CHAPTER V.BOLD CURIOSITY.
Muttering an apology, Lopez walked away, and as he strode rapidly across the deck toward the companionway, the Camera Chap noted curiously that his footsteps were uncannily noiseless. Cipriani, too, seemed to observe that fact, for he remarked, with a smile: “Our friend certainly is most appropriately named. Does not his walk suggest to you the lope of a wolf?”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” said the Camera Chap. “Who is he?”
“His name is José Lopez, and he hails from Baracoa. That is all I can tell you about him. I have just made his acquaintance. We got to talking about his country, and that is how we came to discuss Señora Felix. I wish I could express to you how deeply I regret that I so cruelly hurt her feelings. If you are acquainted with the lady and——”
“I am not,” Hawley hastily interrupted. “I merely know her by sight. She was pointed out to me the other day in Washington.”
“Ah! You are from Washington?” It seemed to the Camera Chap that the other looked at him very keenly.
“Not guilty,” he said, with a laugh. “New York is my stamping ground. I merely happened to be in Washington for a couple of days.”
“I see. And you are now bound for——” Cipriani paused interrogatively.
“I am going as far as Puerto Cabero.”
Once more the other looked at him searchingly. “Might I inquire the object of your visit to Baracoa, if the question is not too personal?”
Hawley smiled. “I haven’t any great objection to answering it,” he said. “I am an artist, and I am going to make some pictures. I understand that the landscapes there are very fine.”
“An artist,” the other exclaimed. “That is interesting. I should very much like to see some of your work.”
“Perhaps some day I will show you,” said the Camera Chap, his eyes twinkling. “And now, having answered your question, may I ask you one in return?”
“I am at your service, señor.”
“I would like to know why you are so bitterly prejudiced against Señora Felix. She doesn’t strike me as being the sort of woman who deserves the unkind things you said about her.”
Cipriani shrugged his shoulders. “You are young, my friend. When you have lived as long as I you will not judge by appearances,” he said gravely.
“But that isn’t answering my question,” Hawley insisted. “Have you any special reason for believing that the señora knows where her husband is?”
“Only my knowledge of human nature,” Cipriani replied. “As I said before, it is only logical to suppose that Felix has communicated with his wife sincehe ran away. I understand that they were a most devoted couple. I presume that when he fled they had an understanding that she was to join him later on; probably she has found it impossible to do so because of the close watch that Portiforo has kept on her.”
“How do you know that Portiforo has been keeping a close watch on her?” Hawley asked quickly.
Cipriani seemed discomfited by the question. He winced, and his ruddy face changed color; but his confusion quickly passed. “Of course, I do not know it,” he said suavely. “I only assume it. Is it not logical to suppose that the government of Baracoa would keep the wife of an absconding president under close surveillance? If you had ever lived in South America you would not have asked that question. There are more spies down there than there are people to spy on.”
He threw the stub of his cigarette into the sea, and took a gold case from his pocket to supply himself with another. “May I offer you one of these?” he said. “They are of my own manufacture. I am in the cigarette business in Buenos Aires.”
“No, thank you,” said Hawley. “I prefer a pipe.” He felt in his pocket. “That reminds me; I left my brier in my stateroom. I’ll go and get it. See you again, sir.”
The South American smiled and bowed, but as the Camera Chap walked away the smile abruptly left his face, and was replaced by an anxious expression. “We must find out more about that interesting youngman,” he mused. “I don’t think he is going to Baracoa to paint landscapes.”
When Hawley reached his stateroom he made a disconcerting discovery. The room had been entered since he was there last, and somebody had been through his baggage. He knew that such was the case because certain articles were not as he had left them. Nothing was missing—a close inventory of his effects satisfied him as to that; but the contents of his trunk and his suit case were slightly disarranged.
With a frown he stepped out into the corridor, and went in search of the steward. “Didn’t happen to see anybody go in or out of my room during the last two hours, did you?” he inquired.
The man looked worried. “No, sir; I—I didn’t actually see anybody—go in or out,” he stammered. “But, now that you speak of it, I saw something that was rather queer.”
“What was that?”
“As I was passing your door, ten minutes ago, I saw a man fumbling with the lock. It looked to me as if he was just locking the door; but when I stepped up to him he explained that he had made a mistake, and was trying to get in, thinking it was his own room.”
“Ah!” Hawley exclaimed. “Do you know who he was?”
“Yes, sir; it was the gentleman who occupies the room across the hall from yours—Señor José Lopez.”
“The deuce!” muttered Hawley. “No wonder hehas such a catlike tread. Evidently he needs it in his business. Begins to look as if he might be one of Portiforo’s spies sent—— By Jove! I’ve got the answer, now, as to where I’ve seen his face. What a chump I am not to have remembered before. It was the absence of his whiskers that fooled me. His appearance is considerably changed without them, but I’m quite sure, now, that he’s the same busybody who was trailing Señora Felix in a taxicab.”