For a few seconds Virginia stood staring as though fascinated at the
little significant package in her hand, but was brought to herself
by a sudden consciousness that somebody was standing close by her
watching her intently. She raised her eyes and encountered those of
the soft-footed Señor Lopez. There was an expression on the spy’s face
which caused the girl to thrust the film roll and the pouch hurriedly
into the hand bag she was carrying, and to step hastily into the
automobile waiting for her at the wharf.
“Home, señorita?” the native chauffeur inquired.
She was about to give an affirmative response, but suddenly changed
her mind as an idea came to her. “No,” she answered. “Take me to the
residence of Sir Godfrey Montague, the British minister, as quickly as
you can.”
As the car started, she glanced back, and saw that Lopez was just
entering another automobile. She guessed that the man was about to
attempt to follow her, and a grim expression came to her face as she
opened her hand bag and tentatively examined a dainty, pearl-handled,
little revolver which was among its contents. Her fears, however,
so far as Lopez were concerned, proved groundless, for when her car
arrived in San Cristobal and drew up in front of the British embassy,
the spy was not in sight.
Virginia sent in her card to Beatrice Montague, the diplomat’s
daughter. She knew that the latter was an enthusiastic amateur
photographer and did her own developing and printing--which was the
reason she had decided to call upon her now.
“I want you to do me a favor, Beatrice,” she said, as soon as the
English girl came into the reception room to greet her. “I have a film
here which I want developed and a print made from it as quickly as
possible.”
“Surely,” the other responded, wondering greatly at her visitor’s
flushed face and agitated manner. “Come up to the dark room, dear. I
didn’t know that you, too, had become a camera fiend.”
She led the way upstairs to the chamber which she had fitted up as her
laboratory. Here, under the rays of a ruby lamp, the girls opened the
roll of film and submerged it in the necessary chemical solutions. A
little later, as her friend held the wet gelatin against the lamp,
Virginia gave vent to a joyous cry. “He did it!” she exclaimed, with a
hysterical laugh. “He has succeeded, after all.”
“Who did what?” Miss Montague asked curiously. “What is this negative,
Virginia? It looks to me like an old man gazing out of a barred window.”
“That’s what it is,” her visitor answered happily. “An old man gazing
out of a barred window. How soon can you let me have a print of this,
Beatrice? Please hurry. Every minute counts.”
In a little while the picture was ready. As the British minister’s
daughter took it out of the printing frame, she stared in astonishment
at the finished product. In its negative form, of course, she had not
been able to identify the subject; but now it occurred to her that
there was something hauntingly familiar about the haggard, wistful face
that peered at her from the barred window.
“I’ve seen this man before somewhere,” she announced; “but I can’t
recall where----” She stopped short, and an expression of astonishment
came to her face. “How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “Do you know,
my dear, if it weren’t so very absurd, I should say that this was a
snapshot of former President Felix. To be sure, it looks much older
than he did at the time of his disappearance, but the features are very
much like his, as I recall them. It is truly a remarkable resemblance.”
Virginia smiled. “Isn’t it, though? Please hurry up and finish this
print so that it won’t fade. I’ll tell you all about it later on, but
I haven’t time now.” Without waiting for the print to dry, she placed
it in her hand bag and hurried out to the waiting automobile. “Back to
Puerto Cabero--as fast as we can go,” she said to her chauffeur.
As she spoke, she glanced up the street and caught sight of another
automobile standing at the corner. In that car sat Señor Lopez. She
saw him bend forward in his seat and give an order to his driver,
and she was not surprised, when her car started, to observe that the
other followed. The discovery prompted her to take the precaution
of transferring the precious snapshot from her bag to her blouse,
but evidently the spy was content with merely watching her movements
and had no intention of trying to wrest the picture from her, for he
trailed behind her car all the way to the seaport, and once when their
motor broke down on a lonely stretch of road and they had to stop
ten minutes for repairs, Lopez’s chariot also came to a halt a short
distance behind.
A launch from the _Kearsarge_ was waiting at the wharf as the girl
stepped from the automobile and went down to the water’s edge. She
inquired of one of the crew whether the captain was on board the
warship, and, receiving an affirmative response, requested to be taken
out to him immediately.
Captain Cortrell received her with a grim smile. “I can guess the
object of your visit, Miss Throgmorton,” he said sadly. “But I regret
to say that I am powerless to do anything in behalf of---- Why, what is
this?” He stared in astonishment at the picture the girl had handed him.
“Who sent this photograph?” he demanded, an eager expression on his
weather-beaten face.
“Mr. Hawley,” she answered. “He couldn’t bring it himself,” she
explained with a smile, “so I undertook to be his messenger. I was in
hopes that it might alter the situation so far as he is concerned.”
Without an apology, the battleship’s commander turned from her and
disappeared inside his cabin, leaving Virginia standing outside. He
opened a drawer of his desk, and took therefrom the bulky envelope that
contained his sealed orders.
When he returned to Virginia, a few minutes later, his face was
wreathed in smiles. “You were right, Miss Throgmorton,” he said, “in
assuming that the picture you have brought me from Mr. Hawley would
alter the situation. It has changed matters considerably.”