Stephens grinned appreciatively. “Where did he get this fairy story about Felix?” he demanded.
“From Mrs. Cooper’s maid. You know that until recently Señora Felix has been stopping at the attorney general’s house. She and Mrs. Cooper are very chummy. Naturally they talked together frequently about the matter, and the maid managed to overhear most of what they said, and passed it along to my trusty informant. It seems that the women have been getting at the attorney general to put the proposition before the president, and have him order an investigation, and a few weeks ago Cooper brought it up at a cabinet meeting.”
Stephens became more interested. “Have you asked the president about it?” he inquired.
“No, indeed! I was afraid that instead of telling me anything, he’d make me promise not to print a line about what I already knew, and then I’d have to take my choice between passing up the story or being in bad at the White House. Either that, or else, seeing that the News has the tip, he’d hand out the story to the whole Washington bunch; for the president makes it a rule not to play any favorites.”
Stephens nodded. “Under those circumstances, you were quite right not to take any chances. Still,” he added pensively, “I don’t see what we can do with the tip in its present form. It would hardly pay us to send a man down to Baracoa.”
“Why not?” the correspondent protested. “It’s a big story if it’s true and——”
“Yes, if it’s true!” the managing editor interrupted doubtfully. “If I thought there was a ten-per-cent chance of there being anything in this wild rumor, I wouldn’t mind the expense of sending five men down there to dig up the story, even if we had to charter a private yacht, but with all due respect to your friend, the attorney general’s butler, this sounds to me like the effects of a combination of Welsh rabbit and strawberry shortcake, with a couple of slabs of custard pie thrown in. I don’t feel like spending even ten cents on such an impossible yarn.”
Then, suddenly, his face lighted up. “By Jove! I was forgetting!” he exclaimed. “We don’t have to send a man down there. We’ve got a man in Baracoa now—and a good one, too.”
“Who is it?”
“Gale, of our city staff. He’s taking a month’s vacation, and that’s where he went to spend it. He sent us a good story from there a couple of days ago about an attempt on the life of Portiforo. I couldn’t have picked a better man than Gale for an assignment of this sort. He’s got more gall than any other reporter on our staff. If Felix is locked up in El Torro fortress, I’ll bank on Gale being able to locate him. I’ll wire him to-day to get busy.”