CHAPTER XXI.HOW IT WORKED.
Half an hour later, Virginia Throgmorton entered the legation library and, stepping up to a dainty little mahogany desk in a corner of the room, opened one of the drawers and uttered an exclamation of dismay.
Gale, who was seated at a table in the center of the room, looked up from the letter he was writing, and regarded her solicitously. “Anything wrong?” he inquired.
“It was horribly careless of me to leave the key in the lock,” the girl murmured, as though speaking more to herself than to the reporter. “Still, I cannot imagine who could have taken them. It is most mysterious.”
“Lost anything?” Gale asked curiously.
Virginia hesitated. Then, with sudden decision: “Yes; some letters are missing from my desk—very important letters.”
“Love letters?” Gale inquired, with a grin.
“Not exactly,” the girl replied coldly. “How long have you been in this room, Mr. Gale?”
“Not very long. Not more than five minutes, I should say. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if you had noticed anybody tampering with my desk.”
The reporter smiled deprecatingly. “My dear Virginia! If I had, don’t you suppose I would have called them to account?” Suddenly a glint came to his eyes,as an idea occurred to him. “One minute, though! I think, perhaps, I can solve this mystery for you. Tell me, were these letters of such a character that they would be of value to a newspaper?”
Virginia sighed. “They would be of great value to a newspaper,” she answered, “but——”
“Then I guess I’ve got the answer,” Gale interrupted. “This morning, as I was coming downstairs, I encountered a man coming out of this room. He seemed to be in a great hurry, and it struck me, also, that he appeared very nervous. I would have stopped him and demanded what he was doing here, only I supposed at the time that he had been calling on your father. After he had gone, though, I discovered that your father wasn’t in the house. I have no doubt, now, that it was the chap who stole the letters from your desk.”
“And you haven’t any idea who he was?” Virginia asked, an odd break in her voice.
“Yes, I have,” Gale answered. “It was the Camera Chap—Hawley.”
“Good heavens!” Virginia gasped. “Are you sure, Mr. Gale?”
“Absolutely so,” he answered. “Even if I hadn’t seen him,” he added maliciously, “I might have guessed that the robbery was his work. I know his methods. That fellow Hawley is so unprincipled, Virginia, that he’d steal the crutch from a cripple.”
Feeling very well satisfied with himself and his evening’s work, Gale went out and repaired to a certaincafé which he knew was the haunt of a man whom he greatly desired to see.
“I believe you were telling me, the other day,” he said, when he had found his man, “that you used to be employed by former President Felix?”
“I was his private secretary,” the other answered.
“Then you ought to be pretty familiar with his handwriting?”
“I know it as well as I do my own.”
“Fine!” exclaimed the reporter, suddenly producing a letter. “That being the case, old man, take a good look at this and let me know whether you recognize the fist?”
The man studied the script closely, and a look of astonishment came to his face. “It is Felix’s handwriting!” he declared positively.
“Good!” exclaimed Gale exultantly. “Now, see here: I’m going to give you a chance to make some easy money. I’ve got several more of these letters here, and I want them translated. I understand enough Spanish to get an idea what they’re about, but I want a good translation. There’s ten dollars—American money—in it for you if you want to undertake the job.”
President Felix’s former secretary nodded eagerly, and, taking a fountain pen and a notebook, which Gale handed him, rapidly wrote out an English translation of the correspondence.
“Much obliged,” said Gale. “You’ll get the ten dollars in a couple of days—provided you keep quietabout it. I don’t want anybody to know about these letters just yet.”
The next morning the New YorkDaily Newspublished on its front page a story which bore the following heading:
“WIFE HEARS FROM MISSING PRESIDENT.
“Francisco Felix, Fugitive President of Baracoa, Sends Wife Cheering Epistles From Gay Paree.—Weird Rumor Knocked On Head.—Daily NewsStaff Correspondent at San Cristobal Unearths Interesting Correspondence Which Proves Absurdity of Charge that Felix Was Victim of Portiforo Conspiracy.”
“Francisco Felix, Fugitive President of Baracoa, Sends Wife Cheering Epistles From Gay Paree.—Weird Rumor Knocked On Head.—Daily NewsStaff Correspondent at San Cristobal Unearths Interesting Correspondence Which Proves Absurdity of Charge that Felix Was Victim of Portiforo Conspiracy.”
This, of course, did not escape the eagle eye of the New York correspondent of the San CristobalHerald, whose chief duty was to go through each issue of the New York newspapers and pick out all stories which were likely to be of interest to the citizens of Baracoa. Thus it came about that five hours after that issue of theDaily Newsappeared on the streets of New York, the first edition of the San CristobalHerald, with the same story, under a New York date line, spread all over its front page, was selling like hot cakes in the streets of the capital of Baracoa.
At about the same time a lengthy dispatch in cipher from the Baracoan consulate at New York arrived at the executive palace. It ended as follows:
“Upon investigation, I have the honor to report that this morning’s article in theNews, one of the most influential newspapers in the United States, has made agreat impression upon the American people. There is already heard both here and in Washington considerable criticism of the President of the United States for having permitted a member of his cabinet to show such conspicuous friendship for the wife of Felix. Now that the woman’s guilty knowledge of her husband’s whereabouts has been proved, it is felt by the better class of citizens here, that the United States has been placed in an embarrassing position by the fact that while she was residing at the home of the United States attorney general she was in constant receipt of letters from the fugitive.
“I have the honor to report, also, that I am reliably informed that in addition to publishing its sensational story, theNewshas cabled secret instructions to its staff correspondent in Paris to begin immediately a search for Felix. The editor believes that the clews furnished by the postmark of the letters ought to make it an easy matter to find him.”
That President Portiforo was not exactly vexed by this information was evident when he appeared in public later that day. As he rode through the streets in an open carriage, the people were able to get a good view of his features, and it was noted that he wore a grin broader than any that had appeared on his moonlike countenance since the day of his inauguration.
“I saw him this afternoon—I was walking along the Avenida Bolivar when the presidential equipage rolled past—and his expression reminded me of the cat just after swallowing the canary,” the Camera Chap remarkedlaughingly to Virginia Throgmorton, whom he met by appointment that afternoon at the usual trysting place. “It looks as if our little ruse had the desired effect.”
“It was tremendously clever of you to think of it, Mr. Hawley,” the girl said enthusiastically. “Your ingenuity in all probability has saved President Felix’s life. It isn’t likely that Portiforo will feel so much like resorting to desperate measures now.”
“Let us hope not,” Hawley responded quietly.
Something in his tone caused the girl to regard him with great concern. “Has anything happened to make you believe the contrary?” she asked quickly.
“I don’t know,” the Camera Chap answered, with a frown. “I heard a report at the Red Cross Hospital this afternoon which I don’t like. They say there that General Replife, the minister of war, has suffered a relapse, and is not expected to live another twenty-four hours.”
“And you think,” said Virginia fearfully, “that if Replife dies Portiforo may decide that it would suit his purposes to get rid of poor President Felix despite the reassuring news from New York?”
Hawley shrugged his shoulders. “At all events, it will be as well for us not to take any chances,” he said quietly. “You remember that plan for getting the picture that I was telling you about yesterday, Miss Throgmorton? Well, the time has come to carry it out. Under the circumstances we cannot afford to delay any longer.” He lowered his voice. “I have decided to make the attempt to-night.”