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.