his villainous associates have cause to suspect that
their infamous secret is known, they will doubtless make short work of
their victim. As the señora says, our only hope lies in our ability to
continue to make them believe that nobody--not even she--is aware of
the truth regarding our martyr president.”

Hawley looked at him in surprise. “Do you mean to say that Portiforo
doesn’t know, now, that the señora suspects the truth?” he demanded
incredulously.

“We have strong hopes that such is the case,” the venerable physician
answered. “Señora Felix has been very clever. I believe, sir, that
there are few women who could have conducted themselves with such rare
tact and courage as she has displayed.” He bowed reverently to her.
“When it becomes possible to let the truth be known, the story of what
this brave little woman has done will thrill the whole world.”

“For two years,” he continued, his fine old face glowing with
enthusiasm, “she has submitted patiently to the badgerings of
Portiforo’s spies, who have tried by every means their ingenuity could
devise to ascertain whether she had any inkling of the monstrous
conspiracy. For two years she has played her difficult part with
consummate skill, listening with a silence that was truly sublime to
the sneers and abuse that were heaped upon her husband, stifling the
impulses of her tortured soul, which yearned to cry out to the whole
world that Felix was a martyr, instead of a rascal. For two years
she has hung her head in shame, pretending, for the edification of
Portiforo’s spies, that she believed herself to be the deserted wife
of an absconder--that the letters she received from him after his
disappearance were genuine.”

“The letters?” the Camera Chap exclaimed wonderingly.

“I beg your pardon,” said Doctor Bonsal, somewhat confused; “perhaps I
should not have spoken of them.” He turned inquiringly to the señora.

“It is all right,” the latter reassured him. “Since Mr. Hawley has
been told so much, he might as well know everything. I know that we
can trust him absolutely. The letters which Doctor Bonsal refers to,”
she herself explained, addressing the Camera Chap, “are the ones which
I have received from my husband since that fatal night. You remember,
perhaps, my telling you, on board the _Colombia_, that I had been in
receipt of letters from him?”

The Camera Chap nodded. “Forgeries, I suppose?” he suggested. “Of
course, President Felix never wrote them?”

Her reply astonished him greatly. “I believe he did write them,” she
said. “They might be forgeries very skillfully done, but I think not. I
am almost positive that they are in his own handwriting.”

Hawley stared at her in bewilderment. “But I don’t quite understand,
señora. You can’t mean that they’ve actually permitted him to
communicate with you?”

“Not permitted--forced him to do so!” rejoined the woman, her dark eyes
flashing. “If those notes are genuine, they must have been written
under compulsion.”

“Might I inquire what they said?” the Camera Chap said eagerly.

The señora sighed. “The first one said merely that he was alive and
well, and that I must not worry. The others--there have been at least
a dozen of them, so far--were to the same effect, but some of them
contained the additional assurance that he was very comfortable, and
would send for me as soon as he considered it safe to do so.”

The Camera Chap frowned. “How did these notes come to you, señora?”

“Through the mails.”

“To your Washington address?”

“Yes. They were postmarked Paris, France. That was the whole object of
the diabolical subterfuge--to make me believe that my husband was over
there, at liberty, living on the proceeds of his crime.”

Doctor Bonsal nodded gravely. “Of course, that was the motive of those
notes,” he said, “and the señora was clever enough to pretend to be
completely deceived by them.”

“Splendid!” the Camera Chap exclaimed. Then, as a thought came to him:
“But there is one other question that I would like to ask. It concerns
that chap, Cipriani, or Rodriguez, whichever his name is. He, of
course, señora, knew the truth about your husband?”

The woman hesitated, and her questioner caught a swift glance which
passed between her and Doctor Bonsal.

“Why do you ask that?” the physician demanded sharply. “What do you
know about Rodriguez, sir?”

“Not very much,” Hawley replied. “I saw, of course, what happened on
the customhouse dock at Puerto Guerra, the other day, and later, when I
arrived here, I learned from the clerk at the hotel the significance of
what I had witnessed. I was informed that General Rodriguez had come to
Baracoa to start a revolution.”

Once more a swift glance passed between the old man and the señora.
It was evident to the Camera Chap that the pair were exceedingly
disconcerted by this turn in the conversation.

“Did--did this hotel clerk say anything which gave you cause to believe
that Rodriguez knew President Felix’s fate?” Doctor Bonsal stammered.
Happening to glance at the señora, the Camera Chap observed that her
lips were parted, and that her whole attitude indicated that she
awaited his answer with great suspense.

“Oh, no,” he assured them; “the clerk didn’t know anything about that.
You need have no apprehensions on that score. It was your own actions
that day, señora, which caused me to believe that you were in sympathy
with Cipriani’s venture. I was standing close beside you at the ship’s
rail, and I couldn’t help observing how greatly you were agitated
by what occurred on shore. And then, there was the note you sent me
later. From these things I got the impression that Cipriani was working
for you--that his revolution was started with the object of getting
President Felix out of El Torro.”

Doctor Bonsal glanced nervously toward the window, the shades of which
were drawn. “Not so loud, señor, I beg of you,” he whispered. “If a
mere hint of what you have just said should reach our enemies, we are
done for. Tell me, have you expressed this theory of yours to anybody
else?”

“Certainly not,” the Camera Chap replied indignantly. “Pardon me,
doctor, but your question is almost a reflection on my intelligence.”

The señora uttered an audible sigh of relief. “We might have known that
we could rely upon Mr. Hawley’s discretion,” she said. Then, addressing
the Camera Chap: “No doubt you can surmise the reason for our great
apprehension?”

Hawley smiled. “I think I can. The government believes that Rodriguez’s
revolution had nothing whatever to do with your cause. Isn’t that the
idea?”

The señora nodded. “We took every care to convey that impression,” she
said sadly. “As Doctor Bonsal has said, if Portiforo had any suspicion
of our noble friend’s real motive, the consequences would be fatal--as
fatal as if you were to persist in your efforts to get into El Torro to
photograph my husband.”

“And that reminds me,” said Doctor Bonsal, with a smile, “we have
wandered away from the subject we were discussing. I trust, Mr. Hawley,
that you will find it convenient to sail on the _Panama_ to-morrow?”

A look of distress came to the Camera Chap’s face. “I am sorry, but
I’m afraid I cannot do that,” he said regretfully. “I would like to
oblige you, señora, but you must appreciate my position. Even if I
were willing to quit, I would not be free to consult my own wishes in
the matter, or even yours. I am here under orders--orders that must be
carried out before I can think of leaving Baracoa.”

Señora Felix’s face became very stern. “Surely you and your president
would not sacrifice a human life in order to gratify your selfish
ambitions!” she exclaimed indignantly.

“Selfish ambitions!” Hawley protested. “Oh, come now, señora; that’s
scarcely a fair way of putting it.”

“It is fair!” she rejoined passionately. “For you this adventure,
if successful, simply means one more feather in your cap--one more
triumph to be added to your roll of journalistic achievements. For your
president it means a diplomatic victory scored--a chance to replace
the present administration of Baracoa with one more favorable to the
policies of the United States government. And for these reasons you are
determined to go ahead now, regardless of the inevitable consequences
which have been so clearly pointed out to you. What other term can I
use to characterize your motive than selfish ambition?”

“But, my dear señora,” argued the Camera Chap, with an uneasy feeling
that there might be some justice in her viewpoint, “we can’t let
President Felix remain in El Torro. Wouldn’t that be almost as bad as
death itself? There may be a certain amount of risk to my plan, but
I feel confident that if the matter could be put up to your husband
he would be willing to run the chance of having me go ahead. You see,
there isn’t any other way of getting him out. If there were, I might be
willing to give up my attempt. If a better plan----”

He was interrupted by an exclamation from the woman, and again he
detected an interchange of swift glances between her and Doctor Bonsal.

“Do you mean that, sir?” the latter demanded eagerly. “Have we your
word for it that if you knew that another plan was under way, you
would abandon this undertaking and sail for New York on the _Panama_
to-morrow?”

“If it was a better way than mine,” Hawley stipulated guardedly. “I’d
have to be convinced of that, of course.”

The physician flashed a glance of interrogation at the señora, who
answered him with a nod. “We have put ourselves so much in your
confidence already, Mr. Hawley,” he said quietly, “that we might as
well go a little further. I know that we can trust you.” He glanced
nervously toward the shaded window, and lowered his voice to a
whisper. “We have important tidings,” he announced. “General Rodriguez
made his escape to-day from the arsenal, and is now at liberty. You
realize what that means?”

The Camera Chap smiled faintly. “Another revolution, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said the old man fervently. “And this time one that will not
fail. So you see, sir, there is a much more practical plan than the one
you are now abandoning.”




CHAPTER XVII. A SERIOUS CHARGE.


A knock on the door of the room interrupted the conversation at this
point, and startled Doctor Bonsal and his guests. It was only the
old black servant who had admitted Hawley to the house. He handed
his employer an envelope. “Your pardon for interrupting, master,” he
whispered, “but it is from the hospital and you said it should be
brought to you at once.”

“Quite right, Pedro,” the physician responded eagerly tearing open the
envelope. As he read its contents he uttered a joyous exclamation.

“Here is good news,” he said, turning to the señora. “This is from my
good friend Doctor Picard. He tells me that an operation has just been
performed on General Replife, and the bullet removed. It had lodged
in the chest, narrowly missing the heart. Doctor Picard says that
the minister of war’s condition is still very grave, but there is no
immediate cause for alarm. It will be several weeks before he will be
out of danger, but he has a fighting chance of pulling through.”

“Thank God,” the woman murmured fervently. “There is hope now--unless
that which we dread has already happened,” she added, with a shudder.

“Of course it hasn’t!” declared Doctor Bonsal reassuringly. “You can
depend upon it that Portiforo wouldn’t dare take extreme measures until
he was quite sure that Replife wasn’t going to get well and call him
to account. He will await the result of the minister of war’s injuries.
And, in the meantime, our dearest hopes may be realized. Doctor Picard
tells us that even though Replife’s injuries prove fatal, he may linger
for several weeks--and within that time much may happen,” he added
significantly.

He turned eagerly to the Camera Chap. “I trust, sir, that if anything
was lacking before to convince you of the necessity of giving up your
venture, this will remove your last doubt. We have, now, new reason to
hope that the life of our beloved president will be spared for some
days. Portiforo will not take any desperate step unless he is spurred
on to do so by the fear that his secret has leaked out. We can truly
say that our fate lies in your hands, and we throw ourselves upon your
generosity.”

“And upon your sense of honor as well,” the señora supplemented
quickly. “You gave us your promise, Mr. Hawley, that if we could assure
you that we had a plan more promising than yours, you would leave
Baracoa immediately.”

“But I am not sure that your plan is more promising than mine,” Hawley
replied, with a smile. “Don’t think that I’m trying to evade you, but
I must remind you that your friend Rodriguez has tried his revolution
once and failed. What guarantee have we that he will succeed this time?
And even if he does make good with his revolution, how is he going to
get President Felix out of El Torro? I don’t see why there wouldn’t be
just the same objection to his plan as to mine. The revolutionists may
capture the fortress, but----” He paused significantly.

The señora was about to make a reply when there came a startling
interruption. Pedro, the aged servitor, who had departed from the room
after delivering Doctor Picard’s note, now came rushing in, without
going through the formality of knocking. He was in a state of great
excitement. His eyes were rolling, and his face was almost white.

“Master,” he gasped, “the house is surrounded by soldiers. There are
two of them knocking at the front door now.”

A faint cry of alarm escaped from the señora. She seemed to be on the
verge of collapse. Doctor Bonsal’s face had turned very pale, and the
Camera Chap saw that he was shaking as though suddenly seized with a
chill. His lips moved as though he were about to speak, but no words
came from them.

Hawley, the only cool member of the group, was the first to break the
silence. “Pardon me for suggesting it, doctor,” he said, as a sound of
a violent pounding came to his ears, “but wouldn’t it be a good idea to
find out what those fellows want? From the way they are going at it, if
you don’t answer them pretty soon, they’ll have the door in splinters.”

The physician made a heroic attempt to pull himself together. “I think
I know what they want, without asking them,” he said, with a grim
smile. “But you are right; nothing is to be gained by keeping them
waiting. I will go and attend to them.”

He made a step toward the door, but the señora intercepted him. “Not
you!” she protested frantically. “You must not go to them. It is for
you that they have come. You must find some way of escaping from the
house.”

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,
my dear friend,” he replied, now quite calm. “Did you not say, Pedro,
that the house was surrounded by soldiers?”

“Yes, master,” the panic-stricken servant replied. “The garden is full
of them. There are more than twenty of them, and they have every means
of escape covered.”

Doctor Bonsal turned with a sad smile to Señora Felix: “You see! To
attempt flight would be useless. Besides, even if it were possible for
me to get away, it would be most unwise. It is necessary that I go to
those men at the door before they come in here. It is our only chance
of preventing them from discovering the presence here of you and Mr.
Hawley--and that, of course, must be prevented.”

“But I cannot let you go,” the señora cried, still clinging to him. “It
means your doom. That tyrant will show you no mercy. You----”

“Hush, my child,” he said gently. “After all, I am an old man, and my
days upon this earth are numbered. It does not matter much what becomes
of me--we must think only of the cause that is so dear to us. If only
we can get those men to depart without learning that you are here, I
shall be satisfied.”

He gently disengaged himself from her grasp, and turned to the Camera
Chap. “Whatever happens, Mr. Hawley, I am going to ask you to remain
in this room with Señora Felix, and not attempt to leave the house
until you have made sure that the soldiers have gone. I would try to
conceal you both, but there is no time for that. Besides, it would be
useless; if they insist upon searching the house they would find you
anyway, and----”

A crash and a shout of triumph interrupted him. “They’ve broken down
the door. I must go at once,” he whispered, and hurried out into the
hall.

“What do you wish, gentlemen? What is the meaning of this violence?”
the Camera Chap heard him demand, with great dignity.

“You are Doctor Gaspard Bonsal?”

“At your service, señor.”

“We have an order for your arrest,” came the startling announcement. “I
regret to say, señor, that you must go with us at once.”

The Camera Chap made an impulsive move toward the door, but Señora
Felix stopped him with an imploring gesture. “You can do nothing,” she
whispered, the tears streaming down her face. “I beg of you not to make
matters worse by interfering.”

“But what does it mean?” Hawley demanded. “Why are they arresting
that----”

“Listen!” the woman interrupted tensely.

“I am at your service, gentlemen,” they heard the venerable physician
say again. “But might I inquire the nature of the charge against me?”

“You are accused of aiding and abetting General Rodriguez to escape
from the arsenal prison,” came the grim reply. “If you are innocent,
doctor, you have no cause to fear. You will have a fair trial.”

“Very good, señor,” exclaimed the aged man, his voice trembling. “I am
ready to go with you.”

The Camera Chap, an expression of astonishment on his face, turned to
the señora. “Is it true?” he whispered.

She nodded, and, sinking into a chair, covered her face with her hands.
Then, suddenly, she jumped to her feet, and stood quivering like a
hunted animal as another voice reached them: “How about searching the
premises before we go, captain?”

The Camera Chap glanced almost instinctively toward the heavy portières
which draped the window. They did not offer a very promising chance of
concealment for himself and the señora, but they appeared to be the
best that the room offered. Fortunately, however, it did not come to
that. He and the woman exchanged a glance of congratulation as they
heard the man addressed as captain reply carelessly: “No; we need not
bother to search the house. We had no orders to do so. All we want is
our prisoner.”

“I am ready to accompany you, gentlemen,” said Doctor Bonsal.




CHAPTER XVIII. A NEW MENACE.


Mindful of the warning which Doctor Bonsal had given him, Hawley made
sure that none of the soldiers had remained behind to watch the house
before he ventured to leave the ill-starred physician’s residence. When
he was satisfied that the coast was clear, he and Señora Felix went
through the garden at the rear of the house, and out of a small gate,
thus making their departure as unobtrusively as possible.

As soon as they were outside, Hawley and the señora parted company, the
woman entering an automobile with a closed top which had been standing
in readiness for her on a quiet road a short distance from the garden
gate.

“Remember your promise! I shall expect to hear to-morrow that you have
sailed on the _Panama_,” were her parting words to him, and before he
could make any reply she was gone.

Hawley felt that this was taking an unfair advantage of him, inasmuch
as the promise which he had given had been a tentative one. He was not
sure, though, that he was not going to return to New York the following
day as she desired; for the arguments which he had heard, and the
stirring events of that evening, had made such an impression on him
that he was seriously thinking of giving up the undertaking.

The thought of returning to the White House with a report of failure
was not a pleasant one, but he wished to do what was right in the
matter. The bitter remark of Señora Felix that selfish ambition was the
sole motive of his mission to Baracoa had got under his skin. Being an
exceedingly fair-minded man, he could not help asking himself whether
there was not some justice in her accusation.

The President of the United States had not taken him into his
confidence as to what he purposed to do in the event of the Camera
Chap’s being successful in getting the photographic evidence of
Portiforo’s rascality. He had instructed Hawley merely to get the
picture and bring it to the White House, giving no hint of what
measures he intended to employ to prevent Portiforo from wreaking
summary vengeance on his victim. Hawley knew that the present incumbent
of the White House was a man of but scant sentiment, and he could not
help wondering whether the great man, satisfying his conscience with
the argument that individuals could not be considered when public
policy was concerned, was not ruthlessly willing to sacrifice poor
President Felix in order to bring about the exposure of Portiforo and a
welcome change in the administration of Baracoa.

But, on the other hand, the Camera Chap was reluctant to believe that
this could be his distinguished employer’s attitude. However lacking
the President of the United States might be in sentiment, he had the
reputation of being an eminently just man. Besides, was not Señora
Felix the intimate friend of the wife of a member of his cabinet? Which
made it very unlikely that the president would have taken this step
unless he had up his sleeve some plan for protecting President Felix
from the murderous impulses of the conspirators.

These conflicting thoughts left the Camera Chap in a very unsettled
frame of mind. He conscientiously sought to put aside his own wishes
in the matter. As the señora had bitterly stated, it would be a great
feather in his cap to get that picture--the most notable achievement
of his whole career; but he was prepared to give it up, provided he
was satisfied that such a course would be for the best, so far as
Felix was concerned. For the martyr of El Torro was the only man to
be considered. The Camera Chap was fully resolved as to that. If the
photographic evidence of the monstrous conspiracy could not be obtained
without fatal results to the victim, it would be better, he decided, to
leave things as they were.

Deep in thought as he wrestled with this problem, Hawley was walking
along the Avenida Juarez on his way back to the hotel, when he
encountered two men coming arm in arm up the street toward him. One
of this pair, who wore the uniform of an army officer, staggered
as he walked as though under the influence of liquor. The other, a
good-looking, dapper young American, was in civilian clothes, and
displayed no outward evidence of being in the same condition as his
companion.

The sight of these two together was a startling surprise to the Camera
Chap; for the dapper young American was Gale, of the _News_, and the
man who staggered was Captain Ernesto Reyes, of the engineers’ corps,
in command of the prison guard of El Torro.

Hawley had not as yet met Reyes. Although, when Virginia Throgmorton
had first mentioned the army captain, he had registered a resolve
to make the latter’s acquaintance as soon as possible, he had since
changed his mind as to the wisdom of such a step. It had suggested
itself to his imagination that situations might subsequently arise
wherein it would be an advantage not to be recognized by the custodian
of El Torro prison; so, instead of seeking his acquaintance, Hawley had
cautiously avoided him. But he knew Reyes by sight, and was quite sure,
now, of the identity of Gale’s companion.

Until this moment he had been unaware that Captain Reyes and the _News_
man were acquainted. The discovery that they not only knew each other,
but, apparently, were boon companions, came as a shock to him. He
wondered uneasily whether it was a mere coincidence, or whether Gale
had reasons of his own for getting into the good graces of the man who
had charge of President Felix.

He was not left long in doubt on this point. Before he had a chance to
dodge, Gale recognized him, and, tugging at the arm of his staggering
companion, came quickly toward him.

“Well, if this isn’t an odd thing, I’d like to know what is,” he began
exuberantly. “I mean our meeting you right here and now, Hawley, old
scout. Strangest thing that’s happened to me in a dog’s age.”

“I don’t see anything so very remarkable about it,” replied Hawley,
noting that although Gale was steady on his feet, there was a thickness
in his voice that was not normal. “San Cristobal is not a very large
city, and the Avenida Juarez is one of its principal thoroughfares; so
what is so strange about our meeting here?”

“Because we were just this minute talking about you, old pal,” Gale
explained, “and my old college chum, here, was saying how much he would
like to meet you. Isn’t that right, Ernesto?”

Captain Reyes blinked his eyes rapidly and murmured something which was
so unintelligible that the Camera Chap couldn’t even tell whether it
was English or Spanish.

“You were talking about me?” exclaimed Hawley, his eyes fixed
searchingly on the _News_ man’s flushed face. “That’s very flattering.
May I inquire in what way I figured in your conversation?”

Gale chuckled. “I was explaining to my friend here what you are doing
in Baracoa,” he said. “And why you spend so much of your time hanging
around Puerto Cabero.”

Splendid as was his usual self-possession, Hawley was unable to refrain
from giving a start of surprise at this announcement. But he was
quickly on his guard. “That was very kind of you,” he said pleasantly.
“What did you tell him?”

Gale grinned. “I told him about the work you hope to do with your
little camera.”

The Camera Chap raised his eyebrows interrogatively. “I’m afraid I
don’t quite understand,” he said quietly.

“Oh, yes, you do,” the _News_ man rejoined, with an ironical laugh.
“See here, Hawley, what’s the sense of our playing hide and seek with
each other any longer? Wouldn’t it be a much more sensible idea for
us to get together on this assignment? I need you and you need me, so
what’s the matter with forming a partnership?”

“A partnership to do what?”

Gale’s reply made him wince. “To find old boy Felix, of course,” the
_News_ man exclaimed boisterously.

“To find Felix!” the Camera Chap repeated, with well-simulated
bewilderment.

Gale laughed raucously. “Still keeping up the bluff, eh? Don’t you
suppose that I know what you’re here for? I must admit that you had
me guessing at first, but as soon as I got that query from my office,
I was wise right away. I knew then that we were both following up the
same tip.” He chuckled. “Thought you were going to have it exclusive,
eh? Well, as I’ve often told you before, the _Sentinel_ will have to
get up mighty early in the morning to get ahead of the good old _News_.”

“I’m afraid you’re telling me more than you ought to,” said the Camera
Chap, making a valiant attempt to conceal his uneasiness. “You’ll be
sorry to-morrow for slipping me these hints about this mysterious tip
of yours.”

The other grinned. “You think I’m feeling so good that I don’t realize
what I’m doing, eh? Well, you’re mistaken about that. I wouldn’t be
mentioning anything about Felix, now, if I wasn’t quite sure that I’m
not slipping you anything that you don’t know.” He put his hand in his
coat pocket. “Just to prove to you how sure I am that you and I are
shinning up the same tree, I’ll show you the telegram I got from the
office.”

“Not now,” the Camera Chap protested hastily, with an involuntary
glance toward the swaying figure of Captain Reyes.

But the _News_ man went on fumbling in his pocket. “Can’t seem to find
it,” he muttered thickly. “Wonder what the deuce I’ve done with it.”
Then his face lighted up. “By Jove! I remember now. Can’t show you
the query the office sent me about Felix being locked up in El Torro,
Hawley, old scout, because I haven’t got it. I left it with old boy
Portiforo.”

The Camera Chap stared at him incredulously. “You did what?”

“I left it with his nibs, the President of Baracoa. Ernesto and I have
been dining with him at the palace this evening. That’s why we’re
feeling so good now. His bubble water was the best I’ve ever sampled.
Some class to your little friend Gale--dining with presidents and
cabinet ministers.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying?” Hawley demanded sharply. “You
can’t really mean that you showed Portiforo the tip you got from your
office. You’re too level-headed, I’m sure, to do a fool thing like
that. It must be the wine that makes you tell me such nonsense. Come,
pull yourself together, Gale, and talk sense.”

“I am talking sense,” Gale replied, with a show of indignation. “Sure I
showed Portiforo the telegram. What was the harm in that? He knew all
about the tip already.”

“He knew about it?” Hawley exclaimed, with an anxious frown.

“Sure! That’s why he invited me to come and eat with him. He wanted to
pump me as to how much I knew about this Felix business. You can’t keep
anything from that wise old guy. He’s the slickest article I’ve ever
been up against.”




CHAPTER XIX. A FORCED PLAY.


The next morning, Hawley received a note at his hotel. It was from
Virginia Throgmorton, and it said:

“I must see you at once. Something very alarming has happened. I am
going out riding this afternoon, as usual. Will you meet me at the same
place? If you can’t be there tell bearer.”

Hawley sent word by the bearer, one of the men-servants of Minister
Throgmorton’s household, that he would surely be there. The steamship
_Panama_ was due to arrive and leave that afternoon, and if he kept
this appointment he would be unable to sail on her; but he had already
fully decided that he was not going back to the United States just yet.
He hated to disappoint Señora Felix, but the latest developments had
removed from his mind all doubts as to what course he should follow.

Virginia Throgmorton’s pretty face wore a very grave and perturbed
expression when Hawley galloped up to the old trysting place on the
steed he had hired for the occasion. “I don’t think I was followed,”
she began, “but if I was it can’t be helped. I have some news so
important and serious that I had to run the risk of meeting you once
more.”

“Is it about our friend Gale?” the Camera Chap inquired, having a
shrewd suspicion of the cause of the girl’s anxiety.

“Yes; how did you guess--or do you know about that dinner last night?”

“I know a little about it, I think,” Hawley answered. “I met Gale last
evening on Avenida Juarez, as he was returning from the palace, and he
told me that he had been President Portiforo’s guest at dinner.”

A shade flitted across the girl’s face. “Did he tell you what took
place at that dinner?”

The Camera Chap nodded grimly.

“What is to be done?” exclaimed Virginia, in a tone of deep concern.
“Poor Señora Felix! I fear that all her brave efforts to save her
husband have been in vain. Now that Portiforo knows that the press of
the United States is aware of his secret, he will take no chances. In
order to avert discovery he will resort to desperate measures.”

“The situation is pretty bad,” Hawley admitted. “Still, it might be
worse, I think. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I met Gale last
night, and I believe I’ve hit upon a way of lulling Portiforo into a
sense of false security.”

“What is it?” the girl demanded eagerly.

“I understand, from what Gale told me last evening,” the Camera Chap
explained, “that Portiforo invited him to dinner for the double purpose
of finding out how much he knew, and denying vehemently that there
was any truth in the rumor. Now, my idea is that if Gale can be made
to believe that Portiforo spoke the truth--that there is absolutely
nothing in the rumor of President Felix’s confinement in El Torro, he
will wire his paper to that effect, the _News_ will publish the story,
knocking the supposed lie on the head; the story will be cabled back to
San Cristobal, and Portiforo will be satisfied that he has nothing to
fear from the press of the United States.”

“But how are we going to make Mr. Gale believe Portiforo’s denial?”
Virginia queried. “He doesn’t believe it now. He was arguing with
father about it at the breakfast table this morning. He said that
Portiforo was very crafty--that he couldn’t fool him, but that he
intended to keep right on until he got the proof.”

“And what did Mr. Throgmorton say to that?” Hawley inquired, greatly
interested.

“Dad got angry and said that he had given Mr. Gale credit for having
more sense. He asserted that Portiforo was a most estimable gentleman,
and the best president that had ever ruled over Baracoa, and that this
preposterous rumor about Felix was a base slander concocted by the
enemies of the present administration. Dad asked Mr. Gale about his
visit to El Torro fortress. It seems that Mr. Gale went all through the
prison the other day, on a pass from the minister of war. Dad wanted
to know how he had been treated there. Mr. Gale said that he had been
received very cordially, that Captain Reyes had taken him all over the
prison, and that he had discovered nothing to confirm his suspicions.”

“Then he didn’t see the cell with the covered door?” Hawley remarked.

“Evidently not; at least, he didn’t mention it. Still, he is far from
satisfied. He argued with father that the prison officials knew he was
coming, and could easily have removed President Felix before he got
there. So you see, Mr. Hawley,” Virginia pointed out, “we would have
a hard time trying to make him believe that there is nothing in the
story.”

The Camera Chap smiled. “I think I have found a way of convincing him,”
he said quietly. “In order to carry out my plan, Miss Throgmorton, I
shall need your assistance.”

He proceeded to outline his plan, and Virginia’s face lighted up as she
listened. “Excellent!” she exclaimed. “You can certainly count on me to
do my part.”

“And Señora Felix? Do you think you will be able to persuade her to let
us have those letters?”

“I feel sure that she will consent,” the girl replied. “She doesn’t
know yet of Mr. Gale’s interview with Portiforo. When she hears of
it, she will be willing to do anything in her power to avert this new
menace. And she is bound to be impressed with your ingenious plan. It
was really very clever of you to think of it, Mr. Hawley, and I want to
thank you for making my heart much lighter than it was when I came out
here. I felt, then, that all was lost.”

Then, suddenly, her face clouded. “But, after all,” she said sadly,
“even though we succeed in reassuring Portiforo, that isn’t getting
poor President Felix out of prison.” She looked at the Camera Chap
wistfully. “Don’t you think that you’ll soon be able to find a way of
getting that picture, Mr. Hawley?”

The Camera Chap smiled. “I am going to whisper a little secret,” he
said; “I believe I have found a way already. I was out in the harbor
in the motor boat this morning, taking another peep at El Torro, and,
suddenly, an inspiration came to me as to how the thing might be done.
It is a good plan, and I feel confident that it would succeed; but in
order to carry it out, I shall have to find a partner--preferably a
woman.”

“Preferably a woman!” Virginia caught him up eagerly. “Well, you won’t
have to look very far, Mr. Hawley. What’s the matter with me?”

“You!” he exclaimed, as though the thought had never even remotely
suggested itself to him. “Do you mean to say that you’re ready to
volunteer, Miss Throgmorton, without even knowing what the job calls
for?”

“I don’t care what it calls for,” she responded, her eyes flashing. “If
there’s anything that I can do to help get poor President Felix free,
I’m eager to do it. Won’t you let me help you, Mr. Hawley?”

“I’ll consider your application,” he replied gravely. “That’s the
best I can promise now. But, first, we must attend to the business of
getting rid of Gale. We can’t do anything until we’ve made him believe
that President Felix isn’t in El Torro.”




CHAPTER XX. WHAT GALE OVERHEARD.


The morning after his dinner with President Portiforo found Gale in a
very unsettled frame of mind. Save for a severe headache, he had fully
recovered from the effects of the elaborate banquet which the President
of Baracoa had given in his honor, and he retained a clear recollection
of the conversation which had passed between him and his host. It was
that conversation which now puzzled him.

Portiforo had discussed the startling rumor about Felix with,
apparently, the utmost frankness. In fact, it was he himself who had
broached the subject. Over the cigars and coffee he had surprised Gale
by abruptly inquiring, with a quizzical smile, how that young man was
getting along in his quest for the missing President Baracoa. Quickly
recovering his self-possession, the reporter had attempted to deny
that he was interested in any such quest. Then Portiforo had laughed,
and told him that he might as well own up, as he was fully aware of
the real cause of Gale’s recent tour of inspection through El Torro
fortress.

Later on, it occurred to the _News_ man how the president had probably
come into possession of this information. Stephens, his managing
editor, had sent him the assignment by wire, and it was more than
likely that, in this land, where spying was a fine art, the government
maintained a close surveillance over all messages that were received
and sent from the cable office. But this simple solution of the
mystery did not suggest itself to him immediately, and his perplexity
greatly amused his host.

“But do not fear, my dear Señor Gale, that I am in the least bit
offended by your activities,” the latter had reassured him. “I realize
that you are merely doing your duty. I must express my amazement,
though, at the credulity of your editor. Surely he must be a person of
scant intelligence, to be deceived by such a preposterous story.”

“He hasn’t been deceived by it,” Gale answered. “I have no doubt, Mr.
President, that my editor suspects there is nothing in the rumor; but,
just the same, we have to investigate it. You would be astonished to
know how many ridiculous tips come into a big newspaper office--rumors
that have not a vestige of fact behind them. But we investigate them
all. We can’t afford to take any chances. And that is why I have been
instructed to look into this matter.”

The reply had seemed to afford Portiforo much satisfaction. “It is
well,” he said. “Nothing could please us more than to have this absurd
story thoroughly sifted to the very bottom by a fair-minded, highly
intelligent journalist such as I know you to be--for I have heard of
your worthiness and great skill from my good friend Señor Throgmorton.
We court investigation. For, while I feel confident that no intelligent
person will give serious consideration to this heinous fabrication
of our enemies, at the same time it is exceedingly distressing to
me and the patriotic and high-minded gentlemen connected with my
administration to have such a rumor circulating in the United States.
Therefore, I am hopeful, my dear Señor Gale, that before you leave
Baracoa you will be in a position to dispose once and for all of these
base calumnies. You have my assurance that nothing will be done to
impede your efforts.”

Was Portiforo on the level? That was the question which was perplexing
Gale now. He was too astute and sophisticated a man to be entirely
deceived by the Baracoan president’s air of sincerity, for in his
newspaper work he had been thrown with New York politicians who had
been equally perfervid in declaring that they “courted investigation,”
and experience had taught him that this wasn’t always to be taken as
a sign of innocence. But the result of his investigations to date
seemed to favor Portiforo. His tour of inspection through El Torro
prison and his skillfully disguised questioning of the soldiers of the
garrison and many residents of Puerto Cabero and San Cristobal had
failed to unearth a single clew. His conversations with Captain Reyes,
whose friendship he had managed to cultivate without difficulty, and
who impressed him as being a frank and rather simple-minded chap, had
proved equally unproductive.

Then, too, there was the attitude of Minister Throgmorton. As Virginia
had told the Camera Chap, Gale had discussed the matter with the
United States representative at the breakfast table that morning, and
the latter had waxed highly indignant at such insinuations being made
against his good friend Portiforo, who, he declared, was the very soul
of honor.

Being a pretty good judge of men, the _News_ reporter was not disposed
to regard Minister Throgmorton as one of the most brilliant and
keen-witted diplomats he had ever met; still, he considered it scarcely
likely that Portiforo and his friends could have got away with such
an audacious kidnaping plot without the American minister knowing
something about it. Therefore, the latter’s faith in the President of
Baracoa went a long way toward influencing Gale’s judgment.

That afternoon Gale received a second dispatch from Ben Stephens, his
managing editor. It was terse and to the point. It read:

“Have you dropped dead? If not, why don’t we hear from you regarding
assignment?”

Gale was strongly inclined to wire back that he had made a thorough and
laborious investigation of the tip and begged to report that somebody
had handed the _News_ a large and juicy citron. There was only one
reason why he did not take this step. That reason was--the Camera Chap.
He was afraid that Hawley might have been more successful than he in
picking up a clew corroborative of President Felix’s incarceration in
El Torro.

Much as he disliked the Camera Chap, he had a wholesome respect for
that wide-awake man’s shrewdness and ability, and he didn’t deem it
safe to throw down the story until he was sure that his rival was ready
to quit.

So he wired back to Stephens that he was still alive, and had been
working hard on the assignment, but was not yet ready to report. That
evening, however, something occurred which caused him to send another
dispatch.

Shortly after dinner, Gale was writing some letters in the library of
the legation when he heard voices in the garden below.

“You have no right to come here!” he heard a girl exclaim petulantly.
“It was very indiscreet. I must ask you to go away immediately. If you
were discovered here it might cause a lot of trouble. My father----”

“I am sorry, but I had to see you at once,” a man’s voice broke in. “I
have made an important discovery--one that necessitated an immediate
interview with you, Miss Throgmorton.”

Gale pricked up his ears. Even before he had heard her name mentioned
he had recognized the girl’s voice. He believed, too, that he knew the
identity of her companion. In order to make sure he switched off the
lights of the room, and, going to the French window which commanded a
view of the garden, stepped softly onto the balcony.

By the light of the moon he was able to discern the familiar outline of
a tall, slim man who was standing with his profile turned toward the
balcony.

“Be careful!” he heard the girl say fearfully. “Suppose there should be
somebody listening. Every word you say can be heard in the house. Can
you not wait until some other time to discuss this matter, Mr. Hawley?
Or, if it must be now, let us go to the other end of the garden. We
shall have more privacy there.”

Gale waited until they had disappeared, then hurried down the short
flight of steps which led from the balcony to the grounds, and went in
swift but stealthy pursuit of them. He did not have much difficulty in
locating the pair. They were seated on a rustic bench beneath a bamboo
tree, and the Camera Chap was talking excitedly in a voice raised above
its normal pitch.

“Why did you do it?” Gale heard him ask. “That’s what I can’t
understand. What could have been your object in trying to make a fool
of me.”

“But I haven’t tried to make a fool of you, Mr. Hawley,” Virginia
protested meekly.

Hawley received this with an ironical laugh. Gale was astonished by his
demeanor. On Park Row the Camera Chap enjoyed the enviable reputation
of never having been known to lose his temper. It was said to be one
of the reasons for his success. But now it was evident that he was far
from being in an amiable mood.

“For three weeks I’ve been hanging around Puerto Cabero, tying knots
in my brain, trying to find a way of getting inside the fortress, in
order to corroborate that story you told me the first day I met you,”
Hawley said bitterly. “If you don’t call that making a fool of me,
Miss Throgmorton, I’d like to know why. Perhaps you’d still like me to
believe that Felix is locked up in El Torro?”

“Well, isn’t he?” Virginia inquired, a tinge of mockery in her voice.

“Isn’t he!” echoed Hawley. “As though you didn’t know! I suppose your
subtle friend, the señora, hasn’t taken you into her confidence
regarding the letters she has been receiving from her husband, eh?”

“The letters!” the girl repeated, her voice trembling. “Why, what do
you mean?”

Hawley laughed triumphantly. “I guess you know what I mean, Miss
Throgmorton. I am referring to the letters which our missing friend,
Felix, has been writing his wife from Paris.”

Gale heard Virginia utter a little cry of dismay. “Who told you?” she
began. Then, as though suddenly on her guard: “If there are any such
letters, why should you expect me to know about them?”

The Camera Chap’s answer caused the eavesdropper to give a start of
astonishment. “Because,” he charged sternly, “you happen to have
those letters in your possession now. It is no use attempting to deny
it, Miss Throgmorton. If you knew the source of my information you
would realize that. Your friend Señora Felix handed you the package
of correspondence to-day. She asked you to take care of them for her;
possibly because she was afraid to keep them herself, for fear that
Portiforo’s spies might ransack her house and find them. At the present
moment they are concealed in a drawer of your desk, tied up with pink
ribbon. You see that I know what I’m talking about.”

“This is most extraordinary!” Virginia exclaimed. “How could you
possibly know--unless--do you combine burglary with your newspaper
work?”

“Not guilty,” Hawley replied. “If you suspect that I have been near
your desk, you are mistaken. Don’t ask me how I got the information,
because that’s a secret I am not at liberty to disclose. We newspaper
men have our own little methods of finding out things. I give you my
word of honor, though, that I haven’t seen the letters. If I had,
perhaps I shouldn’t be here now.” He suddenly dropped his aggressive
manner. “I haven’t come to reproach you, my dear Miss Throgmorton, for
the way you and your wily friend, the señora, have deluded me. I have
come to talk business with you.”

“Business!” Gale heard the girl exclaim, with an inflection of
astonishment.

“Yes. I have come to return good for evil by offering you a chance to
make a nice little sum of pin money. I might as well be frank with
you: The scoop would be worth a lot to the paper I represent. The
_Sentinel_ would pay handsomely for the privilege of reproducing that
correspondence. If you will give me an opportunity to photograph those
letters, and will promise that no other newspaper man shall see them, I
will----”

What the great newspaper was prepared to offer in return for such an
accommodation Gale did not learn, for before the sentence was finished
he was on his way back to the house. It had suddenly occurred to him
that there was a delicate little job which required his immediate
attention.




CHAPTER XXI. HOW IT WORKED.


Half an hour later, Virginia Throgmorton entered the legation library
and, stepping up to a dainty little mahogany desk in a corner of the
room, opened one of the drawers and uttered an exclamation of dismay.

Gale, who was seated at a table in the center of the room, looked
up from the letter he was writing, and regarded her solicitously.
“Anything wrong?” he inquired.

“It was horribly careless of me to leave the key in the lock,” the girl
murmured, as though speaking more to herself than to the reporter.
“Still, I cannot imagine who could have taken them. It is most
mysterious.”

“Lost anything?” Gale asked curiously.

Virginia hesitated. Then, with sudden decision: “Yes; some letters are
missing from my desk--very important letters.”

“Love letters?” Gale inquired, with a grin.

“Not exactly,” the girl replied coldly. “How long have you been in this
room, Mr. Gale?”

“Not very long. Not more than five minutes, I should say. Why do you
ask?”

“I was wondering if you had noticed anybody tampering with my desk.”

The reporter smiled deprecatingly. “My dear Virginia! If I had, don’t
you suppose I would have called them to account?” Suddenly a glint came
to his eyes, as an idea occurred to him. “One minute, though! I think,
perhaps, I can solve this mystery for you. Tell me, were these letters
of such a character that they would be of value to a newspaper?”

Virginia sighed. “They would be of great value to a newspaper,” she
answered, “but----”

“Then I guess I’ve got the answer,” Gale interrupted. “This morning,
as I was coming downstairs, I encountered a man coming out of this
room. He seemed to be in a great hurry, and it struck me, also, that he
appeared very nervous. I would have stopped him and demanded what he
was doing here, only I supposed at the time that he had been calling on
your father. After he had gone, though, I discovered that your father
wasn’t in the house. I have no doubt, now, that it was the chap who
stole the letters from your desk.”

“And you haven’t any idea who he was?” Virginia asked, an odd break in
her voice.

“Yes, I have,” Gale answered. “It was the Camera Chap--Hawley.”

“Good heavens!” Virginia gasped. “Are you sure, Mr. Gale?”

“Absolutely so,” he answered. “Even if I hadn’t seen him,” he added
maliciously, “I might have guessed that the robbery was his work. I
know his methods. That fellow Hawley is so unprincipled, Virginia, that
he’d steal the crutch from a cripple.”

Feeling very well satisfied with himself and his evening’s work, Gale
went out and repaired to a certain café which he knew was the haunt of
a man whom he greatly desired to see.

“I believe you were telling me, the other day,” he said, when he had
found his man, “that you used to be employed by former President Felix?”

“I was his private secretary,” the other answered.

“Then you ought to be pretty familiar with his handwriting?”

“I know it as well as I do my own.”

“Fine!” exclaimed the reporter, suddenly producing a letter. “That
being the case, old man, take a good look at this and let me know
whether you recognize the fist?”

The man studied the script closely, and a look of astonishment came to
his face. “It is Felix’s handwriting!” he declared positively.

“Good!” exclaimed Gale exultantly. “Now, see here: I’m going to give
you a chance to make some easy money. I’ve got several more of these
letters here, and I want them translated. I understand enough Spanish
to get an idea what they’re about, but I want a good translation.
There’s ten dollars--American money--in it for you if you want to
undertake the job.”

President Felix’s former secretary nodded eagerly, and, taking a
fountain pen and a notebook, which Gale handed him, rapidly wrote out
an English translation of the correspondence.

“Much obliged,” said Gale. “You’ll get the ten dollars in a couple of
days--provided you keep quiet about it. I don’t want anybody to know
about these letters just yet.”

The next morning the New York _Daily News_ published on its front page
a story which bore the following heading:

  “WIFE HEARS FROM MISSING PRESIDENT.

  “Francisco Felix, Fugitive President of Baracoa, Sends Wife Cheering
  Epistles From Gay Paree.--Weird Rumor Knocked On Head.--_Daily
  News_ Staff Correspondent at San Cristobal Unearths Interesting
  Correspondence Which Proves Absurdity of Charge that Felix Was Victim
  of Portiforo Conspiracy.”

This, of course, did not escape the eagle eye of the New York
correspondent of the San Cristobal _Herald_, whose chief duty was to go
through each issue of the New York newspapers and pick out all stories
which were likely to be of interest to the citizens of Baracoa. Thus
it came about that five hours after that issue of the _Daily News_
appeared on the streets of New York, the first edition of the San
Cristobal _Herald_, with the same story, under a New York date line,
spread all over its front page, was selling like hot cakes in the
streets of the capital of Baracoa.

At about the same time a lengthy dispatch in cipher from the Baracoan
consulate at New York arrived at the executive palace. It ended as
follows:

“Upon investigation, I have the honor to report that this morning’s
article in the _News_, one of the most influential newspapers in the
United States, has made a great impression upon the American people.
There is already heard both here and in Washington considerable
criticism of the President of the United States for having permitted
a member of his cabinet to show such conspicuous friendship for the
wife of Felix. Now that the woman’s guilty knowledge of her husband’s
whereabouts has been proved, it is felt by the better class of citizens
here, that the United States has been placed in an embarrassing
position by the fact that while she was residing at the home of the
United States attorney general she was in constant receipt of letters
from the fugitive.

“I have the honor to report, also, that I am reliably informed that in
addition to publishing its sensational story, the _News_ has cabled
secret instructions to its staff correspondent in Paris to begin
immediately a search for Felix. The editor believes that the clews
furnished by the postmark of the letters ought to make it an easy
matter to find him.”

That President Portiforo was not exactly vexed by this information was
evident when he appeared in public later that day. As he rode through
the streets in an open carriage, the people were able to get a good
view of his features, and it was noted that he wore a grin broader than
any that had appeared on his moonlike countenance since the day of his
inauguration.

“I saw him this afternoon--I was walking along the Avenida Bolivar when
the presidential equipage rolled past--and his expression reminded me
of the cat just after swallowing the canary,” the Camera Chap remarked
laughingly to Virginia Throgmorton, whom he met by appointment that
afternoon at the usual trysting place. “It looks as if our little ruse
had the desired effect.”

“It was tremendously clever of you to think of it, Mr. Hawley,” the
girl said enthusiastically. “Your ingenuity in all probability has
saved President Felix’s life. It isn’t likely that Portiforo will feel
so much like resorting to desperate measures now.”

“Let us hope not,” Hawley responded quietly.

Something in his tone caused the girl to regard him with great concern.
“Has anything happened to make you believe the contrary?” she asked
quickly.

“I don’t know,” the Camera Chap answered, with a frown. “I heard a
report at the Red Cross Hospital this afternoon which I don’t like.
They say there that General Replife, the minister of war, has suffered
a relapse, and is not expected to live another twenty-four hours.”

“And you think,” said Virginia fearfully, “that if Replife dies
Portiforo may decide that it would suit his purposes to get rid of poor
President Felix despite the reassuring news from New York?”

Hawley shrugged his shoulders. “At all events, it will be as well
for us not to take any chances,” he said quietly. “You remember that
plan for getting the picture that I was telling you about yesterday,
Miss Throgmorton? Well, the time has come to carry it out. Under the
circumstances we cannot afford to delay any longer.” He lowered his
voice. “I have decided to make the attempt to-night.”




CHAPTER XXII. HIS PLAN.


“I have decided to make the attempt to-night,” the Camera Chap
repeated, looking earnestly at the daughter of the American minister to
Baracoa. “The more I think about my scheme, the more convinced I am of
its practicability.”

“And you will take me as your assistant?” Virginia inquired eagerly.

Hawley hesitated. “Well, I don’t know about that. There would be some
danger, and I don’t feel like letting you run any risk. Of course,” he
added wistfully, “the danger wouldn’t be so very great. No matter how
the venture should turn out, I don’t think they would dare to harm you.
The fact that you are a woman, and the daughter of the United States
minister, ought to be----”

“Never mind the danger,” the plucky girl broke in impatiently. “As I
told you yesterday, nothing could please me more than to have a chance
to help my unhappy friends, Señora Felix and her husband. I’d gladly
make any sacrifice for them. I shall hold you to your promise, Mr.
Hawley. As a man of your word, you’ve got to take me with you.”

Hawley laughed. “I don’t think I quite promised; I merely said that I
would consider your application, Miss Throgmorton. However, I guess
I’ve got to take advantage of your kind offer. I’ve got to have an
assistant, and, while a man might do, a woman partner would add greatly
to the chances of success--especially when she is beautiful enough
to----”

Virginia stopped him with a gesture of disapproval. “This is no time
for frivolous compliments, Mr. Hawley,” she said severely, a faint
tinge of pink making itself evident beneath her fair skin. “There is
too much at stake for that.”

“I assure you that I had no intention of being frivolous, Miss
Throgmorton--or of paying you compliments, either,” the Camera Chap
explained hastily. “It is a fact that I am counting a great deal on
your good looks as an asset in this venture.”

Virginia appeared somewhat mollified by this explanation. “Tell me your
plan, Mr. Hawley,” she requested. “Now that it is settled that I am to
have a part in it, isn’t it only fair that you should take me into your
confidence as to what you’re going to do?”

“It surely is,” Hawley agreed. “I was going to tell you all about it,
anyway, only I deemed it advisable to keep the details to myself until
I was ready to carry it out.

“It is very simple,” he continued, his face lighting up. “In fact, I
can’t understand why the idea didn’t hit me long ago. The inspiration
came to me like a flash, the other day, as I was cruising in the motor
boat in the vicinity of El Torro, watching the sentry pacing up and
down outside the window of Felix’s cell, and tying bowknots in my brain
trying to conceive of a way of getting rid of him. That’s been the big
problem all along, of course--how to get past the sentry. If I could
devise a way of luring him from his post for a few minutes, it would be
a simple matter to get my snapshot of Felix in his cell.”

“And you have found a way of doing that?” the girl asked eagerly.

“I believe I have. All that we’ve got to do is to take a tip from the
New York underworld.”

Virginia looked at him in bewilderment, but when she heard the plan he
unfolded, she uttered an exclamation of delight. “It does sound good!”
she declared. “You are absolutely the most ingenious man I have ever
met.”

Hawley regarded her quizzically. “This is no time for frivolous
compliments, Miss Throgmorton,” he said, with mock indignation. “There
is too much at stake for that.”

The girl laughed at the way he had turned the tables on her. Then,
suddenly, her smooth brow puckered into a puzzled frown. “But there is
one thing about your plan which I don’t quite understand,” she told
him. “How do you expect to make your escape from the fortress after
you get the snapshot? You cannot, of course, use the same boat I’m
going to use, and it seems to me that a second boat would be out of the
question.”

“Of course it would,” her companion agreed. “There’s only one way that
I can see of solving that difficulty: Since I can’t travel on the
water, I shall have to travel in it.”

Virginia looked at him in horrified amazement. “Surely you’re not
thinking of trying to swim back?” she gasped.

“I guess that’s what I’ll have to do,” was the cheerful reply.
“However, there won’t be any trouble about that. I’m a pretty good
swimmer.”

Virginia shook her head. “You must give up that idea,” she said firmly.
“It would be madness. You couldn’t live ten minutes in those waters,
Mr. Hawley. Don’t you know that Puerto Cabero harbor is full of sharks?”

In spite of himself, the Camera Chap grew serious at this announcement.
The presence of sharks in the bay was a detail which had escaped his
attention when he had formulated his plans. The prospect was decidedly
disturbing. Then, suddenly, his face lighted up. “Oh, well,” he said,
with a characteristic shrug, “I’ve read somewhere that it’s all a fake
about sharks being man-eaters. Anyway, Miss Throgmorton, you’ve got an
exaggerated idea of the situation. I’m not thinking of swimming the
whole width of the bay. All I’ll have to do is to strike out for the
battleship.”

“The battleship?” the girl echoed, her eyebrows arching.

Hawley laughed. “By Jove! If I haven’t forgotten to mention the most
important detail of all. Evidently you do not know that the United
States battleship _Kearsarge_ steamed into the harbor this afternoon,
and is now anchored a quarter of a mile off El Torro. That’s another
reason why I feel confident that our little venture is going to be a
success.”




CHAPTER XXIII. UNDER SEALED ORDERS.


Although the arrival of the _Kearsarge_ was news to Virginia, the
visit of the huge gray fighting machine was no surprise to Minister
Throgmorton. For some reason he had failed to mention the matter to his
daughter, but a few days previously he had been officially notified by
the state department at Washington that the warship was due to arrive
in Baracoan waters on a “friendly visit.”

This information he had formally conveyed to President Portiforo. The
latter was profuse in his expressions of appreciation of this courtesy.
He bade the representative of the United States assure his government
that a cordial welcome would be given to the _Kearsarge’s_ officers and
crew.

“But what does it mean?” he demanded informally of his friend
Throgmorton. “What purpose has Washington in view? United States
warships have visited us before, of course, for the reason stated; but
I cannot help entertaining a suspicion that your government has some
special motive in sending a battleship here at this time.”

To this the United States minister had shrugged his shoulders. “If
there is any such motive, my government has not seen fit to take
me into its confidence concerning it,” he answered. “However, Mr.
President, if the presence of the _Kearsarge_ in Puerto Cabero harbor
is objectionable to you, I am confident that I have only to notify the
state department to that effect, and Captain Cortrell will receive
orders to sail before the vessel weighs anchor.”

Portiforo, who, with a few exceptions, entertained a cordial dislike
for gringos in general, and the citizens of the United States in
particular, felt a strong inclination to have this brought about,
but he was diplomat enough not to follow his wishes in the matter.
“I wouldn’t think of being so discourteous to our sister republic,”
he said. “Besides, I have no objection to the _Kearsarge’s_ visit,
provided she does nothing to disrupt the amity existing between our two
nations. Have you any idea how long she is to stay here?”

Throgmorton shook his head. “My advices do not state that,” he said.
“If you wish, I can cable Washington that you would like to be
enlightened on that point.”

“Certainly not,” the other rejoined hastily. “It is quite immaterial to
me, my dear Throgmorton, how long she remains. Besides, no doubt her
commander will be able to tell us what his orders are in that respect.”
An anxious expression came to his face. “What kind of a man is this
Captain Cortrell?” he inquired. “Can you tell me anything about him?”

“He’s one of the most competent officers in the United States navy,”
the minister informed him. “He was graduated from Annapolis at the head
of his class, and----”

“But his personality?” Portiforo interrupted impatiently. “I don’t
care anything about his naval record. Does he impress you as being
a conservative man, or--to use an expression, of your country--the
kind that would take chances? If you will pardon me for saying so, I
believe that some of your naval officers have in past instances proved
themselves to be somewhat lacking in discretion and a proper regard for
the niceties of international law.”

“Captain Cortrell is not that kind,” Minister Throgmorton replied, with
a smile. “He has a reputation for being one of the most cautious and
conservative commanders in our navy, and he knows more international
law than half our statesmen. You need have no fear, Mr. President,
that he will commit any indiscretion which would disrupt the pleasant
relations existing between our respective governments.”

Somewhat reassured, the President of Baracoa made preparations to
receive the visiting warship with fitting honors, and the guns of El
Torro fortress thundered a vociferous welcome as the big gray ironclad
steamed up the bay.

The Camera Chap was cruising in the harbor in his motor boat when
the _Kearsarge_ arrived. With keen interest he watched the colossal
fighting machine come to anchor. A thrill of joy and pride shot through
him as his eyes feasted on her grim gray outline, and there came to his
ears the strains of the ship’s band crashing out “The Star-spangled
Banner.”

Remembering his conversation with the president, in which the latter
had given him clearly to understand that, win or lose, he could expect
no help from the United States government, he felt that he had no
reason to believe that the arrival of the battleship had anything to do
with himself and his mission; yet he could not help hoping that such
was the case--that something had occurred to change the presidential
mind as to the impossibility of governmental succor being extended
to him. Not that he craved such protection for himself; he was quite
willing to take his chances, and abide by the consequences of the
adventure; but he was in hopes that the arrival of the _Kearsarge_ at
Puerto Cabero might have something to do with a plan to protect Felix
from Portiforo’s vengeance. This desire caused him to seek admission to
the battleship almost as soon as she had dropped anchor.

As he climbed the starboard gangway, a natty young officer stared hard
at him, and exclaimed:

“I beg your pardon, but isn’t your name Hawley?”

“It is,” the Camera Chap replied, with a smile. “And you are Ensign
Ridder, unless I am very much mistaken.”

“Lieutenant Ridder,” the other corrected pleasantly, with some pride.
“But I was an ensign the last time we met. That was three years ago,
when I was attached to the Brooklyn Navy Yard.” His face broke into a
broad grin. “I shall never forget, old man, how you came to my rescue
that night down in Chinatown, when that gang had me backed up against
the wall, and was----” He stopped short, suddenly realizing that this
was scarcely the time or place to indulge in personal reminiscences. “I
beg your pardon,” he said soberly. “Perhaps you wish to see somebody
on board?”

“I’d like to have a talk with the captain, if he isn’t too busy,” the
Camera Chap answered.

“He’s pretty busy, but I think he’ll see you,” said Lieutenant Ridder,
emphasizing the pronoun. “As a matter of fact,” he added, “he’s
expecting you.”

“Expecting me!” Hawley echoed, thrilling with joy as he realized the
significance of this announcement.

“He’s given orders that if a man named Hawley should happen to come
aboard, he’s to be taken to his cabin at once,” the naval officer
confided in a whisper.

“Great!” exclaimed the Camera Chap. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in
a long while.”

Thanks to his acquaintance with Lieutenant Ridder, the visitor had
no trouble in establishing his identity to the satisfaction of the
battleship’s commander.

“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Hawley,” the latter said. Then, abruptly:
“I believe you were to bring a photograph. Have you got it?”

“Not yet, captain,” the Camera Chap replied, “but I expect to get it
soon, and----”

The commander of the battleship cut him short with an impatient
gesture. It may have been his imagination, but Hawley fancied that the
expression on his weather-beaten face was one of keen disappointment.
“My orders say nothing about expectations, sir,” he said gruffly.
“Whenever you get that snapshot, Mr. Hawley,” he added, “I shall be
glad to see you again.”

The Camera Chap did not attempt to ask any questions. He could tell
from the taciturn old sea dog’s manner that they would not be answered.
Besides, he had found out what he wished to know. From the reference
the captain had made to his orders, he felt absolutely sure, now,
that the arrival of the warship was more than a coincidence--that the
huge mass of steel, manned by as sturdy a crew as ever trod a deck,
and bristling with guns powerful enough to smash El Torro fortress to
smithereens, and reduce Puerto Cabero to ruins, was there to help in
some way to right a great wrong.

It was then that he had made up his mind to carry out that same
night the daring plan which he had afterward described to Virginia
Throgmorton. But he did not tell his fair ally of his visit to the
battleship. There were reasons why he deemed it wise to keep that
incident a secret even from her.

As his visitor walked out of his cabin, Captain Cortrell took from a
drawer of his desk a bulky envelope, and regarded it with speculative
interest.

This envelope was sealed, and Captain Cortrell himself had never seen
its contents. His verbal instructions were to anchor in Puerto Cabero
harbor, and to remain there until further orders. The sealed envelope
was not to be opened unless he should receive a visit from a man
who could identify himself as a New York newspaper man named Frank
Hawley. In the event of such an identification being established, the
commander was to demand of his visitor whether he had brought a certain
photograph. If the reply was in the affirmative, and the photograph
forthcoming, Captain Cortrell was then to open the sealed envelope
immediately, and compare the photograph it contained with the snapshot
which his visitor had brought. If he was satisfied that the original of
both pictures was the same, he was to proceed to carry out forthwith
the written instructions which accompanied the picture.

What these secret orders were, the commander of the battleship had
not the remotest idea; nor was he aware whose photograph was inside
the envelope. It was felt by his superiors that there was no need for
him to know these things until the time to act arrived. He did know,
however, that the contents of the envelope had been placed there by the
President of the United States himself.

Captain Cortrell was not naturally a curious man. It was largely
because the bump of inquisitiveness was missing from his cranium that
he had been selected for this mysterious mission; but when he had told
his visitor that he was glad to meet him, he had never in his life
spoken more earnestly, for his fingers were just itching to open that
envelope. He had been wondering greatly, too, what manner of chap this
young man named Hawley must be, that the head of the nation was willing
to go to so much trouble on his account. It was the first time in
his experience that he had heard of a United States battleship being
dispatched under sealed orders to foreign waters to aid a newspaper
photographer in his work. He had looked forward with eagerness to the
time when the president’s photographic envoy should choose to put in
an appearance. For his instructions did not permit him to seek the
latter out. He must wait until he came aboard of his own initiative.
Evidently it had been taken for granted at the White House that the
Camera Chap would come to the battleship without an invitation being
extended to him. The logical mind responsible for these arrangements
had foreseen that in the event of his landing the photographic evidence
of Portiforo’s rascality, it would naturally occur to him to seek
refuge immediately in the safest place for him within a thousand miles
of San Cristobal--the deck of a ship of war flying the Stars and
Stripes.




CHAPTER XXIV. THE SNAPSHOT.


The night which Hawley and Virginia had selected for their assault
upon El Torro proved an ideal one for their purpose; for the moon was
obscured most of the time by a steady procession of dark clouds which
made the waters of the harbor as black as ink, save for an occasional
phosphorescent streak on the surface of the wavelets, the sight of
which made the girl shudder.

“I’m afraid there are many sharks in the bay to-night,” she whispered
fearfully to the Camera Chap, as he cast loose the painter of the
launch, and took the oars--they had decided to row at the start,
instead of using the motor, for fear that the noise of the latter might
attract attention on shore.

“I guess it’s only your imagination which makes you think that, Miss
Throgmorton,” Hawley responded cheerfully. “Of course,” he added
solicitously, “if you’re really alarmed, we’ll turn back this minute;
but there’s no danger so far as the sharks are concerned. They won’t
come near the boat.”

Virginia gave him an indignant glance. “Of course, I know that they
won’t come near the boat,” she said. “Do you suppose that I am scared
on my own account? It was to your danger that I was referring. I really
don’t think that I have any right to let you do this thing, Mr. Hawley.
Much as I would like to see poor President Felix freed, and my dear
friend the señora made happy, it scarcely seems fair to encourage you
to run such a terrible risk. To think of you attempting to swim in that
water makes my blood run cold.”

“Then I beg you not to think of it,” he said laughingly. “Turn your
attention to the sky instead. Did you ever see such a black night? I
haven’t, since I’ve been in Baracoa. It certainly looks as if we’ve got
our luck with us. I haven’t much doubt, now, that I’ll be able to get
up to the fortress unobserved.”

All the while he was talking, he was rowing, his strong arms pulling
at the oars so vigorously that the motor boat moved through the water
almost as easily as if it had been built to be propelled in that
manner. But presently he stopped rowing, and shipped his oars. “Guess
we can start the motor, now,” he remarked; “we’re far enough from the
shore to escape attention. See those lights twinkling over yonder?
That’s the _Kearsarge_. And those two little lights to the east of her
are on El Torro. Notice how near to the fortress she is anchored. You
see, I shan’t have much of a swim, after all.”

Virginia smiled at him reproachfully. “Do you think I am as easily
deceived as all that? Those lights may not look far apart, from here,
but I happen to know that the distance between the battleship and the
fortress is nearly half a mile. However, Mr. Hawley, I’m not going to
try to persuade you to give up this mad undertaking, because I realize
that I stand no chance of making you listen to reason.” She sighed.
“It does seem unfair, though, that you should be running all the risk,
while I----”

“All the risk!” Hawley interrupted protestingly. “Well, I like that! I
suppose you’re not running any risk at all? Why, you plucky girl!” he
exclaimed, deep admiration in his tone. “As a matter of fact, you’re
doing the lion’s share of the work. If our efforts to-night result in
setting President Felix free, he’ll have you to thank for it more than
anybody.”

“Nonsense!” the girl protested, much pleased, nevertheless, by his
praise. “You know very well that I shan’t be in the slightest danger.
Portiforo can’t do anything to me, even when he finds out the trick
I’ve played his soldiers. If you thought that he could, you would never
have taken me as your assistant. Don’t you suppose that I realize that?”

“But it’s going to get you into trouble with your father,” Hawley
reminded her dryly. “I don’t imagine that Minister Throgmorton
is going to be exactly pleased when he hears of his daughter’s
escapade--especially when he finds out that her fellow conspirator is a
_Sentinel_ man.”

“Yes; I suppose my father will be angry,” Virginia agreed demurely.
“However, that can’t be helped. I never have been able to understand
his great friendship for Portiforo,” she went on, frowning. “It is
a mystery to me why he is so persistently blind to the grossness of
that tyrant. Possibly,” she suggested archly, “it is because Portiforo
flatters him. Father is very susceptible to flattery.”

“Probably that is the reason,” the Camera Chap acquiesced. “Think
you’ll be able to manage this boat all right after I leave you?” he
inquired anxiously. “She runs very smoothly, and all you’ve got to do,
you know, is to keep her headed straight for the fortress landing.

“That will be easy,” she assured him. “Fortunately I’ve had some
experience with motor boats.”

“And you haven’t forgotten your instructions? You know just what you
are to do after you land? Remember, everything depends upon your
ability to keep the attention of the sentry focused on you until after
I’ve got my picture.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Virginia confidently. “He’ll have to
be an automaton if he’s able to turn a deaf ear to my heart-rending
screams of distress.”

Hawley, busy with the motor, echoed her laugh. A little later the
launch, running now under its own power, had drawn so near to the
_Kearsarge_ that they could hear her bells striking the hour. The
Camera Chap abruptly changed their course. “We don’t want to get any
nearer to the warship,” he explained to his companion. “They might take
it into their heads, you know, to throw a searchlight on us, and just
at present we’re not at all eager to bask in the limelight.”

Virginia gazed wistfully at the shadowy outline of the big vessel.
“If only we could get them to help us,” she murmured. “With a hundred
sturdy bluejackets from that ship, we could take the fortress and bring
back President Felix himself, instead of merely his photograph.”

“A hundred!” exclaimed Hawley, with a laugh. “I venture to say that
half a dozen would be enough. But I’m afraid that’s out of the
question. For the present I guess we’ll have to be content with the
picture.”

“If we get it,” said the girl, in a sudden fit of depression.

“We’re going to get it,” the Camera Chap declared confidently.

The motor boat was heading, now, straight for the fortress. Presently
Hawley slackened her speed and motioned to Virginia to take his place
at the wheel. “I guess the psychological moment has arrived,” he
announced. “We won’t risk going any nearer.” He took off his coat and
shoes, and threw them overboard. Then he fastened around his waist
a belt to which was attached a water-tight bag, which contained his
photographic apparatus.

“Au revoir,” he said lightly, extending his hand to the girl. “Sure you
don’t feel scared?”

“Not a bit--at least, not on my own account,” she answered, pressing
his hand with a warmth which in his opinion more than compensated him
for any risk he was about to run. “Please be careful, Mr. Hawley. If
anything should happen to you----”

“Nothing will,” he assured her. “Nothing ever happens to me. I guess I
was born under a lucky star.”

The moon had emerged from behind a black cloud, and he ducked hastily
to the bottom of the boat, fearing that he would be seen from the
fortress. For half a minute he remained there; then, as another
fleeting cloud once more plunged the sky in darkness, he left his
hiding place and poised himself on the boat’s gunwale.

“Try to manage to make a wide sweep so as to give me a chance to reach
the shore about the same time you do,” he said to Virginia.

The girl nodded. “But I don’t like to see you venture among those
horrid----” she began. Before she could finish the sentence, the Camera
Chap had dived, entering the water so easily that she could scarcely
hear the splash.

As he struck out for the shore, Virginia saw a phosphorescent streak in
the water close beside him, and she uttered a scream of terror which
was not prompted by her realization of the part she was to play.

A lone sentry at El Torro heard that scream, and, ceasing his pacing up
and down his post, gazed out to sea with great curiosity.

Above the sound of the waves lapping the shore, he could hear the
chug-chug-chug of a motor boat, first faint, then rapidly becoming
more distinct. Realizing that a craft of some sort was approaching the
fortress, he brought his rifle down from his shoulder to a horizontal
position, and stood prepared to challenge the unseen visitor.

Then, suddenly, there came to his ears a repetition of the weird scream
he had heard, followed by a series of screams in quick succession. The
moon appeared from behind a cloud, and by its light he caught sight of
a launch heading toward a point of the beach about two hundred feet to
the east of where he stood. Simultaneously he became aware of the fact
that the sole visible occupant of the boat was a woman, and that it
was she who was responsible for the cries of terror or distress he had
heard.

Now, fortunately for the Camera Chap and Virginia, and the righteous
cause for which they strove, there was not in the whole army of Baracoa
a more chivalrous man than this particular sentry. Naturally a man cast
in such a sentimental mold was not the sort to turn a deaf ear to the
call of beauty in distress. From where he stood he could not as yet see
that the woman in the motor boat was beautiful, but he took that for
granted.

Clubbing his rifle, he ran along the beach to the point where the
launch was about to land. As he came near, he saw that he would not
have to draw upon his imagination in order to class the craft’s
agitated occupant as young and very fair. With added zest he hastened
to assist her to disembark.

“What is it, señorita?” he demanded sympathetically. “If you will tell
me what has happened----”

“Oh!” gasped Virginia, stumbling out of the boat and into his arms,
according to schedule. “Oh, it was terrible. I----” Her eyes closed,
and she would have fallen if he had not held her.

According to the rules and regulations, it was his duty to summon the
guard, but he was too busy just then to give thought to rules and
regulations. He was struggling with the dead weight of the girl, who
had become as limp and inanimate as a rag, when a tall, dark-faced
young man, who wore the fatigue uniform of a captain, ran out of the
fortress and approached the pair.

“What have we here?” he demanded sternly. Then, as his gaze rested on
the girl’s face: “Good heavens! It’s Miss Throgmorton! What is the
matter with her, Sanchez?”

“I think she has fainted, captain,” the sentry replied, allowing his
fair burden to drop gently to the sand in order that he might salute
his superior officer. He pointed to the motor boat. “She came ashore in
that, a minute ago.”

“Alone?”

The sentry nodded. “She was screaming as though in great terror.”

“It is strange--very strange,” muttered Captain Ernesto Reyes. “I
wonder if----”

He was interrupted by a dull report and a vivid flash of light which
came from the beach, about four hundred feet from where they stood.

The sentry and his superior officer exchanged glances of mingled
mystification and dismay. Leaving the girl, both of them started to run
frantically toward the spot from which this startling interruption had
come. Through the gloom they saw dimly a man step to the edge of the
beach, and hurl himself into the water.

With an exclamation of joy, Virginia opened her eyes and rose to a
sitting position. “Victory!” she murmured. “He has done it.”

But a second later her exultation gave place to horror and dismay,
as she heard the bark of a revolver. By the spurt of flame which
accompanied the report, she saw Captain Reyes standing at the water’s
edge, shooting savagely at the fugitive.




CHAPTER XXV. CAPTAIN CORTRELL’S ORDERS.


A short row of high bushes in front of the fortress had supplied the
Camera Chap with a clew as to which was the window of President Felix’s
cell. Early in his investigation, he had learned from one of the
natives of Puerto Cabero that this foliage was of recent planting. It
had been put there two years previously, when Portiforo had first taken
over the presidency, after the sensational disappearance of Felix.

Hawley had remarked that by its stage of development it appeared to
be much more than two years old, and his informant had told him that
the bushes had been transplanted from the Botanical Gardens by order
of the president himself. Immediately the significance of this had
suggested itself to him. He felt sure that they were intended to serve
as a screen--to guard against the possibility of some curious person in
the bay trying to get a glimpse of the occupant of the cell by means
of powerful glasses, and he took it for granted that this precaution
indicated that the occupant of that cell was the unhappy Felix.

Therefore, when he landed on the beach, he did not have to waste any
time in hunting for the captive’s cell. There was only one barred
window behind this screen of foliage, and he hastily stepped up to it.
By raising himself on tiptoe, he was just able to look into the cell,
and he caught sight of a white-haired man seated at a rough wooden
table, with his back toward the window, reading a book by the light of
a sputtering candle.

“Señor Felix!” he whispered eagerly. “Señor Felix!”

The captive jumped up with an abruptness which upset the table, and
extinguished the candle. “Who are you, and what do you wish?” Hawley
heard him ask hoarsely.

“I am a friend--from the United States,” the Camera Chap replied,
busying himself with the waterproof bag attached to his waist. “I have
come to help you, sir.”

“To rescue me?” the other exclaimed, with pathetic eagerness.

“Eventually, yes; but all I can do now is to take your photograph,” the
Camera Chap explained. As he spoke, he tugged at one of the iron bars,
with the hope that he might be able to wrench it from its fastening,
in which case he would, indeed, have essayed a rescue; but, as he had
feared, the iron was fastened too securely to the stone to render that
possible.

“My photograph!” the occupant of the cell repeated, with a bitter
laugh. “What mockery is this?”

“It isn’t mockery. There are plans afoot to bring about your release,
if the picture can be obtained,” Hawley explained hurriedly. “I assure
you, on my word of honor, that it means your liberty. Drag the table to
the window and stand upon it so that your face is against the bars.
Quick! There is no time to lose. I beg of you, President Felix, do as I
say. You’ve got to trust me.”

With prompt decision the captive complied with this request, and a few
seconds later the snapshot was an accomplished fact. Then, for the
first time, the Camera Chap found opportunity to glance toward the
other end of the beach, where his fair ally was engaging the attention
of the sentry. He espied two men rushing toward him, and, swiftly
thrusting his camera into its receptacle, he turned and plunged into
the sea.

Thus far the carrying out of his daring plan had been effected with an
ease and simplicity which exceeded his most sanguine expectations.

As he had stated to Virginia, he had borrowed his idea from the
underworld. That is to say, as he had cruised in Puerto Cabero Bay,
cudgeling his brains in an effort to find a way of luring the sentry of
El Torro from his post, there had come to his mind an effective trick
which New York crooks often work when contemplating a robbery on a
green policeman’s beat.

He had never seen this trick done, but he had often heard it described
by his friends on the force. They had told him that the wily rogues, in
order to make sure of being able to commit their crime without danger
of police interference, get some of the pals to start a street fight
at the other end of the beat. Attracted by the noise of the brawl, the
policeman rushes to the spot, and places the rowdies under arrest. And
while he is marching his prisoners to the police station to answer to a
charge of disorderly conduct, the burglars have a clear field.

The snapshot adventurer had reasoned that a ruse which was clever
enough to fool a New York policeman ought to work equally as well on
an El Torro sentry. For his study of the garrison of the fortress had
convinced him that its members were not an overintelligent lot, and, as
for discipline, it was a matter of common knowledge that the army of
Baracoa was one of the worst-disciplined military bodies in the world.

The only thing which had bothered him had been the fact that, in order
to get his picture, he would have to set off a flash light, which, of
course, was bound to attract the attention of the sentry from Virginia
to himself, and, probably, bring the whole garrison rushing out of the
fortress. He hoped, however, that as soon as the flash light went off,
and the picture was taken, it wouldn’t make much difference how much
attention he attracted, because he would be able to make his escape
before any of them could get near enough to lay hands on him.

Now, as he saw Captain Reyes and the sentry rushing toward him, and
threw himself into the sea before they were anywhere near him, it
looked as if that hope was going to be fulfilled.

Pursued by the bullets of Captain Reyes, he dived to dodge the deadly
hail, and swam under water while his breath lasted. Presently he rose
to the surface, and struck out, with the long, vigorous stroke of an
expert swimmer, for the battleship, whose lighted hull seemed just then
to be miles away.

He encountered no obstacles in his course, and before he had any
feeling of exhaustion, so finely trained was he for the task, his hand
grasped the starboard accommodation ladder of the warship, and he
lifted himself clear of the water.

Five minutes later, white-faced, and somewhat shaky in the legs,
hatless and coatless, and dripping water from head to foot, he stood
in the presence of the battleship’s commander, who, recognizing him
despite his disheveled appearance, stared at him wonderingly.

“You told me to come back to you, captain, as soon as I got the
snapshot,” the Camera Chap began.

Captain Cortrell’s face lighted up. “Have you brought it?” he demanded
eagerly.

“I have brought the plate. I haven’t had a chance to develop it yet,
so I don’t know how it turned out, but I generally have pretty good
luck with flash lights. Don’t happen to have a photographic dark room
aboard, do you, captain?”

The naval officer shook his head. “I guess we could fix you up a
dark room easily enough, but we haven’t the materials for developing
a negative, if that’s what you mean. I’m sorry that we haven’t,” he
added, “for I don’t mind confessing, Mr. Hawley, that I am impatient to
see your picture.”

“I will go ashore at once, develop the plate, and bring you back a
print,” the Camera Chap promised. “I have a complete outfit in my room
at the hotel. But in the meantime, captain,” he added anxiously, “if
you have any instructions which concern me--as I feel confident you
have----”

Captain Cortrell cut him short with a curt gesture. “Go ahead and get
your plate developed,” he said gruffly. “Whatever instructions I may
have concerning you, sir, cannot be discussed until you have brought me
the snapshot--a finished picture, not an invisible negative.”

“But it isn’t safe to wait until then. I am afraid you may be too
late,” the Camera Chap protested.

“Too late for what, sir?”

“To save President Felix. If you don’t act promptly, I am afraid they
will assassinate him. Every minute counts now.”

A slightly bewildered expression came to the naval officer’s face. His
demeanor aroused Hawley’s indignation. The latter suspected that his
air of mystification was feigned, that his attitude must be due to an
excess of caution.

“See here, Captain Cortrell!” he exclaimed impatiently; “there’s no
sense in our playing at cross-purposes with each other. There isn’t
time for anything of that sort. I am quite sure that you know who sent
me to Baracoa, and what I am doing here----”

“I know nothing about it,” the other interrupted, but Hawley
impatiently waved aside the disclaimer.

“And therefore I have no hesitancy in talking plainly to you,” he
continued. “I don’t know just what your orders are, but if they provide
for any protection being extended to Felix--as I trust is the case--I
assure you that no time is to be lost. If you land a force of men at
the fortress at once you may be able to save him, but if you delay, I
fear it will be fatal.”

During this speech the bewildered expression passed from Captain
Cortrell’s face, and was replaced by one of great astonishment. “Am
I to understand that the man whose photograph you were to bring me
is Francisco Felix, the missing President of Baracoa?” he inquired
excitedly.

“Why, of course. Didn’t you know that?”

“And he is in El Torro fortress?”

“He was there--half an hour ago,” the Camera Chap replied
significantly. “It may be too late, even now, to save him, but if
not, you must realize that we can’t afford to beat about the bush. No
doubt a report of my visit to the fortress, to-night, and the taking
of the flash light, has already been sent to Portiforo. If so, he will
probably resort at once to desperate measures.”

The naval officer’s face grew grim. “What do you expect me to do?” he
inquired coolly.

The Camera Chap showed his astonishment at the question. “It seems to
me that there is only one thing to do, captain--rescue Felix before
Portiforo’s assassins can get to him. Why,” he went on eagerly, “the
thing could be done in ten minutes without any trouble at all. I don’t
know much about military tactics, but I’ve been studying the garrison
of El Torro pretty closely for the past few days, and my observations
make me feel confident that one boatload of your marines would be
sufficient to take possession of the fortress without even a gun being
fired. Or if you don’t care to go quite as far as that,” he added,
“there is no need for your men to enter the fortress at all. They could
rescue Felix from the outside--the same way that I got my picture. All
that they’d have to do would be to step up to his window, break down
the bars, and lift him through the opening.”

The warship’s commander smiled grimly. “Yes; I reckon it could be
done,” he said.

“And you will do it?”

The old sea dog hesitated. The Camera Chap saw a grim expression come
to his weather-beaten face. It quickly passed away, however. “I am
sorry, my boy,” he said, real regret in his tone, “but, as I said
before, I can do nothing until you have brought me the snapshot. You
see,” he explained, “I am here under sealed orders--I don’t mind
telling you that much in return for the information you have given me.
In view of what I have learned from you, I now have what some of my
junior officers would no doubt term ‘a good-sized hunch,’ as to the
nature of those orders. I think it very likely that when the envelope
is opened, it will be found to contain official instructions for me to
proceed immediately to take the very action you urge.”

“Then why not open it immediately?” the Camera Chap suggested
impatiently.

“I am sorry, but that is out of the question. The conditions must first
be complied with. I appreciate the danger of delay, my boy, but orders
are orders. I would suggest that the best thing for you to do is to
hurry ashore, get that picture finished, and bring it to me as quickly
as possible. Then, provided my orders permit it, I will promise you
prompt action.”

Perceiving that argument would be useless, the Camera Chap proceeded to
follow this advice. The commander of the _Kearsarge_ placed a speedy
steam launch at his disposal, and also suggested that it would be a
good idea for him to have a naval escort when he went ashore. “We don’t
want to have any mishaps,” the captain remarked dryly, “and it is just
possible that circumstances might arise in which you would find it
mighty convenient to be surrounded by an armed guard.”

Hawley immediately grasped his point, for the possibility of an attempt
being made ashore to wrest the precious picture from him had already
suggested itself to his mind. “Thank you, captain; I shall be glad to
take advantage of your kind offer,” he said. “I think, however, that
one of your men will be enough, if you can spare Lieutenant Ridder for
a little while. He and I are old friends, and if he were along with me,
I should feel perfectly safe.”

This request met with a ready response, and a few minutes later Hawley
and the husky young lieutenant were speeding toward the shore of Puerto
Cabero.

As they landed from the launch, the Camera Chap caught sight of two
men skulking in the shadow of the wharf, and when he and Ridder walked
toward the railway station, he observed that these men stealthily
followed them. By the light of a street lamp he was able to get a
good look at their faces, and he recognized one of them instantly.
It was his old acquaintance, Señor Lopez, the mysterious individual
who had been his fellow passenger on board the steamship _Colombia_,
and who had displayed such a keen interest in his movements. The
Camera Chap had not seen the fellow since the day of their arrival
at Puerto Cabero. He was not at all glad to see him, now. He had
an uneasy suspicion that Lopez’s presence at the wharf was no mere
coincidence--that already the tidings of what had happened at the
fortress had been flashed to the capital, and that the spy had been
sent to await his landing.

Fearing for the safety of his precious snapshot, he was doubly glad,
now, that he had brought Ridder along with him.




CHAPTER XXVI. THE PLATE DEVELOPED.


A train was just about to pull out of the station, when Hawley and
his companion arrived there. It was the last train to leave for the
capital that night, and the Camera Chap congratulated himself upon his
luck in catching it. If he had been half a minute later he might have
found himself stranded in the seaport for the night, for at that hour
it was difficult to find any kind of conveyance for hire, even a horse;
in which case he would have been obliged to wait until morning before
developing his plate.

As they jumped on the train, he glanced behind him, and saw that Lopez
and his companion were evidently determined not to lose him, for they,
too, got aboard, taking the precaution, however, of entering a car at
the other end of the train.

If there had been time to take such a step, Hawley would have gone to
the trouble of endeavoring to throw his shadowers off his trail before
proceeding to his hotel, but, realizing the necessity of getting the
picture finished and into the hands of the commander of the battleship
without delay, he decided that he must run whatever risk lay in having
them at his heels.

While the spies were only two in number, he had no fear of an attempt
on their part to adopt violent tactics in order to get possession of
the negative; he apprehended, however, that as soon as they reached
the capital they might be joined by reënforcements, and with grim
satisfaction he patted a pocket of the coat with which Captain Cortrell
had supplied him from his own wardrobe, to replace the garment he had
lost. In that pocket reposed a loaded forty-four. With this toy, plus
the moral and physical support of his friend, Lieutenant Ridder, he
felt confident that Portiforo was going to have quite a time getting
that plate away from him, even though he sent a whole regiment to do
the job.

As soon as he and the naval officer arrived at his room on the top
floor of the Hotel Nacional, he took the precaution, after locking the
door, of piling up all the furniture of the room against it. Having
thus guarded against surprise in that direction, he stationed Ridder
on the balcony outside the one window of the room. With the alert
lieutenant crouching there, revolver in hand, he felt confident that
there would be no invasion from that quarter.

As he had told Captain Cortrell, he had in his trunk a ruby lamp, and
all the other materials necessary for developing a plate, and make
a print from it by artificial light. It was not often that he did
his own developing, but he had brought them with him, foreseeing the
possibility of just such an emergency as the present one.

By the light of the ruby lamp, he opened the waterproof bag which
contained his camera, and was relieved to find that, despite its
exposure to the sea, not a drop of moisture had touched its contents.
Removing the plate holder from the camera, he withdrew the negative
and plunged it into the developing bath. With intense eagerness he
leaned over the shallow hard-rubber tray, waiting for the first dim
outline to show itself on the glass, probably more nervous than he had
ever before been in his eventful life.

Five minutes later, the young naval officer on guard on the balcony
heard an exclamation of dismay from within the room.

“What’s the trouble?” Ridder whispered hoarsely. “Need any help in
there?”

There was no answer, and an anxious expression came to his face. The
shade of the window was drawn, and Hawley had warned him that under
no circumstances must he disturb it while the work of developing the
picture was in progress, as the admission of the slightest ray of
moonlight into the room might spoil the negative. Still, he scarcely
felt like waiting there when, evidently, something had happened to the
Camera Chap.

“What’s wrong in there?” he repeated, tapping impatiently against the
glass. “May I come in, Hawley?”

The Camera Chap threw open the window. “Sure; come on in,” he said.
“There’s no reason for you to stay out there any longer.”

“The picture is finished?”

Hawley laughed ironically. “Yes, it’s finished, all right--completely
finished. Take a look at it.” As he spoke he held up the square of wet
glass.

“I don’t know much about this sort of thing,” said the navy man, taking
the negative gingerly, and holding it against the light of the ruby
lamp. “It’s always been a mystery to me how you fellows can tell at a
glance whether a negative is a good or a poor one. The few I’ve handled
all looked pretty much alike to me. They all--why, hello! There doesn’t
seem to be anything on this plate. I can’t see a blessed line. Anything
wrong with it, old man?”

The Camera Chap smiled ruefully. “No, there’s nothing wrong with it at
all,” he said. “It’s a perfectly good plate--only, unfortunately, it’s
never been exposed.”

“Never been exposed?” Ridder repeated, too ignorant of photographic
terms to grasp immediately the full significance of this announcement.
“Do you mean that the picture is spoiled?”

“I mean that the picture was never there,” the Camera Chap replied.
“Something was wrong with the shutter of my camera. It couldn’t have
been open when I set off the flash light. Can you beat that for tough
luck?”

“Too bad,” the lieutenant murmured. “I guess the old man will be
disappointed when he hears this. I don’t know what this picture
business is all about, since neither of you has seen fit to take me
into the secret, but I gathered from the skipper’s manner that he
was dead anxious to get the snapshot.” He glanced at the Camera Chap
anxiously. “Does this mishap make much difference, old man? Can’t you
take the picture over again?”

The question brought a sardonic smile to the other’s face. “I suppose
that’s what I’ll have to do--take it over again,” he said presently,
the smile giving place to an expression of grim resolution.

Just then they were interrupted by a knock at the door. The two men
exchanged a questioning glance, and the Camera Chap’s hand went to his
coat pocket, and grasped the revolver it contained. Lieutenant Ridder’s
weapon was still in his hand.

But suddenly, as the knock was repeated, the Camera Chap’s face
relaxed, and his hand came empty out of his pocket. “Whoever it is, we
might as well let them come in,” he said, in an undertone to Ridder.
“There is no reason to keep them out, now.”

In a louder tone he demanded who was there, and there was a whispered
consultation outside before anybody replied.

“It is a friend. Open the door, Señor Hawley. I must see you
immediately,” somebody answered.

The Camera Chap laughed. “Wait a minute, friend,” he called, dragging
the furniture from the door.

As he turned the key in the lock, the door flew open, and Señor Lopez
stepped into the room. He was by no means alone. Behind him flocked a
dozen men, who wore the uniform of the army of Baracoa. Each of them
held a revolver in his right hand.

“There is your man,” Lopez cried dramatically pointing to Hawley.
Whereupon one of the soldiers, whose epaulets proclaimed him to be of
higher rank than the others, stepped up to the Camera Chap and pressed
the barrel of his weapon against his breast.

“I regret to have to inform you, señor, that you must accompany us at
once,” he said politely. “You are under arrest.”

Hawley laughed lightly. “This is so sudden,” he said. “Might I inquire,
gentlemen, the nature of the charge against me?”

“I think that Señor Hawley can guess the nature of the charge against
him,” Lopez sneered. “If not, however, he will be fully informed later.
Come, captain, hadn’t you better search the prisoner?”

Up to this point Lieutenant Ridder had stood as though spellbound. Now,
gun in hand, he stepped forward, contemptuously careless of the fact
that eleven revolvers were pointed his way.

“This man is an American citizen,” he exclaimed, ranging himself
alongside the Camera Chap. “You’re not going to take him away, and
you’re not going to search him, either. If you fellows are looking for
trouble----”

With a laugh the Camera Chap cut him short. “It’s no use, Ridder, old
man,” he said. “I guess you’ve got to let them take me. Put up that
gun. As an officer of the United States navy you can’t afford to mix up
with this little unpleasantness.”




CHAPTER XXVII. A SERIOUS SITUATION.


Virginia Throgmorton’s return from the fortress to the United States
legation was almost as comfortable a proceeding as if she had been
coming home from a social function. Captain Ernesto Reyes himself
escorted her in the launch to Puerto Cabero. The last train to the
capital had gone when they reached the station, but the gallant captain
knew where a fast automobile could be obtained, and, pressing it into
service, rode with her to the door of her home.

Captain Reyes’ manner toward her was very sympathetic. If he had any
suspicions of the part she had played in the Camera Chap’s adventure,
he did not betray them. Apparently he was completely deceived by the
ingenuous story which she had narrated in order to account for her
startling visit to the fortress.

This story, which was the Camera Chap’s invention, was true enough--as
far as it went. She explained that she had been out motor boating
in the bay with a young man, a friend from the United States. The
motor-boat trip had started out most delightfully, but just as the boat
arrived in the vicinity of the fortress, her companion had spoiled the
whole evening for her by suddenly falling or jumping overboard. What
had become of him she did not know. She feared that he might have been
killed by the harbor sharks. What had happened after that, Captain
Reyes knew as well as she did; screaming with terror, she had headed
the boat toward the fortress, and had fallen fainting into the arms of
the sentry.

When Captain Reyes and, later, the commandant of the garrison,
had asked her to tell the name of her man companion who had been
unfortunate enough to fall overboard, she declared, with a blush, that
she would rather not give that information, as the man was not in the
good graces of her father, and she feared that she would get into
trouble at home if the fact that she had been with him should come out.

Greatly to her astonishment, they had appeared to be satisfied with
this ingenuous explanation which she and Hawley had expected would
prove to be the weakest part of her story. The Camera Chap had
instructed her that if this evasion should prove ineffectual, and the
inquisitors should insist upon her telling the name of her escort, she
was finally to give them the information, since her refusal to do so
might get her into trouble. Virginia had secretly resolved to disregard
her ally’s instructions in this respect. She had made up her mind that
she would languish in a Baracoan dungeon for the rest of her days
before she would mention the Camera Chap’s name. But, fortunately, it
did not come to that. The commandant said courteously that he would
respect Miss Throgmorton’s wishes in the matter, and not force her to
make any revelations which were embarrassing to her.

Later on, Virginia learned the explanation of this astonishing
forbearance, but it did not occur to her, then, that the reason they
did not press her for the name of her companion might be that the name
was known to them already.

Expressing deep sympathy for her alarming experience, the gallant
commandant of El Torro had offered her refreshments, and then assigned
Captain Reyes to escort her home.

Early the next morning, Virginia sent a trusted messenger to the
Hotel Nacional, with a note for Hawley. The messenger was instructed
to bring back the note to her if the Camera Chap was not there. The
girl realized the imprudence of this act, but she felt that she must
know without delay what had become of the daring man of whose fate she
was in absolute ignorance. Half an hour later her messenger, an old
negro manservant, whom her father had brought with him from the United
States, and who had been in the service of the Throgmortons since
Virginia’s birth, returned to the embassy and handed back her note.

“He is not there?” she exclaimed. “Hasn’t he been back to the hotel
since last night?”

The old servant nodded. “Yes; he has been back, Miss Virginia; but he
is not there, now,” he whispered. “He has been arrested. The clerk
informed me that soldiers came to Mr. Hawley’s room late last night and
took him away to the arsenal.”

Virginia’s first sensation upon hearing this was one of intense relief.
The situation was bad enough, to be sure, but the thought of the
Camera Chap being in a prison cell was not nearly so disquieting as the
fear that he might have been drowned or killed.

“Arrested!” she cried. “On what charge, Uncle Peter?”

The old negro shook his head. “I couldn’t find out what they done
accuse him of, Miss Virginia,” he replied. “The clerk didn’t know.”

She did not have to wait long, however, to be informed on this point,
for just then Gale entered the room. He appeared to be greatly excited.

“Heard the news, Virginia?” he asked. “A friend of yours was arrested
last night.”

“A friend of mine?” the girl echoed, with an inflection of wonder. “Who
was that?”

The reporter grinned. “A young man named Frank Hawley, sometimes known
as the Camera Chap,” he announced. “From what I hear, he’s in pretty
bad.”

“Indeed!” Virginia exclaimed, arching her eyebrows. “What has he done?”

Gale’s grin broadened. “They accuse him of being a spy,” he declared.

“A spy!” cried the girl, with a nervous laugh. “Why, how perfectly
absurd. Surely he will have no difficulty in disproving that charge.”

“Think so?” the reporter rejoined, a vestige of a sneer in his tone.
“Well, I’m not so sure of that. It looks to me as if they’ve got
the goods on him. He went out to the fortress last night and took a
flash-light photograph of the fortifications. That’s a pretty serious
business.”

“Flash light of the fortifications!” Virginia cried impulsively. “Is
that what they think he was after?”

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, and
would have given a great deal to be able to recall them, as she
observed the astonished expression which came to the man’s face.

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded sharply. “Have you any reason
to think that he was after anything else?”

The girl shrugged her shoulders. “How should I know what he was after?”
she said indignantly. “What I meant was, that I scarcely thought it
possible that he would have gone there for that reason. Mr. Hawley
isn’t a spy; he is a newspaper man. It is much more logical to suppose
that if he took any picture at all, it was a photograph of the fortress
for publication in his paper.” A shade flitted across her face. “What
does he say?” she demanded, striving desperately to keep all trace of
anxiety out of her voice. “What explanation does he give?”

“That’s the queer part of it,” the reporter replied. “He won’t give
any explanation at all. They tell me that he’s as tight-mouthed as a
Wall Street magnate before a congressional investigation committee. To
all questions they put to him last night he replied that he refused to
answer, by advice of counsel. The idiot seems to take his arrest as a
joke.”

An expression of admiration came to Virginia’s pretty face. She
felt sure that she understood the reason for the Camera Chap’s
uncommunicative attitude. It was not with an idea of making things
easier for himself, she knew, that he had refused to answer their
questions. It was because he was determined to make no statement which
might lead Portiforo to suspect the truth, with disastrous results for
the unfortunate captive of El Torro.

“But, take it from me, he’ll soon find that it’s no joke,” Gale went
on, a malicious glint in his eyes. “He’ll be lucky if he gets off with
a prison sentence. The chances are that they’ll back him up against a
stone wall, with a handkerchief over his eyes and a firing squad in
front of him. That’s the treatment they generally hand out to spies.”

Virginia turned pale. “They wouldn’t dare do that!” she gasped. “Even
Portiforo would be afraid to go so far with a citizen of the United
States.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gale rejoined. “It’s been done before,
you know. When a man’s convicted of being a spy, they can do as they
please with him, and his government is powerless to interfere. That’s
international law. Surely you, the daughter of a diplomat, ought to
know that.”

Virginia did know that, and an expression of horror came to her
eyes. Then, suddenly, her face lighted up. “You are exaggerating
the situation, Mr. Gale,” she said, with a scornful laugh. “They
don’t shoot spies in times of peace. If you are such an authority on
international law, you ought to know that. It is only when there is war
that they adopt such stern measures.”

“Very true,” the reporter returned, with a grin. “But evidently, my
dear Virginia, you are not aware that the Republic of Baracoa happens
to be in a state of war at the present moment. I heard, this morning,
that Rodriguez, who broke out of jail the other day, reached the hills
yesterday, and raised the standard of revolt. And they accuse Hawley
of being mixed up with the revolutionary party. So you see, I am not
exaggerating the seriousness of his plight.”




CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PRISONER.


The soft-footed man with the wolflike smile, known as Señor Lopez, was
elated over the arrest of that adventurous man, the Camera Chap, and
warmly congratulated himself upon the stroke of luck which had enabled
him to bring it about so speedily, for it had been a mere coincidence
that he happened to be standing near the dock, earlier that evening,
when Hawley, accompanied by a young woman whom the spy immediately
recognized as the daughter of the American minister, approached the
water’s edge and furtively embarked in a motor boat.

His curiosity aroused, Lopez would have followed the pair, but was
prevented from doing so by his failure to obtain a craft in time;
so he had to content himself for the time being with speculating as
to the motive of this evidently secret expedition. At first he had
supposed that they were bound for the American warship, but later the
possibility that the fortress might be their goal had suggested itself
to his mind. As soon as this suspicion occurred to him he sent a note
to the commandant of the fortress warning him to keep a sharp lookout
for the pair; but by the time his messenger reached the fortress Hawley
had already been there, taken his snapshot, and escaped by throwing
himself into the sea.

Lopez’s note had arrived just as the commandant and Captain Reyes were
questioning Virginia as to the identity of her mysterious companion,
and it was for this reason that they had astonished the girl by their
apparent courtesy in not pressing her to give them the information they
desired.

When Lopez’s messenger returned to him with a brief reply from the
commandant stating what had occurred at the fortress, the spy decided
to wait at the dock in the hope that later on the snapshot adventurer
would return in one of the battleship’s launches; for he was shrewd
enough to suspect that Hawley’s motive in throwing himself into the sea
was to swim out to the _Kearsarge_.

Possessed of the patience of a cat, he would have waited there all
night if necessary, but such a display of endurance was not required
of him, for shortly afterward a gray launch dashed up to the pier and
two young men came ashore. Recognizing one of them as the man he was
waiting for, the spy trailed the pair to San Cristobal, and thence to
the Hotel Nacional. Then he hurried to the nearest barracks, provided
himself with a military escort, and returned to make the arrest.

After the soldiers had taken Hawley away Lopez spent some time in
making a thorough search of the latter’s room at the Hotel Nacional.
Then he went to the arsenal to have a talk with the prisoner.

The cell in which the Camera Chap was confined did not exactly measure
up to the standard of luxury of a first-class hotel. The floor was of
cement, hard and cold, and had every appearance of not having been
cleaned since the place was built. There was no furniture, save a rusty
iron cot which was attached to the wall. This couch, which was supposed
to serve both as bed and chair, was without pillow or mattress. If
the prisoner wished to sleep he would have to get used to stretching
himself on the unyielding iron slats. But these physical discomforts
did not appear to have a depressing effect upon the present occupant of
the dungeon, judging by the cheerful smile with which he greeted Lopez
when the latter stepped softly up to the bars.

“I suppose here’s where I get a chance to study at first-hand the
Baracoan method of administering the third degree,” he remarked
carelessly.

The visitor shrugged his shoulders. “I desire merely to ask Señor
Hawley a few questions,” he announced. “I hope for his sake that he
will find it convenient to answer them.”

“Well, you might submit a sample question,” the prisoner replied. “I’ll
be able to tell you better, then, what chance you stand of having your
curiosity satisfied.”

Lopez bowed. “To begin with, what have you done with the picture you
took to-night?”

“Why, it seems to me that you can answer that question yourself. I saw
you take the plate from the table and put it in your pocket before your
army took me out of the room.”

His visitor looked at him searchingly. “You refer to the plate that was
spoiled, señor? Was that the only snapshot you took?”

“It was, on my word of honor,” Hawley answered with intense
earnestness. He had no wish to evade this question; on the contrary he
was most anxious to have his interrogator know that there was no other
picture.

“And this spoiled plate--what does it represent? If Señor Hawley had
been successful with his camera what would the plate have shown?”

The Camera Chap smiled. “It seems to me that you’re asking a
hypothetical question,” he said. “Yes, decidely hypothetical.”

Lopez shrugged his expressive shoulders again. “It is Señor Hawley’s
privilege to answer or not as he sees fit, but,” he added, “I must warn
him that if he refuses to tell why he went to the fortress to-night we
shall be compelled to draw our own conclusions from his silence.”

“That’ll be all right,” Hawley rejoined cheerfully. “Have you any
objections to dropping me a hint as to what those conclusions may be?”

“Not the slightest. Unless the señor is prepared to give us an
explanation more favorable to himself we shall assume that he went
there to get photographs of the fortifications--that he is a spy in the
service of the insurrectos.”

“An insurrecto spy! Well, of all the----” the president’s photographic
envoy began. Then he abruptly cut himself short as the advantages of
having this interpretation placed upon his act suddenly occurred to
him--advantages to others, although possibly not to himself.

“And no doubt Señor Hawley is aware of what happens to those who are
convicted on that serious charge,” his visitor suggested quietly.

The prisoner imitated the other’s shrug. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll be
able to stand it,” he said optimistically. “I can’t truthfully say that
the accommodations of this hostelry are pleasant, but no doubt I shan’t
find them so bad after I get used to them.”

“I am afraid the señor is laboring under a slight misapprehension,” he
remarked. “In the event of his conviction he would have no chance to
get used to these accommodations. He would be tried under martial law,
and--under martial law a spy’s punishment is not imprisonment.”

The Camera Chap looked uncomfortable as he caught the significance of
this remark, but almost immediately he regained his composure. “Well,
you’ve got to convict me first,” he remarked confidently. “You can’t
hang a man on suspicion alone--at least, you can’t do it if that man
happens to be a citizen of the U. S. A. If you dare to convict me
without sufficient proof I venture to predict that something is going
to happen to Baracoa.”

The assurance with which he said this was not wholly feigned. While he
realized that in the event of his guilt being proven his government
would be powerless to protect him, he felt sure that Washington would
demand the strongest kind of proof before they would permit the
sentence to be carried out. And he had a shrewd suspicion that the
enemy had only a circumstantial case against him. He felt positive
that in the gloom it had been impossible for Captain Reyes or the
sentry to recognize him, so that unless Virginia Throgmorton had been
compelled to reveal his identity there was no direct evidence that it
was actually he who was the mysterious photographer who had visited El
Torro.

“Señor Hawley can rest assured that we shall be able to produce
sufficient proof of his guilt,” Lopez boasted. “To begin with, we can
show that he stands high in the confidence of the insurrectos.”

“Indeed!” the prisoner exclaimed, carefully weighing this statement.
“Might I inquire how you expect to prove that?”

“By the fact that he was in conference with one of their most active
leaders, the other day. I refer to the infamous Doctor Gaspard Bonsal.
I presume, señor, that you will not attempt to deny that you visited
him when I tell you that you were seen surreptitiously leaving his
house on the night of his arrest.”

In spite of himself the Camera Chap was unable to avoid a start of
astonishment, for until that moment the fact that his visit to the
venerable physician was known to the enemy had not entered his mind.

“If I was seen, how is it that I, too, was not arrested?” he demanded.

Once more there was a display of gestures and shrugs. “I believe there
is a saying in the señor’s own beautiful language to the effect that it
is sometimes advisable to give a rogue plenty of rope in order that he
may bring about his own hanging.”

“Who claims to have seen me?”

“I myself had that honor,” Lopez answered, with a bow.

“By Jove!” exclaimed the prisoner, with an ironical laugh, “you
certainly are the busy little man. Nothing seems to escape those eagle
eyes of yours. But, after all, the fact that you saw me leaving a
physician’s house doesn’t strike me as being very incriminating. How do
you know I didn’t go there to consult him professionally?”

“If Señor Hawley can prove that such was the case it would undoubtedly
be to his advantage,” Lopez responded. “But, of course, in that event,
his testimony would have to agree with that of the lady.”

“The lady?” A shade of anxiety flitted across the snapshot adventurer’s
face.

“I refer to the lady who came out of Doctor Bonsal’s house that night
with Señor Hawley and entered the automobile which was waiting for her
at the garden gate. Señora Felix was heavily veiled, but that disguise
was not sufficient to prevent me from recognizing her.”

Portiforo’s spy laughed maliciously at the prisoner’s evident
discomfiture. “And she is not the only fair witness we shall have at
the trial in the event of Señor Hawley’s insisting that he is not an
insurrecto spy,” he announced. “The government of Baracoa would regret
exceedingly having to put the daughter of the United States minister to
any inconvenience, but if Señor Hawley’s attitude makes the testimony
of these ladies necessary----”

“Their testimony won’t be necessary,” Hawley interrupted grimly.
“Whatever happens, we’ll leave the women entirely out of this business.”

Lopez bowed. “Señor Hawley has decided most chivalrously.” With this
remark, evidently well satisfied with the result of their conversation,
he turned on his heels and abruptly left the prisoner to his own
thoughts.

Those thoughts were not pleasant ones. For some time the president’s
photographic envoy sat on the edge of his iron cot, his hands
supporting his chin, reflecting moodily on the situation. He realized
that he was confronted by the most serious predicament of his career.
If he revealed the real motive of his expedition to the fortress, it
would, of course, clear him of the charge of being a revolutionary
spy. They couldn’t do much to an American newspaper photographer for
attempting to take a snapshot of a political prisoner. They would be
compelled to let him off with a slight punishment. But he had not the
slightest intention of making such a revelation. From the demeanor of
Lopez he had an uneasy suspicion that the truth was already known to
that perspicacious person, and that this threat of condemning him as a
spy had been made with the idea of forcing him to show his hand. Still,
there was a chance that he might be mistaken, that in spite of all that
had happened Portiforo and his fellow conspirators might still be under
the impression that their secret was safe, and while there was that
chance Hawley did not feel at liberty to betray the confidence of the
President of the United States and imperil the life of Felix in order
to save his own neck.

He realized that Lopez had not exaggerated the peril which he faced,
for he knew that under martial law, capital punishment is the fate of
a spy; and as Rodriguez, since his escape from prison, had fled to the
hills and started an incipient revolution, he believed that it was
under martial law that he would be tried. That his government would see
that he had a fair trial he felt confident, but as his lips were sealed
by this threat to call Virginia and Señora Felix as witnesses if he
sought to make his accusers prove their charge, he already looked upon
himself as doomed.

“I guess I’m up against it,” he mused grimly. “It looks as if friend
Portiforo holds all the trump cards.”




CHAPTER XXIX. A VAIN APPEAL.


Greatly alarmed by what Gale had told her concerning the Camera Chap’s
peril, Virginia lost no time in seeking an interview with her father.
She found the latter seated in his library engaged in the preparation
of a long dispatch to Washington. He looked up from his cipher code
with a frown as she entered.

“Some other time, my dear; I am exceedingly busy just now,” he
protested. “This dispatch has got to be sent off at once.”

“But I can’t wait,” the girl announced. “The business I want to talk
over with you is more important than what you are doing. Unless,”
she added, with a flash of intuition, “that telegram you are writing
concerns the arrest of Mr. Hawley.”

The United States minister swung around in his swivel chair and
regarded his daughter with surprise. “How on earth did you guess that?”
he demanded.

“Then it is about Mr. Hawley!” the girl exclaimed joyously. “You are
cabling the state department that you are going to get him out of
prison immediately?”

Minister Throgmorton shook his head. “On the contrary, my dear, I am
informing Washington that we can do nothing for him, except to make
sure that he gets a fair trial,” he said coldly. “The young man has
only himself to blame for his predicament. If he is guilty of the
serious offense with which he is charged--and I am given to understand
that the government of Baracoa has the strongest kind of a case against
him--he must suffer the consequences. The United States government
cannot afford to affront a friendly nation by acting in behalf of a
mercenary adventurer who has been caught red-handed as a spy for the
revolutionists.”

“But Mr. Hawley isn’t a mercenary adventurer,” Virginia protested. “Nor
is he a revolutionary spy. I happen to know that he----” She stopped
short, suddenly realizing the danger of completing what she had started
out to say. In her zeal to save her plucky friend, she had been about
to take her father into her confidence concerning the worthy mission
which had brought the snapshot wizard to Baracoa, but just in time she
recalled that she had made a promise to Hawley that, no matter what
happened, she would not give away his secret.

Observing her hesitancy, Throgmorton looked at her keenly. “You happen
to know that he is--what?” he demanded sharply.

“I happen to know that he is a newspaper man,” the girl replied
evasively.

“A _Sentinel_ man, you mean,” the diplomat rejoined tartly. “That
certainly is nothing in his favor. My own experience with that
sensational sheet has been quite sufficient to convince me that
everybody connected with it is capable of almost anything.”

Virginia’s blue eyes flashed indignantly. “And that is why you are
taking this attitude toward Mr. Hawley,” she said bitterly. “Just
because the paper he represents has been unkind to you in its
editorial columns you have made up your mind not to interfere in his
behalf. It is incredible to me, father, that you could be as small as
that.”

The diplomat frowned. “I think you forget yourself, my dear Virginia,”
he said with dignity. “Your insinuation is not only disrespectful, it
is preposterous. I hope that I am conscientious enough not to allow
my personal prejudices to influence me in the discharge of my duty.
By the way,” he added sharply, “might I inquire why you appear to be
so greatly interested in the fate of this spy? Surely it cannot be
possible that you number him among your friends?”

“I do,” the girl answered warmly. “He is the bravest, most unselfish
man I have ever met, and I am proud to be able to say that he is my
friend. And what’s more,” she added, a light of determination in her
blue eyes, “whether you will do anything for him or not, he’s not going
to be made the victim of Portiforo’s vengeance if I can help it.”

Her father’s frown deepened. “My dear child, you are talking most
intemperately. The object of your misplaced sympathy is not going to
be made the victim of anybody’s vengeance. You can rest assured, as
I said before, that he will have a fair and impartial trial. As the
representative of his country I shall see to that. And that is all that
he or any other fair-minded person could expect me to do for him.”

“It isn’t all,” the girl protested. “There needn’t be any trial at all
if you don’t wish it. You have sufficient personal influence with the
Portiforo administration to have him set free even though he were
guilty.”

Minister Throgmorton shrugged his shoulders. “I fear that you
overestimate my power, my dear,” he said deprecatingly. “However, even
if I had sufficient influence, I don’t think I should feel justified in
using it in that way. The prisoner’s demeanor is scarcely such as to
entitle him to clemency. His bearing toward the authorities is almost
defiant; and, as for his attitude toward me----”

Virginia interrupted him with an excited exclamation. “You have been to
see him?” she inquired eagerly.

“Yes; I called at the arsenal immediately after his arrest. I deemed it
my duty to interview him.” He paused, and an expression of annoyance
came to his face. “But I could get absolutely nothing out of him. The
fellow was almost contemptuous in his refusal to answer my questions.
No; I certainly shouldn’t feel like doing any more than my duty calls
for to help him.”

After some further pleading and argument, Virginia went out of the
room convinced that so far as her father was concerned the Camera Chap
was a doomed man. For a while she was in despair; then an idea came
to her which caused her to order the touring car and journey therein
to Puerto Cabero. Arrived at the seaport, she went down to the wharf
which the _Kearsarge’s_ launches were using for a landing. One of the
battleship’s graceful little fifty-footers had just come in with a
liberty party of jackies. Virginia addressed a natty young officer in
charge of the men. “Is this boat going right back to the battleship?”
she inquired.

“In a few minutes, miss. Do you wish to go?”

“If Captain Cortrell is there. I must see him immediately.”

The officer replied that she would find the commanding officer in his
cabin, and a few minutes later Virginia was speeding over the water
toward the big gray fighter. As she reached the warship’s side and
stepped to the main deck her hopes suddenly soared. The sight of the
guns protruding from the grim turrets, and the sturdy, white-jacketed
boys from her own land swarming over the decks, was decidedly
reassuring. Somehow, in spite of what her father had said, she could
not believe that the ruler of a “fussy little banana republic”--as
she was wont to refer contemptuously to Baracoa--would dare to go to
extreme lengths with a citizen of a country powerful enough to own such
engines of destruction as this.

When the officer of the deck learned her identity he conducted her at
once to the commanding officer’s cabin. Captain Cortrell had already
met her at the embassy when he had called there to pay his respects to
her father. The smile which came now to his weather-beaten countenance
betokened how delighted he was to renew the acquaintance; for grim old
sea dog though he was, he was always glad to see a pretty face aboard
his vessel, especially when that pretty face belonged to one of his own
countrywomen. His smile abruptly disappeared, however, when he learned
the object of Virginia’s visit, and he shook his grizzled head sadly.

“I regret to say, Miss Throgmorton, that I am powerless to do anything.
I sympathize greatly with Mr. Hawley, and, unofficially, would do
anything in my power to help him, but you must realize that officially
my hands are tied.”

“I don’t realize anything of the sort!” Virginia cried impetuously. “If
you were to go to Portiforo and tell him that unless he releases your
countryman immediately the _Kearsarge’s_ guns will wipe Baracoa off the
map, I am confident that he would be impressed.”

Captain Cortrell received this suggestion with a laugh, but that the
girl had struck a responsive chord within him was evident by the glint
which came to his eyes. “I don’t mind admitting that such a step is
exactly the one I’d like to take,” he confided to her. “But, of course,
it is quite out of the question. You must see that. Your father is in
command of the situation here. I could not presume to go over the head
of the United States minister.”

“This is no time for red tape,” the girl protested. “What does it
matter whose head you go over when the life of a brave man is in
danger?” Her voice suddenly became softly coaxing. “I feel sure you,
too, are a brave man, Captain Cortrell. Why not take the chance? Other
American commanders have taken chances.”

The naval officer cut her short with another laugh. “I hate to forfeit
your good opinion, Miss Throgmorton,” he said dryly, “but I am
afraid I can’t let you tempt me to be guilty of such a gross breach
of discipline. Why not try that line of argument on your father?” he
suggested. “I will promise you this much--if you can persuade him to
make a formal request to me to take steps to bring about Mr. Hawley’s
release, I will proceed to take whatever action may be necessary,
immediately, without waiting to hear from Washington.”

Virginia shook her head. “I know my father’s disposition too well to
have any hope of being able to change his mind once it is made up,”
she said. Then, suddenly her face brightened. “Well, anyway, I suppose
it won’t do any harm to try,” she exclaimed. Without telling Captain
Cortrell of the new idea which had come to her, she hurried from the
warship and back to San Cristobal.




CHAPTER XXX. LOYAL FRIENDS.


Minister Throgmorton was still in his library when Virginia returned.
He had sent his report to Washington and had just received a reply. He
was in the act of opening this dispatch when his daughter entered the
room.

“Father, are you aware that Mr. Hawley was not alone when he went to
take the snapshot at the fortress last night?” she began abruptly.

The diplomat nodded. “I am informed that he had a woman confederate
with him. But, really, my dear girl----”

“You have been correctly informed,” Virginia quickly interrupted. “But
did they tell you who the woman was?”

Her father looked at her searchingly. “No, they did not. Do you know?”

“I do; and I think that you ought to know, too, before you fully make
up your mind that it will be impossible to use your influence with
the government to prevent this case from coming to trial. Surely you
wouldn’t want your own daughter to be convicted as accessory before the
fact?”

“My own daughter! Why, what do you mean? It can’t be possible that
you----” He stopped short, and a look of alarm came to his face.

“Yes; it was I,” the girl announced, her voice as calm as if she had
been telling him of a visit to her milliner. “I accompanied Mr. Hawley
to the fortress last night, and helped him to get his snapshot. You
might as well hear the truth now, for you are bound to learn it later
on when I am brought to trial. For,” she added, with determination,
“I have fully decided that I must confess my part in the adventure.
It would not be honorable for me to remain silent and let Mr. Hawley
suffer alone, when I am fully as guilty as he.”

Her father smiled incredulously. “I hate to doubt your word, Virginia,
but I am inclined to believe that you are inventing this story in the
vain hope of frightening me into helping the rascal.”

“If you doubt me,” said Virginia indignantly, “you have only to make
inquiries at the fortress. Ask the commandant, or Captain Reyes; they
can tell you that I was there. I told them a story which threw them
off the track as to my part in the adventure and caused them to let me
go, but when they hear my confession they will have no doubt as to its
truth.”

A troubled expression came to the minister’s face. He got up and paced
the room in agitation. “What made you do it?” he demanded presently.
“What motive could you have for assisting this spy?”

Virginia shrugged her shoulders. “He couldn’t get his snapshot without
an assistant, so I volunteered my services. The excitement of the
adventure appealed to me. Things have been so slow around here lately.”

Her father scowled. “Do you realize the position you have put me in?”
he exclaimed angrily. “The daughter of the United States minister
mixed up in a conspiracy against the government of a friendly power! It
is intolerable. It is liable to cause international complications. It
may result in my recall.”

“It needn’t do either of these things, if only you could see your way
to do as I have suggested--use your influence with the government here
to have Mr. Hawley set free without a trial. I’m sure everything will
be all right so far as I am concerned.”

Minister Throgmorton scowled again. “That is quite out of the
question,” he began. Then he happened to glance at the cablegram in his
hand which he had been about to read when his daughter had interrupted
him. The message, which was in cipher, was very brief. Translated it
read as follows:

  “You must make every fair and legitimate effort, at your discretion,
  to obtain Hawley’s release.”

The United States representative did not have to consult his code book
for the identification of the name which was signed to the message. He
knew that it was the personal cipher of the President of the United
States.

As he was working out the translation his daughter took a step toward
the door. With an intuitive apprehension of her purpose he looked up
from his desk. “Where are you going, Virginia?” he asked uneasily.

“To give myself up to the authorities,” the girl answered, a resolute
tilt to her chin. “I have fully made up my mind that if Mr. Hawley is
going to suffer I am going to share his punishment with him.”

“You are going to do nothing of the sort,” her harassed parent declared
peremptorily. He got up from his chair and took his hat and cane. “Wait
here,” he commanded. “I am going out for a little while. I forbid you
to leave the house until I return.”

“Very well, father,” the girl meekly assented. Her blue eyes twinkled
as she spoke. Something about the envoy’s manner caused her to believe
that she could guess his destination.

A few minutes after he had gone a young man visited the embassy. He
wore the uniform of a lieutenant of the United States navy. He wore
also an exceedingly perturbed expression. From the card which the
servant brought, Virginia learned that the visitor’s name was Ridder,
and that he was attached to the battleship _Kearsarge_. The servant
announced that the young man desired an audience with the United States
minister, but the girl, hoping that his business might have something
to do with the Camera Chap, ordered that he be shown into the library.

“My father is not in just now,” she announced. “Is there anything I can
do for you?”

“I’m afraid, not,” Lieutenant Ridder replied. “I have come to see your
father about a friend of mine who was arrested last night.”

“Mr. Hawley?”

“Yes; do you know if anything is being done for him? I am anxious to
know whether my telegram has already brought results.”

“Your telegram?” Virginia exclaimed with eager curiosity.

“Last night when a mob of chocolate soldiers marched into the hotel and
arrested my friend,” the naval officer explained, “I sent a dispatch to
the managing editor of the New York _Sentinel_, notifying him of what
had happened. I figured that he might have a pull with Washington.”

“What a clever idea!” exclaimed Virginia, looking at him admiringly.
“That scheme never even entered my mind. Did you get a reply?”

“Yes; he assured me that he will do everything in his power to stir
up Washington. I was in hopes that he might have succeeded in getting
the state department to send word to Minister Throgmorton to demand
Hawley’s release.”

“My father received an official dispatch a short time ago,” Virginia
informed him, “but of course I don’t know what it contained. Are you a
very great friend of Mr. Hawley’s?” she inquired.

Lieutenant Ridder smiled. “Well, that depends on what you mean by
friend. We’ve only met a few times, but--well, you see, he saved my
life once. That was the first time we met. A gang of toughs had me down
and pretty nearly out. They would have finished me, I guess, if Hawley
hadn’t come along. There were at least six of them, but he sailed into
the bunch and routed them all. He’s the gamest, whitest chap I’ve ever
met, and now that he’s in trouble I’d go the limit to help him.”

Virginia regarded him with interest. “I wonder just how far you really
would go,” she said, a challenge in her tone. “If all other measures
failed, would you be willing to land a rescue party to the jail and get
him out by force?”

The naval officer smiled sheepishly. “Are you a mind reader, Miss
Throgmorton? Ever since last night,” he confided to her, “I’ve been
figuring whether that very thing couldn’t be done, if things should
come to a pinch. I know I could pick out at least a dozen men on the
_Kearsarge_ who would be eager to help me. The only difficulty is that
if I took them in on the scheme it would get them into trouble.”

“It would get you into trouble, too,” the girl reminded him. “I am
afraid that, at the very least, it would cost you your commission.”

Ridder smiled. “Possibly it would,” he said simply, “but--well, didn’t
Hawley risk more than that when he sailed into that bunch down in
Chinatown and saved me from being beaten to death? As I said before,
I’m willing to go the limit to help him.”

“I feel sure that you would,” said Virginia, noting with admiration the
breadth of his shoulders and the strong set of his jaw. “Mr. Hawley is
indeed fortunate to have such a loyal friend so near at hand. Let us
hope, however,” she added, “that such desperate measures will not be
necessary. I have an idea, Mr. Ridder, that my father has gone now to
the national palace to interview President Portiforo on behalf of our
friend. When he returns he may have good news for us.”




CHAPTER XXXI. PORTIFORO’S WAY.


As he told Virginia, Minister Throgmorton had been to the arsenal early
that morning to talk with the Camera Chap, but the interview was brief.
Finding the prisoner evasive and uncommunicative, the United States
representative had left in a rage, mistaking Hawley’s attitude for
brazen indifference to his fate.

With the exception of this visitor and Lopez, the prisoner was
permitted to receive no callers. Lieutenant Ridder, who had visited
the arsenal shortly after his friend’s arrest and demanded to see him,
was politely but firmly informed that, according to the rules and
regulations, Señor Hawley, by the nature of the charge against him, was
strictly denied visitors, and although the naval officer resorted to
both pleading and threats, he was unable to change this decision.

Although Hawley was by no means an unsociable man, he was glad that
this rule was in force, for ever since his arrest he had feared that
Virginia Throgmorton might be indiscreet enough to come to see him.
Even as it was, knowing the girl’s loyal and impulsive nature, he was
afraid that she might manage, by the use of her father’s influence, to
obtain the necessary permission to visit him. Such an interview, he
felt sure, would be disastrous, for he had no doubt that every word
that passed between them would be eagerly listened to by Portiforo’s
spies.

Consequently, when late that afternoon he heard footsteps in the
cement-walled courtyard upon which the door of his dungeon opened,
and, peering through the bars, caught sight of the figure of a woman
approaching his cell, his heart skipped a couple of beats. The woman,
who was flanked on either side by a uniformed official, wore a heavy
veil, but as she drew near she threw aside this covering, and an
involuntary exclamation of dismay escaped from the Camera Chap’s lips
as he caught sight of her features.

The visitor was not Virginia. Recognizing that pathetic, haggard face
at first glance, the prisoner would have been relieved at that moment
to have seen the daughter of the United States minister standing there
in her place; for if Virginia’s visit to the jail would have been an
unwise step, the presence of this woman was a hundred times more so. He
marveled at the madness which had caused Señora Felix to come to see
him--for he supposed at first that it was on his account that she was
there.

Greatly to his surprise and relief, however, the señora and her
companions passed his cell without even a glance at him. As she went
by he observed that tears were streaming down her cheeks and that her
frail form was trembling with emotion.

They halted at a cell on the same tier, a few yards away, and the two
officials withdrew a short distance, leaving the woman to talk with
its occupant through the bars. The Camera Chap could not see her now,
but he heard her burst suddenly into a fit of violent sobbing. Then
he heard a man say soothingly: “Courage, señora! I entreat you to be
calm, my dear friend. Surely you who have faced all your tribulations
with such sublime bravery are not going to break down now.”

At the sound of that patient, softly modulated voice, Hawley gave a
start of surprise. He felt positive that he recognized it as the voice
of Doctor Gaspard Bonsal. Until that moment he had been unaware of
the identity of any of his fellow captives, and the possibility that
the venerable physician might be confined in the arsenal jail had not
occurred to him, for he had heard that he had been sent to El Torro.

Although, under other circumstances, he would have been averse to
playing the rôle of eavesdropper, he could not help now straining his
ears in an effort to catch the conversation which passed between the
señora and her devoted old friend, for he had an uneasy suspicion of
what her visit and her great grief portended. They spoke mostly in such
low tones that what they said did not reach him, but once Doctor Bonsal
unconsciously raised his voice, and the Camera Chap heard him say.
“I am old, my child, and what happens to me does not matter. We must
accept the situation with philosophy.”

“If only I could do something,” the woman sobbed. “I have been to
Portiforo and pleaded with him, but it was no use. He would not listen.
That tyrant----”

She stopped short at a remonstrance from the physician, spoken in a
voice so low that Hawley could not catch the words. Almost immediately
after that the two officials stepped up to the señora and gruffly
informed her that it was time for her to withdraw. The Camera Chap
heard her plead with them to be allowed to have a few more words with
the prisoner, but the request was refused, and, sobbing violently, she
was literally dragged from in front of the barred door.

The next morning Hawley’s fears for the old physician were confirmed
in a startling manner. At sunrise the tramp of many feet resounded on
the stone floor of the courtyard, and he heard a hoarse voice exclaim:
“_Adelante!_” Knowing that this order was the Spanish equivalent for
“Forward, march!” he was not surprised, upon jumping from his bed and
gazing through the bars, to see a file of soldiers in the courtyard.
There were about twenty of them. At the command of the officer they
ranged themselves at one end of the yard and stood at attention, as
unconcerned as though they had come there to perform their usual
morning drill. Presently Hawley heard voices to the right of his cell.
“Are you ready?” somebody asked. Then, in a voice which thrilled the
listener, Doctor Bonsal answered unfalteringly: “I am ready.”

A gate creaked on its hinges, and the venerable prisoner, his head held
high, his shoulders squared, walked past the Camera Chap’s door, an
army officer in dress uniform on each side of him.

Like a man in a dream, the snapshot adventurer gazed upon the scene
that followed. He saw the officers place their victim with his back
to the cement wall of the courtyard, and tie a handkerchief over his
eyes. He saw them step back, and heard one of them give an order which
caused the long line of gleaming rifle barrels at the other end of the
yard to rise with a precision that seemed almost automatic. In another
minute the tragedy was over, and in ten minutes the courtyard was
clear, and the routine of the prison was resumed.

Hawley was horrified at what he had witnessed, but his predominant
emotion was one of violent rage. “If ever I get out of here,” he
murmured, “I’ll make Portiforo pay for this.” Then he smiled grimly
as the thought came to him that instead of getting out, the chances
were that before long he himself would be in the same position as the
ill-fated Doctor Bonsal.

Presently two men came to his cell and threw open the door. “Señor,”
one of them said politely, “we must request you to be good enough to
accompany us.”




CHAPTER XXXII. OLD SCORES.


Since the publication in the New York _Daily News_ of the letters of
the missing President Felix to his wife, Gale had stood high in the
favor of Portiforo. The latter had sent for the reporter and assured
him of his deep appreciation of the service he had rendered the
government of Baracoa by disposing so effectively of the unpleasant
rumors concerning Felix, the circulation of which had been a source of
distress to him, Portiforo, and the high-minded patriotic gentlemen
connected with his administration. Incidentally he had told Gale that
the latchstring of the national palace was at all times out for him.

On the day that he learned of the Camera Chap’s arrest, Gale decided
to take advantage of this standing invitation. He deemed it his duty
to have a chat with the president concerning the prisoner. He found
Portiforo not at all unwilling to talk on that subject.

“In fact, Señor Gale, if you had not come, I was about to send for
you for that very purpose,” said the president, when his visitor had
made known the object of his call. “I am desirous of getting some
information about that misguided young man, and since you and he are
members of the same profession, you ought to be able to tell me what
I want to know. I am informed,” he went on, somewhat anxiously, “that
this man Hawley is quite a big figure in American journalism--a sort of
a celebrity.”

Gale laughed disdainfully. “I don’t know where you could have got hold
of that idea, Señor Presidente. A celebrity, eh? Well, that’s pretty
good!”

He spoke with malicious emphasis, for he believed that he understood
his questioner’s motive in seeking to ascertain the status of the
Camera Chap in the newspaper world. If he was convinced that Hawley was
a man of prominence in his own country he would probably hesitate to go
to extremes with him for fear of bringing upon himself the wrath of the
American people. If, on the other hand, he was led to believe that the
prisoner was a person of no great importance, the latter was likely to
receive scant consideration from him.

Realizing that here was an opportunity to settle old scores with his
rival, Gale eagerly availed himself of it. “You can take it from me,
Señor Presidente,” he declared, “that Hawley is nothing but a plain,
ordinary camera man, and in the newspaper business camera men don’t
rank very high. We reporters rather look down on them.”

The president looked surprised. “Then it isn’t true that he gets an
enormous salary, and that his brilliant exploits have made him so
famous that even the President of the United States has been known
to employ his services in diplomatic work?” As Portiforo asked the
question he looked keenly at the reporter.

“Certainly not,” the latter answered. “Who’s been filling you up with
such trash as that? The President of the United States doesn’t employ
newspaper men for diplomatic work,” he added, unaware of the good turn
he was really doing the man he desired to injure. “There are lots of
secret-service men who understand how to use a camera. If the president
required any photographic work of a diplomatic nature, he’d employ one
of them, of course.”

Portiforo was considerably impressed by the logic of this argument. For
a few seconds he puffed reflectively on his cigar. “Do you happen to
know, Señor Gale, why Hawley came to Baracoa?” he inquired suddenly.
“The real reason, I mean. Did anybody send him, or did he come here of
his own accord?”

It was on the tip of the reporter’s tongue to tell his questioner the
truth about Hawley’s mission so far as he knew it, for he realized
that such information was not likely to prejudice Portiforo in the
prisoner’s favor. But fortunately for the cause for which his rival
had made such sacrifices, he did not yield to this impulse. On second
thought he decided that more was to be gained by supporting the
accusation that the Camera Chap was an insurrecto spy.

“Yes, I do happen to know why he came to Baracoa, Señor Presidente,” he
answered. “He came here of his own accord to help the revolutionists.
He made no secret of his purpose in New York. He boasted to several of
the men on Park Row of his friendship for that rascal Rodriguez. He
said that there was going to be a revolution in Baracoa and that he was
going to help things along with his camera. You are aware, of course,
that he and Rodriguez left New York together and arrived here on the
same boat?”

Portiforo nodded. “Yes; that significant fact naturally did not escape
our notice. Still----” he paused, and a puzzled frown darkened his
beefy countenance--“what you have told me is most interesting, Señor
Gale,” he said, leaving unspoken the thought that had been in his mind.
“I am deeply indebted to you for the information you have given. It has
enabled me to decide what course I shall pursue regarding that wretched
young man.”

“I am glad of that,” said the reporter, a glint in his eyes. “You can
go as far as you like with him, Señor Presidente, without any fear of
angering the government of my country.”

The president smiled sardonically. “It seems to me, my dear friend,
that you are not exactly fond of your countryman.”

“I must admit that I haven’t any use for him,” the other responded.
“But I am not alone in my prejudice. Every self-respecting newspaper
man in New York who has had dealing with the fellow feels the same way
about him. We regard him as one of the black sheep of our profession.”

Portiforo appeared pleased to hear this. “If that is the way your
brother journalists regard him I presume that his fate will not cause a
great outcry from the press which is so influential in your country?”

“Of course it won’t,” the newspaper man eagerly assured him. “The scamp
has been mixed up in so many shady transactions that we’ve all been
expecting to see him come to a bad end. Of course, you must expect
that his own paper, the _Sentinel_, will try to stir up a fuss about
him; but, then, nobody pays any attention to what that sensational
sheet says or does.”

Portiforo expressed surprise at this. “I had been under the impression
that the New York _Sentinel_ was one of the most influential journals
in the United States,” he said.

“You have been misinformed,” Gale returned. “It has a fair-sized
circulation, but its readers consist mostly of the more unintelligent
classes.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You can take it from me,
Señor Presidente, that if that rascally camera man gets his deserts the
better portion of our press will heartily approve of what you have done
as soon as the facts become known. And I shall make it my business to
see that the facts are known,” he added significantly. “I am returning
to the United States on next Wednesday’s boat--my editor has sent me
word that he positively cannot get along without me any longer--and
when I get to New York it will give me great pleasure to combat with
my pen any adverse sentiment which the _Sentinel_ may try to create
against your government.”

“That is most kind of you, my dear Señor Gale,” the president declared
gratefully. “You are indeed a true friend of Baracoa. With such a
distinguished journalist enlisted on the side of truth I have no fear
of being misunderstood by the people of your great nation.”

He slipped from one of his pudgy fingers a massive gold ring set with
a huge diamond. “Since you are about to leave us,” he said, handing the
piece of jewelry to his visitor, “I beg you to accept this as a small
token of my esteem and gratitude.”

Gale left the palace well satisfied with the result of his visit.
“Guess the boys on Park Row will think this is pretty poor.” He
chuckled, gazing at the gem which glistened on his finger with all
the pleasure of a woman. But what pleased him much more than the
president’s valuable gift was the thought of what influence his
conversation with Portiforo was likely to have upon the fate of the man
whom he hated more than anybody else in the world. “I rather think I’ve
settled Frank Hawley’s hash,” he told himself delightedly.

Shortly after Gale’s departure from the palace, Minister Throgmorton
arrived, and was closeted with the president for over an hour. The
interview was at times a stormy one. It was as a result of that
conference that the Camera Chap, the next morning, was visited by two
men who threw open the door of his cell and bade him accompany them.




CHAPTER XXXIII. AT THE PALACE.


Hawley believed that almost anything outrageous was possible after the
terrible scene he had witnessed in the courtyard of the jail, and he
accompanied his own visitors with some misgivings, which, however, he
took pains to conceal from them.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, with well-simulated carelessness, as
they invited him to enter an automobile with a closed top which was
standing outside the jail, “I’d like to know where you’re taking me?
I’m naturally of a rather curious disposition.”

“To the national palace, señor,” one of the men answered. “The
president sent us for you.”

The prisoner’s face grew grim. He thought he could guess the reason
for this summons. Disappointed at Lopez’s inability to get the truth
about the snapshot expedition, Portiforo was going to try his own skill
as a cross-examiner. The Camera Chap had no doubt that the president
of Baracoa was a past master at the gentle art of administering the
third degree, but he was fully resolved that if Portiforo hoped to get
anything out of him he was going to be greatly disappointed.

Arriving at the palace in a decidedly belligerent mood, which was
intensified by his contempt for the man of whose brutality he had
just had such startling evidence, he was somewhat astonished by the
graciousness with which he was received. Portiforo was seated in
the audience chamber, a large room furnished in massive mahogany and
hung with rich Oriental draperies. Near the president sat Minister
Throgmorton, whose scowling face was in sharp contrast to the smile
which illuminated the former’s rubicund countenance. The only other
person present was a dark-skinned young man who sat at a big writing
table in the center of the room, chewing the end of a pencil, with a
stenographer’s notebook before him.

“So this is Señor Hawley,” Portiforo began quizzically, when the
Camera Chap’s two guides had conducted him to a position in front of
the massive, thronelike chair in which the first gentleman of Baracoa
lolled. “So this is the adventurous young man whose discretion, I fear,
is not always as great as his valor.”

To this the prisoner did not deem it worth while to make any reply. He
merely looked straight into the tyrant’s beady eyes, his muscles tense,
his mouth set in a straight line.

“I am always glad to gaze upon genius,” Portiforo continued, without a
vestige of irony in his tone, “and I am informed, Señor Hawley, that
you are such a great man in your line that even the President of the
United States has honored you by providing work for your camera.”

Grasping the significance of this question, and conscious of the fact
that the other’s gaze was riveted searchingly upon his face, Hawley
was keenly on his guard. “I have had the honor of photographing the
President of the United States, if that is what you mean,” he replied
coldly.

His evident miscomprehension of the question seemed to please Portiforo.

“No; that was not quite what I meant,” the latter said, after a slight
pause. “However, we will let it go at that. I presume, señor,” he
continued, “you are wondering why I sent for you?”

The Camera Chap shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps you are in hopes that this summons may mean that, in spite of
the seriousness of your offense, you are to receive mercy?”

“Mercy!” Hawley exclaimed, with an ironical laugh. “No, I scarcely
expect that, sir--after the scene I witnessed in the prison yard this
morning. I hardly think you know what mercy means.”

Minister Throgmorton’s scowl deepened, but the president’s face did
not lose its smile as he turned to the stenographer at the table, who
had already started to make a record of the conversation. “I don’t
think you need put that down, Garcia,” he said good-humoredly. “I feel
confident that Señor Hawley will wish to withdraw that remark later on.”

He addressed himself once more to the man before him. “I presume,
señor, you refer to the execution of the traitor Bonsal. That was
indeed a sad affair, and I regret that you should have been compelled
to behold it. I think, however, that you are unjust in calling it
an outrage. The unhappy man met only his just deserts. He was found
guilty, after a fair trial, of conspiring against the government of
his adopted country. His fate was the fate which all traitors must
expect.” His small eyes twinkled. “Perhaps, however, you will change
your mind about my ignorance of the meaning of the word mercy,” he said
dryly, “when I tell you that, in spite of the seriousness of your own
offense, I have decided to let you go free.”

The Camera Chap gave a start of surprise.

“The worthy representative of your country here,” Portiforo continued,
with a bow in the direction of the envoy, “has been kind enough to
exert his personal influence in your behalf. While he fully agrees with
me that officially he has absolutely no rights in the matter--that the
nature of your crime puts you outside the protection of your government
and permits us to do with you as we see fit, my esteem for Señor
Throgmorton is so great that I have decided to grant his request to set
you free, since he has asked it of me as a personal favor to him.”

The prisoner, scarcely able to believe that what he heard was true,
turned with a grateful smile to the American diplomat. “This is very
good of you, sir,” he began.

Minister Throgmorton silenced him with a curt gesture. “You can spare
me your thanks,” he said, his face still maintaining its frozen
expression. “I want you to understand clearly that my intercession is
not prompted by any sympathy for you. On the contrary, I feel that
whatever sentence the court might see fit to pass upon you would be no
more than you richly deserve. I consider you, sir, a disgrace to your
country and to the honorable profession which has the misfortune to
number you among its members. My action in procuring your pardon is due
entirely to--er--to other reasons.”

The president smiled appreciatively, and his glance, wandering over to
the table, noted that the official stenographer was taking down every
word of this caustic speech.

“You will observe, Señor Hawley,” he remarked pointedly, “that were
your own countryman in my place, you could scarcely expect to receive
the leniency which I am showing you. Perhaps, now, you are ready to
withdraw the intemperate remark you made a little while ago about my
mercy?”

The Camera Chap smiled shrewdly. “I think I had better wait until I
have heard the conditions on which I am to get my release. I suppose
there will be conditions?”

“The only condition,” said Portiforo, frowning at this cold response,
“is that you get out of this country immediately. We will give you
until to-morrow. There is a boat leaving for New York in the morning.
If you are caught on Baracoan soil after that--well, what you saw take
place in the prison yard this morning ought to give you a graphic idea
of what you will have to expect.”

Hawley opened his mouth as though about to say something, but changed
his mind and merely bowed.

“And I warn you that next time,” said Minister Throgmorton sharply, “if
you expect any help from me you are going to be disappointed.”

Portiforo chuckled. “I feel confident that there isn’t going to be any
next time, eh, Mr. Hawley? As a man of common sense, you are no doubt
fully convinced of the inadvisability of doing any more camera work in
Baracoa.”

“Could I stay if I were to give you my word that I wouldn’t use my
camera while in this country?” the snapshot adventurer inquired.

The president grinned and shook his head. “Señor Hawley is such a great
camera enthusiast that we should have cause to fear that he might be
tempted to forget such a promise,” he said dryly. “No; greatly as I
regret having to be so inhospitable, we must insist upon your leaving
Baracoa.”

The Camera Chap bowed. “Very well, sir; I shall sail on to-morrow’s
boat,” he said. His air was so much like that of one who feels that
he is driving a hard bargain, that Minister Throgmorton commented
upon it angrily. “Anybody would think that you weren’t satisfied!”
he exclaimed. “You are without exception the most impertinent and
ungrateful fellow I have ever met.”

“I am sorry if I appear that way,” Hawley responded simply. “I assure
you, sir, that I am not ungrateful to you and Señor Portiforo for this
unexpected clemency.”

The president chuckled. “There is one other person to whom you are
indebted for your good fortune,” he announced dryly.

“Who is that?”

“Your brother journalist, Señor Gale. He was here yesterday to see me
concerning you.”

“To intercede for me?” Hawley exclaimed, scarcely able to conceal his
astonishment.

Portiforo smiled. “He gave me some information concerning you which had
a great influence upon me,” he said vaguely. “In fact, if it had not
been for the arguments he advanced, I don’t think I should have decided
to grant you freedom, even to oblige my dear friend Señor Throgmorton.”




CHAPTER XXXIV. BLUE SPECTACLES.


When Gale told Virginia Throgmorton that he had a cablegram from
his office asking him to return to New York and report for duty
immediately, the girl received the tidings with an equanimity which was
not at all flattering to his pride.

“Won’t you be sorry to see me go?” he queried. Although his host’s
pretty daughter had taken no pains to conceal her dislike for him, his
egotism was so strong that he found it difficult to believe that he
really was not in her good graces.

“I think I shall be able to survive the blow,” Virginia answered
lightly.

The reporter frowned. “You didn’t feel that way about me when I first
came here, Virginia,” he said reproachfully. “You and I got along
together famously at first. It was only when that scamp Hawley first
showed his face in San Cristobal that I began to lose my pull with you.”

Virginia gave him a scornful glance. “Mr. Hawley isn’t a scamp,” she
replied indignantly. “And he didn’t have anything to do with your
losing your pull with me, as you term it. I had already found you out
before he arrived.”

“Well, it’s a mystery to me why you seem to be so strong for that
fellow,” Gale protested, ignoring the last part of her remark. “I
should think, after the trick he played you with those Felix letters,
you wouldn’t have any use for him.”

The girl stared at him wonderingly. “Have you the effrontery to keep on
claiming that Mr. Hawley stole those letters from my desk, when they
appeared in your own paper!” she exclaimed.

“That’s easily explained,” he rejoined coolly. “He sold the letters
to my paper. He didn’t dare sell them to his own, for fear that if he
did the crime would be traced straight to him. A fellow with as little
conscience as he has wouldn’t hesitate to scoop his own sheet in order
to make a few dollars. If you don’t think he was the thief,” he added
audaciously, “who do you suppose was?”

“If I wished to name the thief, I feel confident that I could do so,”
Virginia returned disdainfully.

Gale’s expression was one of injured innocence. “From your tone, I
almost think that you suspect me,” he said. “That’s pretty tough,
Virginia--giving that crook the benefit of the doubt in preference to
me. Since you persist in being so cruel,” he went on plaintively, “I
am almost glad to go back to New York. Without your friendship, San
Cristobal is a dull burg.” His eyes gleamed spitefully. “My only regret
at having to leave Baracoa at this time is that I shan’t be here to see
that rascally Camera Chap stood up in front of a firing squad.”

With this kindly remark he went out to see about booking his passage
home. As he drew near the steamship office he received the greatest
surprise of his life. Two men were just coming out of the place.
One of them wore the uniform of a lieutenant in the United States
navy. The other, who was in civilian garb, was a tall, slim young man
whose pale face offered a striking contrast to his companion’s ruddy
countenance. Gale stared at the latter with as much amazement as if he
had been gazing upon a ghost, and his surprise was not diminished when
the tall man, recognizing him, came eagerly toward him with his hand
outstretched and a smile upon his lips.

“I want to thank you, old man, for what you’ve done for me,” he said
warmly.

“Thank you!” the reporter couldn’t help exclaiming blankly.

“I understand that it is largely to you that I owe my freedom. It was
mighty white of you, Gale, to go to Portiforo on my behalf. I shan’t
forget it in a hurry.”

Gale felt somewhat uncomfortable, suspecting that what he heard must be
irony. But there was no mistaking the sincerity of the other’s manner,
and, as soon as he was convinced of this, the _News_ man grasped the
outstretched hand with well-simulated cordiality. He was greatly
puzzled by this queer situation, but, possessing remarkable rallying
powers, he quickly recovered his self-possession. “Don’t mention it,
Hawley, old fellow,” he said, “I am glad to see you free. Who told you
that I had a hand in getting you out?” he inquired, his manner implying
that he would greatly have preferred to have his good act shrouded in
anonymity.

“Portiforo told me,” was the amazing answer.

“The deuce!” Gale muttered. “I can’t understand why he should have told
you that?”

“Isn’t it true?” the other exclaimed, in an astonished tone.

The reporter smiled. “Oh, yes; it’s true enough. When I heard about
your being in trouble, I figured that my pull with Portiforo might
do you some good, so I hiked to the palace and did my little best to
give you a boost. But,” he added, with a show of vexation, “I can’t
understand why the president should have told you of my humble efforts.
He promised that he wouldn’t mention it.”

“I’m glad that he did,” the Camera Chap said impulsively. “It was a
mighty decent thing for you to do, Gale, considering that the relations
between us have been--er--somewhat strained. Without meaning any
offense, I’d like to know why you did it?”

The _News_ man shrugged his shoulders. “After all, blood is thicker
than water,” he responded sentimentally. “I couldn’t stand by and see a
countryman of mine made a target for Baracoan bullets, when it was in
my power to save him, even though that countryman hadn’t acted quite
fairly to me in the past. Hang it all! I flatter myself I’m big enough
to do a good turn even for an enemy.”

“Well, we’re not going to be enemies any longer,” the good-natured
snapshot expert declared, once more impulsively offering his hand to
his supposed benefactor, who accepted it without a qualm.

Lieutenant Ridder, who had encountered Hawley outside the national
palace, and accompanied him to the steamship office, had listened to
this conversation with some surprise. “Who’s your friend, Frank?” he
inquired with a frown, after they had left Gale. “I can’t say that I’m
stuck on his looks. On first impression, I’d size him up as a mighty
slippery proposition. And as for owing your liberty to him, I think
you’re mistaken about that. I know of somebody else who deserves most
of the credit.”

“Who is he?” the Camera Chap demanded eagerly.

The naval officer’s eyes twinkled. “It isn’t a he--it’s a young woman.
I wonder if you could guess her name.”

“Miss Throgmorton?”

“Good guess,” Ridder chuckled. “Yes; it was the United States
minister’s daughter that did the trick for you. She forced her father
to use his influence with Portiforo.”

“Forced him? How do you know?”

“She told me so herself. I suppose she’d be angry with me if she knew
I was telling you a word about it, but I think it only right that you
should hear of her efforts in your behalf. She went to her governor
and told him that if you were guilty she was guilty also, as she had
assisted you to take that mysterious snapshot--she didn’t tell me what
it was--and that unless you were set free she was going to give herself
up to the authorities as accessory before the fact. There’s some class
to a girl who’ll go that far to help a friend.”

“Some class!” Hawley repeated, a tender look in his eyes. “Say! She’s
the pluckiest, whitest girl I ever met.”

The navy man grinned. “Well, you and she could form a mutual admiration
society,” he confided to his companion. “You certainly stand high with
her, old man. She----”

He stopped short at a sharp exclamation from his companion. To his
surprise he observed that, although his remark ought to have been of
great interest to the latter, he was paying no attention to it. They
were walking along the Avenida Bolivar, and the camera man’s gaze was
directed toward a man on the opposite side of the wide street. This
man wore the uniform of an officer of the Baracoan army, and he wore
spectacles of dark-blue glass.

“That’s mighty queer,” Ridder heard his companion mutter.

“Are you referring to the glasses?” the sailor inquired. “It is rather
odd to find a fellow in the service with such weak sight. In our own
army they’d retire him for disability, but I suppose anything is good
enough for Baracoa. Do you know who the fellow is? He seems to know you
from the way he’s staring over here.”

Hawley nodded. “Yes, I know him; his name is Reyes--Captain Ernesto
Reyes, of the engineers. But what puzzles me is why he should be
wearing those goggles. He didn’t wear any glasses at all a couple of
days ago.”

A little later the two men parted company, Ridder announcing that
he had to go back to the ship. Much as he liked him, Hawley was not
sorry to be rid of him just then. He was eager to make a call at the
United States legation, and as the person he hoped to see there was
not Minister Throgmorton, he preferred to go alone. When he arrived at
the legation, a disappointment awaited him. The old colored servant
informed him that Miss Virginia was not at home.

The visitor was surprised and chagrined to hear this, as a glimpse he
had caught of a pretty face at one of the upper windows apprised him
that this announcement was not to be taken literally. His face lighted
up, however, at some supplementary information which the servant
imparted to him. “Miss Virginia is not at home now, sir,” the old darky
repeated with a broad grin, “but,” he added in a mysterious whisper,
“she’s gwine out horseback ridin’ this afternoon. She done tol’ me to
be sure and tell you that.”

That afternoon, Hawley hired a mount and met his fair ally at the old
trysting place. The girl had dismounted and was standing in the middle
of the road talking to her steed as though he were a human being, when
the Camera Chap galloped up. She ran eagerly to meet him, both her
hands outstretched and her eyes shining joyously.

“This is almost too good to be true,” she cried, as he jumped from his
horse. “When I heard what they did to poor Doctor Bonsal this morning,
I was half crazy with fear on your account. You certainly have had a
narrow escape, Mr. Hawley.”

“Yes; and I understand that I owe it largely to you that I am now
free,” he said, his voice trembling. “I can’t begin to tell you how
much I----”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted, a rosy tinge making itself visible beneath
her fair skin. “Who told you that? It is to the President of the United
States that you owe your freedom.”

“The president!” the Camera Chap cried.

Virginia smiled. “Didn’t my father tell you that? Well, it’s the truth.
He didn’t tell it to me, either; but he received a code message from
the White House yesterday, and he was so careless as to leave it on
his desk when he went out. I suppose I ought to be very much ashamed
of myself, but my curiosity forced me to work out the translation with
the aid of the code book. What a very important man you must be, Mr.
Hawley, to have the president so concerned about you. But tell me what
happened at the palace! What did that tyrant have to say to you?”

Her companion laughed. “I must say, in justice to him, that he didn’t
act much like a tyrant to-day. If it hadn’t been for the things we know
about him, I would almost have thought from the way he treated me that
he really was the genial, benevolent old gentleman he looks to be when
his face is in repose.”

“Did he exact any promise from you in return for your release?” the
girl inquired anxiously.

“Only one. I am to leave Baracoa on to-morrow’s boat.”

Virginia’s face clouded. “Of course, I expected that,” she said, with a
sigh. “Still, it’s a great pity that you have to go.”

Her words brought a joyous expression to Hawley’s face. “Do you really
care?” he asked.

“Of course I care,” she answered, her color deepening; “but not on my
own account--at least,” she added, with sweet candor, “not wholly on
my own account. I was thinking of poor President Felix. You are going
to leave him to his fate? Of course, I don’t blame you for going,” she
explained quickly, observing the hurt expression which came to his
face. “It would be suicide for you to stay after what has happened,
and you have already made enough sacrifices in his behalf. Still, it
does seem a great pity that we can’t do anything for him--that all our
efforts should have been for nothing.”

“Yes, it does seem a great pity,” the Camera Chap agreed. “Tell me,
Miss Throgmorton,” he said with apparent irrelevancy, “do you happen
to know what is the matter with Captain Reyes’ eyes? I saw him on the
Avenida Bolivar to-day, and he was wearing spectacles with thick blue
lenses.”

Virginia frowned, as though she resented this evident attempt on his
part to change the subject. “Yes, I have seen them,” she replied
coldly, “I met him this morning as he was returning from the oculist.
He had been complaining of weak eyes for some time, and yesterday the
specialist ordered those glasses. But what has that got to do with poor
President Felix?”

“Nothing, of course,” Hawley answered with a queer smile. “Nothing
whatever. I was merely curious about those blue spectacles.”




CHAPTER XXXV. WIRELESS WARNING.


Just as the steamship _Eldorado_, bound for New York, was about to
leave her dock at Puerto Cabero, a touring car with a closed top
dashed up to the wharf, and two women alighted and went aboard the
ship. One of this pair, whose slender form was clad in black, wore a
heavy veil which concealed her features, but Hawley, who was standing
near the gangway when they arrived, gave a start of surprise. Despite
the veil, he recognized the women as Señora Felix and her maid. The
Camera Chap had not heard that the wife of the ex-president was to be
among his fellow passengers. Later on, he learned that her departure
from her native land was not a voluntary act. Her husband’s successor
to the presidency had sent her a curt notice the day before that the
government of Baracoa expected her to sail on the _Eldorado_, and that
if she saw fit to disappoint the government’s expectation in this
respect, she might have to stand trial on the painful charge of being
in league with the government’s enemies.

Although Hawley did not know at the time that the unfortunate woman was
an exile, he could see from the way in which her slender form trembled
that she was under stress of great emotion, and his heart was filled
with sympathy for her, but although she passed close to where he was
standing, he did not attempt to address her or even to salute her. He
was keenly alive to the fact that he was an object of close scrutiny
from several keen-eyed swarthy men who stood on the pier, and he
realized the great necessity of treating the señora as a total stranger
while they were looking on. But later, as the boat was passing out of
the bay, and the Camera Chap stood against the rail of the promenade
deck, gazing with mixed sensations at the grim, gray walls of El Torro
fortress, he became suddenly aware that somebody was standing close
beside him, and, turning, discovered Señora Felix.

The woman leaned over the rail, and her eyes were fixed yearningly on
the fortress. She had raised her veil, and the sympathetic young man
beside her could see the tears running down her haggard face. A sound
as though she were choking came from her throat.

They were all alone. The rest of the passengers were on the other side
of the deck absorbed in watching and waving salutes to the American
battleship, which was an object of greater interest to them than
the fortress. Under cover of this privacy, the Camera Chap thought
there would be no harm in whispering a word of comfort to his unhappy
neighbor. But, to his amazement, at the first sound of his voice,
she wheeled on him with the fury of a tigress. “You!” she cried, her
eyes blazing, her voice quavering with rage. “How dare you presume to
address me after what you have done? Are you so lacking in shame, sir,
that you would intrude upon the grief of a woman whose nearest and
dearest you and your selfish government have murdered?”

“My dear señora!” the president’s photographic envoy protested gently.

“Yes, murdered!” the frantic woman repeated fiercely, paying no heed
to his interruption. “Your intolerable interference amounts to that.
Things were bad enough before you came to Baracoa, at least, there was
some hope then. But now--now----” Her voice broke, and she covered her
face with her hands.

“My dear señora,” the Camera Chap repeated, taking advantage of this
lull in the storm of denunciation, “I regret exceedingly that you
should feel so bitter toward me, for I assure you--empty as the words
may sound--that I would gladly give up my life to serve you and your
husband.”

If the poor woman had been in a saner mood, she would have realized
that the man who uttered these words had already proved the sincerity
of them by the great risk he had run for her cause, but she merely
laughed bitterly.

“Your life, señor!” she cried. “Such a sacrifice as that was not
required of you. All that you were asked to do was to give up your
selfish ambition--to go back to your heartless president and tell
him that the life of a noble man and a woman’s broken heart were far
more important in your eyes than a laurel for your own brow and a
diplomatic triumph for your government. But you refused to listen to
the pleadings of a devoted wife. You persisted in going ahead with your
ruthless, blundering plans, not caring what might happen to your victim
so long as you could boast to the world of your wonderful snapshot
achievement.”

Hawley saw that there was no use in trying to defend himself by
pointing out to her that he had not made his unsuccessful attempt until
he had been led to believe, from his conversation with the commander
of the United States battleship, that the captive of El Torro would be
protected after the snapshot had been taken, and that, moreover, it
was the information which had come to him concerning the precarious
condition of General Replife’s health which had caused him to decide
that desperate measures were absolutely necessary. In her present
mood, he realized, such argument would have been useless. Besides,
his thought was not to defend himself against her bitter accusations.
Big-hearted chap that he was, his sole desire was to comfort her, if
that were possible.

“Tell me, señora,” he begged, after an anxious glance at the group of
passengers crowded against the opposite rail, “do you know definitely
that anything has happened to President Felix, or are you merely giving
expression to your apprehensions?”

Again she laughed bitterly. “Is it not to be taken for granted that
the consequence of your mad act of the other night would be the
assassination of my husband? Do you suppose for a minute that those
ruffians would let him live now that they are aware that their secret
is known?”

“But you do not know of his death?” the Camera Chap persisted. “You
have not actually heard that they have done what you fear?”

She shook her head. “No, I have not heard,” she said wearily. “It is
scarcely to be supposed that they would proclaim their crime to the
whole world. Assassins are not in the habit of advertising their deeds,
señor.”

Her reply relieved him of a great fear which her previous utterances
had created in his mind. “Let us hope that your anxiety is groundless,”
he said soothingly. “I suppose, señora, you have heard the good news
from the hospital. It was announced to-day that the condition of the
minister of war is much improved. He surprised the surgeons by rallying
when they thought there was no hope, and now they say that he is
practically out of danger. And Replife’s life means President Felix’s
life. Now that Portiforo knows that Replife is going to live, he will
not dare resort to assassination.”

The woman refused to be comforted by these arguments. “Who can tell how
far that tyrant will dare to go, now that you have opened his eyes to
the fact that the conspiracy is known?” she asked despairingly. Then
she went below, and Hawley did not see her again for the rest of the
voyage, for she kept to her stateroom, even having her meals served
there. But the next morning her maid handed him a note, the pathetic
contents of which afforded him much satisfaction:

  “Please forgive me for my unkindness of yesterday. The sight of that
  terrible building, so long the tomb of that poor, noble martyr, made
  me beside myself. In my calmer moments I realized that I might have
  done you an injustice. I believe that you are brave and generous, and
  that possibly what you did you may have thought was for the best.
  For the risks that you have run and the sacrifices that you have
  made I am not ungrateful; and if, as I cannot help fearing, terrible
  consequences to me and mine have been the result of your gallant if
  indiscreet attempt, you have my forgiveness, señor.”

“Poor little woman,” said the Camera Chap to himself, as he finished
reading this message of forgiveness. “If only----” His thought was
interrupted by a hand laid on his shoulder. Turning hastily, he looked
into Gale’s grinning countenance.

“A love letter?” the reporter inquired banteringly, pointing to the
note.

“Not exactly,” Hawley replied with a laugh, hastily thrusting the
missive into his pocket.

“Seemed to me that it was a lady’s handwriting,” the _News_ man
remarked.

The Camera Chap frowned. “How do you know that?” he demanded
indignantly. “Did you dare look----” Then he abruptly cut himself
short, resolved not to quarrel with the man to whom, he believed, he
partly owed his freedom, and possibly his life.

“I couldn’t help noticing the handwriting as I accidentally glanced
over your shoulder,” Gale explained.

“You didn’t read the letter, did you?” Hawley inquired. His tone was
anxious, for he had not heard the reporter step up behind him, and,
consequently, had no way of knowing how long he had been there.

“Certainly not,” Gale replied in an aggrieved tone. “Don’t you give me
credit for having any breeding?”

Except for this slightly unpleasant incident, Gale and the Camera Chap
got along well together until the _Eldorado_ stopped at San Juan, Porto
Rico. There the _News_ man made a queer discovery. When the vessel
weighed anchor and started out for her trip to New York, Hawley was
not on board. He had gone ashore, explaining that he desired to make a
purchase, and had mysteriously disappeared.

When the ship’s officers and the other passengers learned of this
disappearance, they were inclined to believe that the snapshot man’s
failure to show up was entirely accidental. But Gale, evidently, was
not of that opinion, for, with a malicious smile on his face, he
hurried to the wireless room and sent off a dispatch. The message was
addressed: “Portiforo, National Palace, San Cristobal,” and ran as
follows:

  “Hawley missing at San Juan. Have reason to believe he is on his way
  back to Baracoa. Look out for him.

  “GALE.”

After sending this warning to the sly fox at Baracoa he felt more
cheerful. He had not a desire in the world to help the president of
the little southern republic in any way; it was entirely his own
satisfaction that was to be furthered by his actions.




CHAPTER XXXVI. A WELCOME INTRUSION.


The day after Hawley’s departure from Baracoa, Lieutenant Ridder called
at the United States legation with a message from the commander of the
_Kearsarge_ to Minister Throgmorton. On his way out, he encountered
Virginia, and eagerly availed himself of the opportunity to renew his
acquaintance with that captivating young woman.

The naval officer was flattered by the cordiality which she displayed
toward him, but was astonished and concerned to observe that when he
mentioned the name of his friend Hawley a frown came to her face and
she hurriedly changed the subject, as though it were distasteful to
her. He went back to his ship wondering what could have happened to
bring about this change in her sentiments toward the man for whom she
had previously manifested such warm regard. If Virginia had been asked
to explain why she was displeased with the Camera Chap, she probably
would have found difficulty in stating her grievance against him. As
she had told him, she could not with logic or justice blame him for
going away, knowing what would happen to him if he ventured to remain
on Baracoan soil. Yet she was disappointed in him, and his departure
had aroused within her a feeling of resentment.

Possibly it was because he had appeared to accept the situation with
such irritating cheerfulness, or it may have been that she had formed
such an exalted opinion of his heroic qualities that she had half
expected--unreasonable though she knew such expectation to be--that, at
the last moment, he would defy Portiforo and his order of banishment
and not leave Baracoa without making one more attempt to rescue the
unfortunate prisoner of El Torro.

If Lieutenant Ridder had been a less loyal and unselfish friend, he
might have sought to take advantage of Virginia’s changed attitude
toward the snapshot man and her evident liking for himself; for the
daughter of the United States envoy had made such a great impression
on him at their first meeting that he couldn’t help feeling envious
of Hawley’s good luck. Not being at all the kind of fellow to seek to
“butt in” on an absent friend’s romance, however, he made it a point
to steer clear of the embassy, and when, several days later, a tinted,
perfumed note was handed to him by an orderly on the battleship, a
frown came to his face as he read its contents. The note was from Miss
Throgmorton, and it ran as follows:

  “MY DEAR MR. RIDDER: I am wondering why I have not seen you lately.
  Are they keeping you a prisoner on the ship? If not, and it is
  possible for you to come ashore this afternoon, I should like very
  much to have a talk with you.

  “I am going for a ride into the country, after luncheon. If you could
  find it convenient to meet me, then come to San Cristobal, and be
  at the northern gate of the Botanical Gardens, between one and two
  o’clock. You will find an old colored man waiting there. He will
  provide you with a mount and conduct you to a place where we can
  talk without danger of being spied upon. I hope you won’t think me
  too unconventional in writing to you like this, but I positively must
  see you on a matter of life and death.”

At first his almost quixotic sense of fairness caused him to decide
that he would send some excuse for not keeping this appointment, for
he suspected that the last paragraph of the note must be more or less
of an exaggeration; but presently he reproached himself for his lack
of gallantry. He felt sure that Miss Throgmorton was too nice a girl
to have urged such an unconventional meeting unless the circumstances
justified it.

Promptly at one o’clock that afternoon, he arrived at the northern gate
of the Botanical Gardens, and was met by old Uncle Peter, who conducted
him to a near-by stable where two horses, already saddled, were waiting
for them. Half an hour later, as they galloped along a desolate stretch
of dusty road, the navy man caught sight of a girl on a pony coming
toward them, and his pulses quickened as he recognized the trim,
graceful figure.

“I suppose you are just burning with curiosity as to why I have sent
for you,” Virginia said, with a smile, as they dismounted.

“Anxiety would be a better word,” he answered. “The tone of your note
was so alarming that it is a great relief to me to find that you can
still smile.”

The girl sighed. “I suppose I have no right to smile,” she said sadly,
“for I really am in great trouble.”

“What is it?” he demanded eagerly. “If I can help, Miss Throgmorton,
you know you can count on me.”

“Yes, I know that I can,” she answered softly. “That is why I have sent
for you. I--but we had better not talk here. We will go to the top of
this hill. We shall be more safe up there.”

Leaving Uncle Peter in charge of their horses, they climbed the
hillock, and Virginia invited her companion to seat himself beside her
on a bowlder, under the feathery branches of a bamboo tree. “This is
where--er--Mr. Hawley and I always met when we had secrets to discuss,”
she announced. “It commands a view of the road in both directions, so
there is no danger of anybody creeping up on us unseen.”

With an excess of caution which made him smile, she gazed up into the
branches of the solitary tree under which they were sitting. Then she
continued, lowering her voice almost to a whisper: “I am going to
begin, Mr. Ridder, by telling you what picture it was that Mr. Hawley
and I were trying to take at the fortress the other night.”

“Is it necessary that I should know?” he asked. He felt somewhat
uncomfortable, for he could not help suspecting that it might be her
evident pique against the Camera Chap which prompted her to give him
the information, which, until now, neither she nor Hawley had seen fit
to confide to him.

“If Mr. Hawley knew what I am doing,” the girl said, as though reading
his thoughts, “I feel sure that he would approve, for he couldn’t be
unreasonable enough to expect that just because he has given up the
task of freeing poor President Felix, nothing else is to be done.”

“Freeing President Felix?” the naval officer repeated, looking at her
in bewilderment.

The girl nodded. “It was his picture that we were trying to get the
other night. It was to rescue him that Mr. Hawley came to Baracoa. And
now that he has gone, and Señora Felix has gone, and they have done
away with poor Doctor Bonsal, there is nobody left but me to fight for
the freedom of that unhappy man. But I can’t do it alone,” she added
wistfully. “I am only a girl, and I realize my helplessness. I’ve got
to have assistance, and that is why I have decided to take you into the
secret. I know that you are brave, and generous, and trustworthy, Mr.
Ridder.”

The navy man bowed. “I am sure, at least, that you will find me
trustworthy,” he said simply. “If you really think it best for me to
know, I shall be glad to hear the facts of the case, Miss Throgmorton,
and to give you any help that I can.”

Thereupon Virginia proceeded to tell him the tragic story of the
missing president of Baracoa, and when she had finished, the
lieutenant’s face was very grim.

“It is the most amazing story I ever heard!” he declared. “It fairly
makes my blood boil to think of that poor fellow being caged up there
in the fortress with a battleship flying the Stars and Stripes less
than half a mile away. But he’s not going to be there much longer,” he
added, a determined expression coming to his strong face. “You’re quite
right, Miss Throgmorton, we’ve got to set him free. If you’ll permit
me, I’ll speak to the captain about it as soon as I get back to the
ship. I’ll tell him the story, and----”

Virginia cut him short with a gesture of disapproval. “No, you mustn’t
do that. What I have told you is in the strictest confidence. If I
thought that any good would come of it, I would have gone to Captain
Cortrell myself, long before this. But I know that he would take no
action in the matter. You know how he acted in the case of Mr. Hawley.
And if he couldn’t see his way to do anything for an American citizen,
we can be sure he wouldn’t interfere to help a man who has no claims on
our government.”

“I think you do him an injustice,” her companion protested, resenting
the somewhat bitter tone in which she spoke of his commanding officer.
“There isn’t a better-hearted or braver officer in the service than our
old man. But, of course, he isn’t always free to do what he’d like to
do. The commanding officer of a battleship has got to think of pleasing
Washington, D. C., before he can think of pleasing himself. How about
your father, Miss Throgmorton? Surely the American minister wouldn’t
stand for such a conspiracy?”

Virginia sighed. “My father refuses to believe that there is any such
conspiracy,” she said. “Knowing how favorably disposed father was
toward that tyrant Portiforo, I have always realized the futility of
trying to enlist him in our cause. But yesterday,” she added with a
frown, “it occurred to me that, after all, it was worth trying. I was
desperate, and saw no other way of helping poor President Felix. So
I went to my father and told him my story. He laughed at me and told
me that I was suffering from hallucinations, and when I insisted, he
became very angry and forbade me ever to mention the subject to him or
to anybody else again.”

A puzzled expression came to the naval officer’s face. “That’s queer,”
he muttered under his breath.

“No, Mr. Ridder,” Virginia continued, “we can’t hope for any help from
either Captain Cortrell or my father. We’ve got to handle this thing
ourselves.”

“But what can we do?”

Virginia looked at him reproachfully. “The other day, when your friend
Mr. Hawley was locked up, you were ready to go to the jail and attempt
a rescue by force,” she reminded him. “Wouldn’t you do as much for this
unhappy man?”

The lieutenant hesitated. “If I were sure that such an attempt would be
successful, I wouldn’t mind tackling it,” he said. “But if I were to
fail, Miss Throgmorton, you must realize what it would mean. There’d be
the deuce to pay in Washington, and----”

“You didn’t think of that when Mr. Hawley was in danger,” Virginia
protested indignantly. “You were quite ready to risk your career in the
navy, and possibly your life, then.”

“But Hawley was my friend, and I was under great obligations to him,
besides.”

“Does that make such a great difference?” the girl inquired somewhat
coldly. “Are you willing to remain inactive while an innocent man
is suffering a fate worse than death? Do you not feel an obligation
to expose the villainy of these rascals? If so, I must say that I am
disappointed in you, Mr. Ridder.”

For a few seconds the lieutenant remained silent. Then suddenly his
face lighted up. “You are right, Miss Throgmorton,” he said, “I can’t
leave Baracoa without making an attempt to set Felix free. I don’t know
how we’ll go about it, but we’ll find a way--you and I together.” He
jumped to his feet, and, shading his eyes with his hand, looked toward
the point in the road where Uncle Peter was waiting with the horses.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “Who’s that talking with your colored man? Looks
like a tramp.”

“More likely a spy,” Virginia remarked, frowning. “I quite expected
that I would be followed. Well, of all the audacity! Look! He’s
actually coming up to us.”

Sure enough, the stranger, having exchanged a few words with the
old darky, was climbing up the hill toward them, walking with the
shambling gait of a native mendicant. He was a dark-haired, swarthy
man, apparently past middle age. He was tall, but his figure was so
bent that he appeared to be undersized. There was a five days’ growth
of hair on his chin, his clothing was in rags, and his feet were bare.
Altogether, he was by no means a prepossessing person.

“A thousand pardons, señor, for this intrusion,” he whined, addressing
Ridder in Spanish, “but if you would earn the undying gratitude of
a starving wretch, you can do so by separating yourself from a few
cents. American money will do.”

“Go away,” the navy man growled. He spoke with unwonted roughness,
which was due in part to Virginia’s suspicion that the intruder was
probably a spy, and partly to the fact that although the lieutenant’s
knowledge of Spanish was limited, he was sufficiently familiar with
that language to realize the insolence with which the beggar spoke.
“_Onda pronto!_” he exclaimed, with a threatening gesture.

He was startled by a cry from Virginia--a cry of mingled astonishment
and joy. “Mr. Hawley!” the girl exclaimed with a half-hysterical laugh.

“Hawley!” Ridder exclaimed staring incredulously at the human
scarecrow. “Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t!”

For a few seconds the ragged mendicant appeared bewildered. He stared
blankly at the couple. Then suddenly a broad grin appeared on his
swarthy countenance. “This is a bitter disappointment,” he declared
ruefully. “I had been hoping that this get-up of mine was good enough
to deceive even your sharp eyes, Miss Throgmorton.”




CHAPTER XXXVII. A NEW PLAN.


“So you have come back!” said Virginia, her face radiant, a thrill of
admiration in her voice.

“Of course,” the Camera Chap said simply. “Did you think that I
wouldn’t? Surely you didn’t think me capable of being such a wretched
quitter?”

The girl’s face showed her remorse. “Forgive me,” she said. “Of course,
I ought to have known that even so great a risk couldn’t keep you
away. But you really should not have done it,” she protested, with a
contrariness which amused Ridder. “You are taking your life in your
hands. If any of Portiforo’s spies should recognize you----”

“I am in hopes that the eyes of Portiforo’s spies won’t be as sharp
as yours,” said the president’s photographic envoy, shrugging his
shoulders. “It seems to me that this disguise is pretty good.”

“It is splendid!” Virginia declared. “And your mannerisms, too. I had
no idea that you were such an accomplished actor. I can’t explain how
I knew it was you--certainly there was nothing about you to give you
away. I guess it must have been my instinct which told me,” she added,
with a blush.

“I must admit you had me completely fooled, old man,” declared Ridder,
with a grin. “It’s a wonderful make-up.” He looked his friend over from
head to foot and laughed. “Ye gods, you certainly are some spectacle!”

Hawley’s face reflected his grin. “Talking about spectacles,” he said,
“how’s our friend, Captain Reyes? Can either of you tell me whether
he’s still wearing those blue goggles?”

“He was wearing them as late as this morning,” Virginia informed
him, with a gleam of comprehension of the Camera Chap’s apparently
irrelevant interest in the eyesight of the custodian of President
Felix. “I met him to-day on the Avenida Juarez, and he told me that his
eyes were giving him a lot of trouble, but are greatly improved since
he has worn the glasses. The specialist has ordered him to wear them
both night and day.”

“Night and day!” the snapshot adventurer echoed joyously. “That’s
better than I dared hope for. Of course, I ought to be ashamed of
myself for gloating over another man’s misfortune, but I can’t help
regarding this as a gift from the gods. But tell me,” he added, a shade
of anxiety flitting across his face, “is Reyes still at the fortress,
or have they put him on the sick list?”

“He is still on duty,” Virginia announced. “I asked him, this morning,
why he didn’t lay off until his eyes were better, and he told me that
his superiors had urged him to do so, but that he had insisted that he
was capable of attending to his duties, and that they had let him have
his way in the matter.”

Hawley exhaled a deep breath of relief. “Now I know that we’re going to
win out,” he chuckled. “Fortune wouldn’t have put so many things our
way if she weren’t on our side.”

“But what do you expect to gain by those blue spectacles?” Lieutenant
Ridder demanded. “I can’t see how they’re going to help us free Felix.”

The Camera Chap gave a start of surprise, and turned, with an inquiring
glance, to Virginia.

“I--I felt that I had to tell him,” the latter stammered contritely. “I
thought--I didn’t know that you were coming back, and it was necessary
to have somebody to help me.”

“That’s all right, Miss Throgmorton,” Hawley assured her. “I’m glad
Ridder’s been initiated into the order. If you hadn’t told him, I
should have done so myself. For in order to put through the little
scheme I have in mind, old man,” he announced, addressing the
lieutenant, “I shall need your help.”

“I shall be glad to do whatever I can,” Ridder replied. “The story
which Miss Throgmorton has told me about Felix has got me so agitated
that I’m ready to go the limit in order to help free him.”

“What I want you to do,” said Hawley, “is to make arrangements for a
dinner to be held on board the _Kearsarge_.”

“A dinner?”

“A banquet to be given by the officers of the visiting battleship to
the officers of the fortress,” the snapshot adventurer explained. “I
believe such affairs are not unusual?”

“Generally it is the other way around--the other fellows wine and
dine us first, and then we return the compliment,” the navy man said.
“However, I guess I won’t have any difficulty in persuading the
captain to reverse the usual order of things in this case. But what’s
the idea? Is this dinner part of your scheme for rescuing Felix?”

“A very important part of it,” the Camera Chap informed him. “If you
can bring it about and manage to have our friend of the blue glasses
among those present, I have every hope of success. I’ll outline the
idea to you. I am confident that you’ll both be as enthusiastic over it
as I am.”

But, greatly to his surprise, when he told them what he had in mind,
they failed to display the amount of enthusiasm which he had expected.

“It would be sheer madness for you to attempt such a desperate thing,”
was Virginia’s verdict. “You would surely be caught. Anxious as I am to
see President Felix set free, I must beg you to give up all thought of
carrying out this plan, Mr. Hawley.”

“It’s a clever scheme,” declared Ridder. “I take off my hat to you, old
man, for your ingenuity in having thought of it, and your grit in being
willing to put it through; but I agree with Miss Throgmorton that it is
much too risky a proposition. You might stand a slim chance of getting
the picture, but you’d stand a much greater chance of being backed
up against an adobe wall with a firing squad using you for target
practice. Besides, it isn’t fair that you should do the whole thing
all by yourself. Now that you’ve taken me into the secret, we ought to
divide up the work and the danger.”

The Camera Chap smiled. “There’ll be work and danger enough for you,
too,” he promised. “If I’m caught and it comes out that you were mixed
up in the plot--and I’m afraid that’s bound to come out--I can see a
peck of trouble coming your way. Portiforo will probably demand your
surrender as accessory, and even if your skipper refuses to give you
up, there’ll probably be a court-martial in Washington in store for
you, and possibly dismissal from the service. All this, of course,
is to be dreaded only in the event of failure. But I’m not going to
fail. I disagree with you both about my scheme not being practical. Of
course, if we had to go up against a well-organized, highly disciplined
garrison, I’d have to admit that our chances of success were scant. But
Portiforo’s army is a joke. Those soldiers at the fortress remind me of
a lot of supes in a comic-opera chorus. With a crowd like that to deal
with, it would be possible to get away with almost anything. If Felix
is still in the same cell--if they haven’t moved him--it’s going to be
mere child’s play to get the snapshot and make my escape--much easier
than our other attempt, Miss Throgmorton.”

“But if they have moved him?” Virginia suggested fearfully. “And it is
very likely that they have. It is only reasonable to suppose that after
our last attempt, those scoundrels would have taken that precaution. If
they have him locked up in another dungeon--one that cannot be reached
from the outside--what are you going to do then?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “In that event,” he replied carelessly, “my
job is going to be a little more difficult, of course. I shall have to
go inside the fortress and hunt around until I find him. But let’s be
optimistic.”

Although they still demurred at the project, they failed to dampen his
ardor or persuade him to give it up.




CHAPTER XXXVIII. LIKE A BAD PENNY.


When Virginia returned to the embassy, an unpleasant surprise awaited
her in the form of a good-looking, dapper young man who greeted her
with a sardonic grin.

“Hardly expected to see me back again, I suppose?” he remarked
quizzically.

“I certainly did not,” the girl replied coldly. “I supposed that you
were in New York by this time, Mr. Gale.”

“I changed my mind just after the boat sailed out of San Juan harbor,
and went ashore in the pilot boat,” the reporter informed her. “There
were certain reasons why I deemed it advisable to return to Baracoa, so
I cabled the office that they’d have to struggle along without me for a
little while longer, and caught the next boat back to Puerto Cabero.”
He chuckled. “I rather thought you’d be astonished to see me, Virginia.
Almost as astonished, I’ll wager, as you were to see our friend Hawley
come back again.”

The girl gave an involuntary start of surprise, and her face paled.
“Then you----” she began, but caught herself quickly. “Mr. Hawley
back again!” she exclaimed, with an air of incredulity which was well
simulated. “Surely that can’t be possible!”

Gale smiled triumphantly. The sentence which she had left uncompleted
and her momentary agitation had not escaped his notice. “Yes, he’s
back,” he said, with sarcasm. “Didn’t you know that? I had an idea that
you might have seen him.”

“Surely you wouldn’t expect him to show his face in San Cristobal,
considering the circumstances under which he left,” the girl returned,
her blue eyes boldly meeting his searching gaze.

“Perhaps not,” Gale rejoined, after a slight pause, during which he
did some rapid thinking. “Perhaps I was wrong in assuming that he has
returned to Baracoa at all. He disappeared from the ship at San Juan,
and I had an idea that he might have come back here.”

“Is that why you returned, too?” Virginia demanded scornfully. “Were
you lured back by the hope of finding him in Portiforo’s clutches
again, and being able to gloat over his fate?”

“Certainly not,” the reporter answered emphatically. “I’m not bothering
about Hawley at all. I came back here on a matter of business.”

Part of his statement was the truth. It was not merely malice which had
caused the man to postpone his return to New York and hurry back to San
Cristobal as soon as he had discovered that Hawley was missing from the
steamer. He had a professional reason for taking this step. He decided
that he might have acted somewhat rashly in notifying his office that
there was nothing in the weird rumors concerning Felix’s incarceration
in El Torro fortress. A certain note which the wife of the missing
president of Baracoa had written to the Camera Chap, part of which he
had managed to read over the latter’s shoulder, on the promenade deck
of the steamship, had opened the reporter’s eyes to the possibility
that he might have made a big mistake. He concluded that he had better
seek to rectify that mistake by returning to Baracoa and making another
attempt to get at the facts concerning Felix.

“I am sorry to find that you took me seriously the other day when we
had that talk concerning Hawley,” he said to Virginia. “I don’t really
wish the fellow any harm. He and I are good friends, now--I suppose
he’s told you of the large part I had in getting him set free--and I
should regret exceedingly seeing him in trouble again. I am glad to
learn that he hasn’t shown up in San Cristobal. I was afraid that he
might have shipped from San Juan in a tramp steamer headed this way.
But, as you say, it is scarcely likely that he would have done such a
rash thing.”

He spoke without the slightest tinge of irony in his tone. It had
suddenly occurred to him that it would be a good idea to give his
host’s daughter the impression this his suspicions were lulled. More
was to be gained, he decided, by watching her closely for the next
few days than by endeavoring to bluff her into an admission that she
knew of the Camera Chap’s return to Baracoa and the reason thereof.
That Hawley had returned to Baracoa he now felt quite sure. Virginia’s
demeanor had confirmed what, until then, had been merely a suspicion
on his part. And that the snapshot adventurer’s motive in coming back
was to have another try at getting Felix’s picture, Gale was equally
certain. For the next three days he proceeded to carry out his plan
of keeping a close watch on his host’s daughter. He felt sure that
sooner or later she would communicate in some way with the Camera Chap.
Probably they were hatching out some scheme together for landing the
precious snapshot. If so, by watching the fruition of that scheme, he
hoped at least to gain some valuable information as to the whereabouts
of Felix. Perhaps, even, if he played his cards right, he might be able
to force Hawley to share the picture with him, in the event of the
latter’s success. A still more alluring prospect was the possibility of
letting that expert snapshotter get the picture, and then, by working
some clever trick, getting it away from him so that he could hand
to his paper one of the greatest photographic scoops which had ever
startled Park Row. Difficult as he realized this last feat would be,
the _News_ man did not consider it impossible of fulfillment.

He subjected Virginia to an espionage which would have done credit
to one of Portiforo’s professional spies, shrewdly suspecting that
she was the keystone to the whole situation. But if the girl was in
communication with the Camera Chap she was managing it with a skill
and cautiousness which outclassed his keen powers of observation; for
he was unable to detect even any indication that she had knowledge
of Hawley’s whereabouts. One discovery he did make, though: she
seemed to have grown very friendly with a certain good-looking,
husky young officer of the battleship _Kearsarge_. Gale learned that
this man’s name was Ridder. He and Virginia met frequently and with
a secretiveness which made the reporter wonder whether the daughter
of his host hadn’t already forgotten all about Hawley and was going
through the early stages of a new romance. Strange to say, it did not
occur to Gale that the naval officer might be acting as an intermediary
between Virginia and the exiled snapshotter. He began to feel less
positive that the latter had returned to Baracoa. At all events, he
was pretty sure that the Camera Chap hadn’t ventured to show his face
in the capital or its environs, for he had reason to believe that
Portiforo’s spies were keeping a sharp lookout for that unwelcome
visitor, and if he had been there it was scarcely likely that those
human ferrets wouldn’t have unearthed him by this time.

Having come to this conclusion, the reporter gradually ceased his close
watch of Virginia’s movements, and spent most of his time in Puerto
Cabero, cultivating the acquaintance of the soldiers of the fortress,
particularly that of Captain Ernesto Reyes. He managed to persuade the
latter to take him on another tour of inspection through the prison of
El Torro, but was unable to find any trace of Felix there.

One day, as he sat drinking with Reyes in a café much frequented by
officers of the army, the captain asked him whether he had received an
invitation to the banquet on the warship.

“What banquet is that?” Gale inquired curiously.

Captain Reyes produced a card on which was engraved a formal invitation
requesting his presence at a dinner to be tendered by the officers of
the _Kearsarge_ to the officers of El Torro garrison.

“I supposed that surely you would receive an invitation, Señor Gale,”
the army officer remarked. “The American minister and Miss Throgmorton
are going to be there, so it is queer that you should have been
overlooked.”

“Maybe mine will arrive later,” the reporter said. “Are you going to
attend?”

The other announced that he expected to be among those present. “I
was going to send my regrets at first, on account of my eyesight,” he
declared. “I was afraid that with these glasses I should not be exactly
an ornament at the festive board, and in such a well-lighted room I
would not dare to leave them off. But Miss Throgmorton insisted upon my
accepting the invitation.”

“Miss Throgmorton?” There was an inflection of surprise in Gale’s tone.

The gallant captain smiled complacently. “She told me that it would
spoil the whole evening for her if I were not present. So what could
I do, my friend? Of course, as a gentleman and a soldier, I could not
disappoint a lady--especially one so charming as the daughter of the
American minister.”

Gale looked thoughtfully at his wine. “I wonder why she should be
so anxious to have you there,” he muttered. “It strikes me as being
deucedly queer.”

His companion’s manner showed that he resented the remark. “I see
nothing so very queer about it,” he said indignantly. “I do not wish
to appear boastful. Otherwise, perhaps, it would not be difficult for
me to explain why Miss Throgmorton finds such evident pleasure in my
society.”




CHAPTER XXXIX. CAUSE FOR ANXIETY.


When Gale returned to the embassy he found an invitation to the dinner
awaiting him. Minister Throgmorton had mentioned to Captain Cortrell
that he had a guest stopping at his home, and the commander of the
warship had been prompt to take the hint. The reporter accepted the
invitation with alacrity. As a rule, he was not fond of formal dinners.
In the course of his reportorial experience he had attended many of
them in an official capacity, and he had come to regard such functions
as decidedly boresome. The solid and liquid refreshments were, in his
opinion, but poor compensation for the ordeal of having to listen to
the long-winded, dry speeches which always came afterward. But he
expected to find much to interest him at this dinner on the battleship.
What his friend Captain Reyes had told him made him so eager to attend
that even if he had not received an invitation he had fully decided
that he was going to find some way of being present.

Virginia’s behavior increased his suspicion that there was a peculiar
significance attached to the affair. The girl appeared strangely
anxious and ill at ease. If she had been a débutante looking forward
to her first formal party, she could scarcely have evinced more
nervousness and considering that, because of her father’s position,
such festivities were common occurrences in her life, her state of
mind struck the observant newspaper man as being somewhat remarkable.

A conversation which he overheard between the girl and Lieutenant
Ridder a day before the event enlightened him to some extent as to
the cause of Virginia’s anxiety. The naval officer had called at
the legation, and, on his way out through the garden, he stopped to
exchange a few words with her.

“Everything is coming along fine,” he informed her, unaware, of course,
that the _News_ man, concealed behind some shrubbery, was listening
with intense eagerness. “The more I think about the scheme, the more I
begin to believe that it is going to work out all right.”

“But suppose Reyes should, at the last minute, change his mind and
fail to show up?” Virginia suggested timorously. “That would spoil
everything.”

“Yes; that would spoil everything--for the time being,” Ridder agreed.
“We should have to postpone the attempt. But why should we suppose
anything so gloomy, my dear Miss Throgmorton? He has accepted the
invitation, and he has assured you that he will be there.” A smile
lighted up his face. “If you want to make absolutely sure that he won’t
disappoint us, why don’t you ask him to call for you and escort you to
the dinner? If he has any blood in his veins, he would jump at such
an opportunity, and once he’s made the engagement he couldn’t be so
unchivalrous as to back out.”

Virginia received this suggestion with an ejaculation of delight. “If
he escorted me to the dinner, it would be his duty, of course, to
see me home, also,” she murmured, talking more to herself than to her
companion. “That is a splendid idea of yours, Mr. Ridder--probably even
a better one than you supposed. It has given me a big inspiration. I
see a way, now, to change our original plans so as to reduce the danger
of accidents to a minimum.”

“What is it?” the naval officer demanded eagerly.

To the eavesdropper’s keen disappointment, the pair walked away from
that spot before the girl answered, so he was unable to learn the
nature of the inspiration which had come to her. However, incomplete
and puzzling though it was, he felt that he had good cause to
congratulate himself on the information he had already gleaned.

The next morning, Virginia sent a charmingly worded note to Captain
Reyes, and, as Ridder had expected, the Baracoan was much flattered by
this fresh proof of Miss Throgmorton’s favor, and eagerly grabbed at
the opportunity which her note offered him to be her companion on the
trip from the capital to the warship.

Moreover, he triumphantly exhibited the note to his friend Gale, later
that day, as a proof of his intimacy with the fair daughter of the
United States envoy.

The reporter smiled sardonically as he read the dainty missive.
“Doesn’t it strike you as the least bit odd, my dear Ernesto, that Miss
Throgmorton should put you to the trouble of coming all the way from
the fortress to the embassy to call for her when she has both her
father and myself to escort her?” he suggested.

Reyes laughed quizzically. “Ah, my unfortunate friend, I cannot blame
you for being jealous!” he exclaimed.

Gale shrugged his shoulders, but let the taunt pass without verbal
comment. He had suddenly changed his mind as to the advisability of
striving to make the army officer see the matter from his viewpoint.
The thought had come to him that, after all, it would be better not to
interfere with Virginia’s mysterious plans at the present stage of the
game. It would be time enough to open Reyes’ eyes when the situation
had taken more definite shape.

Resplendent in gold lace and gilt buttons, the Baracoan called at the
embassy that evening, so late that he found Virginia on the verge
of tears. Her father and Gale had left for the battleship nearly an
hour earlier, and ever since then she had been almost frantic with
impatience and fear that her escort was not going to show up at all.
She received his apologies graciously, however, as they motored swiftly
down the steep roads which led to Puerto Cabero. Not for all the world
would he have been guilty of such a sad breach of decorum, her penitent
companion assured her, if it had not been absolutely unavoidable. His
duties at the fortress had made it impossible for him to get away
earlier.

“In fact, my dear señorita,” he announced, “if I had not made this
engagement with you--which, of course, could not be broken under any
circumstances--I fear I should have had to disappoint our hosts this
evening and remain on duty at the fortress. On account of our latest
advices regarding the enemy, our commanding officer did not deem it
advisable that so many of his staff should absent themselves from the
fortress at one time. Half of us were asked at the last minute to send
our regrets to the _Kearsarge_ and remain on duty, and, at first, I was
among those selected to stay behind; but when I had explained to the
general about my appointment with you, he agreed with me that I must
go.”

“Then I am very glad that I asked you to be my escort,” Virginia
declared with a fervor which went to his head like a strong wine. “But
what do you mean by advices regarding the enemy? To what enemy do you
refer?” she inquired nervously.

He looked at her in astonishment. “To the revolutionists, of course,
señorita. That traitor Rodriguez and his band of ruffians have proven
somewhat stronger than we had imagined. To-day they overcame a
detachment of Federal troops at Santa Barbara and seized the railroad.
It is believed that, emboldened by their success, the beggars are now
contemplating a forced march on the capital.”

“But surely you do not fear an attack upon the fortress to-night?”
Virginia inquired, her voice tense with anxiety.

Her companion laughed contemptuously. “Certainly not. There is no
occasion for alarm, señorita. Those fellows will never get within a
hundred miles of the capital. When they get up against Villaria’s
brigade they will be annihilated. Still, it would be bad generalship
not to be prepared. I believe you have a saying in your language about
eternal vigilance being the guarantee of safety. That is why our
garrison has been placed on a strictly war basis and half of our staff
has found it impossible to be the guests of the American officers this
evening.”

What he had said caused Virginia to feel uneasy, but she made a valiant
attempt to conceal her state of mind from him. “I am glad to hear that
the fortress is in no danger--from the insurrectos,” she said, and her
escort was astonished at the emphasis with which she spoke.

He favored her with a searching glance from behind his blue spectacles.
From her past actions, he had good reason to believe that she was in
sympathy with the enemies of the Portiforo administration. He did not
feel any great bitterness toward her on that account. The fact that she
was a woman, and a very pretty one, made him inclined to view her past
offenses with indulgence. But it chafed him to hear her now expressing
views, which, he was compelled to believe, could not be sincere.

“You do not desire the revolutionary cause to triumph, señorita?” he
inquired, a strain of irony in his tone.

Virginia shrugged her shoulders. “To be quite frank with you, I don’t
care whether they triumph or not. It is all the same to me which side
wins,” she replied carelessly.

“Then why are you so glad that the fortress is in no danger of attack?”

“Because,” she answered serenely, “if the insurrectos were to be so
inconsiderate as to attack El Torro to-night, I fear it would interfere
with our dinner.”

Reyes laughed heartily. “Oh, is that the reason? Well, have no fear, my
dear Señorita Throgmorton. I assure you that there is not the slightest
danger of our appetites being spoiled by any such interruption.”

A little later they arrived at the seaport, and, alighting from the
car, entered one of the battleship’s launches which was waiting at
the landing for them. As they stepped to the deck of the _Kearsarge_,
Lieutenant Ridder greeted them. That young officer’s face, which,
a minute before, had worn a strained, worried expression, was now
illuminated by a broad smile. “I’m glad to see you,” he said to the
girl. “I was beginning to be afraid that you weren’t coming.”

She smiled in a manner which showed that she appreciated the fact
that, while to others his words might have sounded like a compliment,
they were intended to be congratulatory. But a second later the smile
disappeared from her lips. She glanced furtively at Reyes, and saw
that he was occupied at the moment, chatting with one of the ship’s
officers, and she eagerly availed herself of this opportunity for a few
confidential words with Ridder.

“There is danger,” she whispered. “I am afraid we must give up the
idea. I have just learned that they are very much on their guard at the
fortress. They are awaiting a possible attack of the revolutionists,
and the whole garrison is unusually wide awake. Under the circumstances
it would be madness to go ahead to-night. Tell Mr. Hawley----”

The naval officer interrupted her with a deprecatory gesture. “It is no
use,” he whispered. “I have already told him. I knew about the danger.
Half our guests have sent their regrets, and some of those who are here
have told us the reason. I have been trying my hardest to persuade
Hawley that, under the circumstances, he couldn’t possibly get away
with his scheme to-night, but the plucky old chap won’t listen. He says
that we’ve made our plans, and it’s too late to change them now. He
insists upon going through with it.”




CHAPTER XL. AN INTERRUPTED DINNER.


The guests of the _Kearsarge_ had no cause to complain of the measure
of Uncle Sam’s hospitality. If the scene of the banquet had been a
first-class hotel, the preparations could scarcely have been more
elaborate. The big battleship presented a spectacle of dazzling
splendor. From bow to stern, masthead to lower deck, her grim lines
had been beautified by a blaze of electric lights, flags, Japanese
lanterns, bunting, and flowers. The wardroom being too small to
accommodate the big dinner party, the spacious upper deck had been
converted into an open-air dining room. At tables set together so as to
form a huge horseshoe, covered with fine linen and laden with massive
silver, the guests were served with a feast of rare daintiness.

There were several women present at the banquet, for the officers
of the garrison had been invited to bring their wives, sweethearts,
sisters, and daughters. Gale had discovered that the girl next to him
was the niece of the commandant of the fortress, and he exerted himself
to be agreeable to her, not only because she was a young woman of
fascinating personality, but because, always having an eye for the main
chance, he foresaw that her relationship to the man in charge of El
Torro garrison might come in useful to him later on.

Although he kept up a sprightly conversation with her and appeared
to give her his entire attention, he was all the time keeping a close
watch on Virginia and Captain Reyes. That interesting pair, as luck
would have it, sat almost directly opposite to him, and he was able to
observe every move they made.

Just as the last course of the dinner had been served and the speeches
were about to begin, Gale saw the daughter of the American minister
lean back in the chair and half close her eyes, while a look of
distress came to her pretty face.

This action was not lost upon Captain Reyes. He bent toward her
solicitously. “What is the matter, señorita?” he inquired. “Are you
ill?”

“Maybe it will pass away soon,” the girl answered, apparently making
a brave effort to pull herself together. But she seemed to grow worse
instead of better, for presently she whispered, in response to an
anxious inquiry from the captain: “If my father were not down on the
program for a speech I think I should ask him to take me home.”

“There is no need to bother your father, señorita,” Reyes said
promptly. “If you wish to go home, I am at your service.”

“You are very kind,” Virginia said faintly, flashing him a grateful
smile; “but, of course, I could not dream of taking you away. I must
try to wait until my father has finished his speech. I wish he was
first on the list, but I am afraid----”

“I shan’t mind it at all,” her escort cut in eagerly. “In fact, I shall
be delighted to accompany you.” And his eagerness was not feigned, for
he was glad to exchange the terrors of the postprandial oratory for
the pleasure of a boat ride and automobile jaunt with this pretty girl.

“Well, if you insist,” said the latter, “let us try to leave as
unobtrusively as possible. I think the trip home will do me good.”

They left the table so quietly that few noticed their departure; but a
few minutes later, as they were stepping toward the port gangway, Reyes
became aware of a hand placed on his shoulder, and, turning, learned
that Gale had followed them out.

“A word with you,” the reporter whispered. “It is of the utmost
importance.”

The frown which came to the other’s face showed that he resented this
intrusion, but something in Gale’s manner caused him to draw back and
allow Virginia to go on alone.

“What is it?” he demanded sharply. “I must say, señor, that I am
beginning to grow very weary of this confounded interference----”

“Where are you going?” the _News_ man cut him short. “Tell me quickly:
Has she fooled you into going away with her?”

“Fooled me!” The Baracoan’s frown deepened into a scowl. “I do not
understand,” he said haughtily. “Miss Throgmorton is feeling indisposed
and I am taking her home.”

To his astonishment and indignation, Gale received this with an
ironical laugh. “I guess it is about time to open your eyes,” he said.
“I am wise now to the whole game.” He whispered a few words in the
army officer’s ear. What he said caused the latter to give a start of
surprise.

“This is astounding!” Reyes muttered. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am not sure,” the reporter replied. “But you’ll see that I
am right.”

Virginia, noting her escort’s absence from her side, turned at the head
of the gangway, and a worried look came to her face as she saw with
whom he was talking.

“The launch is waiting for us, Captain Reyes,” she called out
impatiently. “Are you ready?”

The Baracoan hesitated a moment. Then, with sudden decision, he
whispered a few words to Gale, stepped to the girl’s side, and assisted
her down the ladder. As they got into the boat, Gale followed them.
“Guess I’m going ashore, too,” the reporter said, with a grin. “I have
some business which needs my immediate attention.”

Virginia glanced at her escort’s face. She observed with concern that
he did not seem to resent this intrusion.




CHAPTER XLI. A BOLD ATTEMPT.


About fifteen minutes after the gray steam launch containing Virginia,
Reyes, and Gale had left the battleship, another of the _Kearsarge’s_
hooded fifty-footers darted away from the starboard gangway apparently,
from the course she took, bound for the landing at Puerto Cabero. But
after this little craft had gone far enough away to be out of sight
of the battleship, it suddenly changed its course, and, making a wide
detour, sped toward the fortress of El Torro.

Presently the lone sentry, pacing the narrow strip of land in front
of that ugly gray building, brought his rifle smartly down from his
shoulder as the boat reached the beach and a tall figure stepped ashore.

“Halt! Who goes there?” the picket demanded. But without waiting for an
answer he abandoned his menacing attitude and respectfully presented
arms. For, although it was dark, he was able to discern that the man
who had stepped ashore from the battleship’s launch wore the uniform of
a captain of the army of Baracoa, and that his eyes were screened by a
pair of familiar blue spectacles. The newcomer stiffly acknowledged the
salute, then turned to shake hands with the natty young American naval
officer in charge of the launch’s crew. “Well, good-by, Captain Reyes,”
the sentry heard the naval officer say, addressing the bespectacled man
in Spanish. “Sorry that you are obliged to leave us before the fun is
all over. I trust we shall meet again soon.”

The launch started back toward the battleship, whose gayly illuminated
outline the sentry had been gazing at wistfully all night, wishing that
he wore epaulets so that he, too, might be wining and dining instead
of doing wearisome picket duty; but after the little boat had gone a
short way it stopped, as though something might be the matter with its
machinery.

The sentry might have paid more attention to this maneuver if the
bespectacled man in the captain’s uniform had not at that moment
addressed him.

“You can go,” the latter announced. “You are relieved. I will take your
place.”

The words, which were in Spanish, were spoken with a thickness which,
in the picket’s opinion, seemed to account for the unusualness of the
incident. He observed, too, that the other swayed as he spoke. By which
token he deduced that the supply of champagne aboard the battleship had
been plentiful.

As the sentry hesitated, the man with the epaulets turned upon him
fiercely. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Do you not
understand? You are relieved.” His utterance had grown even thicker
than before, and his voice did not sound much like that of Captain
Reyes, but, considering his condition, the soldier saw nothing strange
about that. Promptly the latter once more presented arms. Tipsy or
sober, the man in the blue spectacles was his superior officer, and it
was not for a common soldier to question his orders.

Watching this scene from the launch, Lieutenant Ridder exhaled a deep
breath of relief as he saw the sentry walk away and disappear within
the fortress. “He got away with it, all right,” he muttered joyously.
“But,” he added grimly, “the worst is yet to come.”

The next five minutes were the most anxious ones that Ridder had ever
passed through in all his life. As he sat, with his hands gripping the
wheel of the launch, straining his eyes in an effort to see what was
going on ashore, his teeth were clenched and his heart was pounding
against his ribs.

The man in the blue spectacles had disappeared behind a row of tall
bushes in front of the fortress. Presently--it seemed like ages to the
anxious naval officer--there came from behind this foliage a flash of
light and a dull boom like an explosion of wet powder.

Ridder gave vent to an ejaculation of joy. “By Jove, he’s done it!”
he muttered. “Good old Hawley!” As he saw a slim figure dart out from
behind the bushes and approach the water’s edge, he gave the wheel in
his hand a swift turn and sent the launch dashing toward the beach.

But short as was the distance the boat had to cover to reach his
comrade, he was too late. Led by a stout man in civilian garb, a swarm
of soldiers had rushed out of the fortress and seized the Camera Chap
just as the latter, perceiving that the launch would not get to him in
time, was about to throw himself into the water.

“What have we here?” exclaimed the corpulent person in civilian garb,
savagely tearing the blue spectacles from the prisoner’s face. Then, as
he recognized Hawley, he uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment
and joy.

“Ah, I perceive it is our brave and ingenious Yankee snapshotter!”
he sneered. “So you have come back to Baracoa, señor! Permit me to
compliment you upon the brilliancy of your latest exploit, and to
condole with you that such a brave and clever attempt should have met
with such poor success. We----”

He did not finish the sentence, for at that moment Lieutenant Ridder
with the three sailors of the launch at his heels, rushed up to the
group.

“Let this man go!” the naval officer bellowed, brandishing a revolver.
“He’s an American citizen, and you daren’t touch him.”

The fat man laughed ironically. “You appear to have an extremely
vague idea of international law, my impetuous friend,” he remarked;
“surprisingly vague, in view of the uniform you wear. I should advise
you, señor, to go back to your ship, and to congratulate yourself that
you, too, are not placed under arrest. Unless you depart immediately,
the consequences are liable to be serious for both yourself and your
country.”

“For my country!” Ridder began derisively. “Why, you chump----”

“Hold on, there, old man!” Hawley broke in, smiling at his friend’s
recklessness. “You’d better do as he says, and go back to the ship. You
can’t do any good, and, if you attempt to interfere, you may indeed
cause international complications. Especially,” he added, with a
chuckle, “if you are guilty of such a grave breach of decorum as to
call his excellency, the President of Baracoa, a chump.”

Ridder gave a start of surprise. Until that moment, the identity of
the stout man in civilian attire had not been known to him. With the
instinctive respect which his training as a naval officer caused him to
feel for the head of a sister republic, no matter what he might think
of the man personally, for a moment he was abashed at what he had done.
But a second later he was guilty of a still greater breach of decorum.

Stepping up to Portiforo, before anybody could realize what he was
about to do, he pressed the muzzle of his revolver against that
startled dignitary’s “corporation.” “So this is the president!” he
cried, with a triumphant laugh. “Well, so much the better! We may be
outnumbered, but I guess we hold the trump card. Get into the boat,
Frank, old man, and beat it back to the ship. These fellows can’t stop
you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” the president gasped, his bloated face turning
pale. “Do you realize, señor, that this is the greatest outrage in all
history?”

Lieutenant Ridder, of the United States navy, did realize that.
He was aware that his mad act was likely to “raise the deuce at
Washington,” cause a howl of protest to go up from every nation on the
globe, and possibly bring on an international trouble. He had every
reason to believe, too, that even if he managed to escape Portiforo’s
vengeance--which contingency was extremely doubtful--he was going to
be put out of the service for acting in a manner unbecoming an officer
and a gentleman. But, just the same, he kept the muzzle of his revolver
pressed against the stomach of the chief gentleman of Baracoa. For he
was not Lieutenant Ridder, of the United States navy at that moment.
He was plain John Ridder, of New York City, who had once had the life
almost kicked out of him by a gang of toughs in New York’s Chinatown,
and who, ever since then, had been yearning for an opportunity to pay
his debt to the plucky young man who had saved him from that fate.
Possibly his actions were influenced also by the consideration that
while the person whom he was threatening was the ruler of a friendly
nation, he was also a tyrant and a usurper, and that his rascality
might be revealed to the world if only Hawley could get away with the
photographic proof of the dastardly conspiracy.

“I assure you, Mr. Portiforo, that I do mean exactly what I say,” he
said quietly. “You had better instruct your soldiers to let go of my
friend and permit him to enter the launch, for as sure as there are
bullets in this gun--and I hope, for your sake, you have no doubts
on that score--if they attempt to stop him there’s going to be an
immediate change of administration in Baracoa.”

Desperate as was his act, it might have succeeded, for the soldiers
who held the Camera Chap captive, appreciating the peril of their
president, looked to the latter irresolutely for instructions, and
Portiforo, realizing that, temporarily, at least, this rash young man
with the bulldog jaw held, as he had boasted, the trump card, was about
to give orders to his soldiers to do as Ridder demanded. But just at
that moment, the naval officer’s arms were pinned to his sides, and his
right wrist was grasped so tightly that the revolver fell to the ground.

A second launch from the battleship had landed quietly at the fortress,
and two men, disembarking therefrom, had run along the beach toward the
group. It was one of these men who, taking in the situation, had crept
up stealthily behind Ridder and taken him by surprise.

As the lieutenant struggled in the grasp of his assailant and a half
dozen of the soldiers who went to the latter’s assistance, Portiforo’s
face resumed its normal hue, and he expressed his relief by a hearty
chuckle.

“Well done, Captain Reyes!” he cried approvingly. “Splendid work, my
brave Ernesto!”




CHAPTER XLII. GALE TURNS A TRICK.


Virginia Throgmorton, congratulating herself upon the success of the
ruse by which she hoped to get Captain Reyes safely out of the way
while the Camera Chap was carrying out his daring plan, had received
an unpleasant surprise when the launch containing the Baracoan army
officer, Gale, and herself reached the landing at Puerto Cabero.

Instead of disembarking there, Reyes had turned apologetically to
the girl. “I am filled with a thousand regrets, señorita, to be
compelled to transfer the privilege of escorting you to your home to
our friend Señor Gale,” he said. “Not for a great deal would I forego
the opportunity, but a soldier must place duty before pleasure, and I
find I have an important duty to perform which demands my immediate
attention.”

“A duty!” Virginia exclaimed apprehensively. “Where? Are you going back
to the battleship?”

The Baracoan’s reply had filled her with dismay. “No, señorita; I am
going to the fortress,” he announced.

The significant smile which accompanied these words increased the
girl’s apprehensions. “But I do not wish Mr. Gale to escort me home,”
she objected, refusing to recognize defeat. “In fact, there are reasons
why I cannot consent to that arrangement. I must insist that you go
with me, Captain Reyes. I shall be terribly disappointed if you don’t.”

“I am sorry, señorita,” he answered firmly, “but I am compelled to deny
myself the pleasure.”

“Then I will go back to the battleship,” Virginia announced, with
sudden decision. “I have changed my mind about going home.”

The captain bowed. “Very well, señorita. But I must ask you to be good
enough to go a little out of your way. I presume you won’t object to
putting me down at the fortress first.”

The girl frowned. Her one idea, now, was to return to the _Kearsarge_
in the hope that she might be able to intercept Hawley before he set
out on his hazardous expedition, and warn him that their plan had gone
awry. “I hate to be disobliging,” she said to Reyes, “but you will
have to wait.” She turned to the sailor at the wheel. “Back to the
battleship--as quickly as you can,” she requested quietly.

“I beg your pardon,” said the Baracoan. “But I must insist. My business
is urgent. We will first go to the fortress.”

Virginia gave him an indignant glance. “I think you are horrid
to-night, Captain Reyes! I did not think that you could be so rude to
a woman. However,” she continued, suddenly changing her mind as a new
idea came to her, “it shall be as you say. We will take you to your
fortress first. After all, it will mean only a few minutes’ delay.”

Reyes and Gale exchanged a smile of triumph. Possibly they would not
have felt so jubilant, however, if they had guessed what Virginia had
in mind. It had occurred to her that it might be too late to intercept
Hawley, that he might already have started out for the fortress,
in which case she believed she saw a way of rendering him valuable
assistance by assenting to Reyes’ request.

As they drew near to El Torro, which loomed up blue-black in the
moonlight, they caught sight of another navy launch heading for the
fortress, and the girl’s pretty face became grim. She knew who was in
that boat.

Reyes and Gale appeared to have the same knowledge. They jumped to
their feet excitedly. “Hurry!” the Baracoan cried tensely to the man
at the wheel. “If you get us there before that other boat lands I will
make it well worth your while.”

But the jack-tar paid no attention to what he said. He was listening
at that moment to Virginia, who had leaned forward and was whispering
something in his ear.

In response to her request, the man grinned, and, giving the wheel a
sharp turn, changed the craft’s course, at the same time slackening her
speed.

“What are you doing!” Reyes cried angrily, aghast at this maneuver. “I
am Captain Reyes, of the army of Baracoa. If you don’t obey my orders,
my man, you will get into trouble.”

“You’d better do as he says!” exclaimed Gale, addressing the sailor
threateningly. “He is a guest of your ship, and an intimate friend of
Captain Cortrell.”

“And I am Miss Throgmorton, the daughter of the United States
minister,” Virginia said, observing that the man at the wheel seemed
to hesitate. “If you do as I tell you, I will answer for it that
everything will be all right. Pay no attention to these men.”

The jack-tar grinned, and the launch kept to her new course--away from
El Torro. Virginia laughed happily as she viewed the discomfiture of
the pair.

“You will not be so merry, to-morrow, señorita,” the Baracoan said to
her savagely. “You will get into great trouble for this service you
have rendered to the enemies of our government--and, this time, neither
your sex nor your father’s influence will save you.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders. “To-morrow is a long way off,” she
informed him serenely. “Lots of things can happen before then.”

A little later an exclamation of dismay came from Gale. His eyes were
turned anxiously toward the fortress. It was a clear moonlight night,
and, although they were some distance off, he could discern what was
taking place on the beach. The other launch had landed, and a tall
figure had gone ashore. “He’s getting away with it!” the _News_ man
growled, as he saw the flash of light go up from behind the clump of
bushes, and, immediately afterward, caught sight of the dim outline of
a man running toward the water’s edge.

A laugh, half hysterical, came from Virginia, but it changed suddenly
to an involuntary cry of despair. A shadowy group had rushed out from
the fortress and seized the fugitive.

In striking contrast to her distress was the delight of Reyes and
Gale. “Hurrah! They’ve got him!” the reporter cried. “Congratulations,
Ernesto, old sport! We may have missed the first part of the
performance, but at all events we shall be in time for the finale.”

Reyes turned with a mocking smile to Virginia. “Now that your charming
little conspiracy has failed, perhaps you won’t mind permitting us to
go ashore, señorita,” he suggested. “You must realize that it can no
longer do you any good to hold us here.”

The girl sighed. “Yes; you might as well let them land now,” she
instructed the sailor at the wheel. “As he says, nothing is to be
gained by detaining them any longer.”

The launch landed some distance away from the point where the Camera
Chap was struggling in the grasp of the captives. As Reyes and the
reporter ran eagerly along the beach toward the group, they saw
Lieutenant Ridder suddenly project himself into the tableau and
threaten Portiforo with a revolver.

They did not know, then, that the man thus threatened was Portiforo.
They had no expectation of finding the president there, for his visit
to the fortress had been in the nature of a little surprise party to
the garrison. But, as they drew nearer, Gale recognized the corpulent
form of the chief executive of Baracoa, and announced his discovery
to his companion, who promptly proceeded to distinguish himself by
stealing up behind Ridder and throwing his arms around that reckless
young man.

“Excellently done, my brave Ernesto!” Portiforo chuckled as the
soldiers went to Reyes’ assistance and took charge of the discomfited
American naval officer. “Possibly, señor,” he sneered, addressing
Ridder, “you will regret, now, that you did not take advantage of my
good nature and go back to your ship while you had the chance. Of
course, after the outrage you have committed, you must realize that
your uniform cannot save you from the consequences of your mad act.”

Ridder shrugged his shoulders. “I’m ready to take my medicine,” he
said quietly. “I trust, however, Mr. President,” he added anxiously,
pointing to the three sailors who had followed him ashore, “you will
not find it necessary to hold these men. They have done nothing.”

Portiforo held a brief debate with himself, and decided to permit the
sailors to return to the _Kearsarge_. They appeared to be loath to
leave their young officer, who was very popular with all the men, but
he smilingly ordered them to go, and they put back to the ship in the
launch.

“Take these rascals and lock them both up!” the president commanded
fiercely, pointing to the Camera Chap and the navy man. “Until further
orders, nobody is to be permitted to communicate with either of them.
But wait a minute! There is one little detail which almost escaped my
attention. Before we lock him up, we will first relieve Señor Hawley of
the camera with which he took that audacious flash-light picture.”

“Here it is, Señor Presidente,” announced Gale, bending down and
picking up a small pocket kodak which was lying on the ground near the
Camera Chap’s feet and handing it to Portiforo. “Guess he was trying to
get rid of the evidence,” he added, with a grin.

“Thank you, Señor Gale,” said the president, regarding the camera
with great satisfaction. “This is a dainty little thing. We will
have the film developed as soon as possible,” he continued, with a
sardonic smile. “I have heard much of Señor Hawley’s great skill as a
photographer, and I am most anxious to see for myself what kind of work
he can do.”

“Will you let me have a copy of the picture, Señor Presidente?” the
_News_ reporter requested, seemingly with great eagerness.

A scowl darkened Portiforo’s face for an instant. Then he smiled and
shook his head. “It is painful to me to have to refuse you anything, my
friend,” he said, “but I fear that would be impossible.”

Gale appeared to be keenly disappointed, but his demeanor was only
a pose; for he had every reason to believe that when the film was
developed, the result would be a blank, inasmuch as he knew that the
camera which he had handed Portiforo had never been used.

The _News_ man, himself, had bought that camera, a few days previously,
in San Cristobal, and had carried it in his pocket when he went to the
_Kearsarge_ dinner, anticipating that it might come in handy. Being
rather clever at sleight-of-hand work, it had been a simple matter for
him to drop his own kodak, unseen, at the Camera Chap’s feet.

With equal dexterity, he had pocketed the small camera which Hawley had
used to take the flash-light picture of President Felix, and which, a
few minutes earlier, he, alone, had observed the Camera Chap attempt to
conceal by thrusting it into some bushes near which he was standing.




CHAPTER XLIII. A LITTLE KEEPSAKE.


Later that night, Gale returned to San Cristobal very well satisfied
with himself and his evening’s work. He had every reason to believe
that he carried in his pocket the photographic proof of President
Felix’s incarceration in El Torro fortress; for he deemed it
exceedingly unlikely that Hawley would have ventured to take the flash
light unless he had found Felix; and, as for the picture turning out
successfully, knowing the Camera Chap’s skill as a snapshotter and
his ability to get results, even under the most unfavorable technical
conditions, the _News_ man felt sanguine on that score.

He thrilled with anticipatory joy as he pictured to himself the glory
which would be his when his paper should startle the world by launching
his big photographic scoop. But keen though he was to have the film
developed, he felt constrained to postpone that detail for a few days.
He did not possess the necessary knowledge or materials with which to
do the work himself, and, although there were a couple of studios in
San Cristobal which made a specialty of doing developing and printing
for amateur photographers, he was afraid to trust the precious film to
them, particularly as they were run by natives who might recognize the
subject of his picture. So he decided to wait until he got to New York
and have the negative developed by the experts in the _Daily News_
office.

There was a boat leaving Puerto Cabero for New York the following
morning, and he resolved to book passage on her. His work being done,
there was nothing now to keep him in Baracoa, except possibly his
desire to wait to see what was going to happen to the Camera Chap. It
would have filled his mean, malicious soul with joy to be able to go
back to Park Row and boast to “the boys” that he had been a personal
eyewitness of the snapshot adventurer’s fate, but he put the temptation
aside, resolved to subordinate pleasure to duty. He realized the
necessity of getting the picture of Felix to his paper as speedily as
possible.

Before he sailed, however, he at least had the satisfaction of learning
definitely what his rival’s fate was to be. Justice in Baracoa, under
the Portiforo administration, was swift--on occasions. The country
being under martial law on account of the revolution, the case of the
Camera Chap and Lieutenant Ridder, of the United States navy, was
tried before a military court. The court convened that morning, and,
after less than an hour’s deliberation, arrived at a verdict that the
interests of the government of Baracoa demanded that capital punishment
should be the fate of both prisoners, and that the sentence of the
court should be carried out within twenty-four hours.

When Minister Throgmorton heard of these verdicts he hurried to the
palace and held a long conference with the president. After his visit,
it was officially announced that the government of Baracoa had decided
to pardon one of the two American prisoners. The man who was to receive
clemency, it was stated, was Lieutenant Ridder. Although his offense
was grievous, President Portiforo was disposed to be magnanimous, and
if the state department at Washington would give its assurance that the
young man would be dishonorably dismissed from the United States navy,
he would be allowed to go free within a few days.

In the case of Señor Hawley, however, the government of Baracoa
announced there could be no deviation from the sentence of the court.
This was the second time he had offended, and President Portiforo felt
that he must be made an example of, “as a lesson to all those who
espoused the revolutionary cause.”

Virginia was in despair when she heard the tidings from her father. “I
have done my best,” the latter assured her. “I have argued and pleaded
with President Portiforo on behalf of Hawley, but find it impossible to
persuade him to mitigate the sentence of that unfortunate young man.”

“Couldn’t you have got him to postpone the carrying out of the sentence
for a few days?” the girl said bitterly. “That would have given us time
to do something.”

The diplomat shook his head. “I did my best,” he repeated. “Portiforo
positively refused to grant even a stay of execution in Hawley’s case.
I had great difficulty in persuading him to extend clemency to Ridder,
and that was the most that I was able to accomplish. He was absolutely
obdurate as regards the other prisoner. He informed me that he wouldn’t
grant any mercy to Hawley, even if the President of the United States
were to ask it of him as a personal favor.”

He viewed his daughter’s distress with solicitude. “I am extremely
sorry, my dear,” he said gently; “although I am not favorably impressed
with Mr. Hawley, and still less so with the odious yellow journal he
represents. I should have liked to get him out of his scrape, for your
sake--now that you have confided to me the depth of your feeling toward
him.”

Preceding Minister Throgmorton’s visit to the palace, Virginia, in
her desire to save the Camera Chap, had laid bare to her father the
innermost secret of her heart. He had been amazed by the revelation. He
had known all along, of course, of the friendship that existed between
her and Hawley, but inasmuch as they had known each other only a few
weeks, he had not suspected the full extent of her regard for the
photographic adventurer. His daughter’s happiness being more to him
than any other consideration, he had put aside his own prejudices and
really had done his utmost to persuade his friend Portiforo to spare
Hawley’s life.

“There is just one concession that I was able to wring from the
president,” the minister now announced. “It isn’t much, my poor girl,
but it may give you a little comfort: He has consented to permit you
to see the prisoner. Personally, my dear, I would advise against your
availing yourself of this privilege. Such a meeting, I fear, would only
add to your distress. However, I will permit you to follow your own
wishes in the matter. If you desire to go to the prison, here is a
pass which the president made out for you.”

Virginia took the paper from him with pathetic eagerness, and less than
five minutes later she was speeding on her way to the fortress.

The meeting between her and the president’s photographic envoy took
place under somewhat disadvantageous circumstances. Two of the prison
officials insisted on being present during the interview, and Virginia
was not allowed to enter the cell; she had to converse with the
condemned man through the bars.

She found the Camera Chap apparently resigned to his fate. His face was
pale and haggard, but he bore himself with a cheerfulness that amazed
her, great as was her estimate of his courage.

“Brace up, little girl,” he said gently, putting out his hand to her
through the bars. “You mustn’t take it like that, you know. Things
haven’t turned out exactly as pleasant as we had hoped,” he continued,
with a whimsical smile, “but I assure you that I am not a bit sorry I
came to Baracoa. If I hadn’t, I should never have had the privilege
of knowing you, and I assure you that blessed privilege is ample
compensation for--whatever is coming my way later on.”

Presently he inquired of the two prison officials whether he would be
permitted to dispose of some of his personal effects as keepsakes, and
they told him that there would be no objection to this proceeding,
which was a privilege always granted to condemned prisoners.

Eagerly he drew from his finger a seal ring, and handed it to
Virginia. “I ask you to be good enough to wear this as a souvenir of
our friendship,” he said. He smiled ruefully. “I had hoped to present
it to you under more favorable circumstances. And there is one other
favor I would beg of you to grant: I have a friend in New York who, I
feel sure, would be glad to receive a keepsake from me. Tom Paxton,
managing editor of the New York _Sentinel_, has always admired this
tobacco pouch of mine.” He took from his pocket a leather pouch of
unique design. “I would like him to have it. It isn’t much, but I
know he will appreciate the circumstances under which it is given.
Yes,” he repeated, with peculiar emphasis, “I am quite sure he will
appreciate the circumstances. Would you mind seeing that he gets it,
Miss Throgmorton?”

As the girl took the pouch which he held to her, she noted an
expression on Hawley’s face which puzzled her.

It was not until she had arrived at the boat landing at Puerto Cabero
that a suspicion of the truth dawned upon her mind. With a sudden
thrill of hope, she opened the leather wallet with frantic eagerness,
and an exclamation of delight escaped from her lips. Underneath a thin
covering of granulated tobacco, the pouch contained a small cylindrical
article, the nature of which Virginia immediately recognized. It was a
light-proof roll of film from a small pocket camera.




CHAPTER XLIV. THE DEVELOPED FILM.


For a few seconds Virginia stood staring as though fascinated at the
little significant package in her hand, but was brought to herself
by a sudden consciousness that somebody was standing close by her
watching her intently. She raised her eyes and encountered those of
the soft-footed Señor Lopez. There was an expression on the spy’s face
which caused the girl to thrust the film roll and the pouch hurriedly
into the hand bag she was carrying, and to step hastily into the
automobile waiting for her at the wharf.

“Home, señorita?” the native chauffeur inquired.

She was about to give an affirmative response, but suddenly changed
her mind as an idea came to her. “No,” she answered. “Take me to the
residence of Sir Godfrey Montague, the British minister, as quickly as
you can.”

As the car started, she glanced back, and saw that Lopez was just
entering another automobile. She guessed that the man was about to
attempt to follow her, and a grim expression came to her face as she
opened her hand bag and tentatively examined a dainty, pearl-handled,
little revolver which was among its contents. Her fears, however,
so far as Lopez were concerned, proved groundless, for when her car
arrived in San Cristobal and drew up in front of the British embassy,
the spy was not in sight.

Virginia sent in her card to Beatrice Montague, the diplomat’s
daughter. She knew that the latter was an enthusiastic amateur
photographer and did her own developing and printing--which was the
reason she had decided to call upon her now.

“I want you to do me a favor, Beatrice,” she said, as soon as the
English girl came into the reception room to greet her. “I have a film
here which I want developed and a print made from it as quickly as
possible.”

“Surely,” the other responded, wondering greatly at her visitor’s
flushed face and agitated manner. “Come up to the dark room, dear. I
didn’t know that you, too, had become a camera fiend.”

She led the way upstairs to the chamber which she had fitted up as her
laboratory. Here, under the rays of a ruby lamp, the girls opened the
roll of film and submerged it in the necessary chemical solutions. A
little later, as her friend held the wet gelatin against the lamp,
Virginia gave vent to a joyous cry. “He did it!” she exclaimed, with a
hysterical laugh. “He has succeeded, after all.”

“Who did what?” Miss Montague asked curiously. “What is this negative,
Virginia? It looks to me like an old man gazing out of a barred window.”

“That’s what it is,” her visitor answered happily. “An old man gazing
out of a barred window. How soon can you let me have a print of this,
Beatrice? Please hurry. Every minute counts.”

In a little while the picture was ready. As the British minister’s
daughter took it out of the printing frame, she stared in astonishment
at the finished product. In its negative form, of course, she had not
been able to identify the subject; but now it occurred to her that
there was something hauntingly familiar about the haggard, wistful face
that peered at her from the barred window.

“I’ve seen this man before somewhere,” she announced; “but I can’t
recall where----” She stopped short, and an expression of astonishment
came to her face. “How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “Do you know,
my dear, if it weren’t so very absurd, I should say that this was a
snapshot of former President Felix. To be sure, it looks much older
than he did at the time of his disappearance, but the features are very
much like his, as I recall them. It is truly a remarkable resemblance.”

Virginia smiled. “Isn’t it, though? Please hurry up and finish this
print so that it won’t fade. I’ll tell you all about it later on, but
I haven’t time now.” Without waiting for the print to dry, she placed
it in her hand bag and hurried out to the waiting automobile. “Back to
Puerto Cabero--as fast as we can go,” she said to her chauffeur.

As she spoke, she glanced up the street and caught sight of another
automobile standing at the corner. In that car sat Señor Lopez. She
saw him bend forward in his seat and give an order to his driver,
and she was not surprised, when her car started, to observe that the
other followed. The discovery prompted her to take the precaution
of transferring the precious snapshot from her bag to her blouse,
but evidently the spy was content with merely watching her movements
and had no intention of trying to wrest the picture from her, for he
trailed behind her car all the way to the seaport, and once when their
motor broke down on a lonely stretch of road and they had to stop
ten minutes for repairs, Lopez’s chariot also came to a halt a short
distance behind.

A launch from the _Kearsarge_ was waiting at the wharf as the girl
stepped from the automobile and went down to the water’s edge. She
inquired of one of the crew whether the captain was on board the
warship, and, receiving an affirmative response, requested to be taken
out to him immediately.

Captain Cortrell received her with a grim smile. “I can guess the
object of your visit, Miss Throgmorton,” he said sadly. “But I regret
to say that I am powerless to do anything in behalf of---- Why, what is
this?” He stared in astonishment at the picture the girl had handed him.

“Who sent this photograph?” he demanded, an eager expression on his
weather-beaten face.

“Mr. Hawley,” she answered. “He couldn’t bring it himself,” she
explained with a smile, “so I undertook to be his messenger. I was in
hopes that it might alter the situation so far as he is concerned.”

Without an apology, the battleship’s commander turned from her and
disappeared inside his cabin, leaving Virginia standing outside. He
opened a drawer of his desk, and took therefrom the bulky envelope that
contained his sealed orders.

When he returned to Virginia, a few minutes later, his face was
wreathed in smiles. “You were right, Miss Throgmorton,” he said, “in
assuming that the picture you have brought me from Mr. Hawley would
alter the situation. It has changed matters considerably.”




CHAPTER XLV. TWO LACONIC ORDERS.


While the American minister’s daughter was visiting the _Kearsarge’s_
commander, Señor Lopez was dashing back to the capital, working the
motor of his car to its utmost capacity in his desire to get there as
soon as possible. He had watched the girl go aboard the warship, and
then he had proceeded to the fortress. What he learned there had caused
him to realize the necessity of reaching the palace without delay.

President Portiforo was in consultation with his cabinet when the spy
reached the palace. They were discussing a dispatch which had recently
arrived, and that the missive contained news of a startling character
was evident from the worried, scared expression on the countenance of
the chief executive of Baracoa.

“The report seems incredible,” Portiforo declared, his voice quavering.
“If it is true--and I suppose there can be no doubt of that--I must
admit that thing looks bad--exceedingly bad. Villa’s defeat is a blow
we can scarcely hope to survive. There is now practically nothing to
keep Rodriguez from reaching the capital. By forced marches he ought
to be here within another twenty-four hours.” A sickly smile creased
his face. “By this time to-morrow the crowds on the street will shout:
‘Viva el Presidente Rodriguez!’ It looks to me, gentlemen, as if the
time had come for us to take a little trip abroad for the benefit of
our health.”

The members of his cabinet received this suggestion with gloomy nods of
assent.

Portiforo leaned forward in his chair. “But before we go,” he went on,
lowering his voice, “there is one little matter we must not overlook.
To-morrow, no doubt, the enemy will be in possession of El Torro.” He
turned to a tall, bearded man with a very pale face who sat at his
right hand. “Surely you will agree with me, my dear Replife, that
before that happens we must do--what would have been done long ere this
if it had not been for your sentimental objections.”

Minister of War Replife, just out of the hospital, sighed, and a shadow
flitted across his pallid countenance. “I don’t like it,” he said
hoarsely. “I can’t bear the thought of it. It is impossible for me to
forget that he was once my friend. We have done him enough wrong, as it
is, without----”

“We’ve got to think of ourselves now,” Portiforo broke in impatiently.
“This is no time for maudlin sentiment, my friend. Unless we--er--take
steps to remove the evidence, by to-morrow night the whole world will
know our secret, and there will be no refuge for us, wherever we may
flee. As political refugees, we should be received with honor and
sympathy abroad, but as fugitive criminals we could not expect nearly
so pleasant a reception.”

All the members of the cabinet except Replife received this argument
with approval. While they were discussing it, a secretary entered the
room and announced that the spy, Lopez, was outside insisting that
he must see the president immediately on a matter of the greatest
importance.

Lopez was admitted at once. The tidings he brought caused Portiforo and
his cabinet to exchange glances of alarm.

“You are positive that it was a roll of film Miss Throgmorton had in
her hand?” the president inquired.

“I am absolutely sure of that, Señor Presidente. And I am equally sure
that she took it to the British minister’s residence to have the film
developed, and that the picture is now in the hands of the commander of
the Yankee warship.”

A scowl darkened the president’s bloated face. “Then why didn’t you
get it away from her?” he growled. “Surely you must have had plenty of
opportunity.”

Lopez bared his large, exceedingly white teeth in a deprecatory smile.
“If I had known then what I know now, of course I should have taken
that step, Señor Presidente--although I am not a man of violence. But
I must admit that Señorita Throgmorton’s actions puzzled me--until
after I had been to the fortress. I was content to watch her, to find
out what it all meant. But when I learned at the fortress that the
prisoner Hawley had handed her a tobacco pouch to send as a keepsake
to his editor, the significance of that incident dawned upon me. I
happen to know that the daughter of the British minister is an amateur
photographer, so it was easy to guess why Señorita Throgmorton visited
her--and why she then hurried to the Yankee warship.”

The scowl on Portiforo’s face deepened. “But I can’t understand how
that confounded photographer could have managed to retain possession
of the snapshot!” he muttered. “I took his camera away from him that
night, and it was loaded with film.”

Lopez shrugged his shoulders. “Señor Hawley is an exceedingly ingenious
and resourceful young man,” he remarked. “After the several exhibitions
of his cleverness which he has given us, I think we can assume that he
had the sagacity and foresight to change the film roll of his camera
immediately after taking the picture.”

The president nodded gloomily. “Yes; he might have done it that way. We
ought to have been more careful in searching him afterward,” he said.
“I suppose, my dear Replife,” he continued, turning with a grim smile
to the secretary of war, “you now fully agree with the rest of us as to
the necessity of carrying out immediately the step we were discussing.
The startling news that Lopez has brought us emphasizes the danger of
delaying the matter.”

General Replife shook his head. “On the contrary, I think the news
which Lopez has brought is a strong argument why you should spare the
life of the unhappy Felix,” he urged. “What good would it do you to put
him out of the way now? Such a step would only make things worse for
ourselves. The photographic evidence of our guilt is now in the hands
of the United States government. Whether he is found in El Torro or
not, the world will know from that snapshot that he _was_ locked up
there. And if he is done away with it will, of course, add to the price
which we will have to pay later on.”

Some of Portiforo’s advisers were impressed by this argument. They
looked at their chief anxiously. The latter leaned back in his chair, a
look of uncertainty on his face. It was evident from his demeanor that
he appreciated the force of this plea for their victim’s life.

Then suddenly his beady eyes snapped, and his cruel lips parted in a
snarl. “We will take our chances on the price we may have to pay--if
we are caught,” he said. “There is a possibility that we shall be
able to convince the world that the snapshot is a daring fraud.
Photographic evidence has been manufactured before now; and”--he smiled
sardonically--“the man who took the picture will not, then, be here to
refute our claims.”

He reached for pen and paper on the big mahogany table before him, and
began to write rapidly. When he had finished, he turned to Lopez. “Go
back to the fortress and deliver these immediately,” he said to him.
“One of them is for the commandant; the other for Captain Reyes. Wait
there until both orders are carried out, and then come back and report.”

Lopez bowed, and put the two papers in his pocket. Then he hurried back
to Puerto Cabero. During the journey, he read the two papers, and their
contents caused him to bare his teeth in a malicious smile.

The missive addressed to Captain Reyes was somewhat ambiguous. It said
merely, “The time has come.”

Portiforo knew Reyes would have no difficulty in grasping the purport
of that laconic sentence. The other order, addressed to the commandant
of the fortress, was less vaguely worded. It commanded that official to
proceed immediately with the execution of the American prisoner, Hawley.

Before two hours had elapsed, Lopez returned to the palace. The cabinet
members had departed. Portiforo was in his private suite, nervously
pacing the floor.

“Well?” he said hoarsely, as his envoy entered. “Has it been done?”

The spy shook his head. His face was white, his manner agitated. His
breath came in great gasps, as though he had been running hard.

“I was too late, Señor Presidente,” he answered.

“Too late?”

“When I arrived there, I found El Torro in possession of marines from
the _Kearsarge_. I can’t understand how they managed it--I didn’t wait
to gather particulars--but they took the garrison by surprise, and
captured the fortress with scarcely a struggle.”

Portiforo sank weakly into a chair. “Incredible!” he gasped. “And the
prisoners?”

Lopez made a despairing gesture. “I regret to say that our birds have
flown, Señor Presidente. Felix, Hawley, and Ridder are now safely
aboard the Yankee warship.”




CHAPTER XLVI. BESIDE THE GREAT GUN.


In the captain’s cabin of the _Kearsarge_ a white-haired, emaciated
man, with tears streaming down his pallid cheeks, was vociferously
assuring the commander of the warship of his undying gratitude.

“My dear sir, you don’t owe any thanks to me,” the latter protested
gruffly. “The man to whom you owe your freedom is Mr. Hawley. Anxious
though I was to serve you, I could have done nothing if it hadn’t been
for him.”

President Felix raised his faded eyes to the beamed ceiling of the
cabin. “And to think that I misjudged the motives of that heroic young
man!” he said remorsefully. “It seemed to me preposterous that he could
save me with his camera. I did him the injustice of supposing that he
was merely a professional photographer trying to get a sensational
picture and not caring what happened to me afterward as a result of his
exploit.”

“And yet you assisted him by standing at the bars of your dungeon and
posing for his camera?” Captain Cortrell exclaimed, in a surprised tone.

A glow came to the liberated martyr’s eyes. “That was because I saw the
possibility of being vindicated in the eyes of the world,” he replied.
“That was all that I dared hope for, señor--vindication, not freedom.
I believed that Mr. Hawley’s daring exploit would cause my enemies to
resort to desperate measures, but I was in hopes that afterward--after
my death--the picture might be published in the United States and my
reputation cleared. Even if Mr. Hawley had done me only that service,
it would have been enough,” he added fervently.

“Well, thank goodness, he was able to accomplish more than that,” said
the naval officer heartily.

“How shall I ever be able to repay him?” said Felix brokenly.

While this conversation was taking place in the captain’s cabin, the
Camera Chap was standing under the shadow of one of the warship’s great
guns, looking into the blue eyes of Virginia Throgmorton, and earnestly
assuring her that to her alone was due the successful outcome of his
adventure.

“I was sure, when I handed you that pouch, that you would grasp the
idea,” he said, a note of profound admiration in his voice. “Any other
girl might have failed to understand.”

Virginia laughed and blushed at the same time. “I am so glad that I did
understand,” she said earnestly. “It wasn’t cleverness, of course--it
was just instinct. But suppose I had taken you literally and sent on
that keepsake to your friend, Mr. Paxton, without examining it!” She
shuddered at the thought.

Hawley smiled grimly. “In that event, I guess the _Sentinel_ would have
had a big picture scoop. Tom Paxton would have realized what that film
meant, of course, as soon as he saw it, and would have played up the
snapshot for all it was worth.” Suddenly he smiled as a thought came to
him. “What has become of our friend Gale?”

Virginia informed him that the _News_ man had gone back to New York.

“I supposed as much,” Hawley chuckled. “I guess he was in a hurry to go
back to his office and hand them his big picture scoop. In spite of the
seriousness of the situation, I could scarcely keep from laughing, that
night, when I saw him fool Portiforo by pocketing my camera and handing
him another, not suspecting that while he was working that cunning
little trick he was being hoaxed himself.” He chuckled again. “I would
give a whole lot to see his face when he arrives at the _News_ office
and develops that perfectly blank film.”

Virginia frowned. “Serves him right,” she said. “I don’t like to be
vindictive, but I hope his editor discharges him.” She sighed. “I
can’t understand why my father should have taken such a fancy to that
contemptible fellow. But then,” she added, with a rueful smile, “poor
dad has shown himself to be a very poor judge of men.”

Hawley nodded.

“I am sorry for your father, Virginia. I presume it will be a great
blow to him--the way things have turned out.”

“I am afraid it will,” the girl said wistfully. “He had such great
faith in that tyrant Portiforo. And I suppose he will be asked to
resign his post. It isn’t to be expected that Washington will continue
him here under the circumstances. Personally I shall not be sorry to
return to the United States, but I fear that dad will feel keenly the
disgrace of being recalled.”

The Camera Chap made no comment on this, but there was a thought in
his mind which did not find expression until a few days later when he
arrived at Washington and presented himself at the White House.

The President of the United States received his photographic envoy with
marked cordiality, and gazed appreciatively at the snapshot which the
latter handed him with the simple announcement: “Here is the picture,
Mr. President, which you instructed me to take.”

The chief executive smiled quizzically. “I must compliment you on the
manner in which you have carried out my instructions, sir,” he said
formally. “Thank you for the picture. I fear that you must have had
considerable trouble in getting it.” Then suddenly the quizzical smile
left his face, and his hand went out and grasped that of Hawley in a
strenuous grip. “Well done, sir,” he exclaimed, in a tone that was by
no means formal. “I shan’t forget your splendid, plucky work, my boy.”

It was a little late when the subject of reward was brought up, and
the president was offering the Camera Chap a lucrative position in the
United States secret service, that the latter spoke the thought which
was in his mind when he had that conversation with Virginia on board
the _Kearsarge_.

“I don’t want anything for myself, sir,” Hawley said. “But--if you
won’t think me too presumptuous--I would like to ask a favor on
behalf of somebody else. I understand that there is talk of Minister
Throgmorton being recalled as a result of the latest developments in
Baracoa. If you could see your way to permit him to retain his post it
would be giving me a greater reward than I deserve.”

The president shook his head. “I regret to say that is out of the
question,” he replied. “I am convinced that Mr. Throgmorton acted with
perfect sincerity in upholding Portiforo and refusing to believe the
rumor about the conspiracy against Felix, but a man capable of such bad
judgment is scarcely fit to represent this government abroad. Besides,
Mr. Throgmorton has no desire to continue in his post. He has sent me
his resignation to take effect immediately. He feels naturally that
it would be embarrassing to him to remain in Baracoa under the Felix
administration. He and his daughter have sailed for the United States.”

And the president wondered why this announcement brought such a joyous
expression to the Camera Chap’s face.

THE END.

No. 70 of the ADVENTURE LIBRARY, entitled “The Sky Pilot,” by Burt
L. Standish, is a book that from beginning to end is filled with
entertainment.

       *       *       *       *       *

POPULAR COPYRIGHTS

New Eagle Series

_Carefully Selected Love Stories_

There is such a profusion of good books in this list, that it is an
impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or author’s
work. All that we can say is that any line that contains the complete
works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, Mrs. Harriet Lewis,
May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, and other
writers of the same type, is worthy of your attention.

_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

     1--Queen Bess                               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
     2--Ruby’s Reward                            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
     7--Two Keys                                 By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
     9--The Virginia Heiress                        By May Agnes Fleming
    12--Edrie’s Legacy                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    17--Leslie’s Loyalty                              By Charles Garvice
    22--Elaine                                        By Charles Garvice
    24--A Wasted Love                                 By Charles Garvice
    41--Her Heart’s Desire                            By Charles Garvice
    44--That Dowdy                               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    50--Her Ransom                                    By Charles Garvice
    55--Thrice Wedded                            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    66--Witch Hazel                              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    70--Sydney                                        By Charles Garvice
    73--The Marquis                                   By Charles Garvice
    77--Tina                                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    79--Out of the Past                               By Charles Garvice
    84--Imogene                                       By Charles Garvice
    85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold                       By Charles Garvice
    88--Virgie’s Inheritance                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    95--A Wilful Maid                                 By Charles Garvice
    98--Claire                                        By Charles Garvice
    99--Audrey’s Recompense                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   102--Sweet Cymbeline                               By Charles Garvice
   109--Signa’s Sweetheart                            By Charles Garvice
   111--Faithful Shirley                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   117--She Loved Him                                 By Charles Garvice
   119--’Twixt Smile and Tear                         By Charles Garvice
   122--Grazia’s Mistake                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   130--A Passion Flower                              By Charles Garvice
   133--Max                                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   136--The Unseen Bridegroom                       By May Agnes Fleming
   138--A Fatal Wooing                              By Laura Jean Libbey
   141--Lady Evelyn                                 By May Agnes Fleming
   144--Dorothy’s Jewels                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   146--Magdalen’s Vow                              By May Agnes Fleming
   151--The Heiress of Glen Gower                   By May Agnes Fleming
   155--Nameless Dell                            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   157--Who Wins                                    By May Agnes Fleming
   166--The Masked Bridal                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won                     By May Agnes Fleming
   174--His Guardian Angel                            By Charles Garvice
   177--A True Aristocrat                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   181--The Baronet’s Bride                         By May Agnes Fleming
   188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape                  By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   199--Geoffrey’s Victory                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   203--Only One Love                                 By Charles Garvice
   210--Wild Oats                                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   213--The Heiress of Egremont                    By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   215--Only a Girl’s Love                            By Charles Garvice
   219--Lost: A Pearle                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   222--The Lily of Mordaunt                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   223--Leola Dale’s Fortune                          By Charles Garvice
   231--The Earl’s Heir                               By Charles Garvice
   233--Nora                                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   236--Her Humble Lover                              By Charles Garvice
   242--A Wounded Heart                               By Charles Garvice
   244--A Hoiden’s Conquest                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   250--A Woman’s Soul                                By Charles Garvice
   255--The Little Marplot                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   257--A Martyred Love                               By Charles Garvice
   266--The Welfleet Mystery                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   267--Jeanne                                        By Charles Garvice
   268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake               By Charles Garvice
   272--So Fair, So False                             By Charles Garvice
   276--So Nearly Lost                                By Charles Garvice
   277--Brownie’s Triumph                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   280--Love’s Dilemma                                By Charles Garvice
   282--The Forsaken Bride                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   283--My Lady Pride                                 By Charles Garvice
   287--The Lady of Darracourt                        By Charles Garvice
   288--Sibyl’s Influence                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   292--For Her Only                                  By Charles Garvice
   296--The Heir of Vering                            By Charles Garvice
   299--Little Miss Whirlwind                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   300--The Spider and the Fly                        By Charles Garvice
   303--The Queen of the Isle                       By May Agnes Fleming
   304--Stanch as a Woman                             By Charles Garvice
   305--Led by Love                                   By Charles Garvice
   309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffs                By May Agnes Fleming
   312--Woven on Fate’s Loom, and The Snowdrift       By Charles Garvice
   315--The Dark Secret                             By May Agnes Fleming
   317--Ione                                        By Laura Jean Libbey
   318--Stanch of Heart                               By Charles Garvice
   322--Mildred                                   By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   326--Parted by Fate                              By Laura Jean Libbey
   327--He Loves Me                                   By Charles Garvice
   328--He Loves Me Not                               By Charles Garvice
   330--Aikenside                                 By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   333--Stella’s Fortune                              By Charles Garvice
   334--Miss McDonald                             By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   339--His Heart’s Queen                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I.                         By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II.                        By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   344--Tresillian Court                           By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   345--The Scorned Wife                           By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   346--Guy Tresillian’s Fate                      By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   347--The Eyes of Love                              By Charles Garvice
   348--The Hearts of Youth                           By Charles Garvice
   351--The Churchyard Betrothal                 By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   352--Family Pride. Vol. I.                          By Mary J. Holmes
   353--Family Pride. Vol. II.                         By Mary J. Holmes
   354--A Love Comedy                                 By Charles Garvice
   360--The Ashes of Love                             By Charles Garvice
   361--A Heart Triumphant                            By Charles Garvice
   362--Stella Rosevelt                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   367--The Pride of Her Life                         By Charles Garvice
   368--Won By Love’s Valor                           By Charles Garvice
   372--A Girl in a Thousand                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   373--A Thorn Among Roses.
        Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand”         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   380--Her Double Life                            By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   381--The Sunshine of Love.
        Sequel to “Her Double Life”                By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   382--Mona                                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   391--Marguerite’s Heritage                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   399--Betsey’s Transformation                  By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   407--Esther the Fright                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   415--Trixy                                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   440--Edna’s Secret Marriage                        By Charles Garvice
   449--The Bailiff’s Scheme                       By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   450--Rosamond’s Love.
        Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme”           By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   451--Helen’s Victory                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   456--A Vixen’s Treachery                        By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   457--Adrift in the World.
        Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery”            By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   458--When Love Meets Love                          By Charles Garvice
   464--The Old Life’s Shadows                     By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   465--Outside Her Eden.
        Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows”         By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   474--The Belle of the Season                    By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   475--Love Before Pride.
        Sequel to “The Belle of the Season”        By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   481--Wedded, Yet No Wife                         By May Agnes Fleming
   489--Lucy Harding                              By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   495--Norine’s Revenge                            By May Agnes Fleming
   511--The Golden Key                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   512--A Heritage of Love.
        Sequel to “The Golden Key”               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   519--The Magic Cameo                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   520--The Heatherford Fortune.
        Sequel to “The Magic Cameo”              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   531--Better Than Life                              By Charles Garvice
   542--Once in a Life                                By Charles Garvice
   548--’Twas Love’s Fault                            By Charles Garvice
   553--Queen Kate                                    By Charles Garvice
   554--Step by Step                             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   557--In Cupid’s Chains                             By Charles Garvice
   630--The Verdict of the Heart                      By Charles Garvice
   635--A Coronet of Shame                            By Charles Garvice
   640--A Girl of Spirit                              By Charles Garvice
   645--A Jest of Fate                                By Charles Garvice
   648--Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   650--Diana’s Destiny                               By Charles Garvice
   655--Linked by Fate                                By Charles Garvice
   663--Creatures of Destiny                          By Charles Garvice
   671--When Love Is Young                            By Charles Garvice
   676--My Lady Beth                             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   679--Gold in the Gutter                            By Charles Garvice
   712--Love and a Lie                                By Charles Garvice
   721--A Girl from the South                         By Charles Garvice
   730--John Hungerford’s Redemption             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   741--The Fatal Ruby                                By Charles Garvice
   749--The Heart of a Maid                           By Charles Garvice
   758--The Woman in It                               By Charles Garvice
   774--Love in a Snare                               By Charles Garvice
   775--My Love Kitty                                 By Charles Garvice
   776--That Strange Girl                             By Charles Garvice
   777--Nellie                                        By Charles Garvice
   778--Miss Estcourt; or Olive                       By Charles Garvice
   818--The Girl Who Was True                         By Charles Garvice
   826--The Irony of Love                             By Charles Garvice
   896--A Terrible Secret                           By May Agnes Fleming
   897--When To-morrow Came                         By May Agnes Fleming
   904--A Mad Marriage                              By May Agnes Fleming
   905--A Woman Without Mercy                       By May Agnes Fleming
   912--One Night’s Mystery                         By May Agnes Fleming
   913--The Cost of a Lie                           By May Agnes Fleming
   920--Silent and True                             By May Agnes Fleming
   921--A Treasure Lost                             By May Agnes Fleming
   925--Forrest House                                  By Mary J. Holmes
   926--He Loved Her Once                              By Mary J. Holmes
   930--Kate Danton                                 By May Agnes Fleming
   931--Proud as a Queen                            By May Agnes Fleming
   935--Queenie Hetherton                              By Mary J. Holmes
   936--Mightier Than Pride                            By Mary J. Holmes
   940--The Heir of Charlton                        By May Agnes Fleming
   941--While Love Stood Waiting                    By May Agnes Fleming
   945--Gretchen                                       By Mary J. Holmes
   946--Beauty That Faded                              By Mary J. Holmes
   950--Carried by Storm                            By May Agnes Fleming
   951--Love’s Dazzling Glitter                     By May Agnes Fleming
   954--Marguerite                                     By Mary J. Holmes
   955--When Love Spurs Onward                         By Mary J. Holmes
   960--Lost for a Woman                            By May Agnes Fleming
   961--His to Love or Hate                         By May Agnes Fleming
   964--Paul Ralston’s First Love                      By Mary J. Holmes
   965--Where Love’s Shadows Lie Deep                  By Mary J. Holmes
   968--The Tracy Diamonds                             By Mary J. Holmes
   969--She Loved Another                              By Mary J. Holmes
   972--The Cromptons                                  By Mary J. Holmes
   973--Her Husband Was a Scamp                        By Mary J. Holmes
   975--The Merivale Banks                             By Mary J. Holmes
   978--The One Girl in the World                     By Charles Garvice
   979--His Priceless Jewel                           By Charles Garvice
   982--The Millionaire’s Daughter and Other Stories  By Charles Garvice
   983--Doctor Hathern’s Daughters                     By Mary J. Holmes
   984--The Colonel’s Bride                            By Mary J. Holmes
   988--Her Ladyship’s Diamonds, and Other Stories      By Chas. Garvice
   998--Sharing Her Crime                           By May Agnes Fleming
   999--The Heiress of Sunset Hall                  By May Agnes Fleming
  1004--Maude Percy’s Secret                        By May Agnes Fleming
  1005--The Adopted Daughter                        By May Agnes Fleming
  1010--The Sisters of Torwood                      By May Agnes Fleming
  1015--A Changed Heart                             By May Agnes Fleming
  1016--Enchanted                                   By May Agnes Fleming
  1025--A Wife’s Tragedy                            By May Agnes Fleming
  1026--Brought to Reckoning                        By May Agnes Fleming
  1027--A Madcap Sweetheart                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1028--An Unhappy Bargain                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1029--Only a Working Girl                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1030--The Unbidden Guest                   By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1031--The Man and His Millions                      By Ida Reade Allen
  1032--Mabel’s Sacrifice                        By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1033--Was He Worth It?                            By Geraldine Fleming
  1034--Her Two Suitors                                 By Wenona Gilman
  1035--Edith Percival                              By May Agnes Fleming
  1036--Caught in the Snare                         By May Agnes Fleming
  1037--A Love Concealed                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  1038--The Price of Happiness               By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1039--The Lucky Man                               By Geraldine Fleming
  1040--A Forced Promise                              By Ida Reade Allen
  1041--The Crime of Love                              By Barbara Howard
  1042--The Bride’s Opals                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1043--Love That Was Cursed                        By Geraldine Fleming
  1044--Thorns of Regret                     By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1045--Love Will Find the Way                          By Wenona Gilman
  1046--Bitterly Atoned                         By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1047--Told in the Twilight                          By Ida Reade Allen
  1048--A Little Barbarian                         By Charlotte Kingsley
  1049--Love’s Golden Spell                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1050--Married in Error                     By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1051--If It Were True                                 By Wenona Gilman
  1052--Vivian’s Love Story                     By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1053--From Tears to Smiles                          By Ida Reade Allen
  1054--When Love Dawns                             By Adelaide Stirling
  1055--Love’s Earnest Prayer                       By Geraldine Fleming
  1056--The Strength of Love                 By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1057--A Lost Love                                     By Wenona Gilman
  1058--The Stronger Passion                       By Lillian R. Drayton
  1059--What Love Can Cost                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  1060--At Another’s Bidding                          By Ida Reade Allen
  1061--Above All Things                            By Adelaide Stirling
  1062--The Curse of Beauty                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1063--Her Sister’s Secret                  By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1064--Married in Haste                                By Wenona Gilman
  1065--Fair Maid Marian                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  1066--No Man’s Wife                                 By Ida Reade Allen
  1067--A Sacrifice to Love                         By Adelaide Stirling
  1068--Her Fatal Gift                              By Geraldine Fleming
  1069--Her Life’s Burden                    By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1070--Evelyn, the Actress                             By Wenona Gilman
  1071--Married for Money                        By Lucy Randall Comfort
  1072--A Lost Sweetheart                             By Ida Reade Allen
  1073--A Golden Sorrow                          By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1074--Her Heart’s Challenge                          By Barbara Howard
  1075--His Willing Slave                          By Lillian R. Drayton
  1076--A Freak of Fate                           By Emma Garrison Jones
  1077--Her Punishment                              By Laura Jean Libbey
  1078--The Shadow Between Them             By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  1079--No Time for Penitence                           By Wenona Gilman
  1080--Norma’s Black Fortune                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1081--A Wilful Girl                            By Lucy Randall Comfort
  1082--Love’s First Kiss                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1083--Lola Dunbar’s Crime                            By Barbara Howard
  1084--Ethel’s Secret                           By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1085--Lynette’s Wedding                    By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1086--A Fair Enchantress                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1087--The Tide of Fate                                By Wenona Gilman
  1088--Her Husband’s Other Wife                  By Emma Garrison Jones
  1089--Hearts of Stone                             By Geraldine Fleming
  1090--In Love’s Springtime                        By Laura Jean Libbey
  1091--Love at the Loom                            By Geraldine Fleming
  1092--What Was She to Him?                 By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1093--For Another’s Fault                      By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1094--Hearts and Dollars                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1095--A Wife’s Triumph                      By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1096--A Bachelor Girl                              By Lucy May Russell
  1097--Love and Spite                              By Adelaide Stirling
  1098--Leola’s Heart                            By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1099--The Power of Love                           By Geraldine Fleming
  1100--An Angel of Evil                      By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1101--True to His Bride                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1102--The Lady of Beaufort Park                       By Wenona Gilman
  1103--A Daughter of Darkness                        By Ida Reade Allen
  1104--My Pretty Maid                       By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1105--Master of Her Fate                          By Geraldine Fleming
  1106--A Shadowed Happiness                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1107--John Elliott’s Flirtation                    By Lucy May Russell
  1108--A Forgotten Love                            By Adelaide Stirling
  1109--Sylvia, The Forsaken                     By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1110--Her Dearest Love                            By Geraldine Fleming
  1111--Love’s Greatest Gift                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1112--Mischievous Maid Faynie                     By Laura Jean Libbey
  1113--In Love’s Name                            By Emma Garrison Jones
  1114--Love’s Clouded Dawn                             By Wenona Gilman
  1115--A Blue Grass Heroine                          By Ida Reade Allen
  1116--Only a Kiss                          By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1117--Virgie Talcott’s Mission                     By Lucy May Russell
  1118--Her Evil Genius                             By Adelaide Stirling
  1119--In Love’s Paradise                       By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1120--Sold for Gold                               By Geraldine Fleming
  1121--Andrew Leicester’s Love               By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1122--Taken by Storm                            By Emma Garrison Jones
  1123--The Mills of the Gods                           By Wenona Gilman
  1124--The Breath of Slander                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1125--Loyal Unto Death                     By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1126--A Spurned Proposal                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1127--Daredevil Betty                                By Evelyn Malcolm
  1128--Her Life’s Dark Cloud                      By Lillian R. Drayton
  1129--True Love Endures                             By Ida Reade Allen
  1330--The Battle of Hearts                        By Geraldine Fleming
  1131--Better Than Riches                              By Wenona Gilman
  1132--Tempted By Love                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1133--Between Good and Evil                    By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1134--A Southern Princess                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1135--The Thorns of Love                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  1136--A Married Flirt                      By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1137--Her Priceless Love                          By Geraldine Fleming
  1138--My Own Sweetheart                               By Wenona Gilman
  1139--Love’s Harvest                          By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1140--His Two Loves                                 By Ida Reade Allen
  1141--The Love He Sought                         By Lillian R. Drayton
  1142--A Fateful Promise                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1143--Love Surely Triumphs                   By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1144--The Haunting Past                              By Evelyn Malcolm
  1145--Sorely Tried                              By Emma Garrison Jones
  1146--Falsely Accused                             By Geraldine Fleming
  1147--Love Given in Vain                      By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1148--No One to Help Her                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1149--Her Golden Secret                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1150--Saved From Herself                          By Adelaide Stirling
  1151--The Gypsy’s Warning                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1152--Caught in Love’s Net                          By Ida Reade Allen
  1153--The Pride of My Heart                       By Laura Jean Libbey
  1154--A Vagabond Heiress                     By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1155--That Terrible Tomboy                        By Geraldine Fleming
  1156--The Man She Hated                    By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1157--Her Fateful Choice                       By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1158--A Hero For Love’s Sake                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1159--A Penniless Princess                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  1160--Love’s Rugged Pathway                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1161--Had She Loved Him Less                      By Laura Jean Libbey
  1162--The Serpent and the Dove               By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1163--What Love Made Her                          By Geraldine Fleming
  1164--Love Conquers Pride                  By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1165--His Unbounded Faith                      By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1166--A Heart’s Triumph                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1167--Stronger than Fate                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  1168--A Virginia Goddess                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1169--Love’s Young Dream                          By Laura Jean Libbey
  1170--When Fate Decrees                       By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1171--For a Flirt’s Love                          By Geraldine Fleming
  1172--All For Love                         By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1173--Could He Have Known                     By Charlotte May Stanley
  1174--The Girl He Loved                           By Adelaide Stirling
  1175--They Met By Chance                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1176--The Lovely Constance                        By Laura Jean Libbey
  1177--The Love That Prevailed                 By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1178--Trixie’s Honor                              By Geraldine Fleming
  1179--Driven from Home                                By Wenona Gilman
  1180--The Arm of the Law                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  1181--A Will of Her Own                             By Ida Reade Allen
  1182--Pity--Not Love                              By Laura Jean Libbey
  1183--Brave Barbara                         By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1184--Lady Gay’s Martyrdom                   By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1185--Barriers of Stone                               By Wenona Gilman
  1186--A Useless Sacrifice                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1187--When We Two Parted                   By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1188--Far Above Price                                By Evelyn Malcolm
  1189--In Love’s Shadows                             By Ida Reade Allen
  1190--The Veiled Bride                            By Laura Jean Libbey
  1191--The Love Knot                          By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1192--She Scoffed at Love                     By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1193--Life’s Richest Jewel                    By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1194--A Barrier Between Them                         By Evelyn Malcolm
  1195--Too Quickly Judged                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1196--Lotta, the Cloak Model                      By Laura Jean Libbey
  1197--Loved at Last                               By Geraldine Fleming
  1198--They Looked and Loved                By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1199--The Wiles of a Siren                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1200--Tricked Into Marriage                          By Evelyn Malcolm
  1201--Her Twentieth Guest                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1202--From Dreams to Waking                   By Charlotte M. Kingsley
  1203--Sweet Kitty Clover                          By Laura Jean Libbey
  1204--Selina’s Love Story                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1205--The Cost of Pride                          By Lillian R. Drayton
  1206--Love Is a Mystery                       By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1207--When Love Speaks                               By Evelyn Malcolm
  1208--A Siren’s Heart                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1209--Her Share of Sorrow                             By Wenona Gilman
  1210--The Other Girl’s Lover                     By Lillian R. Drayton
  1211--The Fatal Kiss                       By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1212--A Reckless Promise                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  1213--Without Name or Wealth                        By Ida Reade Allen
  1214--At Her Father’s Bidding                     By Geraldine Fleming
  1215--The Heart of Hetta                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1216--A Dreadful Legacy                           By Geraldine Fleming
  1217--For Jack’s Sake                           By Emma Garrison Jones
  1218--One Man’s Evil                        By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1219--Through the Shadows                     By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1220--The Stolen Bride                               By Evelyn Malcolm
  1221--When the Heart Hungers                   By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1222--The Love that Would Not Die                   By Ida Reade Allen
  1223--A King and a Coward                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1224--A Queen of Song                             By Geraldine Fleming
  1225--Shall We Forgive Her?                  By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1226--Face to Face with Love                     By Lillian R. Drayton
  1227--Long Since Forgiven                     By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1228--As Light as Air                          By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1229--When Man Proposes                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1230--Wedded for Wealth                          By Lillian R. Drayton
  1231--Only Love’s Fancy                             By Ida Reade Allen
  1232--Alone with Her Sorrow                  By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1233--Her Life’s Desire                       By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1234--For Her Husband’s Love                   By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1235--Bound by Gratitude                         By Lillian R. Drayton
  1236--A Splendid Man                        By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1237--The Vanished Heir                       By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1238--Somebody Loves Me!                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1239--A Question of Honor                    By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1240--No Mother To Guide Her                  By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1241--The Seed of Hate                               By Evelyn Malcolm
  1242--A Wife Yet No Wife                         By Lillian R. Drayton

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

To be published in July, 1927.

  1243--One of Life’s Roses                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1244--With Beauty Beaming                       By Emma Garrison Jones

To be published in August, 1927.

  1245--She Could Not Forsake Him                       By Grace Garland
  1246--After She Promised                      By Adelaide Fox Robinson

To be published in September, 1927.

  1247--Bewitched                                      By Evelyn Malcolm
  1248--His Love for Her                            By Geraldine Fleming

To be published in October, 1927.

  1249--Between Love and Conscience              By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1250--The Web of Life                               By Ida Reade Allen
  1251--Love’s Bitter Harvest                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands

To be published in November, 1927.

  1252--Just for a Title                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  1253--A Little Impostor                      By Charlotte May Kingsley

To be published in December, 1927.

  1254--The Wife He Chose                       By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1255--The Wine of Love                           By Lillian R. Drayton

       *       *       *       *       *

ROMANCES THAT PLEASE MILLIONS

The Love Story Library

_This Popular Writer’s Favorites_

There is unusual charm and fascination about the love stories of Ruby
M. Ayres that give her writings a universal appeal. Probably there
is no other romantic writer whose books are enjoyed by such a wide
audience of readers. Her stories have genuine feeling and sentiment,
and this quality makes them liked by those who appreciate the true
romantic spirit. In this low-priced series, a choice selection of Miss
Ayres’ best stories is offered.

_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

By RUBY M. AYRES

   1--Is Love Worth While?
   2--The Black Sheep
   3--The Waif’s Wedding
   4--The Woman Hater
   5--The Story of an Ugly Man
   6--The Beggar Man
   7--The Long Lane to Happiness
   8--Dream Castles
   9--The Highest Bidder
  10--Love and a Lie
  11--The Love of Robert Dennison
  12--A Man of His Word
  13--The Master Man
  14--Nobody’s Lover
  15--For Love
  16--The Remembered Kiss
  17--The Littl’st Lover
  18--Amid Scarlet Roses
  19--The One Who Forgot
  20--Sacrificial Love
  21--The Imperfect Lover
  22--By the Gate of Pity
  23--The Scarred Heart
  24--The Winds of the World
  25--The Second Honeymoon
  26--The Uphill Road

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

To be published in July, 1927

  27--The Man Without a Heart               By Ruby M. Ayres
  28--The Phantom Lover                     By Ruby M. Ayres

To be published in August, 1927

  29--The Rose of Yesterday       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  30--As Pictured in Dreams                 By Ruby M. Ayres
  31--Her Second Marriage                    By Viola Tyrell

To be published in September, 1927

  32--The Dancing Master                    By Ruby M. Ayres
  33--A Life’s Love               By Effie Adelaide Rowlands

To be published in October, 1927

  34--The Ring on her Hand                   By Viola Tyrell
  35--The Fortune Hunter                    By Ruby M. Ayres

To be published in November, 1927

  36--The Triumph of Love         By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  37--The Woman Pays                         By Viola Tyrell

To be published in December, 1927

  38--The Little Lady in Lodgings           By Ruby M. Ayres
  39--Why Did She Shun Him?       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands

       *       *       *       *       *

A FAVORITE OF MILLIONS

New Bertha Clay Library

ALL BY BERTHA M. CLAY

Love Stories with Plenty of Action

The Author Needs No Introduction

Countless millions of women have enjoyed the works of this author. They
are in great demand everywhere. The following list contains her best
work, and is the only authorized edition.

These stories teem with action, and what is more desirable, they are
clean from start to finish. They are love stories, but are of a type
that is wholesome and totally different from the cheap, sordid fiction
that is being published by unscrupulous publishers.

There is a surprising variety about Miss Clay’s work. Each book in this
list is sure to give satisfaction.

_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

   1--In Love’s Crucible
   2--A Sinful Secret
   3--Between Two Loves
   4--A Golden Heart
   5--Redeemed by Love
   6--Between Two Hearts
   7--Lover and Husband
   8--The Broken Trust
   9--For a Woman’s Honor
  10--A Thorn in Her Heart
  11--A Nameless Sin
  12--Gladys Greye
  13--Her Second Love
  14--The Earl’s Atonement
  15--The Gypsy’s Daughter
  16--Another Woman’s Husband
  17--Two Fair Women
  18--Madolin’s Lover
  19--A Bitter Reckoning
  20--Fair But Faithless
  21--One Woman’s Sin
  22--A Mad Love
  23--Wedded and Parted
  24--A Woman’s Love Story
  25--’Twixt Love and Hate
  26--Guelda
  27--The Duke’s Secret
  28--The Mystery of Colde Fell
  29--Beyond Pardon
  30--A Hidden Terror
  31--Repented at Leisure
  32--Marjorie Deane
  33--In Shallow Waters
  34--Diana’s Discipline
  35--A Heart’s Bitterness
  36--Her Mother’s Sin
  37--Thrown on the World
  38--Lady Damer’s Secret
  39--A Fiery Ordeal
  40--A Woman’s Vengeance
  41--Thorns and Orange Blossoms
  42--Two Kisses and the Fatal Lilies
  43--A Coquette’s Conquest
  44--A Wife’s Judgment
  45--His Perfect Trust
  46--Her Martyrdom
  47--Golden Gates
  48--Evelyn’s Folly
  49--Lord Lisle’s Daughter
  50--A Woman’s Trust
  51--A Wife’s Peril
  52--Love in a Mask
  53--For a Dream’s Sake
  54--A Dream of Love
  55--The Hand Without a Wedding Ring
  56--The Paths of Love
  57--Irene’s Vow
  58--The Rival Heiresses
  59--The Squire’s Darling
  60--Her First Love
  61--Another Man’s Wife
  62--A Bitter Atonement
  63--Wedded Hands
  64--The Earl’s Error and Letty Leigh
  65--Violet Lisle
  66--A Heart’s Idol
  67--The Actor’s Ward
  68--The Belle of Lynn
  69--A Bitter Bondage
  70--Dora Thorne
  71--Claribel’s Love Story
  72--A Woman’s War
  73--A Fatal Dower
  74--A Dark Marriage Morn
  75--Hilda’s Lover
  76--One Against Many
  77--For Another’s Sin
  78--At War with Herself
  79--A Haunted Life
  80--Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce
  81--Wife in Name Only
  82--The Sin of a Lifetime
  83--The World Between Them
  84--Prince Charlie’s Daughter
  85--A Struggle for a Ring
  86--The Shadow of a Sin
  87--A Rose in Thorns
  88--The Romance of the Black Veil
  89--Lord Lynne’s Choice

       *       *       *       *       *

The Dealer

who handles the STREET & SMITH NOVELS is a man worth patronizing. The
fact that he does handle our books proves that he has considered the
merits of paper-covered lines, and has decided that the STREET & SMITH
NOVELS are superior to all others.

He has looked into the question of the morality of the paper-covered
book, for instance, and feels that he is perfectly safe in handing one
of our novels to any one, because he has our assurance that nothing
except clean, wholesome literature finds its way into our lines.

Therefore, the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer is a careful and wise
tradesman, and it is fair to assume selects the other articles he
has for sale with the same degree of intelligence as he does his
paper-covered books.

Deal with the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer.

  STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
  79 Seventh Avenue New York City

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.

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