CHAPTER VI.A MEETING AFTER DARK.

CHAPTER VI.A MEETING AFTER DARK.

If the Camera Chap had witnessed a meeting which took place that night between Señora Felix and a certain tall, soldierly-looking male passenger, and if he could have overheard their conversation, he would have been greatly amazed and perplexed.

It was well on toward midnight. The musicians had long ago ceased playing, and most of the passengers had turned in. The promenade deck was as deserted as Broadway after four a. m. The señora, as she stood at the rail, pensively watching the moonbeams playing upon the waves, was as motionless as a wax figure. She was wrapped in a long, black silk shawl so arranged about her head that most of her face was hidden, but the tall, soldierly-looking man who stepped up to her had no difficulty in recognizing her.

She turned swiftly at the sound of his footfall behind her, and an exclamation of pleasure escaped her lips. “So you managed it all right!” she whispered in Spanish.

“Yes, señora; but it is very unwise. I got your message, and I felt that I had to obey this time—but it must not occur again. The risk is too great.”

“I know,” she acquiesced. “As you say, it must not occur again. From now on we must be as strangers; but I felt that I must have this one talk with you. I am so very anxious.”

A frown darkened his handsome features. “It is exceedingly unfortunate, señora, that you should have sailed on this boat,” he said ungraciously. “Your presence here is likely to prove disastrous. If only you had waited for another week.”

“I couldn’t,” she answered deprecatingly. “They sent me word that my father’s condition was most serious, and I felt it my duty to go to him at once. But I had no idea that you would be here. I understood that you were to sail next Tuesday on thePanama.”

“Such was my original intention,” he answered; “but there were good reasons why I had to alter my plans. I certainly would have delayed my sailing, however, if I had suspected that there was the slightest chance of your being here. I greatly fear the fact that we are traveling on the same boat is regarded as more than a mere coincidence by our friend who calls himself José Lopez.”

A worried expression came to the señora’s face. “How much does he know?” she inquired.

“I would give much to be able to answer that question,” her companion replied, with a grim smile. “Of this much I am sure, however: He already has a strong suspicion that my name is not Juan Cipriani, and that my destination is not Buenos Aires. He forced his acquaintanceship upon me in the smoking room to-day, and began straightway to cross-examine me in a manner which, no doubt, he considered adroit, but which I saw through immediately. In an attempt to lull his suspicion I went through that painful littlescene in front of you. I need scarcely assure you, señora, of my profound regret at being obliged to hurt your feelings so cruelly.”

“That is all right,” she answered. “I realized the necessity. You managed it very skillfully. I feel sure that he must have been convinced that you were unacquainted with me, and that we have no interest in common.”

“I am not so certain of that,” the man answered, shaking his head. “The best that we can hope is that I succeeded in establishing a doubt in his mind; but I fear that he guessed it was all a trick contrived to deceive him. For the rest of this voyage, I am afraid, he will be watching us closely—on the alert for the slightest glance that passes between us. You must be very careful, señora.”

“I will,” she promised. “Where is he now?”

“Asleep in his stateroom. I made sure of that before I came here to keep this appointment.” The man paused. “But it is not him alone we have cause to fear,” he exclaimed suddenly. “There is somebody else on board whose presence is a grave menace to us. That good-looking young American who so impulsively came to your rescue this afternoon—do you know who he is?”

The señora shook her head. “That was one of the reasons I felt it necessary to have this talk with you. I, too, am uneasy about that young man. In spite of his interference in my behalf this afternoon, I have reason to suspect that he belongs to our enemies.”

Her companion frowned. “Would you mind tellingme your reasons for thinking that, señora?” he asked.

“The first time I noticed him was in New York, several days ago,” the woman explained. “It was that day I visited your headquarters. You remember my telling you that I had been followed?”

The man nodded. “That was the time you worked that clever trick with the taxicab,” he said, with a smile. “But I understood you to say that it was Lopez who was shadowing you?”

“There were two of them. Lopez was in one cab, but there was another taxi behind his. It contained that young American. I had previously noticed him watching me as I came out of the Mammoth.”

Her companion uttered a sharp exclamation.

“And that wasn’t the only time,” the señora went on. “I saw him in Washington, the day before he sailed. I was driving in Pennsylvania Avenue, and I noticed him on the sidewalk. That may have been a coincidence, of course, but I am afraid not. I noticed that he was observing me very closely. And then, again, he came on board this ship at exactly the same time I did. He was close behind me as I walked up the gangplank. All of which leads me to believe that he is on this vessel for the purpose of spying upon us. I have had Celeste make inquiries about him, and she has learned that he is a New Yorker named Hawley. He claims to be an artist on his way to Baracoa to paint some landscapes, but I am sure that that is only a bluff. The man is one of Portiforo’s spies.”

Her companion smiled. “You are mistaken about that, señora. I, too, have been making inquiries about this young man. I was fortunate enough to get hold of a fellow passenger, an American, who could tell me all about him. He is not connected with Portiforo—but he is just as dangerous to us as if such were the case.”

“Who is he?” the señora asked quickly.

“Hawley is his right name, and, as he has said, he is an artist. But he does not wield a brush. He makes his pictures with a camera. He is a newspaper photographer—on the staff of the New YorkSentinel.”

The señora gave vent to a faint cry. “Hawley, of the New YorkSentinel!” she exclaimed agitatedly. “I have heard of him. He is that wonderful photographer they call the Camera Chap.”

Her companion nodded. “I see that you realize, señora, how careful we must be of him. The press is as much to be feared by us as our enemies in Baracoa. If a Yankee newspaper were to get hold of our secret we should be lost. I don’t know what he is after, but I shall——”

“I do,” the señora interrupted tensely. “Now that I know who that young man is, I understand fully why he is going to Baracoa. And he must be stopped,” she added, her voice vibrant with emotion. “He must not be permitted to go ahead. We must find some way of preventing it.”

Back to IndexNext