The presidential snapshot

“To-day’s tragedy has made the situation a hundred times worse than it was before,” moaned Señora Felix despairingly, looking appealingly at Hawley and the old physician. “Replife was a bad man, but, at least, there was a spark of humanity in him which made him unwilling to countenance the murder of his former benefactor. He was our only hope. Now that he is gone, it will take only the slightest provocation to make Portiforo do away with my poor Francisco.” She paused, and a shudder shook her frail frame. “Who knows that he has not already been butchered! I cannot help fearing that the assassin’s act was inspired by Portiforo, who realized the necessity of getting out of the way the only man who stood between him and his helpless victim.”

She covered her face with her hands, and burst into a violent paroxysm of weeping. The Camera Chap and Doctor Bonsal looked at each other helplessly. The latter shook his head commiseratingly. Presently he walked over to the grief-stricken woman and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Courage, my dear señora,” he murmured, his voice as tender as a woman’s. “Be brave, I entreat you, my dear friend. After all, we have not yet heard from the hospital. Until we get word from Doctor Picard we will not give up hope.”

He turned and explained to Hawley: “We have hope that Replife’s injury may turn out to be not so serious as was at first reported. He has been taken to the Red Cross Hospital, and an operation, I understand, is to be performed. My good friend, Doctor Picard, the house surgeon, has promised to apprise me as soon as there is news.”

Hawley nodded. “Let’s hope that when it comes it will be good news!” he exclaimed briskly. “Señora, I know from my newspaper experience that such reports are usually exaggerated. There may still be lots of fight left in General Replife. And even if there isn’t,” he added confidently, “even if the worst comes to the worst, so far as he is concerned, you are wrong in saying that there will be nobody to prevent Portiforo from doing as he pleases with President Felix.”

“What do you mean?” cried the woman and Doctor Bonsal, in an eager chorus.

“I am referring to a powerful old gentleman named Uncle Sam,” Hawley said smilingly. “Portiforo no doubt is wise enough to realize that he would have the United States to reckon with if he tries any treachery of that sort.”

The señora breathed a murmur of disappointment. “Your government can do nothing—absolutely nothing,” she said hopelessly.

“I beg your pardon, señora, but you are mistaken about that,” the Camera Chap protested. “Once the photographic evidence is placed in the hands of the President of the United States, nothing——”

The woman interrupted him with a cry. “I tell you that must not be,” she exclaimed, almost fiercely. “Surely, Mr. Hawley, after what you have heard, you will not persist in going on with your impossible adventure? You must realize that our only hope of saving my husband’s life, now, lies in our ability to prevent anything from being done which would provoke that tyrant to take desperate measures.”

“Señora Felix is right, sir,” Doctor Bonsal chimed in earnestly. “I sincerely trust that you will not refuse to be guided by her wishes in the matter. You must appreciate the logic of our contention. If Portiforo and his villainous associates have cause to suspect that their infamous secret is known, they will doubtless make short work of their victim. As the señora says, our only hope lies in our ability to continue to make them believe that nobody—not even she—is aware of the truth regarding our martyr president.”

Hawley looked at him in surprise. “Do you mean to say that Portiforo doesn’t know, now, that the señora suspects the truth?” he demanded incredulously.

“We have strong hopes that such is the case,” the venerable physician answered. “Señora Felix has been very clever. I believe, sir, that there are few women who could have conducted themselves with such rare tact and courage as she has displayed.” He bowed reverently to her. “When it becomes possible to let the truth be known, the story of what this brave little woman has done will thrill the whole world.”

“For two years,” he continued, his fine old face glowing with enthusiasm, “she has submitted patiently to the badgerings of Portiforo’s spies, who have tried by every means their ingenuity could devise to ascertain whether she had any inkling of the monstrous conspiracy. For two years she has played her difficult part with consummate skill, listening with a silence that was truly sublime to the sneers and abuse that were heaped upon her husband, stifling the impulses of her tortured soul, which yearned to cry out to the whole world that Felix was a martyr, instead of a rascal. For two years she has hung her head in shame, pretending, for the edification of Portiforo’s spies, that she believed herself to be the deserted wife of an absconder—that the letters she received from him after his disappearance were genuine.”

“The letters?” the Camera Chap exclaimed wonderingly.

“I beg your pardon,” said Doctor Bonsal, somewhat confused; “perhaps I should not have spoken of them.” He turned inquiringly to the señora.

“It is all right,” the latter reassured him. “Since Mr. Hawley has been told so much, he might as well know everything. I know that we can trust him absolutely. The letters which Doctor Bonsal refers to,” she herself explained, addressing the Camera Chap, “are the ones which I have received from my husband since that fatal night. You remember, perhaps, my telling you, on board the Colombia, that I had been in receipt of letters from him?”

The Camera Chap nodded. “Forgeries, I suppose?” he suggested. “Of course, President Felix never wrote them?”

Her reply astonished him greatly. “I believe he did write them,” she said. “They might be forgeries very skillfully done, but I think not. I am almost positive that they are in his own handwriting.”

Hawley stared at her in bewilderment. “But I don’t quite understand, señora. You can’t mean that they’ve actually permitted him to communicate with you?”

“Not permitted—forced him to do so!” rejoined the woman, her dark eyes flashing. “If those notes are genuine, they must have been written under compulsion.”

“Might I inquire what they said?” the Camera Chap said eagerly.

The señora sighed. “The first one said merely that he was alive and well, and that I must not worry. The others—there have been at least a dozen of them, so far—were to the same effect, but some of them contained the additional assurance that he was very comfortable, and would send for me as soon as he considered it safe to do so.”

The Camera Chap frowned. “How did these notes come to you, señora?”

“Through the mails.”

“To your Washington address?”

“Yes. They were postmarked Paris, France. That was the whole object of the diabolical subterfuge—to make me believe that my husband was over there, at liberty, living on the proceeds of his crime.”

Doctor Bonsal nodded gravely. “Of course, that was the motive of those notes,” he said, “and the señora was clever enough to pretend to be completely deceived by them.”

“Splendid!” the Camera Chap exclaimed. Then, as a thought came to him: “But there is one other question that I would like to ask. It concerns that chap, Cipriani, or Rodriguez, whichever his name is. He, of course, señora, knew the truth about your husband?”

The woman hesitated, and her questioner caught a swift glance which passed between her and Doctor Bonsal.

“Why do you ask that?” the physician demanded sharply. “What do you know about Rodriguez, sir?”

“Not very much,” Hawley replied. “I saw, of course, what happened on the customhouse dock at Puerto Guerra, the other day, and later, when I arrived here, I learned from the clerk at the hotel the significance of what I had witnessed. I was informed that General Rodriguez had come to Baracoa to start a revolution.”

Once more a swift glance passed between the old man and the señora. It was evident to the Camera Chap that the pair were exceedingly disconcerted by this turn in the conversation.

“Did—did this hotel clerk say anything which gave you cause to believe that Rodriguez knew President Felix’s fate?” Doctor Bonsal stammered. Happening to glance at the señora, the Camera Chap observed that her lips were parted, and that her whole attitude indicated that she awaited his answer with great suspense.

“Oh, no,” he assured them; “the clerk didn’t know anything about that. You need have no apprehensions on that score. It was your own actions that day, señora, which caused me to believe that you were in sympathy with Cipriani’s venture. I was standing close beside you at the ship’s rail, and I couldn’t help observing how greatly you were agitated by what occurred on shore. And then, there was the note you sent me later. From these things I got the impression that Cipriani was working for you—that his revolution was started with the object of getting President Felix out of El Torro.”

Doctor Bonsal glanced nervously toward the window, the shades of which were drawn. “Not so loud, señor, I beg of you,” he whispered. “If a mere hint of what you have just said should reach our enemies, we are done for. Tell me, have you expressed this theory of yours to anybody else?”

“Certainly not,” the Camera Chap replied indignantly. “Pardon me, doctor, but your question is almost a reflection on my intelligence.”

The señora uttered an audible sigh of relief. “We might have known that we could rely upon Mr. Hawley’s discretion,” she said. Then, addressing the Camera Chap: “No doubt you can surmise the reason for our great apprehension?”

Hawley smiled. “I think I can. The government believes that Rodriguez’s revolution had nothing whatever to do with your cause. Isn’t that the idea?”

The señora nodded. “We took every care to convey that impression,” she said sadly. “As Doctor Bonsal has said, if Portiforo had any suspicion of our noble friend’s real motive, the consequences would be fatal—as fatal as if you were to persist in your efforts to get into El Torro to photograph my husband.”

“And that reminds me,” said Doctor Bonsal, with a smile, “we have wandered away from the subject we were discussing. I trust, Mr. Hawley, that you will find it convenient to sail on the Panama to-morrow?”

A look of distress came to the Camera Chap’s face. “I am sorry, but I’m afraid I cannot do that,” he said regretfully. “I would like to oblige you, señora, but you must appreciate my position. Even if I were willing to quit, I would not be free to consult my own wishes in the matter, or even yours. I am here under orders—orders that must be carried out before I can think of leaving Baracoa.”

Señora Felix’s face became very stern. “Surely you and your president would not sacrifice a human life in order to gratify your selfish ambitions!” she exclaimed indignantly.

“Selfish ambitions!” Hawley protested. “Oh, come now, señora; that’s scarcely a fair way of putting it.”

“It is fair!” she rejoined passionately. “For you this adventure, if successful, simply means one more feather in your cap—one more triumph to be added to your roll of journalistic achievements. For your president it means a diplomatic victory scored—a chance to replace the present administration of Baracoa with one more favorable to the policies of the United States government. And for these reasons you are determined to go ahead now, regardless of the inevitable consequences which have been so clearly pointed out to you. What other term can I use to characterize your motive than selfish ambition?”

“But, my dear señora,” argued the Camera Chap, with an uneasy feeling that there might be some justice in her viewpoint, “we can’t let President Felix remain in El Torro. Wouldn’t that be almost as bad as death itself? There may be a certain amount of risk to my plan, but I feel confident that if the matter could be put up to your husband he would be willing to run the chance of having me go ahead. You see, there isn’t any other way of getting him out. If there were, I might be willing to give up my attempt. If a better plan——”

He was interrupted by an exclamation from the woman, and again he detected an interchange of swift glances between her and Doctor Bonsal.

“Do you mean that, sir?” the latter demanded eagerly. “Have we your word for it that if you knew that another plan was under way, you would abandon this undertaking and sail for New York on the Panama to-morrow?”

“If it was a better way than mine,” Hawley stipulated guardedly. “I’d have to be convinced of that, of course.”

The physician flashed a glance of interrogation at the señora, who answered him with a nod. “We have put ourselves so much in your confidence already, Mr. Hawley,” he said quietly, “that we might as well go a little further. I know that we can trust you.” He glanced nervously toward the shaded window, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “We have important tidings,” he announced. “General Rodriguez made his escape to-day from the arsenal, and is now at liberty. You realize what that means?”

The Camera Chap smiled faintly. “Another revolution, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said the old man fervently. “And this time one that will not fail. So you see, sir, there is a much more practical plan than the one you are now abandoning.”