Eagerly he drew from his finger a seal ring, and handed it to Virginia. “I ask you to be good enough to wear this as a souvenir of our friendship,” he said. He smiled ruefully. “I had hoped to present it to you under more favorable circumstances. And there is one other favor I would beg of you to grant: I have a friend in New York who, I feel sure, would be glad to receive a keepsake from me. Tom Paxton, managing editor of the New York _Sentinel_, has always admired this tobacco pouch of mine.” He took from his pocket a leather pouch of unique design. “I would like him to have it. It isn’t much, but I know he will appreciate the circumstances under which it is given. Yes,” he repeated, with peculiar emphasis, “I am quite sure he will appreciate the circumstances. Would you mind seeing that he gets it, Miss Throgmorton?” As the girl took the pouch which he held to her, she noted an expression on Hawley’s face which puzzled her. It was not until she had arrived at the boat landing at Puerto Cabero that a suspicion of the truth dawned upon her mind. With a sudden thrill of hope, she opened the leather wallet with frantic eagerness, and an exclamation of delight escaped from her lips. Underneath a thin covering of granulated tobacco, the pouch contained a small cylindrical article, the nature of which Virginia immediately recognized. It was a light-proof roll of film from a small pocket camera. CHAPTER XLIV. THE DEVELOPED FILM. For a few seconds Virginia stood staring as though fascinated at the little significant package in her hand, but was brought to herself by a sudden consciousness that somebody was standing close by her watching her intently. She raised her eyes and encountered those of the soft-footed Señor Lopez. There was an expression on the spy’s face which caused the girl to thrust the film roll and the pouch hurriedly into the hand bag she was carrying, and to step hastily into the automobile waiting for her at the wharf. “Home, señorita?” the native chauffeur inquired. She was about to give an affirmative response, but suddenly changed her mind as an idea came to her. “No,” she answered. “Take me to the residence of Sir Godfrey Montague, the British minister, as quickly as you can.” As the car started, she glanced back, and saw that Lopez was just entering another automobile. She guessed that the man was about to attempt to follow her, and a grim expression came to her face as she opened her hand bag and tentatively examined a dainty, pearl-handled, little revolver which was among its contents. Her fears, however, so far as Lopez were concerned, proved groundless, for when her car arrived in San Cristobal and drew up in front of the British embassy, the spy was not in sight. Virginia sent in her card to Beatrice Montague, the diplomat’s daughter. She knew that the latter was an enthusiastic amateur photographer and did her own developing and printing--which was the reason she had decided to call upon her now.