While the American minister’s daughter was visiting the _Kearsarge’s_
commander, Señor Lopez was dashing back to the capital, working the
motor of his car to its utmost capacity in his desire to get there as
soon as possible. He had watched the girl go aboard the warship, and
then he had proceeded to the fortress. What he learned there had caused
him to realize the necessity of reaching the palace without delay.
President Portiforo was in consultation with his cabinet when the spy
reached the palace. They were discussing a dispatch which had recently
arrived, and that the missive contained news of a startling character
was evident from the worried, scared expression on the countenance of
the chief executive of Baracoa.
“The report seems incredible,” Portiforo declared, his voice quavering.
“If it is true--and I suppose there can be no doubt of that--I must
admit that thing looks bad--exceedingly bad. Villa’s defeat is a blow
we can scarcely hope to survive. There is now practically nothing to
keep Rodriguez from reaching the capital. By forced marches he ought
to be here within another twenty-four hours.” A sickly smile creased
his face. “By this time to-morrow the crowds on the street will shout:
‘Viva el Presidente Rodriguez!’ It looks to me, gentlemen, as if the
time had come for us to take a little trip abroad for the benefit of
our health.”
The members of his cabinet received this suggestion with gloomy nods of
assent.
Portiforo leaned forward in his chair. “But before we go,” he went on,
lowering his voice, “there is one little matter we must not overlook.
To-morrow, no doubt, the enemy will be in possession of El Torro.” He
turned to a tall, bearded man with a very pale face who sat at his
right hand. “Surely you will agree with me, my dear Replife, that
before that happens we must do--what would have been done long ere this
if it had not been for your sentimental objections.”
Minister of War Replife, just out of the hospital, sighed, and a shadow
flitted across his pallid countenance. “I don’t like it,” he said
hoarsely. “I can’t bear the thought of it. It is impossible for me to
forget that he was once my friend. We have done him enough wrong, as it
is, without----”
“We’ve got to think of ourselves now,” Portiforo broke in impatiently.
“This is no time for maudlin sentiment, my friend. Unless we--er--take
steps to remove the evidence, by to-morrow night the whole world will
know our secret, and there will be no refuge for us, wherever we may
flee. As political refugees, we should be received with honor and
sympathy abroad, but as fugitive criminals we could not expect nearly
so pleasant a reception.”
All the members of the cabinet except Replife received this argument
with approval. While they were discussing it, a secretary entered the
room and announced that the spy, Lopez, was outside insisting that
he must see the president immediately on a matter of the greatest
importance.
Lopez was admitted at once. The tidings he brought caused Portiforo and
his cabinet to exchange glances of alarm.
“You are positive that it was a roll of film Miss Throgmorton had in
her hand?” the president inquired.
“I am absolutely sure of that, Señor Presidente. And I am equally sure
that she took it to the British minister’s residence to have the film
developed, and that the picture is now in the hands of the commander of
the Yankee warship.”
A scowl darkened the president’s bloated face. “Then why didn’t you
get it away from her?” he growled. “Surely you must have had plenty of
opportunity.”
Lopez bared his large, exceedingly white teeth in a deprecatory smile.
“If I had known then what I know now, of course I should have taken
that step, Señor Presidente--although I am not a man of violence. But
I must admit that Señorita Throgmorton’s actions puzzled me--until
after I had been to the fortress. I was content to watch her, to find
out what it all meant. But when I learned at the fortress that the
prisoner Hawley had handed her a tobacco pouch to send as a keepsake
to his editor, the significance of that incident dawned upon me. I
happen to know that the daughter of the British minister is an amateur
photographer, so it was easy to guess why Señorita Throgmorton visited
her--and why she then hurried to the Yankee warship.”
The scowl on Portiforo’s face deepened. “But I can’t understand how
that confounded photographer could have managed to retain possession
of the snapshot!” he muttered. “I took his camera away from him that
night, and it was loaded with film.”
Lopez shrugged his shoulders. “Señor Hawley is an exceedingly ingenious
and resourceful young man,” he remarked. “After the several exhibitions
of his cleverness which he has given us, I think we can assume that he
had the sagacity and foresight to change the film roll of his camera
immediately after taking the picture.”
The president nodded gloomily. “Yes; he might have done it that way. We
ought to have been more careful in searching him afterward,” he said.
“I suppose, my dear Replife,” he continued, turning with a grim smile
to the secretary of war, “you now fully agree with the rest of us as to
the necessity of carrying out immediately the step we were discussing.
The startling news that Lopez has brought us emphasizes the danger of
delaying the matter.”
General Replife shook his head. “On the contrary, I think the news
which Lopez has brought is a strong argument why you should spare the
life of the unhappy Felix,” he urged. “What good would it do you to put
him out of the way now? Such a step would only make things worse for
ourselves. The photographic evidence of our guilt is now in the hands
of the United States government. Whether he is found in El Torro or
not, the world will know from that snapshot that he _was_ locked up
there. And if he is done away with it will, of course, add to the price
which we will have to pay later on.”
Some of Portiforo’s advisers were impressed by this argument. They
looked at their chief anxiously. The latter leaned back in his chair, a
look of uncertainty on his face. It was evident from his demeanor that
he appreciated the force of this plea for their victim’s life.
Then suddenly his beady eyes snapped, and his cruel lips parted in a
snarl. “We will take our chances on the price we may have to pay--if
we are caught,” he said. “There is a possibility that we shall be
able to convince the world that the snapshot is a daring fraud.
Photographic evidence has been manufactured before now; and”--he smiled
sardonically--“the man who took the picture will not, then, be here to
refute our claims.”
He reached for pen and paper on the big mahogany table before him, and
began to write rapidly. When he had finished, he turned to Lopez. “Go
back to the fortress and deliver these immediately,” he said to him.
“One of them is for the commandant; the other for Captain Reyes. Wait
there until both orders are carried out, and then come back and report.”
Lopez bowed, and put the two papers in his pocket. Then he hurried back
to Puerto Cabero. During the journey, he read the two papers, and their
contents caused him to bare his teeth in a malicious smile.
The missive addressed to Captain Reyes was somewhat ambiguous. It said
merely, “The time has come.”
Portiforo knew Reyes would have no difficulty in grasping the purport
of that laconic sentence. The other order, addressed to the commandant
of the fortress, was less vaguely worded. It commanded that official to
proceed immediately with the execution of the American prisoner, Hawley.
Before two hours had elapsed, Lopez returned to the palace. The cabinet
members had departed. Portiforo was in his private suite, nervously
pacing the floor.
“Well?” he said hoarsely, as his envoy entered. “Has it been done?”
The spy shook his head. His face was white, his manner agitated. His
breath came in great gasps, as though he had been running hard.
“I was too late, Señor Presidente,” he answered.
“Too late?”
“When I arrived there, I found El Torro in possession of marines from
the _Kearsarge_. I can’t understand how they managed it--I didn’t wait
to gather particulars--but they took the garrison by surprise, and
captured the fortress with scarcely a struggle.”
Portiforo sank weakly into a chair. “Incredible!” he gasped. “And the
prisoners?”
Lopez made a despairing gesture. “I regret to say that our birds have
flown, Señor Presidente. Felix, Hawley, and Ridder are now safely
aboard the Yankee warship.”