Then suddenly his beady eyes snapped, and his cruel lips parted in a snarl. “We will take our chances on the price we may have to pay--if we are caught,” he said. “There is a possibility that we shall be able to convince the world that the snapshot is a daring fraud. Photographic evidence has been manufactured before now; and”--he smiled sardonically--“the man who took the picture will not, then, be here to refute our claims.” He reached for pen and paper on the big mahogany table before him, and began to write rapidly. When he had finished, he turned to Lopez. “Go back to the fortress and deliver these immediately,” he said to him. “One of them is for the commandant; the other for Captain Reyes. Wait there until both orders are carried out, and then come back and report.” Lopez bowed, and put the two papers in his pocket. Then he hurried back to Puerto Cabero. During the journey, he read the two papers, and their contents caused him to bare his teeth in a malicious smile. The missive addressed to Captain Reyes was somewhat ambiguous. It said merely, “The time has come.” Portiforo knew Reyes would have no difficulty in grasping the purport of that laconic sentence. The other order, addressed to the commandant of the fortress, was less vaguely worded. It commanded that official to proceed immediately with the execution of the American prisoner, Hawley. Before two hours had elapsed, Lopez returned to the palace. The cabinet members had departed. Portiforo was in his private suite, nervously pacing the floor. “Well?” he said hoarsely, as his envoy entered. “Has it been done?” The spy shook his head. His face was white, his manner agitated. His breath came in great gasps, as though he had been running hard. “I was too late, Señor Presidente,” he answered. “Too late?” “When I arrived there, I found El Torro in possession of marines from the _Kearsarge_. I can’t understand how they managed it--I didn’t wait to gather particulars--but they took the garrison by surprise, and captured the fortress with scarcely a struggle.” Portiforo sank weakly into a chair. “Incredible!” he gasped. “And the prisoners?” Lopez made a despairing gesture. “I regret to say that our birds have flown, Señor Presidente. Felix, Hawley, and Ridder are now safely aboard the Yankee warship.” CHAPTER XLVI. BESIDE THE GREAT GUN. In the captain’s cabin of the _Kearsarge_ a white-haired, emaciated man, with tears streaming down his pallid cheeks, was vociferously assuring the commander of the warship of his undying gratitude. “My dear sir, you don’t owe any thanks to me,” the latter protested gruffly. “The man to whom you owe your freedom is Mr. Hawley. Anxious though I was to serve you, I could have done nothing if it hadn’t been for him.”