The Camera Chap smiled regretfully. “I am afraid I cannot promise to do that, señora—not unless there is a very good reason. May I inquire why you have so suddenly lost faith in me? The other day, on the Colombia, you sent me a message that your only hope was in my ability to carry out the mission intrusted to me; and later you sent me another message that you had the greatest confidence in me. What can have happened to cause you to change your mind?”
The señora sighed. “I have not lost confidence in you,” she said. “From what I have heard of your great skill and courage, I think it quite likely that you would succeed in doing what you have been sent to do.”
The Camera Chap stared at her in astonishment. “Then why——” he began.
“Because whether you succeed or fail,” she broke in passionately, “the result must be the same. When I urged you, the other day, to persevere in your desperate undertaking, I had not stopped to consider that. I believed, then, that your success would bring about my poor husband’s freedom. But now”—she paused, and a look of great fear came into her dark eyes—“now I know that inevitably it would mean his death. Whatever the outcome of your adventure, its price would be my husband’s life—and that is too great a price to pay, even for his vindication.”
“But it won’t be that way if I get the snapshot,” Hawley protested confidently. “I can understand your fears, señora; but, believe me, they are groundless. If we can get photographic evidence that President Felix is locked up in El Torro they won’t dare touch him. Portiforo is too smart a man to try anything of that sort. Once he knows that we’ve got the evidence, he’ll realize that the game is up, and that he’d only be making matters worse for himself if he were to attempt to assassinate your husband. So you see,” he concluded cheerfully, “if I can get the picture everything will be all right.”
The señora shook her head. “You don’t know Portiforo,” she said bitterly. “He’d assassinate my husband first, and argue about the genuineness of the photograph afterward. If for no other reason, he’d do it out of revenge. No, Mr. Hawley, you cannot save my husband that way. The only way you can help us is by doing nothing.”
“But maybe your fears are exaggerated,” the Camera Chap suggested, as a new argument presented itself to his mind. “If Portiforo is capable of committing such a cold-blooded murder, why hasn’t he done it before now? Surely it would have been much safer for him to have put President Felix to death in the first place, instead of throwing him into prison. Doesn’t the fact that he didn’t take that course indicate that he draws the line at assassination?”
“It wasn’t mercy, sir, which made Portiforo spare his victim’s life,” said Doctor Bonsal quietly. “It was necessity. At least, so we have cause to believe.”
“Necessity?” Hawley repeated curiously.
“Yes; our theory is that he was compelled to do so. General Replife, although one of Portiforo’s intimates and fellow conspirators, was under great obligations to President Felix,” the physician explained. “It is our belief that it was he who saved him from assassination. Replife had a little more conscience than the others, and although he was willing to take part in the dastardly plot, his past friendship for Felix caused him to insist that the victim’s life be spared. He persuaded Portiforo that their ends could be served just as well by locking up the president in El Torro as by murdering him. And Portiforo, afraid to antagonize Replife, was forced to consent to this plan. That is our theory, and we feel sure that it is the correct one.”