The soft-footed man with the wolflike smile, known as Señor Lopez, was
elated over the arrest of that adventurous man, the Camera Chap, and
warmly congratulated himself upon the stroke of luck which had enabled
him to bring it about so speedily, for it had been a mere coincidence
that he happened to be standing near the dock, earlier that evening,
when Hawley, accompanied by a young woman whom the spy immediately
recognized as the daughter of the American minister, approached the
water’s edge and furtively embarked in a motor boat.
His curiosity aroused, Lopez would have followed the pair, but was
prevented from doing so by his failure to obtain a craft in time;
so he had to content himself for the time being with speculating as
to the motive of this evidently secret expedition. At first he had
supposed that they were bound for the American warship, but later the
possibility that the fortress might be their goal had suggested itself
to his mind. As soon as this suspicion occurred to him he sent a note
to the commandant of the fortress warning him to keep a sharp lookout
for the pair; but by the time his messenger reached the fortress Hawley
had already been there, taken his snapshot, and escaped by throwing
himself into the sea.
Lopez’s note had arrived just as the commandant and Captain Reyes were
questioning Virginia as to the identity of her mysterious companion,
and it was for this reason that they had astonished the girl by their
apparent courtesy in not pressing her to give them the information they
desired.
When Lopez’s messenger returned to him with a brief reply from the
commandant stating what had occurred at the fortress, the spy decided
to wait at the dock in the hope that later on the snapshot adventurer
would return in one of the battleship’s launches; for he was shrewd
enough to suspect that Hawley’s motive in throwing himself into the sea
was to swim out to the _Kearsarge_.
Possessed of the patience of a cat, he would have waited there all
night if necessary, but such a display of endurance was not required
of him, for shortly afterward a gray launch dashed up to the pier and
two young men came ashore. Recognizing one of them as the man he was
waiting for, the spy trailed the pair to San Cristobal, and thence to
the Hotel Nacional. Then he hurried to the nearest barracks, provided
himself with a military escort, and returned to make the arrest.
After the soldiers had taken Hawley away Lopez spent some time in
making a thorough search of the latter’s room at the Hotel Nacional.
Then he went to the arsenal to have a talk with the prisoner.
The cell in which the Camera Chap was confined did not exactly measure
up to the standard of luxury of a first-class hotel. The floor was of
cement, hard and cold, and had every appearance of not having been
cleaned since the place was built. There was no furniture, save a rusty
iron cot which was attached to the wall. This couch, which was supposed
to serve both as bed and chair, was without pillow or mattress. If
the prisoner wished to sleep he would have to get used to stretching
himself on the unyielding iron slats. But these physical discomforts
did not appear to have a depressing effect upon the present occupant of
the dungeon, judging by the cheerful smile with which he greeted Lopez
when the latter stepped softly up to the bars.
“I suppose here’s where I get a chance to study at first-hand the
Baracoan method of administering the third degree,” he remarked
carelessly.
The visitor shrugged his shoulders. “I desire merely to ask Señor
Hawley a few questions,” he announced. “I hope for his sake that he
will find it convenient to answer them.”
“Well, you might submit a sample question,” the prisoner replied. “I’ll
be able to tell you better, then, what chance you stand of having your
curiosity satisfied.”
Lopez bowed. “To begin with, what have you done with the picture you
took to-night?”
“Why, it seems to me that you can answer that question yourself. I saw
you take the plate from the table and put it in your pocket before your
army took me out of the room.”
His visitor looked at him searchingly. “You refer to the plate that was
spoiled, señor? Was that the only snapshot you took?”
“It was, on my word of honor,” Hawley answered with intense
earnestness. He had no wish to evade this question; on the contrary he
was most anxious to have his interrogator know that there was no other
picture.
“And this spoiled plate--what does it represent? If Señor Hawley had
been successful with his camera what would the plate have shown?”
The Camera Chap smiled. “It seems to me that you’re asking a
hypothetical question,” he said. “Yes, decidely hypothetical.”
Lopez shrugged his expressive shoulders again. “It is Señor Hawley’s
privilege to answer or not as he sees fit, but,” he added, “I must warn
him that if he refuses to tell why he went to the fortress to-night we
shall be compelled to draw our own conclusions from his silence.”
“That’ll be all right,” Hawley rejoined cheerfully. “Have you any
objections to dropping me a hint as to what those conclusions may be?”
“Not the slightest. Unless the señor is prepared to give us an
explanation more favorable to himself we shall assume that he went
there to get photographs of the fortifications--that he is a spy in the
service of the insurrectos.”
“An insurrecto spy! Well, of all the----” the president’s photographic
envoy began. Then he abruptly cut himself short as the advantages of
having this interpretation placed upon his act suddenly occurred to
him--advantages to others, although possibly not to himself.
“And no doubt Señor Hawley is aware of what happens to those who are
convicted on that serious charge,” his visitor suggested quietly.
The prisoner imitated the other’s shrug. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll be
able to stand it,” he said optimistically. “I can’t truthfully say that
the accommodations of this hostelry are pleasant, but no doubt I shan’t
find them so bad after I get used to them.”
“I am afraid the señor is laboring under a slight misapprehension,” he
remarked. “In the event of his conviction he would have no chance to
get used to these accommodations. He would be tried under martial law,
and--under martial law a spy’s punishment is not imprisonment.”
The Camera Chap looked uncomfortable as he caught the significance of
this remark, but almost immediately he regained his composure. “Well,
you’ve got to convict me first,” he remarked confidently. “You can’t
hang a man on suspicion alone--at least, you can’t do it if that man
happens to be a citizen of the U. S. A. If you dare to convict me
without sufficient proof I venture to predict that something is going
to happen to Baracoa.”
The assurance with which he said this was not wholly feigned. While he
realized that in the event of his guilt being proven his government
would be powerless to protect him, he felt sure that Washington would
demand the strongest kind of proof before they would permit the
sentence to be carried out. And he had a shrewd suspicion that the
enemy had only a circumstantial case against him. He felt positive
that in the gloom it had been impossible for Captain Reyes or the
sentry to recognize him, so that unless Virginia Throgmorton had been
compelled to reveal his identity there was no direct evidence that it
was actually he who was the mysterious photographer who had visited El
Torro.
“Señor Hawley can rest assured that we shall be able to produce
sufficient proof of his guilt,” Lopez boasted. “To begin with, we can
show that he stands high in the confidence of the insurrectos.”
“Indeed!” the prisoner exclaimed, carefully weighing this statement.
“Might I inquire how you expect to prove that?”
“By the fact that he was in conference with one of their most active
leaders, the other day. I refer to the infamous Doctor Gaspard Bonsal.
I presume, señor, that you will not attempt to deny that you visited
him when I tell you that you were seen surreptitiously leaving his
house on the night of his arrest.”
In spite of himself the Camera Chap was unable to avoid a start of
astonishment, for until that moment the fact that his visit to the
venerable physician was known to the enemy had not entered his mind.
“If I was seen, how is it that I, too, was not arrested?” he demanded.
Once more there was a display of gestures and shrugs. “I believe there
is a saying in the señor’s own beautiful language to the effect that it
is sometimes advisable to give a rogue plenty of rope in order that he
may bring about his own hanging.”
“Who claims to have seen me?”
“I myself had that honor,” Lopez answered, with a bow.
“By Jove!” exclaimed the prisoner, with an ironical laugh, “you
certainly are the busy little man. Nothing seems to escape those eagle
eyes of yours. But, after all, the fact that you saw me leaving a
physician’s house doesn’t strike me as being very incriminating. How do
you know I didn’t go there to consult him professionally?”
“If Señor Hawley can prove that such was the case it would undoubtedly
be to his advantage,” Lopez responded. “But, of course, in that event,
his testimony would have to agree with that of the lady.”
“The lady?” A shade of anxiety flitted across the snapshot adventurer’s
face.
“I refer to the lady who came out of Doctor Bonsal’s house that night
with Señor Hawley and entered the automobile which was waiting for her
at the garden gate. Señora Felix was heavily veiled, but that disguise
was not sufficient to prevent me from recognizing her.”
Portiforo’s spy laughed maliciously at the prisoner’s evident
discomfiture. “And she is not the only fair witness we shall have at
the trial in the event of Señor Hawley’s insisting that he is not an
insurrecto spy,” he announced. “The government of Baracoa would regret
exceedingly having to put the daughter of the United States minister to
any inconvenience, but if Señor Hawley’s attitude makes the testimony
of these ladies necessary----”
“Their testimony won’t be necessary,” Hawley interrupted grimly.
“Whatever happens, we’ll leave the women entirely out of this business.”
Lopez bowed. “Señor Hawley has decided most chivalrously.” With this
remark, evidently well satisfied with the result of their conversation,
he turned on his heels and abruptly left the prisoner to his own
thoughts.
Those thoughts were not pleasant ones. For some time the president’s
photographic envoy sat on the edge of his iron cot, his hands
supporting his chin, reflecting moodily on the situation. He realized
that he was confronted by the most serious predicament of his career.
If he revealed the real motive of his expedition to the fortress, it
would, of course, clear him of the charge of being a revolutionary
spy. They couldn’t do much to an American newspaper photographer for
attempting to take a snapshot of a political prisoner. They would be
compelled to let him off with a slight punishment. But he had not the
slightest intention of making such a revelation. From the demeanor of
Lopez he had an uneasy suspicion that the truth was already known to
that perspicacious person, and that this threat of condemning him as a
spy had been made with the idea of forcing him to show his hand. Still,
there was a chance that he might be mistaken, that in spite of all that
had happened Portiforo and his fellow conspirators might still be under
the impression that their secret was safe, and while there was that
chance Hawley did not feel at liberty to betray the confidence of the
President of the United States and imperil the life of Felix in order
to save his own neck.
He realized that Lopez had not exaggerated the peril which he faced,
for he knew that under martial law, capital punishment is the fate of
a spy; and as Rodriguez, since his escape from prison, had fled to the
hills and started an incipient revolution, he believed that it was
under martial law that he would be tried. That his government would see
that he had a fair trial he felt confident, but as his lips were sealed
by this threat to call Virginia and Señora Felix as witnesses if he
sought to make his accusers prove their charge, he already looked upon
himself as doomed.
“I guess I’m up against it,” he mused grimly. “It looks as if friend
Portiforo holds all the trump cards.”