“Rodriguez!” exclaimed Hawley, who recalled that he had heard the man whom he had known as Juan Cipriani hailed by that name by the group of wild-looking horsemen on the pier. “What was he trying to do? Was he starting a revolution?”
The clerk nodded, and proceeded to tell Hawley a story which fully enlightened him as to the significance of the drama he had seen enacted at the customhouse at Puerto Guerra. The Camera Chap learned that the big packing cases which the steamship Colombia had brought, and which were invoiced as containing farming implements, had in reality contained machine guns intended for the use of the new revolutionary party which General Emilio Rodriguez, alias Juan Cipriani, had come to Baracoa to lead.
Rodriguez, Hawley was informed, was a native of Baracoa, but had been in Europe for the past ten years. He had held a commission in the French army, which he had resigned in order to come back and attempt to overthrow the Portiforo government; which attempt, however, had been rendered futile by the alertness of President Portiforo.
“But you don’t mean to tell me that that chap was going to have the nerve to buck against the government forces with that handful of men I saw at the pier?” the Camera Chap exclaimed in astonishment. “Why, there couldn’t have been more than fifty of them in all.”
The clerk smiled deprecatingly. “That was only the beginning, señor. If Rodriguez’s plans had not miscarried, he was to have taken to the hills with that escort, and there proclaimed the revolution. He had been assured that the people would flock by thousands to his banner, and that as soon as he gave the word the army was prepared to revolt and go over to him. But things didn’t go just as he expected. President Portiforo learned of the plot in time to nip the revolution in the bud. A few days ago he raised the pay of everybody in the federal army, from the commander in chief down to the newest recruit, and thereby kept the troops loyal to him. He set a trap for Rodriguez, and when that unhappy man stepped off the boat at Puerto Guerra yesterday, expecting the whole country to be ready to respond to his call to arms, he was seized and thrown into jail.” The clerk grinned. “One has to get up very early in the morning in order to catch our President Portiforo napping, señor,” he said.
“So I have heard,” the Camera Chap responded dryly. “What do you suppose will happen to Cipriani—I mean Rodriguez?”
The clerk shrugged his shoulders. “There is only one fate for those who conspire against the government of Baracoa,” he said quietly. “I understand that the president has already signed his death warrant.”
Hawley was silent for a while after that. “Do you happen to know,” he inquired suddenly, “whether your former president, Francisco Felix, was mixed up in any way with this revolutionary plot?”
The clerk stared at him in astonishment. “If such is the case, it is the first time I have heard of it!” he declared. “Might I inquire what put such a thought in your head, señor? Have you any information to that effect?”
“I?” exclaimed Hawley, with a deprecating smile. “I arrived at Baracoa only a few hours ago. What should I know about the affairs of your interesting country?”