“Hawley is his right name, and, as he has said, he is an artist. But he does not wield a brush. He makes his pictures with a camera. He is a newspaper photographer--on the staff of the New York _Sentinel_.” The señora gave vent to a faint cry. “Hawley, of the New York _Sentinel_!” she exclaimed agitatedly. “I have heard of him. He is that wonderful photographer they call the Camera Chap.” Her companion nodded. “I see that you realize, señora, how careful we must be of him. The press is as much to be feared by us as our enemies in Baracoa. If a Yankee newspaper were to get hold of our secret we should be lost. I don’t know what he is after, but I shall----” “I do,” the señora interrupted tensely. “Now that I know who that young man is, I understand fully why he is going to Baracoa. And he must be stopped,” she added, her voice vibrant with emotion. “He must not be permitted to go ahead. We must find some way of preventing it.” CHAPTER VII. DISCOURAGING NEWS. It was not until the _Colombia_ was approaching Puerto Guerra, the first port of call in Baracoa, that the Camera Chap exchanged a single word with Señora Felix. Possibly he could have conversed with her before that had he desired to do so, for she spent much time on deck, and on several occasions, as he passed her steamer chair, he caught her dark eyes regarding him with keen interest. Several incidents arose, too, which seemed to offer him an opportunity to make her acquaintance, and, modest young man though he was, he could not help suspecting that these incidents were arranged by her in an effort to bring about that result. Once, for instance, as he walked past where she sat, she dropped the magazine she was reading, and it seemed to Hawley that it was done somewhat ostentatiously, as though she fully expected him to pick it up. On another occasion her shawl fell from her shoulders to the deck as she was promenading, when Hawley was standing near by, and once more it seemed to him that the act was done deliberately. But even at the sacrifice of having to appear boorish, he ignored these and other advances--if they were advances--for although, under other circumstances, he would have been delighted to make the fair señora’s acquaintance, he had decided that it would be most indiscreet to do so now. He had made up his mind to keep away from her throughout the entire trip. It was the mysterious, soft-treading passenger known as Señor José Lopez who was responsible for this decision on his part. There was no doubt now in Hawley’s mind that the fellow was a spy, a secret agent of the Portiforo government, and such being the case he deemed it highly necessary to keep Lopez from guessing that there was aught in common between himself and the wife of the missing president of Baracoa. The slightest evidence of friendship between himself and the woman, he surmised, might give the spy cause to suspect the real object of his mission to South America.