The scowl on Portiforo’s face deepened. “But I can’t understand how that confounded photographer could have managed to retain possession of the snapshot!” he muttered. “I took his camera away from him that night, and it was loaded with film.”
Lopez shrugged his shoulders. “Señor Hawley is an exceedingly ingenious and resourceful young man,” he remarked. “After the several exhibitions of his cleverness which he has given us, I think we can assume that he had the sagacity and foresight to change the film roll of his camera immediately after taking the picture.”
The president nodded gloomily. “Yes; he might have done it that way. We ought to have been more careful in searching him afterward,” he said. “I suppose, my dear Replife,” he continued, turning with a grim smile to the secretary of war, “you now fully agree with the rest of us as to the necessity of carrying out immediately the step we were discussing. The startling news that Lopez has brought us emphasizes the danger of delaying the matter.”
General Replife shook his head. “On the contrary, I think the news which Lopez has brought is a strong argument why you should spare the life of the unhappy Felix,” he urged. “What good would it do you to put him out of the way now? Such a step would only make things worse for ourselves. The photographic evidence of our guilt is now in the hands of the United States government. Whether he is found in El Torro or not, the world will know from that snapshot that he was locked up there. And if he is done away with it will, of course, add to the price which we will have to pay later on.”
Some of Portiforo’s advisers were impressed by this argument. They looked at their chief anxiously. The latter leaned back in his chair, a look of uncertainty on his face. It was evident from his demeanor that he appreciated the force of this plea for their victim’s life.
Then suddenly his beady eyes snapped, and his cruel lips parted in a snarl. “We will take our chances on the price we may have to pay—if we are caught,” he said. “There is a possibility that we shall be able to convince the world that the snapshot is a daring fraud. Photographic evidence has been manufactured before now; and”—he smiled sardonically—“the man who took the picture will not, then, be here to refute our claims.”
He reached for pen and paper on the big mahogany table before him, and began to write rapidly. When he had finished, he turned to Lopez. “Go back to the fortress and deliver these immediately,” he said to him. “One of them is for the commandant; the other for Captain Reyes. Wait there until both orders are carried out, and then come back and report.”
Lopez bowed, and put the two papers in his pocket. Then he hurried back to Puerto Cabero. During the journey, he read the two papers, and their contents caused him to bare his teeth in a malicious smile.
The missive addressed to Captain Reyes was somewhat ambiguous. It said merely, “The time has come.”
Portiforo knew Reyes would have no difficulty in grasping the purport of that laconic sentence. The other order, addressed to the commandant of the fortress, was less vaguely worded. It commanded that official to proceed immediately with the execution of the American prisoner, Hawley.