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.”