Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER VI A THOUSAND A WEEK

THE line was moving in through the door of the employment agency. Men were filing by a desk where a stenographer was noting questions regarding age, former occupation, and experience. The man whom Alvarez Legira had noted on the curb had now reached the inner door.

“Your name, please?”

“Perry Wallace.”

The girl looked up at the sound of the man’s quiet, well-modulated voice. Perry Wallace had the appearance of a gentleman, despite the shabby appearance of his clothes. His tanned face was passive; his dark eyes were dull as they stared toward the questioner. There was a certain sullenness about the thin lips beneath the black, unkempt mustache — the expression of a man who has been beaten in his battle with the world.

“What qualifications, Mr. Wallace?”

“Not many,” said the man frankly. “I worked as a bank teller for three years. I guess there’s not much call for any one in that line—”

“Just a moment, Mr. Wallace.”

The girl was noting the man’s appearance. She rang a bell on the desk, and an office boy appeared.

“This is Mr. Wallace,” said the girl. “Take him into Mr. Desmond’s office.”

The boy conducted the applicant to a door at the other end of the large room. Perry Wallace, hat in hand, was perplexed as he strode along. He had expected further questioning before being admitted to a special interview. He wondered why he had made so effective an impression.

The boy knocked at a glass-paneled door that bore the name:

A voice responded from within. The boy opened the door and pointed to the inner room.

“This is Mr. Wallace,” he announced.

“Shut the door,” said Desmond.

Perry Wallace complied; then turned to look at his interviewer.

Frank Desmond was a bland sort of a man; big, pudgy, and narrow-eyed. He was seated behind a desk in the center of the room, and he stared steadily at his visitor.

“Sit down, Mr. Wallace,” he said, after a short inspection. “I want to talk with you.”

Wallace dropped his hat on a table and took a chair opposite the employment manager.

“What is your experience?” questioned Desmond.

“Bank teller for the last three years,” answered Wallace mechanically. “Worked up-State — little town called Halsworth. The bank went up. I came to New York. Figured a job—”

“Before that?”

“Before I worked in the bank? I had a real-estate office with my uncle. Developing a summer resort. It went sour. I landed a job with the bank.”

“And before that?”

“Just odd jobs. I was in the army during the War. Served in France. Came back. Tried various forms of work; then joined up with my uncle.”

DESMOND, chin in hand, was staring firmly at his visitor. Wallace wondered about that stare. He knew that Desmond was on the point of asking an important question. He could not divine what it might be.

“You say you served in the army,” remarked Desmond. “Did you enjoy the excitement?”

Perry’s eyes gleamed.

“Sure thing!” he declared. “Say — if I saw another opportunity like that one, I’d hop to it in a minute!”

“I know of a job,” mused Desmond reflectively. “It will require nerve. It may mean danger. Most of all, it demands obedience to orders. Would you take it — without question?”

Perry Wallace eyed his questioner narrowly. He scented a hidden meaning in Desmond’s tone. Despite the fact that he was down and out, he was not willing to commit himself unknowingly.

“I do not believe so, Mr. Desmond,” he said coldly.

“There is excellent compensation,” replied the employment agent.

Perry Wallace shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“What of it?” he asked. “There is excellent compensation for many jobs. Murder, for instance.”

“This does not involve murder,” declared Desmond.

“Crime, then?” questioned Perry shrewdly.

Desmond leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands.

“What if it did involve crime?” he asked.

“I would not be interested!” declared Perry.

“Crime is not involved,” said Desmond slowly. “You, yourself, will not be responsible for anything that may occur through your acceptance of the position which I have to offer. Is that sufficient?”

“Yes,” said Perry quietly. He rose from his chair and placed his hat upon his head. “It is quite sufficient, Mr. Desmond. It convinces me that I do not want to take the job.”

Desmond’s eyes flashed. He was furious. Perry Wallace smiled at the oddity of the situation. Desmond chewed his puffy lips. Then, as he saw Perry turning toward the door, he smiled in return and raised his hand.

“Wait!” he called.

Perry turned.

“I can tell you more about this job,” said the employment manager. “I can convince you that it would be wise for you to accept it. Does that sound fair?”

“Certainly,” replied Perry.

Desmond opened a drawer in the desk. He drew out a gleaming revolver and pointed it directly at Perry Wallace.

“Sit down!” ordered Desmond, in a low, rasping voice. “Sit down and listen. You understand?”

Perry was motionless for a moment. A rush of scattered thoughts passed through his brain. He did not believe that Desmond would dare to fire; at the same time, he realized that the man was angry. A chance shot might lead to disastrous consequences. Perry pictured himself in conflict with this man — people rushing in — the burden placed upon him.

“All right,” he said calmly. “I’ll listen.”

DESMOND thumped the revolver on the desk as Perry took his seat. The gun was close at hand. Perry realized its threat. Desmond had spoken of danger. It was beginning now.

“One thousand dollars a week,” declared Desmond, in a low, emphatic tone. “Does that interest you, Mr. Wallace?”

Perry smiled, but did not reply.

“If you have qualms” — Desmond’s voice was sneering — “you can forget them. You are going to take this job, Mr. Wallace. You’re going to take it whether or not you like it — simply because you are the only man who is suited to it!”

The offer of money had struck no responsive chord. Broke though he was, Perry Wallace was not impressed. Desmond had threatened. He had tried to entice. In both he had failed. But, unwittingly, the smug man had said something which aroused Perry Wallace’s interest.

“You say I am the only man” — Perry’s tone was sharply quizzical — “the only man suited to this job?”

“Yes,” declared Desmond.

“Why?” asked Perry.

Desmond smiled cunningly.

“That,” he said emphatically, “is one thing that you will learn within five minutes after you take the offer.”

Perry began to nod reflectively. Desmond saw that he had gained a point. He spoke persuasively.

“Forget the thought of crime,” he said, in an easy tone. “If any occurs, it will not be your fault. I do not know the details of this plan myself. I am simply acting for another. I have no qualms. Why should you?”

“Well — ” Perry was hesitant.

“This gun is a threat,” declared Desmond quietly. “Whatever you do can be attributed to force. I am threatening you now. That lets you out, if it comes to a show-down.”

“Perhaps.”

“Absolutely. It gives you a perfect alibi. You have no alternative. You say you like excitement. You say you do not mind danger. You are on the verge of a real adventure — with a thousand dollars for every week you are engaged. Your part will be an easy one. But — most important — you are the only man who can play it!”

The strangeness of the situation had its effect. Perry Wallace arose. Frank Desmond reached for the revolver.

“Drop it in your pocket,” said Perry. “Don’t worry. I’m taking the job—”

Desmond arose and proffered his hand. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he stared directly at Perry’s face. He pocketed the revolver and picked up the telephone.

“Do not send any one to my office until I call you again,” he ordered. “You understand, Miss Johnston? Very well. Now give me this number—”

Perry watched while Desmond spoke into the mouthpiece. The employment manager uttered only one word.

“Right,” was all he said.

Then he hung up the phone. He beckoned to Perry and led the way to the side of the room. There he opened the door of a closet and stepped in. Perry saw him press a hook. The wall of the closet slid away. A passage was revealed beyond.

“Enter,” said Desmond.

Perry stepped forward. He passed the other man, and Desmond followed. The panel closed noiselessly. Perry hesitated in the darkness. He felt Desmond press against him, and the muzzle of the revolver poked his ribs.

It was a subtle threat; yet with it came inducing words. Desmond’s voice was a crackly sound as it growled in the darkness.

“Move ahead. Keep going. One thousand dollars a week.”

Half puzzled, half elated, Perry Wallace groped his way through the darkness of the narrow passage, bound toward a strange adventure.