“Yes, murdered!” the frantic woman repeated fiercely, paying no heed to his interruption. “Your intolerable interference amounts to that. Things were bad enough before you came to Baracoa, at least, there was some hope then. But now--now----” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “My dear señora,” the Camera Chap repeated, taking advantage of this lull in the storm of denunciation, “I regret exceedingly that you should feel so bitter toward me, for I assure you--empty as the words may sound--that I would gladly give up my life to serve you and your husband.” If the poor woman had been in a saner mood, she would have realized that the man who uttered these words had already proved the sincerity of them by the great risk he had run for her cause, but she merely laughed bitterly. “Your life, señor!” she cried. “Such a sacrifice as that was not required of you. All that you were asked to do was to give up your selfish ambition--to go back to your heartless president and tell him that the life of a noble man and a woman’s broken heart were far more important in your eyes than a laurel for your own brow and a diplomatic triumph for your government. But you refused to listen to the pleadings of a devoted wife. You persisted in going ahead with your ruthless, blundering plans, not caring what might happen to your victim so long as you could boast to the world of your wonderful snapshot achievement.” Hawley saw that there was no use in trying to defend himself by pointing out to her that he had not made his unsuccessful attempt until he had been led to believe, from his conversation with the commander of the United States battleship, that the captive of El Torro would be protected after the snapshot had been taken, and that, moreover, it was the information which had come to him concerning the precarious condition of General Replife’s health which had caused him to decide that desperate measures were absolutely necessary. In her present mood, he realized, such argument would have been useless. Besides, his thought was not to defend himself against her bitter accusations. Big-hearted chap that he was, his sole desire was to comfort her, if that were possible. “Tell me, señora,” he begged, after an anxious glance at the group of passengers crowded against the opposite rail, “do you know definitely that anything has happened to President Felix, or are you merely giving expression to your apprehensions?” Again she laughed bitterly. “Is it not to be taken for granted that the consequence of your mad act of the other night would be the assassination of my husband? Do you suppose for a minute that those ruffians would let him live now that they are aware that their secret is known?” “But you do not know of his death?” the Camera Chap persisted. “You have not actually heard that they have done what you fear?”