The day after Hawley’s departure from Baracoa, Lieutenant Ridder called
at the United States legation with a message from the commander of the
_Kearsarge_ to Minister Throgmorton. On his way out, he encountered
Virginia, and eagerly availed himself of the opportunity to renew his
acquaintance with that captivating young woman.
The naval officer was flattered by the cordiality which she displayed
toward him, but was astonished and concerned to observe that when he
mentioned the name of his friend Hawley a frown came to her face and
she hurriedly changed the subject, as though it were distasteful to
her. He went back to his ship wondering what could have happened to
bring about this change in her sentiments toward the man for whom she
had previously manifested such warm regard. If Virginia had been asked
to explain why she was displeased with the Camera Chap, she probably
would have found difficulty in stating her grievance against him. As
she had told him, she could not with logic or justice blame him for
going away, knowing what would happen to him if he ventured to remain
on Baracoan soil. Yet she was disappointed in him, and his departure
had aroused within her a feeling of resentment.
Possibly it was because he had appeared to accept the situation with
such irritating cheerfulness, or it may have been that she had formed
such an exalted opinion of his heroic qualities that she had half
expected--unreasonable though she knew such expectation to be--that, at
the last moment, he would defy Portiforo and his order of banishment
and not leave Baracoa without making one more attempt to rescue the
unfortunate prisoner of El Torro.
If Lieutenant Ridder had been a less loyal and unselfish friend, he
might have sought to take advantage of Virginia’s changed attitude
toward the snapshot man and her evident liking for himself; for the
daughter of the United States envoy had made such a great impression
on him at their first meeting that he couldn’t help feeling envious
of Hawley’s good luck. Not being at all the kind of fellow to seek to
“butt in” on an absent friend’s romance, however, he made it a point
to steer clear of the embassy, and when, several days later, a tinted,
perfumed note was handed to him by an orderly on the battleship, a
frown came to his face as he read its contents. The note was from Miss
Throgmorton, and it ran as follows:
“MY DEAR MR. RIDDER: I am wondering why I have not seen you lately.
Are they keeping you a prisoner on the ship? If not, and it is
possible for you to come ashore this afternoon, I should like very
much to have a talk with you.
“I am going for a ride into the country, after luncheon. If you could
find it convenient to meet me, then come to San Cristobal, and be
at the northern gate of the Botanical Gardens, between one and two
o’clock. You will find an old colored man waiting there. He will
provide you with a mount and conduct you to a place where we can
talk without danger of being spied upon. I hope you won’t think me
too unconventional in writing to you like this, but I positively must
see you on a matter of life and death.”
At first his almost quixotic sense of fairness caused him to decide
that he would send some excuse for not keeping this appointment, for
he suspected that the last paragraph of the note must be more or less
of an exaggeration; but presently he reproached himself for his lack
of gallantry. He felt sure that Miss Throgmorton was too nice a girl
to have urged such an unconventional meeting unless the circumstances
justified it.
Promptly at one o’clock that afternoon, he arrived at the northern gate
of the Botanical Gardens, and was met by old Uncle Peter, who conducted
him to a near-by stable where two horses, already saddled, were waiting
for them. Half an hour later, as they galloped along a desolate stretch
of dusty road, the navy man caught sight of a girl on a pony coming
toward them, and his pulses quickened as he recognized the trim,
graceful figure.
“I suppose you are just burning with curiosity as to why I have sent
for you,” Virginia said, with a smile, as they dismounted.
“Anxiety would be a better word,” he answered. “The tone of your note
was so alarming that it is a great relief to me to find that you can
still smile.”
The girl sighed. “I suppose I have no right to smile,” she said sadly,
“for I really am in great trouble.”
“What is it?” he demanded eagerly. “If I can help, Miss Throgmorton,
you know you can count on me.”
“Yes, I know that I can,” she answered softly. “That is why I have sent
for you. I--but we had better not talk here. We will go to the top of
this hill. We shall be more safe up there.”
Leaving Uncle Peter in charge of their horses, they climbed the
hillock, and Virginia invited her companion to seat himself beside her
on a bowlder, under the feathery branches of a bamboo tree. “This is
where--er--Mr. Hawley and I always met when we had secrets to discuss,”
she announced. “It commands a view of the road in both directions, so
there is no danger of anybody creeping up on us unseen.”
With an excess of caution which made him smile, she gazed up into the
branches of the solitary tree under which they were sitting. Then she
continued, lowering her voice almost to a whisper: “I am going to
begin, Mr. Ridder, by telling you what picture it was that Mr. Hawley
and I were trying to take at the fortress the other night.”
“Is it necessary that I should know?” he asked. He felt somewhat
uncomfortable, for he could not help suspecting that it might be her
evident pique against the Camera Chap which prompted her to give him
the information, which, until now, neither she nor Hawley had seen fit
to confide to him.
“If Mr. Hawley knew what I am doing,” the girl said, as though reading
his thoughts, “I feel sure that he would approve, for he couldn’t be
unreasonable enough to expect that just because he has given up the
task of freeing poor President Felix, nothing else is to be done.”
“Freeing President Felix?” the naval officer repeated, looking at her
in bewilderment.
The girl nodded. “It was his picture that we were trying to get the
other night. It was to rescue him that Mr. Hawley came to Baracoa. And
now that he has gone, and Señora Felix has gone, and they have done
away with poor Doctor Bonsal, there is nobody left but me to fight for
the freedom of that unhappy man. But I can’t do it alone,” she added
wistfully. “I am only a girl, and I realize my helplessness. I’ve got
to have assistance, and that is why I have decided to take you into the
secret. I know that you are brave, and generous, and trustworthy, Mr.
Ridder.”
The navy man bowed. “I am sure, at least, that you will find me
trustworthy,” he said simply. “If you really think it best for me to
know, I shall be glad to hear the facts of the case, Miss Throgmorton,
and to give you any help that I can.”
Thereupon Virginia proceeded to tell him the tragic story of the
missing president of Baracoa, and when she had finished, the
lieutenant’s face was very grim.
“It is the most amazing story I ever heard!” he declared. “It fairly
makes my blood boil to think of that poor fellow being caged up there
in the fortress with a battleship flying the Stars and Stripes less
than half a mile away. But he’s not going to be there much longer,” he
added, a determined expression coming to his strong face. “You’re quite
right, Miss Throgmorton, we’ve got to set him free. If you’ll permit
me, I’ll speak to the captain about it as soon as I get back to the
ship. I’ll tell him the story, and----”
Virginia cut him short with a gesture of disapproval. “No, you mustn’t
do that. What I have told you is in the strictest confidence. If I
thought that any good would come of it, I would have gone to Captain
Cortrell myself, long before this. But I know that he would take no
action in the matter. You know how he acted in the case of Mr. Hawley.
And if he couldn’t see his way to do anything for an American citizen,
we can be sure he wouldn’t interfere to help a man who has no claims on
our government.”
“I think you do him an injustice,” her companion protested, resenting
the somewhat bitter tone in which she spoke of his commanding officer.
“There isn’t a better-hearted or braver officer in the service than our
old man. But, of course, he isn’t always free to do what he’d like to
do. The commanding officer of a battleship has got to think of pleasing
Washington, D. C., before he can think of pleasing himself. How about
your father, Miss Throgmorton? Surely the American minister wouldn’t
stand for such a conspiracy?”
Virginia sighed. “My father refuses to believe that there is any such
conspiracy,” she said. “Knowing how favorably disposed father was
toward that tyrant Portiforo, I have always realized the futility of
trying to enlist him in our cause. But yesterday,” she added with a
frown, “it occurred to me that, after all, it was worth trying. I was
desperate, and saw no other way of helping poor President Felix. So
I went to my father and told him my story. He laughed at me and told
me that I was suffering from hallucinations, and when I insisted, he
became very angry and forbade me ever to mention the subject to him or
to anybody else again.”
A puzzled expression came to the naval officer’s face. “That’s queer,”
he muttered under his breath.
“No, Mr. Ridder,” Virginia continued, “we can’t hope for any help from
either Captain Cortrell or my father. We’ve got to handle this thing
ourselves.”
“But what can we do?”
Virginia looked at him reproachfully. “The other day, when your friend
Mr. Hawley was locked up, you were ready to go to the jail and attempt
a rescue by force,” she reminded him. “Wouldn’t you do as much for this
unhappy man?”
The lieutenant hesitated. “If I were sure that such an attempt would be
successful, I wouldn’t mind tackling it,” he said. “But if I were to
fail, Miss Throgmorton, you must realize what it would mean. There’d be
the deuce to pay in Washington, and----”
“You didn’t think of that when Mr. Hawley was in danger,” Virginia
protested indignantly. “You were quite ready to risk your career in the
navy, and possibly your life, then.”
“But Hawley was my friend, and I was under great obligations to him,
besides.”
“Does that make such a great difference?” the girl inquired somewhat
coldly. “Are you willing to remain inactive while an innocent man
is suffering a fate worse than death? Do you not feel an obligation
to expose the villainy of these rascals? If so, I must say that I am
disappointed in you, Mr. Ridder.”
For a few seconds the lieutenant remained silent. Then suddenly his
face lighted up. “You are right, Miss Throgmorton,” he said, “I can’t
leave Baracoa without making an attempt to set Felix free. I don’t know
how we’ll go about it, but we’ll find a way--you and I together.” He
jumped to his feet, and, shading his eyes with his hand, looked toward
the point in the road where Uncle Peter was waiting with the horses.
“Hello!” he exclaimed. “Who’s that talking with your colored man? Looks
like a tramp.”
“More likely a spy,” Virginia remarked, frowning. “I quite expected
that I would be followed. Well, of all the audacity! Look! He’s
actually coming up to us.”
Sure enough, the stranger, having exchanged a few words with the
old darky, was climbing up the hill toward them, walking with the
shambling gait of a native mendicant. He was a dark-haired, swarthy
man, apparently past middle age. He was tall, but his figure was so
bent that he appeared to be undersized. There was a five days’ growth
of hair on his chin, his clothing was in rags, and his feet were bare.
Altogether, he was by no means a prepossessing person.
“A thousand pardons, señor, for this intrusion,” he whined, addressing
Ridder in Spanish, “but if you would earn the undying gratitude of
a starving wretch, you can do so by separating yourself from a few
cents. American money will do.”
“Go away,” the navy man growled. He spoke with unwonted roughness,
which was due in part to Virginia’s suspicion that the intruder was
probably a spy, and partly to the fact that although the lieutenant’s
knowledge of Spanish was limited, he was sufficiently familiar with
that language to realize the insolence with which the beggar spoke.
“_Onda pronto!_” he exclaimed, with a threatening gesture.
He was startled by a cry from Virginia--a cry of mingled astonishment
and joy. “Mr. Hawley!” the girl exclaimed with a half-hysterical laugh.
“Hawley!” Ridder exclaimed staring incredulously at the human
scarecrow. “Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t!”
For a few seconds the ragged mendicant appeared bewildered. He stared
blankly at the couple. Then suddenly a broad grin appeared on his
swarthy countenance. “This is a bitter disappointment,” he declared
ruefully. “I had been hoping that this get-up of mine was good enough
to deceive even your sharp eyes, Miss Throgmorton.”