CHAPTER II.A MATTER IN CONFIDENCE.
When the Camera Chap went to keep his luncheon appointment the following morning, Bates, who had some business to attend to at the treasury department, accompanied him as far as the White House grounds. As they were walking along Pennsylvania Avenue, a splendid touring car, with a silver crest on the door panels and a liveried footman on the box, passed them by. It contained two women, one of them a blonde, the other very dark. The former, recognizing Bates on the sidewalk, bowed graciously.
“That is Mrs. Fred V. Cooper, wife of the attorney general,” the correspondent explained to his companion, noting that the latter was staring at the automobile, as though fascinated. “She’s one of the beauties of Washington.”
“And the other woman—the dark one—who is she?” the Camera Chap demanded eagerly.
Bates smiled. “There’s a woman with a history,” he said. “She is Señora Francisco Felix, wife of the former president of the Republic of Baracoa. You remember reading about him, of course?”
“Oh, yes. He’s the chap who disappeared a couple of years ago.”
“Disappeared is a gentle way of putting it,” returned the other, grinning. “He sneaked away in his private yacht, one memorable night, and the good people of Baracoa awoke next morning to find that theywere minus a president, and incidentally the greater part of the national treasury. The scamp took away with him every bolivar he could lay hands on. The little republic would have gone bankrupt if General Portiforo hadn’t stepped in and saved the situation.”
Hawley nodded. “Yes, I remember. What is his wife doing in Washington?”
“She’s been living here ever since her husband absconded. I guess she didn’t find it exactly comfortable in Baracoa after the scandal. She and Mrs. Cooper are great friends; they’ve known each other since they were girls. The señora was educated in the United States; I believe she and the attorney general’s wife were in the same class at Vassar. She—why, what’s the matter, old man?”
Hawley had given vent to a sharp exclamation, at the same time gripping his companion’s arm excitedly. “Did you notice that swarthy chap in the taxicab which just passed?” he asked.
“The fellow with a beard? Yes. What about him?”
“Don’t happen to know who he is, do you?”
Bates shook his head. “I suppose he’s connected with one of the Spanish-American embassies. There are so many of those fellows running around Washington that it isn’t possible for us to know them all. Why the interest in him?”
“This isn’t the first time I have seen him. I saw him in New York a couple of weeks ago. He was shadowing Señora Felix.”
“Señora Felix!”
“Yes; this is not the first time I’ve seen her, either, although I did not know who she was until now. The other day, Bates, I witnessed a queer incident outside the Hotel Mammoth. I was passing there just as that woman came out of the Thirty-fourth Street entrance and entered a taxicab. My attention was attracted to her not only because of her striking beauty, but because of the nervousness she displayed. As she stepped into the cab she kept glancing about her in all directions, as though aware that she was being watched. As she drove off I noticed a man skulking in the doorway of a store on the opposite side of the street. It was that same dark-skinned, bearded chap who just passed us. I saw him hurry across the street and rush up to another taxi that was waiting at the cab stand. I heard him instruct the driver to follow the woman’s cab, no matter where it went. He spoke in English, but with a decidedly foreign accent. My curiosity was aroused, and I decided to see the thing out. I, too, jumped into a taxi and joined in the procession.
“Straight down Fifth Avenue we went, as far as Washington Square. Then the three of us turned into a side street, and came to a stop. The woman’s cab had halted outside the door of a dingy-looking house in a neighborhood which had seen better days, but which now consists mostly of cheap rooming houses. The bearded man’s cab had drawn up about fifty yards away. He jumped out quickly, and I alighted, too, as inconspicuously as possible. A surprise awaited us both. The first cab was empty. The woman had disappeared.”
Bates laughed knowingly. “She must have been wise to the fact that she was being shadowed, and took advantage of a chance to drop out somewhere along the trail.”
“Of course. It’s an old trick. You ought to have seen our bearded friend’s face when he found that he had been fooled. He said a lot of things to himself in Spanish. I have enough knowledge of that language to know that his utterances weren’t fit for publication. Wonder if he’s shadowing her again now.”
“Most likely,” said Bates. “I suppose he’s one of Portiforo’s spies. Naturally, the present government of Baracoa would be interested in the movements of Señora Felix. I presume they hope, by watching her, to get a line on where her husband is.”
“You think she knows that?”
“It is more than a bare possibility. Felix hasn’t been heard of since he landed from his yacht on the south coast of France two years ago, but it is exceedingly likely that he has been in communication with his wife. I understand they were a very devoted couple. In fact, it was a surprise to everybody that when he skipped he didn’t take her along. Well, here we are at the White House grounds. See you later, old man. I am burning up with curiosity to know what the president wants of you.”
Bates’ curiosity in that respect was not destined to be gratified that day, nor for many days after. When the Camera Chap returned from his interview with the president, and dropped in at theSentinelbureau, he was provokingly uncommunicative.
“It was a fine lunch,” he said. “The White House chef certainly knows his business; and the president is a genial host. He is one of the most democratic men I have ever met.”
“But what did you talk about?” Bates asked impatiently. “I know very well that he didn’t send for you merely to make your acquaintance. What did he want, old man? You can trust me, you know.”
“Of course I can,” the Camera Chap agreed cheerfully. “We discussed many things—ranging all the way from Park Row to South America.”
“South America!” the correspondent exclaimed eagerly. “What did he have to say about that?”
Hawley’s eyes twinkled. “He asked me whether I’d ever been out there, and when I told him no he expressed great surprise, saying that I certainly ought to make it a point to go; that he felt sure I would find many interesting things to photograph in that part of the world.”
Hearing which Bates had a shrewd suspicion that the president had suggested some particularly interesting thing to photograph in some part of South America; but, although he was a past master in the art of extracting information from unwilling lips, his efforts failed to draw out the Camera Chap further along this line.
It was the president’s closing remark to Hawley which had compelled the latter to adopt this sphinx-like attitude.
“I will not pledge you to secrecy,” the chief executive had said. “I will merely urge you to be discreet,Mr. Hawley. I think I am able to estimate a man at first sight, and if I did not feel that you could be relied upon I would not have asked you to undertake this mission. You realize, of course, that in addition to the risk you will be running, a human life may depend upon your discretion.”