The members of his cabinet received this suggestion with gloomy nods of assent.
Portiforo leaned forward in his chair. “But before we go,” he went on, lowering his voice, “there is one little matter we must not overlook. To-morrow, no doubt, the enemy will be in possession of El Torro.” He turned to a tall, bearded man with a very pale face who sat at his right hand. “Surely you will agree with me, my dear Replife, that before that happens we must do—what would have been done long ere this if it had not been for your sentimental objections.”
Minister of War Replife, just out of the hospital, sighed, and a shadow flitted across his pallid countenance. “I don’t like it,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t bear the thought of it. It is impossible for me to forget that he was once my friend. We have done him enough wrong, as it is, without——”
“We’ve got to think of ourselves now,” Portiforo broke in impatiently. “This is no time for maudlin sentiment, my friend. Unless we—er—take steps to remove the evidence, by to-morrow night the whole world will know our secret, and there will be no refuge for us, wherever we may flee. As political refugees, we should be received with honor and sympathy abroad, but as fugitive criminals we could not expect nearly so pleasant a reception.”
All the members of the cabinet except Replife received this argument with approval. While they were discussing it, a secretary entered the room and announced that the spy, Lopez, was outside insisting that he must see the president immediately on a matter of the greatest importance.
Lopez was admitted at once. The tidings he brought caused Portiforo and his cabinet to exchange glances of alarm.
“You are positive that it was a roll of film Miss Throgmorton had in her hand?” the president inquired.
“I am absolutely sure of that, Señor Presidente. And I am equally sure that she took it to the British minister’s residence to have the film developed, and that the picture is now in the hands of the commander of the Yankee warship.”
A scowl darkened the president’s bloated face. “Then why didn’t you get it away from her?” he growled. “Surely you must have had plenty of opportunity.”
Lopez bared his large, exceedingly white teeth in a deprecatory smile. “If I had known then what I know now, of course I should have taken that step, Señor Presidente—although I am not a man of violence. But I must admit that Señorita Throgmorton’s actions puzzled me—until after I had been to the fortress. I was content to watch her, to find out what it all meant. But when I learned at the fortress that the prisoner Hawley had handed her a tobacco pouch to send as a keepsake to his editor, the significance of that incident dawned upon me. I happen to know that the daughter of the British minister is an amateur photographer, so it was easy to guess why Señorita Throgmorton visited her—and why she then hurried to the Yankee warship.”