CHAPTER VIII.
THE LOST CAUSE.
The Camera Chap was noted on Park Row, among other things, for the buoyancy of his nature and his refusal to permit disappointments and setbacks to ruffle him. But he was scarcely in a cheerful frame of mind as he took his leave of Señora Felix and went back to his stateroom. To have traveled several thousand miles only to discover that he had come on a fool’s errand, and, what was worse, to have had all his dreams shattered, was a severe strain even for his abundant stock of philosophy.
For a long time he sat on the edge of his berth, meditating on his conversation with the wife of the missing president. One thing puzzled him exceedingly: Why had the woman taken him into her confidence to the extent of telling him that she knew the whereabouts of her husband? Why was she so keen to dissuade him from persisting in his undertaking? He took no stock in her assertion that solicitude for his welfare had caused her to take this step. Surely, he told himself, she would not have jeopardized her husband’s safety and confessed herself an accessory to a crime merely to save a stranger from getting into trouble. There must be some more weighty reason which had prompted her to intrust him with her secret.
Suddenly his face lighted up, and he gave vent to a joyous ejaculation. “Of course, that must be it,” he muttered. “The poor little señora! I hate to doubt the word of a lady, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take your statements with a grain of salt.”
His mind more at ease now, he climbed into his berth, and was soon in a sound sleep. He was awakened early in the morning by the voice of the steward in the corridor notifying those passengers whose destination was Puerto Guerra that their port had been sighted.
Hawley hurried into his clothes and went on deck. He was not going to disembark at that point; he had decided to land at Puerto Cabero, farther on along the coast of Baracoa, and only a few miles from the capital. Yet he was anxious to get his first sight of the land which was to be the scene of his activities.
The ship was picking her way through the coral reefs as he walked to the bow, and stood gazing with interest at the palm-fringed harbor. There he was soon joined by other passengers, among them Señora Felix. She was not going ashore at this port; like Hawley, she was booked to land at Puerto Cabero, but she had left instructions to be awakened as soon as land was sighted, and she now stood against the rail, a pathetically wistful expression on her sad countenance as she stared at the blue-black mountains which formed a background to the quiet little village of thatched houses.
There was only one pier in the harbor. It projected from a low stone structure which, the Camera Chap overheard somebody say, was the custom house. A handful of swarthy-faced men in blue uniforms stood on the pier, languidly watching the approach of the steamship. When the Colombia had docked and began to unload freight, these men gathered around six huge packing cases which were carried ashore, and studied them with great interest.
A fat official whose blue uniform was decorated with much gold lace gave some orders to two of the men, who grinned and began to pry off the lid of one of these packing cases. As she watched this act from the deck of the ship an involuntary exclamation escaped Señora Felix. It was only a slight murmur, but it reached the ears of the Camera Chap, who was standing near by. He glanced at her, and observed that her hands were gripping the top of the rail so hard that the knuckles showed white through the nut-brown skin. Evidently she was under a great nervous strain.
Abruptly his attention was drawn from the woman at his side to what was taking place on shore. A force of men on horseback, fifty strong, had galloped up to the group of soldiers gathered around the packing cases. The newcomers were wild-looking fellows, raggedly dressed, and all of them armed. They uttered loud cries as they surrounded the handful of soldiers, who promptly threw up their hands in surrender.