A gate creaked on its hinges, and the venerable prisoner, his head held high, his shoulders squared, walked past the Camera Chap’s door, an army officer in dress uniform on each side of him.
Like a man in a dream, the snapshot adventurer gazed upon the scene that followed. He saw the officers place their victim with his back to the cement wall of the courtyard, and tie a handkerchief over his eyes. He saw them step back, and heard one of them give an order which caused the long line of gleaming rifle barrels at the other end of the yard to rise with a precision that seemed almost automatic. In another minute the tragedy was over, and in ten minutes the courtyard was clear, and the routine of the prison was resumed.
Hawley was horrified at what he had witnessed, but his predominant emotion was one of violent rage. “If ever I get out of here,” he murmured, “I’ll make Portiforo pay for this.” Then he smiled grimly as the thought came to him that instead of getting out, the chances were that before long he himself would be in the same position as the ill-fated Doctor Bonsal.
Presently two men came to his cell and threw open the door. “Señor,” one of them said politely, “we must request you to be good enough to accompany us.”
CHAPTER XXXII.
OLD SCORES.
Since the publication in the New York Daily News of the letters of the missing President Felix to his wife, Gale had stood high in the favor of Portiforo. The latter had sent for the reporter and assured him of his deep appreciation of the service he had rendered the government of Baracoa by disposing so effectively of the unpleasant rumors concerning Felix, the circulation of which had been a source of distress to him, Portiforo, and the high-minded patriotic gentlemen connected with his administration. Incidentally he had told Gale that the latchstring of the national palace was at all times out for him.
On the day that he learned of the Camera Chap’s arrest, Gale decided to take advantage of this standing invitation. He deemed it his duty to have a chat with the president concerning the prisoner. He found Portiforo not at all unwilling to talk on that subject.
“In fact, Señor Gale, if you had not come, I was about to send for you for that very purpose,” said the president, when his visitor had made known the object of his call. “I am desirous of getting some information about that misguided young man, and since you and he are members of the same profession, you ought to be able to tell me what I want to know. I am informed,” he went on, somewhat anxiously, “that this man Hawley is quite a big figure in American journalism—a sort of a celebrity.”
Gale laughed disdainfully. “I don’t know where you could have got hold of that idea, Señor Presidente. A celebrity, eh? Well, that’s pretty good!”
He spoke with malicious emphasis, for he believed that he understood his questioner’s motive in seeking to ascertain the status of the Camera Chap in the newspaper world. If he was convinced that Hawley was a man of prominence in his own country he would probably hesitate to go to extremes with him for fear of bringing upon himself the wrath of the American people. If, on the other hand, he was led to believe that the prisoner was a person of no great importance, the latter was likely to receive scant consideration from him.