“Well, if it is,” argued Hawley, “isn’t that good reason to assume that President Felix’s life isn’t in danger? If Replife wouldn’t stand for assassination before, the chances are that he won’t stand for it now. So you see, señora, there is nothing to fear.”
Señora Felix looked at him in astonishment. “Can it be possible that you have not heard the news?” she exclaimed. “General Replife was shot down by an assassin as he was leaving the war office this afternoon. There is now nobody to prevent Portiforo from doing as he pleases with my unfortunate husband.”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SEÑORA OR THE PRESIDENT.
“To-day’s tragedy has made the situation a hundred times worse than it was before,” moaned Señora Felix despairingly, looking appealingly at Hawley and the old physician. “Replife was a bad man, but, at least, there was a spark of humanity in him which made him unwilling to countenance the murder of his former benefactor. He was our only hope. Now that he is gone, it will take only the slightest provocation to make Portiforo do away with my poor Francisco.” She paused, and a shudder shook her frail frame. “Who knows that he has not already been butchered! I cannot help fearing that the assassin’s act was inspired by Portiforo, who realized the necessity of getting out of the way the only man who stood between him and his helpless victim.”
She covered her face with her hands, and burst into a violent paroxysm of weeping. The Camera Chap and Doctor Bonsal looked at each other helplessly. The latter shook his head commiseratingly. Presently he walked over to the grief-stricken woman and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Courage, my dear señora,” he murmured, his voice as tender as a woman’s. “Be brave, I entreat you, my dear friend. After all, we have not yet heard from the hospital. Until we get word from Doctor Picard we will not give up hope.”
He turned and explained to Hawley: “We have hope that Replife’s injury may turn out to be not so serious as was at first reported. He has been taken to the Red Cross Hospital, and an operation, I understand, is to be performed. My good friend, Doctor Picard, the house surgeon, has promised to apprise me as soon as there is news.”
Hawley nodded. “Let’s hope that when it comes it will be good news!” he exclaimed briskly. “Señora, I know from my newspaper experience that such reports are usually exaggerated. There may still be lots of fight left in General Replife. And even if there isn’t,” he added confidently, “even if the worst comes to the worst, so far as he is concerned, you are wrong in saying that there will be nobody to prevent Portiforo from doing as he pleases with President Felix.”
“What do you mean?” cried the woman and Doctor Bonsal, in an eager chorus.
“I am referring to a powerful old gentleman named Uncle Sam,” Hawley said smilingly. “Portiforo no doubt is wise enough to realize that he would have the United States to reckon with if he tries any treachery of that sort.”
The señora breathed a murmur of disappointment. “Your government can do nothing—absolutely nothing,” she said hopelessly.