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.”