Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER XVIII THE MAN HIGHER UP

Two men were seated in a lavishly furnished hotel room. One was Pete Ballou, stocky and shrewd-faced. The other was a man past middle age, a dark-visaged individual.

There was no smile on Ballou’s face tonight. On the contrary, he looked worried. He regarded his companion with apprehension. It was quite evident that Ballou stood in awe of the man whom he was visiting.

The dark-faced man turned in his chair and his features were clearly reflected by the light of a lamp beside the chair. The sallow face showed harsh and grim. Two blackish eyes glowed sharply beneath heavy, coal-hued eyebrows. A sneering smile rested upon the cruel, puffy lips.

“Bah!” Ballou’s host spat the exclamation. “You have been a fool, Ballou. Do you know that?”

Ballou nodded slowly. Then he spoke in an apologetic tone.

“I can’t figure consequences the way you can,” he said. “You’ve got the brains behind this work.”

“I have the brains?” The speaker arose as he spoke and his squat, chunky form seemed menacing. “Of course I have the brains. That is the difference between us. Rodriguez Zelva has brains. Pete Ballou has no brains.”

“I’ll admit I made a boner tonight,” said Ballou, ruefully. “Just the same, it looked like the only way out. That’s what you’ve always told me to do, Zelva. Act when I’m in a jam — leave the rest to you. That’s what I did tonight.”

“I expected you to act with sense!” retorted Zelva. “I did not want you to play the fool. You have made it more difficult, now. It is bad, too, because you have come here.”

“I had to come here,” protested Ballou. “I couldn’t give you details over the phone. I waited until after two o’clock.”

“Listen, Ballou.” Zelva’s tone was low but emphatic. “You have worked for me very long. You knew well that I stay apart from those who work for me. That is why no one has ever been able to say that Rodriguez Zelva is engaged in crime.

“You have been but one of a dozen who have served me. I picked you for this work. Why? Because you were the one best suited to arrange affairs in New York. Pesano, Salati, Ellsdorff — I considered all of them, as well as others. But they were not suited for New York as you are suited.

“I placed you here to watch Legira; to deal with him craftily. I told you to avoid those who might suspect. Until tonight, you played the game well. But now — ah, you are one fool! One great fool! To make things so that you would have to come here at this time—”

As Zelva broke off his sentence, Pete Ballou tried to ease the situation by a prompt remark.

“There’s no danger in my coming here,” he said. “I haven’t been here since this job started. This is really the first time. What can Legira do? He’s bottled up—”

“That makes no difference!” exclaimed Zelva. “I have my ways, Ballou. I keep to them. I use every precaution.

“This room — I have chosen it because it is secluded. I live here alone — ah, yes — but those two doors on either side of the hallway — Pesano and Ellsdorff are always there. They never recognize me when they meet me. That is their only work — to watch.

“Look from this window” — Zelva strode across the room and Ballou followed him — “you see this little balcony? From here I can see below — to all sides — everywhere. Fourteen stories to the street below. Who can come here to find me, in this room of the Goliath Hotel? I am safe, yes — but not alone because I am secluded. I am safe because I am wise and make no mistakes except” — his tone was ironical — “except when I choose men who have no brains.”

Zelva ceased speaking and leaned from the edge of the balcony. Ballou noted that there were other balconies below, located on alternate floors, with twenty-foot spaces between them. He looked upward and saw the bottom of another projecting balcony, twenty feet above.

The white bottom of the upper projection gleamed dimly in the night. Above, all was darkness. Zelva turned and stepped back into the room. Pete Ballou followed.

THE moment that the two men had left the balcony, a splotch of darkness moved from above. A shadowy shape obscured a portion of the white projection that Ballou had observed.

That mysterious blot swung toward the wall of the hotel. It traveled downward and a huddled figure rested beside the open window. Then the black form flattened itself along the rail.

In the room, Rodriguez Zelva was walking slowly back and forth, glaring at Pete Ballou, who had resumed his seat. The chunky man stopped beside the window and stared forth into the night.

His gaze passed beyond the silent form which had again become a mass of unmoving blackness. Little did Zelva suspect that The Shadow, strange being of the night, had ferreted his way to this inaccessible spot, coming stealthily from the balcony above!

Pete Ballou was waiting until Zelva’s despising anger had cooled. He knew that his chief would soon curb his ire and settle down to constructive ideas. The change was already making itself evident.

“Ballou,” said Zelva, in a different tone than before, “you have made a great mistake. But like all mistakes, this one may work for the best. I formulate my plans as I see them come. Now, let me tell you first how simple were the schemes that you may have injured so badly tonight.”

Ballou settled back to listen.

“Ten million dollars,” proceeded Zelva, “is very much money. I am an important man from South America — here in New York. That is why I learned easily that Alvarez Legira was to receive that great sum. Why should I worry about Legira? If he should take the money to Santander, it would be simple there to seize it. One snap of my finger” — Zelva performed the action — “and the hotbed of revolution would break out. The money would be ours. Why then do you think I have dealt with Legira?”

“To play it safe,” suggested Ballou. “Save a lot of trouble down to Santander.”

“You are wrong, Ballou,” returned Zelva. “I have threatened Legira because I have suspected that he will not go to Santander with the money. Ten million dollars! Why should he return to Santander? Europe, perhaps — but not Santander.”

“Is he double-crossing his pals?”

Zelva smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“With ten million dollars?” he asked. “That is enough to make him do so.”

“He convinced people up here that he was on the level.”

“Ah, yes, he may be on the level, now. But let him have the ten million dollars. Then—”

Another shrug of Zelva’s shoulders indicated once again that he considered ten million dollars to be a stake that no man could resist.

“All right,” said Ballou, bluntly. “Figure it that way, then. The first thing was for Legira to get the money. That’s what you told me. Then for us to get it from him — giving him a chance for a fifty-fifty break as a come-on.”

“That is correct.”

“So I try to work the deal,” continued Ballou, “but Legira stalls. I waited until tonight to make the last threat. As soon as I come out of the place, I find that Silk Dowdy has trailed Martin Powell. I went to the phone where I knew Silk would call and he tells me Powell is seeing Hendrix.”

“So you went there, too,” prompted Zelva. “That was both wise and unwise. Wise to learn what was happening. Unwise because of things that might happen — as they did happen.”

“I thought it was wise,” declared Ballou. “I got in the apartment with a phony key. What do I hear but Hendrix saying that it’s going to be impossible for Legira to get the dough — if his telephone call goes through.

“I figured then that Powell must have spotted something. Two of them — both bad. I had to stop that phone call. So I did. Hendrix thought I was Legira. I bumped him and got Powell and the old bird in addition.”

“And now?” questioned Zelva. “Do you think it will be easy for Legira to get the money now?”

Ballou’s face turned blank.

“You killed,” declared Zelva, “because you thought it would help Legira if Hendrix could not speak. By killing Hendrix, you disposed of the man with whom Legira was to deal. It has probably placed suspicion upon Legira. It will give him an excuse to ask an extension of time — or to tell you that the whole deal is ended.”

“I never figured it that way,” said Ballou, in a dejected tone. “I guess it makes it pretty bad. I’ve bungled everything.”

“Perhaps,” said Zelva, calmly. “Perhaps not. It means that I shall have to use other methods besides the simple ones that I had planned at first.”

“You’ll let Legira wait?”

“No!” Zelva’s tone was emphatic. “Legira is a danger to me. He cannot connect me by proof with this matter, but he may suspect me. If he cannot secure the money before the time he has been given, then it will be his end.”

“Tomorrow at midnight?”

“Yes. Unless Legira has called you before that time, strike as you have told him. Wait at the Hotel Oriental, just as you have planned. Then do your work.”

“That will queer the deal.”

“Did you stop to think that it would make trouble in any event? When I send threats, they are not idle ones. Legira must arrange to have that money before midnight. Otherwise, we strike — and then—”

“And then?”

“After that,” smiled Zelva, “the government of Santander will hear from Rodriguez Zelva, who will kindly offer to arrange affairs with the New York financiers!”

BALLOU’S eyes blinked in admiration. Now he understood Zelva’s cunning. The arch conspirator was trying to work through Legira because it appeared to be the most simple method. But with Legira unwilling to come to terms, the elimination of the consul from Santander would leave the way open for another alternative plan.

“Rodriguez Zelva,” said the man himself. “That name is important in South America. I have always chosen to keep it so. None would suspect me. The men in Santander would agree.

“And then, unfortunately, Rodriguez Zelva would be forced to reveal himself as the clever ringleader of a band of international crooks. But” — the speaker shrugged his shoulders — “Rodriguez Zelva could afford to do it for ten million dollars. Eh?”

Pete Ballou was nodding in commendation. This was typical of Zelva. He was always playing ahead of the game, moving his underlings like pawns on a chessboard, keeping himself from the limelight. Never yet had Zelva been forced to come out into the open. Now, however, such an action would be worth the stake.

“Ten million dollars,” remarked Zelva, his black eyes shining with the thought of the sum. “I shall have it, Ballou — and you will profit because you have helped me. I have many things to do — but why should I bother further? Once I am gone away from here — from this country—”

He leered as he stared at Pete Ballou.

“It is all ready,” added Zelva. “I have been waiting for something big like this. Why do you think I have kept secret ownership of those liquor boats that come up from Mexico? The ones that Salati arranged for? Just to send in bottles so that people here in New York could make a profit? No” — Zelva’s eyes gleamed — “there have been other reasons.

“A way that comes in is a way that goes out. Through those who have met the little boats from the rum ships, you have gained the help of Silk Dowdy and those other men who are watching Legira. When the money is ours, it shall go out as the liquor has come in.

“I have not told you this before, Ballou. I am telling you now, because I think that it is important. We soon shall have the money.”

“You think that Legira—”

“I think that Legira will do all to get that money tomorrow. If he fails, I shall work swiftly when I deal with those men in Santander. I can win their confidence — so quick that all will be very easy.

“So watch, Ballou. Stay at your hotel and have your men report. Have them ready for your word. If Legira should manage to get the money, it must be taken from him. If he should not so manage, you must strike at midnight. My threats will never fail!”

Pete Ballou rubbed his hands enthusiastically. Zelva looked at him with a smile. The scheming South American was pleased at his own craftiness. He was also smiling at Ballou’s simplicity.

There were other factors that Zelva had considered but had not mentioned. False implication of Legira in the death of Hendrix might cause complications. Pete Ballou, at large, was a menace. That was another important reason why Zelva planned prompt action.

He could not afford to have Ballou, the actual murderer, continuing the work of watching Legira’s home. But Zelva, crafty leader of crooks of many nationalities, was too wise to put pessimistic thoughts into the mind of Pete Ballou.

“You must go now,” declared Zelva. “Be careful when you leave. Do not come here again.”

He paused and stared at the floor beside the window. A shadowy blot was swaying on the floor. It seemed to glide away as Zelva watched it.

The chunky South American looked quickly toward the window. He was too late to spy the form that had risen and swung over the edge of the rail outside. Zelva strode to the balcony. He looked below at the projection two floors beneath. He saw nothing except blackness. He lingered; then returned to the room.

IMMEDIATELY after Zelva’s departure from the rail, the blackness on the balcony beneath became a living mass. The window of the room below rose silently, then closed. The Shadow had made a quick drop of nearly twenty feet. Silently, he had waited; then had gone.

Rodriguez Zelva shrugged his shoulders when he stepped back into the room. His interest in that fleeting shadow had faded. He said nothing about it as he motioned Pete Ballou toward the outer door.

Ballou was cautious as he left the Goliath Hotel. He walked down a few flights before he summoned an elevator — a plan that he had used when he had come here. He rode to the Hotel Oriental in a taxicab and went immediately to his room.

The hallway was dim, due to a burned-out light. As he pushed the key into the lock with his right hand, Ballou encountered the surface of the door with his finger tips. Entering his room, he noted a stickiness on his fingers and thumb.

Ballou turned on a table light and pressed his fingers upon a newspaper that lay there. His fingers left a dark smudge. Ballou decided that paint must have been applied to the door. He did not bother to investigate. He tossed the newspaper into the wastebasket and went into the bathroom to wash the paint from his fingers.

The moment that Ballou had stepped from the room, a tall figure emerged from the corner. Stooping, the unseen visitor plucked the newspaper from the basket. Deft, black-clad fingers tore away a portion of the front page and replaced the newspaper so that the damaged part was beneath.

The figure of The Shadow was revealed as the strange visitor glided past the opened door of the lighted bathroom. Then the outer door of the room opened and closed without the slightest semblance of a sound.

The Shadow had arrived here before Pete Ballou. Now he was gone. At Zelva’s, he had learned the plans of the conspirators and had discovered that they knew nothing of the trick by which Legira had deceived them. Here, at Ballou’s, The Shadow had laid a simple but effective trap that Pete Ballou had not suspected.

Once more, The Shadow was on his way. Somewhere, amid the silent, early morning streets, he was planning new work for the morrow. His plans concerned more than Alvarez Legira and Pete Ballou. For now, The Shadow knew both the identity and the ways of Rodriguez Zelva — the man higher up.