CHAPTER XXXIII.AT THE PALACE.
Hawley believed that almost anything outrageous was possible after the terrible scene he had witnessed in the courtyard of the jail, and he accompanied his own visitors with some misgivings, which, however, he took pains to conceal from them.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, with well-simulated carelessness, as they invited him to enter an automobile with a closed top which was standing outside the jail, “I’d like to know where you’re taking me? I’m naturally of a rather curious disposition.”
“To the national palace, señor,” one of the men answered. “The president sent us for you.”
The prisoner’s face grew grim. He thought he could guess the reason for this summons. Disappointed at Lopez’s inability to get the truth about the snapshot expedition, Portiforo was going to try his own skill as a cross-examiner. The Camera Chap had no doubt that the president of Baracoa was a past master at the gentle art of administering the third degree, but he was fully resolved that if Portiforo hoped to get anything out of him he was going to be greatly disappointed.
Arriving at the palace in a decidedly belligerent mood, which was intensified by his contempt for the man of whose brutality he had just had such startling evidence, he was somewhat astonished by the graciousnesswith which he was received. Portiforo was seated in the audience chamber, a large room furnished in massive mahogany and hung with rich Oriental draperies. Near the president sat Minister Throgmorton, whose scowling face was in sharp contrast to the smile which illuminated the former’s rubicund countenance. The only other person present was a dark-skinned young man who sat at a big writing table in the center of the room, chewing the end of a pencil, with a stenographer’s notebook before him.
“So this is Señor Hawley,” Portiforo began quizzically, when the Camera Chap’s two guides had conducted him to a position in front of the massive, thronelike chair in which the first gentleman of Baracoa lolled. “So this is the adventurous young man whose discretion, I fear, is not always as great as his valor.”
To this the prisoner did not deem it worth while to make any reply. He merely looked straight into the tyrant’s beady eyes, his muscles tense, his mouth set in a straight line.
“I am always glad to gaze upon genius,” Portiforo continued, without a vestige of irony in his tone, “and I am informed, Señor Hawley, that you are such a great man in your line that even the President of the United States has honored you by providing work for your camera.”
Grasping the significance of this question, and conscious of the fact that the other’s gaze was riveted searchingly upon his face, Hawley was keenly on his guard. “I have had the honor of photographing thePresident of the United States, if that is what you mean,” he replied coldly.
His evident miscomprehension of the question seemed to please Portiforo.
“No; that was not quite what I meant,” the latter said, after a slight pause. “However, we will let it go at that. I presume, señor,” he continued, “you are wondering why I sent for you?”
The Camera Chap shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps you are in hopes that this summons may mean that, in spite of the seriousness of your offense, you are to receive mercy?”
“Mercy!” Hawley exclaimed, with an ironical laugh. “No, I scarcely expect that, sir—after the scene I witnessed in the prison yard this morning. I hardly think you know what mercy means.”
Minister Throgmorton’s scowl deepened, but the president’s face did not lose its smile as he turned to the stenographer at the table, who had already started to make a record of the conversation. “I don’t think you need put that down, Garcia,” he said good-humoredly. “I feel confident that Señor Hawley will wish to withdraw that remark later on.”
He addressed himself once more to the man before him. “I presume, señor, you refer to the execution of the traitor Bonsal. That was indeed a sad affair, and I regret that you should have been compelled to behold it. I think, however, that you are unjust in calling it an outrage. The unhappy man met only his just deserts. He was found guilty, after a fair trial, of conspiring against the government of his adoptedcountry. His fate was the fate which all traitors must expect.” His small eyes twinkled. “Perhaps, however, you will change your mind about my ignorance of the meaning of the word mercy,” he said dryly, “when I tell you that, in spite of the seriousness of your own offense, I have decided to let you go free.”
The Camera Chap gave a start of surprise.
“The worthy representative of your country here,” Portiforo continued, with a bow in the direction of the envoy, “has been kind enough to exert his personal influence in your behalf. While he fully agrees with me that officially he has absolutely no rights in the matter—that the nature of your crime puts you outside the protection of your government and permits us to do with you as we see fit, my esteem for Señor Throgmorton is so great that I have decided to grant his request to set you free, since he has asked it of me as a personal favor to him.”
The prisoner, scarcely able to believe that what he heard was true, turned with a grateful smile to the American diplomat. “This is very good of you, sir,” he began.
Minister Throgmorton silenced him with a curt gesture. “You can spare me your thanks,” he said, his face still maintaining its frozen expression. “I want you to understand clearly that my intercession is not prompted by any sympathy for you. On the contrary, I feel that whatever sentence the court might see fit to pass upon you would be no more than you richly deserve. I consider you, sir, a disgrace to your country and to the honorable profession which has the misfortuneto number you among its members. My action in procuring your pardon is due entirely to—er—to other reasons.”
The president smiled appreciatively, and his glance, wandering over to the table, noted that the official stenographer was taking down every word of this caustic speech.
“You will observe, Señor Hawley,” he remarked pointedly, “that were your own countryman in my place, you could scarcely expect to receive the leniency which I am showing you. Perhaps, now, you are ready to withdraw the intemperate remark you made a little while ago about my mercy?”
The Camera Chap smiled shrewdly. “I think I had better wait until I have heard the conditions on which I am to get my release. I suppose there will be conditions?”
“The only condition,” said Portiforo, frowning at this cold response, “is that you get out of this country immediately. We will give you until to-morrow. There is a boat leaving for New York in the morning. If you are caught on Baracoan soil after that—well, what you saw take place in the prison yard this morning ought to give you a graphic idea of what you will have to expect.”
Hawley opened his mouth as though about to say something, but changed his mind and merely bowed.
“And I warn you that next time,” said Minister Throgmorton sharply, “if you expect any help from me you are going to be disappointed.”
Portiforo chuckled. “I feel confident that thereisn’t going to be any next time, eh, Mr. Hawley? As a man of common sense, you are no doubt fully convinced of the inadvisability of doing any more camera work in Baracoa.”
“Could I stay if I were to give you my word that I wouldn’t use my camera while in this country?” the snapshot adventurer inquired.
The president grinned and shook his head. “Señor Hawley is such a great camera enthusiast that we should have cause to fear that he might be tempted to forget such a promise,” he said dryly. “No; greatly as I regret having to be so inhospitable, we must insist upon your leaving Baracoa.”
The Camera Chap bowed. “Very well, sir; I shall sail on to-morrow’s boat,” he said. His air was so much like that of one who feels that he is driving a hard bargain, that Minister Throgmorton commented upon it angrily. “Anybody would think that you weren’t satisfied!” he exclaimed. “You are without exception the most impertinent and ungrateful fellow I have ever met.”
“I am sorry if I appear that way,” Hawley responded simply. “I assure you, sir, that I am not ungrateful to you and Señor Portiforo for this unexpected clemency.”
The president chuckled. “There is one other person to whom you are indebted for your good fortune,” he announced dryly.
“Who is that?”
“Your brother journalist, Señor Gale. He was here yesterday to see me concerning you.”
“To intercede for me?” Hawley exclaimed, scarcely able to conceal his astonishment.
Portiforo smiled. “He gave me some information concerning you which had a great influence upon me,” he said vaguely. “In fact, if it had not been for the arguments he advanced, I don’t think I should have decided to grant you freedom, even to oblige my dear friend Señor Throgmorton.”