Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER VII LEGIRA’S DOUBLE

ALVAREZ LEGIRA was speaking in a whisper. His hand still upon the telephone that he had replaced on the desk, he was muttering instructions to his secretary.

“This is what I have expected, Lopez,” he said. “The door is locked?”

Lopez nodded.

Legira motioned toward the closet in the corner of the room. The secretary followed as the consul opened it and released the sliding panel.

Together they entered the passageway. The wall closed behind them. Legira led the way through the darkness, until he stopped before another wall. Here, he pressed an unseen catch. The wall slid back, and the two men entered a small room, which was illuminated through a frosted-glass skylight.

Lopez had been in this room before; and he had often wondered why the consul kept it. Presumably, it was a dressing room. It had a table, with a mirror; and at the side hung a rack of clothing.

Lopez looked about him, wondering why his chief had brought him here. Then the secretary turned, startled, as he heard a click at the other end of the room. A panel opened, and two men entered.

They were Desmond and Perry Wallace. Perry walked first; Desmond, close behind, held the gun against Perry’s back.

Alvarez Legira was quick as he glanced at the arrivals. His eyes were upon the taller of the two men. The consul’s face gleamed with satisfaction as he observed the countenance of Perry Wallace. Then, with a broad smile, he turned to Frank Desmond.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Legira. “Excellent! Well done, Desmond. Who is this man?”

“His name is Perry Wallace,” explained Desmond. “Came this morning — after I had been passing up possible applicants all week. Wallace, this is Mr. Legira.”

Perry extended his hand as Legira approached. The consul shook it warmly. He pointed to chairs against the wall. The four men seated themselves. Perry appeared puzzled. Desmond was apprehensive.

Legira looked at Perry. Then he turned to Lopez.

“What do you think of it?” he questioned.

The secretary indulged in a broad smile.

“We look alike, eh?” quizzed Legira.

“Yes, senor,” said Lopez. “Very much alike.”

“Alike enough,” declared Legira.

He gazed shrewdly at Perry Wallace, who detected a peculiar gleam in the consul’s eyes. Now, for the first time, Legira seemed to express concern regarding the man whom Desmond had brought here.

“Your name is Wallace, eh?” he questioned. “It will be different from now. Look at me closely, my friend. I am Alvarez Legira, consul from the Republic of Santander. In a few minutes, I shall no longer be Alvarez Legira. You will be he — in place of me. You understand?”

THE South American drew a package of cigarettes from his pocket. He proffered one to his new acquaintance. Perry Wallace accepted it. Legira, reaching into a drawer, produced a long holder identical with the one he was using.

“Try this,” he suggested.

Perry inserted the cigarette in the holder, almost copying Legira’s actions. The two men smoked away. Perry sniffed the aroma of the strong tobacco.

“You like it, eh?” questioned Legira.

“Not particularly,” responded Perry.

“You must like it,” said the consul seriously. “Alvarez Legira smokes only that particular tobacco.”

Perry lowered his hand and stared steadily at the man before him. Legira smiled as he saw the firm glare in Perry’s eyes.

“What’s the game?” demanded Perry. “You’re counting me in a little too soon, Mr. Legira.”

“The game?” Legira’s question was suave. “The game is one thousand dollars every week — paid to you, Mr. Wallace — after you become Alvarez Legira.”

“Suppose I refuse?”

“You would refuse?” Legira’s question was spoken in an incredulous tone. “Ah, you cannot refuse. It is a golden opportunity!”

“Yes?” Perry’s tone was challenging. “It looks phony to me. You want me to take your place. Is that the idea?”

“Certainly.”

“Why? So that you may avoid trouble?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, it doesn’t go!” declared Perry emphatically. “I’m not going into a trap for you or any one else! Hold the bag yourself. Don’t count on me—”

“Very well,” said Legira quietly. “You have made a mistake, Desmond. This is not the gentleman whom we need. You may take him back to your office. Bring another one — later.”

Desmond stared in amazement. A look of consternation appeared upon the face of Lopez. Perplexity gripped Perry Wallace. Alvarez Legira arose as though the interview was ended.

“Just a moment,” said Perry suddenly. “I want to know about this. Mr. Desmond here tells me that I am the only man for the job. You tell me you don’t want me. What’s the idea?”

“Mr. Desmond may be mistaken,” said Legira, with a smooth smile. “Perhaps I am the one who is mistaken. I have business of my own — business which concerns me alone. I have also to be present in New York as consul from Santander. How can that be possible?

“There is only one way. That is to have some one who can take my place, and who is willing to take my place. You fill one requirement, but not the other. It is very unfortunate—”

“Perhaps I was a bit hasty,” returned Perry. “Your proposition was not quite clear to me. As I now understand it, you merely want me to appear here as a sort of figurehead, at a salary of one thousand dollars a week.”

“Exactly,” returned Legira, in his most convincing tone. “There will be no duties that you cannot perform with ease. Lopez, here, is secretary to the consul. He can manage all affairs. It will be an easy life for you — the life of Alvarez Legira.”

“How long—”

“For a few weeks. That is all.”

“And then—”

“Then we shall find some other duties, for your real self. Perhaps the remuneration will not be so great; but I can assure you it will be ample.

“While you serve for me” — Legira’s tone was impressive — “you also serve the great Republic of Santander. We of Santander do not forget those who have done our bidding!”

“All right,” declared Perry. “I’ll chance it!”

LEGIRA acted with precision. He pointed to the clothing rack at the far end of the room. Lopez motioned to Perry Wallace, who arose and followed him.

Fifteen minutes later, two men, both with dark eyes and pointed mustaches, stood facing each other, garbed in clothes that appeared identical. The transformation of Perry Wallace had worked almost to perfection. Even to Lopez, both bore the features and manner of Alvarez Legira.

The genuine consul raised his cigarette holder to his lips and blew a puff of smoke. He twisted the end of his mustache with the fingers of his left hand. Perry Wallace copied the motions to exactitude.

“Wonderful!” declared Legira admiringly. “It is indeed wonderful.”

“It is remarkable,” returned Perry, in the same tone.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Legira.

“Excellent!” echoed Perry.

“You see?” said Legira, turning to Desmond. “I said it would not be difficult. New York is a great city — it has far more people than has all Santander. There are thousands who would come to a place that offered employment. Thousands — where I required but one. There are many who might recognize Alvarez Legira. There are none who know him well, here in New York.

“This man is younger than myself, but the difference in age is not great. He will pass to perfection. With Lopez to coach him, there can be no danger. But remember, we must keep silent.”

With that, the true Alvarez Legira peeled off his suit and donned the garments which Perry Wallace had worn. A few motions, ruffled his smooth hair, and demolished the points of the well-waxed mustache.

“When I am away from here,” declared Legira, “I shall become myself again. You see?”

He smiled as he packed a suitcase that lay in the corner of the room. This work ended, he bowed to Perry Wallace and Lopez. Then, with Desmond carrying the suitcase, he marched solemnly toward the passage that led to the inner office of the employment agency.

A SHORT while later, two men left the office of the consul of Santander. One was Lopez; the other, to all appearances, was Alvarez Legira. The secretary was talking to his chief. The consul was nodding as he carried his smoking cigarette holder between the fingers of his right hand.

The pair lunched at a downtown restaurant. They returned to the office in the afternoon. Later, they dined at another cafe. It was early evening when they alighted from a taxicab in front of the consular residence. Any passer-by could have seen Alvarez Legira paying the cab driver, with Lopez standing beside him.

Hours later, a quiet voice spoke from a room in the house which adjoined the residence of Alvarez Legira. It was Burbank, sending his report to The Shadow.

“Legira returned with Lopez at eight twenty-one,” were the words. “They have been in and out of the room where the dictograph is located. No important conversation registered.”

Even Burbank, experienced agent of The Shadow, had been deceived by the substitution arranged by Alvarez Legira through his unknown henchman, Frank Desmond. Seated at his window, Burbank could see Martin Powell patrolling along the street. Beyond, a stealthy figure seemed to lurk at the entrance of the alley, indicating the presence of Silk Dowdy.

The watchers of the night were still covering Alvarez Legira. To a man they had been completely baffled. While they fancied that they held their quarry helpless, the true Alvarez Legira was at large.

Somewhere in New York, the real consul of Santander was free to proceed with his schemes, with none to thwart him!