Virginia sent in her card to Beatrice Montague, the diplomat’s daughter. She knew that the latter was an enthusiastic amateur photographer and did her own developing and printing—which was the reason she had decided to call upon her now.
“I want you to do me a favor, Beatrice,” she said, as soon as the English girl came into the reception room to greet her. “I have a film here which I want developed and a print made from it as quickly as possible.”
“Surely,” the other responded, wondering greatly at her visitor’s flushed face and agitated manner. “Come up to the dark room, dear. I didn’t know that you, too, had become a camera fiend.”
She led the way upstairs to the chamber which she had fitted up as her laboratory. Here, under the rays of a ruby lamp, the girls opened the roll of film and submerged it in the necessary chemical solutions. A little later, as her friend held the wet gelatin against the lamp, Virginia gave vent to a joyous cry. “He did it!” she exclaimed, with a hysterical laugh. “He has succeeded, after all.”
“Who did what?” Miss Montague asked curiously. “What is this negative, Virginia? It looks to me like an old man gazing out of a barred window.”
“That’s what it is,” her visitor answered happily. “An old man gazing out of a barred window. How soon can you let me have a print of this, Beatrice? Please hurry. Every minute counts.”
In a little while the picture was ready. As the British minister’s daughter took it out of the printing frame, she stared in astonishment at the finished product. In its negative form, of course, she had not been able to identify the subject; but now it occurred to her that there was something hauntingly familiar about the haggard, wistful face that peered at her from the barred window.
“I’ve seen this man before somewhere,” she announced; “but I can’t recall where——” She stopped short, and an expression of astonishment came to her face. “How extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “Do you know, my dear, if it weren’t so very absurd, I should say that this was a snapshot of former President Felix. To be sure, it looks much older than he did at the time of his disappearance, but the features are very much like his, as I recall them. It is truly a remarkable resemblance.”
Virginia smiled. “Isn’t it, though? Please hurry up and finish this print so that it won’t fade. I’ll tell you all about it later on, but I haven’t time now.” Without waiting for the print to dry, she placed it in her hand bag and hurried out to the waiting automobile. “Back to Puerto Cabero—as fast as we can go,” she said to her chauffeur.
As she spoke, she glanced up the street and caught sight of another automobile standing at the corner. In that car sat Señor Lopez. She saw him bend forward in his seat and give an order to his driver, and she was not surprised, when her car started, to observe that the other followed. The discovery prompted her to take the precaution of transferring the precious snapshot from her bag to her blouse, but evidently the spy was content with merely watching her movements and had no intention of trying to wrest the picture from her, for he trailed behind her car all the way to the seaport, and once when their motor broke down on a lonely stretch of road and they had to stop ten minutes for repairs, Lopez’s chariot also came to a halt a short distance behind.