But suddenly, as the knock was repeated, the Camera Chap’s face relaxed, and his hand came empty out of his pocket. “Whoever it is, we might as well let them come in,” he said, in an undertone to Ridder. “There is no reason to keep them out, now.”
In a louder tone he demanded who was there, and there was a whispered consultation outside before anybody replied.
“It is a friend. Open the door, Señor Hawley. I must see you immediately,” somebody answered.
The Camera Chap laughed. “Wait a minute, friend,” he called, dragging the furniture from the door.
As he turned the key in the lock, the door flew open, and Señor Lopez stepped into the room. He was by no means alone. Behind him flocked a dozen men, who wore the uniform of the army of Baracoa. Each of them held a revolver in his right hand.
“There is your man,” Lopez cried dramatically pointing to Hawley. Whereupon one of the soldiers, whose epaulets proclaimed him to be of higher rank than the others, stepped up to the Camera Chap and pressed the barrel of his weapon against his breast.
“I regret to have to inform you, señor, that you must accompany us at once,” he said politely. “You are under arrest.”
Hawley laughed lightly. “This is so sudden,” he said. “Might I inquire, gentlemen, the nature of the charge against me?”
“I think that Señor Hawley can guess the nature of the charge against him,” Lopez sneered. “If not, however, he will be fully informed later. Come, captain, hadn’t you better search the prisoner?”
Up to this point Lieutenant Ridder had stood as though spellbound. Now, gun in hand, he stepped forward, contemptuously careless of the fact that eleven revolvers were pointed his way.