Hawley had remarked that by its stage of development it appeared to be much more than two years old, and his informant had told him that the bushes had been transplanted from the Botanical Gardens by order of the president himself. Immediately the significance of this had suggested itself to him. He felt sure that they were intended to serve as a screen--to guard against the possibility of some curious person in the bay trying to get a glimpse of the occupant of the cell by means of powerful glasses, and he took it for granted that this precaution indicated that the occupant of that cell was the unhappy Felix. Therefore, when he landed on the beach, he did not have to waste any time in hunting for the captive’s cell. There was only one barred window behind this screen of foliage, and he hastily stepped up to it. By raising himself on tiptoe, he was just able to look into the cell, and he caught sight of a white-haired man seated at a rough wooden table, with his back toward the window, reading a book by the light of a sputtering candle. “Señor Felix!” he whispered eagerly. “Señor Felix!” The captive jumped up with an abruptness which upset the table, and extinguished the candle. “Who are you, and what do you wish?” Hawley heard him ask hoarsely. “I am a friend--from the United States,” the Camera Chap replied, busying himself with the waterproof bag attached to his waist. “I have come to help you, sir.” “To rescue me?” the other exclaimed, with pathetic eagerness. “Eventually, yes; but all I can do now is to take your photograph,” the Camera Chap explained. As he spoke, he tugged at one of the iron bars, with the hope that he might be able to wrench it from its fastening, in which case he would, indeed, have essayed a rescue; but, as he had feared, the iron was fastened too securely to the stone to render that possible. “My photograph!” the occupant of the cell repeated, with a bitter laugh. “What mockery is this?” “It isn’t mockery. There are plans afoot to bring about your release, if the picture can be obtained,” Hawley explained hurriedly. “I assure you, on my word of honor, that it means your liberty. Drag the table to the window and stand upon it so that your face is against the bars. Quick! There is no time to lose. I beg of you, President Felix, do as I say. You’ve got to trust me.” With prompt decision the captive complied with this request, and a few seconds later the snapshot was an accomplished fact. Then, for the first time, the Camera Chap found opportunity to glance toward the other end of the beach, where his fair ally was engaging the attention of the sentry. He espied two men rushing toward him, and, swiftly thrusting his camera into its receptacle, he turned and plunged into the sea. Thus far the carrying out of his daring plan had been effected with an ease and simplicity which exceeded his most sanguine expectations.