That evening most of the passengers retired unusually early. The Colombia was to dock at sunrise the following morning, and everybody, even those who were not going ashore, desired to be awake early to get the first sight of land. At nine-thirty, as the orchestra finished its final selections, Hawley exchanged “Good night” with several of his acquaintances, and went to his stateroom. A few minutes later, Señor José Lopez came down the corridor with his noiseless, catlike tread, and stood listening intently outside the Camera Chap’s door.
The latter grinned as he heard the eavesdropper’s soft breathing. He was aware of the fact that his neighbor across the hall paid him this attention each night, never going to bed until he had made sure that Hawley had retired. That cautious young man now went through the formality of disrobing. Señor Lopez heard the thud of his shoes as he allowed them to drop noisily to the floor. Shortly afterward there was the click of the electric light being switched off, and soon after that a sound like a buzz saw in action satisfied the eavesdropper that the occupant of the room was well settled in the land of dreams. Then Lopez stole across the corridor to his own stateroom, and turned in with an easy mind.
A little more than an hour later the Camera Chap arose, dressed himself in the dark, and, with his feet incased in a pair of tennis shoes, emerged from his stateroom, and moved along the corridor with a secrecy which would have done credit to Lopez himself.
When he reached the promenade deck and strode past the long row of empty chairs, there was not a person to be seen. He was beginning to wonder if he were not the victim of a practical joke, when suddenly he espied a shrouded figure, which looked almost ghostly in the moonlight, coming toward him. With a cautious glance behind him, he stepped forward to meet her.
“It was very good of you to come,” the woman said softly. “But I knew that you would—just as I feel confident that you will grant me the favor that I am going to ask of you.” As she spoke she drew aside the silken, fringed mantilla which concealed all of her face except her eyes, but even before she did this the Camera Chap knew with whom he was talking.
“If there is any service I can render you, señora, you have only to name it,” he avowed impulsively. And he meant it, for as he gazed into her dark, sad eyes all the chivalry in him was stirred, and he thrilled with pity for this frail, unhappy woman. At that moment he would have been prepared to go to the rescue of her husband with a sword instead of a camera if more could have been gained that way.
“I am glad to hear you say that,” Señora Felix said gratefully. “I trust that you will not change your mind, Mr. Hawley, when I tell you that the favor I am going to ask of you concerns the errand which has brought you to Baracoa.”
The Camera Chap gave a start of surprise. “Then you know——” he began excitedly, but suddenly on his guard, abruptly checked himself. “The errand which has brought me to Baracoa!” he exclaimed, with well-feigned bewilderment. “I beg your pardon, señora; I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
The woman laughed softly. “You can be quite frank with me,” she said. “I know who has sent you to Baracoa, and what you expect to find—in the fortress of El Torro.” She paused, and an anxious expression flitted across her face. “And the favor I’m going to ask of you, Mr. Hawley, is—to give up this undertaking.”
The Camera Chap stared at her in astonishment. “To give it up!” he exclaimed incredulously. “Surely you can’t mean that, señora! If you really know who sent me and what I hope to accomplish, it seems to me you are the last person in the world who should make such a request of me.”