“Not now,” the Camera Chap protested hastily, with an involuntary glance toward the swaying figure of Captain Reyes.
But the News man went on fumbling in his pocket. “Can’t seem to find it,” he muttered thickly. “Wonder what the deuce I’ve done with it.” Then his face lighted up. “By Jove! I remember now. Can’t show you the query the office sent me about Felix being locked up in El Torro, Hawley, old scout, because I haven’t got it. I left it with old boy Portiforo.”
The Camera Chap stared at him incredulously. “You did what?”
“I left it with his nibs, the President of Baracoa. Ernesto and I have been dining with him at the palace this evening. That’s why we’re feeling so good now. His bubble water was the best I’ve ever sampled. Some class to your little friend Gale—dining with presidents and cabinet ministers.”
“Do you realize what you’re saying?” Hawley demanded sharply. “You can’t really mean that you showed Portiforo the tip you got from your office. You’re too level-headed, I’m sure, to do a fool thing like that. It must be the wine that makes you tell me such nonsense. Come, pull yourself together, Gale, and talk sense.”
“I am talking sense,” Gale replied, with a show of indignation. “Sure I showed Portiforo the telegram. What was the harm in that? He knew all about the tip already.”
“He knew about it?” Hawley exclaimed, with an anxious frown.
“Sure! That’s why he invited me to come and eat with him. He wanted to pump me as to how much I knew about this Felix business. You can’t keep anything from that wise old guy. He’s the slickest article I’ve ever been up against.”
CHAPTER XIX.
A FORCED PLAY.
The next morning, Hawley received a note at his hotel. It was from Virginia Throgmorton, and it said: