Transcriber’s Notes:

The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

CONTENTS

Chapter I. A Cabinet Discussion.

Chapter II. A Matter in Confidence.

Chapter III. Paxton’s Warning.

Chapter IV. Señora Felix.

Chapter V. Bold Curiosity.

Chapter VI. A Meeting After Dark.

Chapter VII. Discouraging News.

Chapter VIII. The Lost Cause.

Chapter IX. The Girl in Pink.

Chapter X. An Unpleasant Surprise.

Chapter XI. A Diplomat’s Daughter.

Chapter XII. On the Right Track.

Chapter XIII. Truth Will Out.

Chapter XIV. A Mysterious Summons.

Chapter XV. The Plea.

Chapter XVI. The Señora or the President.

Chapter XVII. A Serious Charge.

Chapter XVIII. A New Menace.

Chapter XIX. A Forced Play.

Chapter XX. What Gale Overheard.

Chapter XXI. How It Worked.

Chapter XXII. His Plan.

Chapter XXIII. Under Sealed Orders.

Chapter XXIV. The Snapshot.

Chapter XXV. Captain Cortrell’s Orders.

Chapter XXVI. The Plate Developed.

Chapter XXVII. A Serious Situation.

Chapter XXVIII. The Prisoner.

Chapter XXIX. A Vain Appeal.

Chapter XXX. Loyal Friends.

Chapter XXXI. Portiforo’s Way.

Chapter XXXII. Old Scores.

Chapter XXXIII. At the Palace.

Chapter XXXIV. Blue Spectacles.

Chapter XXXV. Wireless Warning.

Chapter XXXVI. A Welcome Intrusion.

Chapter XXXVII. A New Plan.

Chapter XXXVIII. Like a Bad Penny.

Chapter XXXIX. Cause For Anxiety.

Chapter XL. An Interrupted Dinner.

Chapter XLI. A Bold Attempt.

Chapter XLII. Gale Turns a Trick.

Chapter XLIII. A Little Keepsake.

Chapter XLIV. The Developed Film.

Chapter XLV. Two Laconic Orders.

Chapter XLVI. Beside the Great Gun.

The Adventure Library No. 69

The Presidential Snapshot

By Bertram Lebhar

STREET & SMITH CORP. PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

A CARNIVAL OF ACTION

ADVENTURE LIBRARY

Splendid, Interesting, Big Stories

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The authors of these books are experienced in the art of writing, and know just what the up-to-date American reader wants.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

When you get the S & S Novels you get the best!

The Presidential Snapshot

OR THE ALL-SEEING EYE

BY BERTRAM LEBHAR

Author of “On Post,” “His Snapshot Lordship,” “Snapshot Artillery,” etc.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION PUBLISHERS 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1913-1914 By STREET & SMITH

The Presidential Snapshot

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

Printed in the U. S. A.

THE PRESIDENTIAL SNAPSHOT.

CHAPTER I. A CABINET DISCUSSION.

The President of the United States shook his head with an emphasis which caused the other men gathered around the massive mahogany table to realize that it would be almost a waste of time to pursue the discussion. “It is my opinion, gentlemen, that if there were the slightest basis for this rumor, Mr. Throgmorton’s report would not be couched in such positive terms!” he declared, pointing to a paper on the table before him. “There isn’t a man in the diplomatic service more alert or level-headed than he, so far as I know. I am confident that it would be impossible for Portiforo to pull the wool over his eyes.”

“Possibly Portiforo has not pulled the wool over Throgmorton’s eyes,” the little man who sat at the president’s right suggested quietly. “He may not have found it at all necessary to do that.” There was something about the speaker’s tone which caused the other members of the cabinet to look at him curiously, and prompted the president to ask, quite calmly: “Will you say what you mean to imply by that remark, Mr. Attorney General?”

The little man smiled—a peculiar form of smile which seemed to be done with his eye only. “The American minister to the Republic of Baracoa has[6] never given the impression of being exactly hostile to the Portiforo administration,” he remarked dryly.

The president frowned. “Are we to understand this as an insinuation against his good faith?”

“To be quite frank, Mr. President, I have never credited Mr. Throgmorton with a superabundance of good faith,” the attorney general replied. “I have known him for a long time—in fact, we were at college together, and—well, it would take more than his unsupported word to convince me that there is no truth in this startling story of Portiforo’s perfidy. He and the President of Baracoa are reputed to be close friends, and it is possible that his investigation might not be unbiased.”

“I protest against that remark,” the secretary of state exclaimed indignantly. “I, too, have known Mr. Throgmorton for a long time, and there isn’t a man living, Mr. President, in whose integrity I have greater confidence. If this hideous thing were true he would have told us so, no matter how amicably disposed he might be toward the Portiforo administration.”

The president nodded an acquiescence. “I have as much confidence in Throgmorton’s honesty as I have in his good judgment,” he declared. “As I said before, gentlemen, he is too conservative a man to have made such a positive denial unless he had good ground for doing so. I have felt all along that this rumor was nothing more than a concoction of Portiforo’s enemies; now I am sure of it.”

“And nothing would cause you to change your mind, Mr. President?” the attorney general inquired.

[7]

“I would not say that. I am always open to conviction. Of course, if you could bring me a photograph of Felix in a dungeon cell, I might be ready to believe that Portiforo has him in captivity. But even at that,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes, “I would have to be convinced that the snapshot was genuine.”

The attorney general smiled deprecatingly. “Then I’m afraid it will never be possible to convince you, Mr. President. I don’t imagine that there’s a photographer in all the world who could break into a South American dungeon, snapshot a prisoner, and get out again.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” put in the secretary of the interior. “I know of one man who might be able to accomplish even that remarkable feat. He’s a New York newspaper man named Hawley. He’s on the staff of the Sentinel. I met him some months ago, when I was in New York, and the experience I had with him then leads me to believe that there is scarcely any feat impossible of accomplishment where he is concerned.”

“Isn’t that the man they call ‘the Camera Chap’?” the president inquired, evincing keen interest.

“I believe they do call him that,” the secretary of the interior replied. “He is truly a wonderful photographer. I believe that if Portiforo really has Felix locked up in El Torro Fortress, Hawley could get a picture of him.”

The president made no comment on this, but, later that day, when the cabinet meeting was over, he said to his secretary: “I wish you would send word to[8] Mr. Bates, of the New York Sentinel, that I would like to see him at his earliest convenience.”

Bates, the Sentinel’s Washington correspondent, hurried over to the White House immediately upon receipt of this information, hoping that the head of the nation contemplated favoring his paper with some exclusive information. What the latter actually said to him caused him some mystification.

“Mr. Bates,” the president began, “I believe you have a photographer named Hawley employed on your paper?”

“You mean the Camera Chap, Mr. President?”

“Yes. I have heard a great deal about his exploits, and if what I have heard is true, he must be a very unusual fellow. Tell me more about him, if you don’t mind.”

The Sentinel’s star correspondent launched into the subject with enthusiasm. There was not a man on his paper, from the editor in chief down to the youngest office boy, who was not proud of the fact that Frank Hawley was connected with it. The Camera Chap occupied a position unique in the newspaper world. He commanded a large salary, and his extraordinary achievements had made him famous in every newspaper office in the country, and caused other managing editors to envy the Sentinel for having him under contract.

It took Bates more than half an hour to tell of some of Hawley’s most notable performances, and the president’s face lighted up as he listened. “Why,” he exclaimed[9] enthusiastically, “the Camera Chap must be a remarkable character! Does he ever come to Washington? I should very much like to meet him. You might make it a point to mention that to your managing editor the next time you communicate with your office, Mr. Bates.”

“I will be sure to do so, Mr. President,” said the Sentinel representative, who, being far from dull-witted, and well acquainted with the chief executive’s methods, surmised that there was behind this request some special motive.

As a result of the message which Bates sent over the wire which connected the Sentinel’s Washington bureau with the home office, a tall, slender young man, with a prepossessing countenance and a twinkle in his keen eyes, arrived at the capital the following afternoon.

Bates greeted him effusively. “Welcome to our city, Hawley, old man!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know whether the president contemplates offering you a position in his cabinet or whether he merely wants his picture taken, but, whatever the reason, he’s very keen to meet you. His secretary called me up this morning to make sure you were coming; and when I told him that you were on your way to Washington he sent over this note for you.”

Bates handed Hawley a square envelope, on which the address of the executive mansion was embossed. The Camera Chap opened it, and read its contents over twice, the expression of surprise on his face intensifying as he did so.

[10]

“Are you sure this isn’t a practical joke?” he inquired half incredulously, handing Bates the note.

An envious look came to the other’s face as he glanced at it. “That’s going some!” he exclaimed. “You certainly are lucky, old man. Some of us Washington correspondents pride ourselves on being pals with the president, but he’s never invited any of us to lunch at the White House.”

[11]

CHAPTER II. A MATTER IN CONFIDENCE.

When the Camera Chap went to keep his luncheon appointment the following morning, Bates, who had some business to attend to at the treasury department, accompanied him as far as the White House grounds. As they were walking along Pennsylvania Avenue, a splendid touring car, with a silver crest on the door panels and a liveried footman on the box, passed them by. It contained two women, one of them a blonde, the other very dark. The former, recognizing Bates on the sidewalk, bowed graciously.

“That is Mrs. Fred V. Cooper, wife of the attorney general,” the correspondent explained to his companion, noting that the latter was staring at the automobile, as though fascinated. “She’s one of the beauties of Washington.”

“And the other woman—the dark one—who is she?” the Camera Chap demanded eagerly.

Bates smiled. “There’s a woman with a history,” he said. “She is Señora Francisco Felix, wife of the former president of the Republic of Baracoa. You remember reading about him, of course?”

“Oh, yes. He’s the chap who disappeared a couple of years ago.”

“Disappeared is a gentle way of putting it,” returned the other, grinning. “He sneaked away in his private yacht, one memorable night, and the good people of Baracoa awoke next morning to find that they[12] were minus a president, and incidentally the greater part of the national treasury. The scamp took away with him every bolivar he could lay hands on. The little republic would have gone bankrupt if General Portiforo hadn’t stepped in and saved the situation.”

Hawley nodded. “Yes, I remember. What is his wife doing in Washington?”

“She’s been living here ever since her husband absconded. I guess she didn’t find it exactly comfortable in Baracoa after the scandal. She and Mrs. Cooper are great friends; they’ve known each other since they were girls. The señora was educated in the United States; I believe she and the attorney general’s wife were in the same class at Vassar. She—why, what’s the matter, old man?”

Hawley had given vent to a sharp exclamation, at the same time gripping his companion’s arm excitedly. “Did you notice that swarthy chap in the taxicab which just passed?” he asked.

“The fellow with a beard? Yes. What about him?”

“Don’t happen to know who he is, do you?”

Bates shook his head. “I suppose he’s connected with one of the Spanish-American embassies. There are so many of those fellows running around Washington that it isn’t possible for us to know them all. Why the interest in him?”

“This isn’t the first time I have seen him. I saw him in New York a couple of weeks ago. He was shadowing Señora Felix.”

“Señora Felix!”

[13]

“Yes; this is not the first time I’ve seen her, either, although I did not know who she was until now. The other day, Bates, I witnessed a queer incident outside the Hotel Mammoth. I was passing there just as that woman came out of the Thirty-fourth Street entrance and entered a taxicab. My attention was attracted to her not only because of her striking beauty, but because of the nervousness she displayed. As she stepped into the cab she kept glancing about her in all directions, as though aware that she was being watched. As she drove off I noticed a man skulking in the doorway of a store on the opposite side of the street. It was that same dark-skinned, bearded chap who just passed us. I saw him hurry across the street and rush up to another taxi that was waiting at the cab stand. I heard him instruct the driver to follow the woman’s cab, no matter where it went. He spoke in English, but with a decidedly foreign accent. My curiosity was aroused, and I decided to see the thing out. I, too, jumped into a taxi and joined in the procession.

“Straight down Fifth Avenue we went, as far as Washington Square. Then the three of us turned into a side street, and came to a stop. The woman’s cab had halted outside the door of a dingy-looking house in a neighborhood which had seen better days, but which now consists mostly of cheap rooming houses. The bearded man’s cab had drawn up about fifty yards away. He jumped out quickly, and I alighted, too, as inconspicuously as possible. A surprise awaited us both. The first cab was empty. The woman had disappeared.”

[14]

Bates laughed knowingly. “She must have been wise to the fact that she was being shadowed, and took advantage of a chance to drop out somewhere along the trail.”

“Of course. It’s an old trick. You ought to have seen our bearded friend’s face when he found that he had been fooled. He said a lot of things to himself in Spanish. I have enough knowledge of that language to know that his utterances weren’t fit for publication. Wonder if he’s shadowing her again now.”

“Most likely,” said Bates. “I suppose he’s one of Portiforo’s spies. Naturally, the present government of Baracoa would be interested in the movements of Señora Felix. I presume they hope, by watching her, to get a line on where her husband is.”

“You think she knows that?”

“It is more than a bare possibility. Felix hasn’t been heard of since he landed from his yacht on the south coast of France two years ago, but it is exceedingly likely that he has been in communication with his wife. I understand they were a very devoted couple. In fact, it was a surprise to everybody that when he skipped he didn’t take her along. Well, here we are at the White House grounds. See you later, old man. I am burning up with curiosity to know what the president wants of you.”

Bates’ curiosity in that respect was not destined to be gratified that day, nor for many days after. When the Camera Chap returned from his interview with the president, and dropped in at the Sentinel bureau, he was provokingly uncommunicative.

[15]

“It was a fine lunch,” he said. “The White House chef certainly knows his business; and the president is a genial host. He is one of the most democratic men I have ever met.”

“But what did you talk about?” Bates asked impatiently. “I know very well that he didn’t send for you merely to make your acquaintance. What did he want, old man? You can trust me, you know.”

“Of course I can,” the Camera Chap agreed cheerfully. “We discussed many things—ranging all the way from Park Row to South America.”

“South America!” the correspondent exclaimed eagerly. “What did he have to say about that?”

Hawley’s eyes twinkled. “He asked me whether I’d ever been out there, and when I told him no he expressed great surprise, saying that I certainly ought to make it a point to go; that he felt sure I would find many interesting things to photograph in that part of the world.”

Hearing which Bates had a shrewd suspicion that the president had suggested some particularly interesting thing to photograph in some part of South America; but, although he was a past master in the art of extracting information from unwilling lips, his efforts failed to draw out the Camera Chap further along this line.

It was the president’s closing remark to Hawley which had compelled the latter to adopt this sphinx-like attitude.

“I will not pledge you to secrecy,” the chief executive had said. “I will merely urge you to be discreet,[16] Mr. Hawley. I think I am able to estimate a man at first sight, and if I did not feel that you could be relied upon I would not have asked you to undertake this mission. You realize, of course, that in addition to the risk you will be running, a human life may depend upon your discretion.”

[17]

CHAPTER III. PAXTON’S WARNING.

Inasmuch as the president had not pledged him to secrecy, the Camera Chap decided to take one person into his confidence regarding his visit to the White House. He knew that Tom Paxton, managing editor of the Sentinel, could be trusted, and there were reasons why Hawley felt that it was necessary to have him know the purpose of the undertaking on which he was about to embark. So he returned to New York that night, and arrived at the Sentinel office just as Paxton was closing down his desk with the intention of going home.

“Back so soon!” The boyish-looking managing editor greeted him, grinning. “I supposed it would take you at least a couple of weeks to tell the president all you know about how to run the ship of state. Seriously speaking, though, old man, I’m glad you’ve returned. I’ve got a little job for you up in Canada that needs your immediate attention. It——”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” the Camera Chap interrupted, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to hand that assignment to somebody else. I can’t touch it. I’ve got to have a couple of months’ leave of absence—to begin at once.”

Paxton looked his astonishment. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I am going to South America,” Hawley announced.[18] “To Baracoa, to be precise. I suppose you recall, Tom, the sensational disappearance of President Felix, a couple of years ago?”

“Of course,” Paxton replied. He had a phenomenal memory for contemporaneous history. It was the boast of the Sentinel staff that he could give, offhand, facts and figures of any event of importance in any part of the world within the past ten years.