“I wonder what will happen to the poor beggar,” said a dapper, good-looking young man who was standing close behind Hawley. “I suppose they’ll give him the limit, eh?” “I am afraid so,” replied his companion, a blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman. “Inasmuch as the city has been put under martial law, Portiforo can do as he pleases with him, and that brute isn’t likely to show much clemency to a man who has publicly insulted him.” “Be careful,” entreated the young man nervously. “Aren’t you taking an awful chance, Virginia, talking like that in public? There may be people around us who understand English, and even though you are the daughter of the United States minister, you can’t--well for the love of Methusaleh! If it isn’t old Frank Hawley, of the _Sentinel_!” Regretting the impulse which had caused him to turn his head at this hint of the girl’s identity, Hawley stared at the speaker in some consternation, for the recognition was mutual. The Camera Chap was well acquainted with Miss Throgmorton’s dapper companion. The latter’s name was Gale, and he was a reporter on the New York _Daily News_, the _Sentinel’s_ most bitter rival. Incidentally he was the last man in the world whom Hawley would have desired to meet in Baracoa. CHAPTER XI. A DIPLOMAT’S DAUGHTER. Between the Camera Chap and Gale there existed a feud of long standing, the intensity of which was based upon more than mere loyalty for their respective newspapers. Hawley knew the _News_ man, from past experience, as the trickiest, most unscrupulous member of the journalistic profession he had ever matched wits with on an assignment, and for that reason disliked him exceedingly. But dislike would hardly be a strong enough word to characterize the sentiments of Gale toward Hawley. Jealousy and resentment for many past defeats at the latter’s hands had engendered in him a feeling of downright hatred for the clever, good-humored chap who generally managed to turn the tables on him in spite of his underhand methods. There was nothing of this feeling evident in Gale’s manner now, however, as he greeted the Camera Chap. On the contrary, if he had loved the latter like a twin brother his demeanor could scarcely have been more cordial. “Well, this is, indeed, a big surprise, Hawley, old scout,” he exclaimed exuberantly. “I didn’t have any idea that you were in Baracoa.” “I scarcely expected to find you here, either,” the Camera Chap replied quietly. “Might I inquire what you are doing so far away from Park Row?” “I’m not down here on business,” the other replied. “I was so busy covering the street cleaners’ strike last summer that I didn’t have time to take a vacation then, so the boss is giving me a few weeks now. I thought I might as well run down here and visit my old friend, the American minister.” “Oh, an old friend,” Hawley repeated, glancing at the girl.