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.”