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.”