Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER IX THE LAST WARNING

DUSK had fallen. Two men stepped into the glare of the street lamp that lighted the front of Alvarez Legira’s residence. One bore the features of Legira. The other was the consul’s secretary, Lopez. Together, the men ascended the brownstone steps and entered the house.

They did not speak as they went up the stairs to the second floor. Perry Wallace, in his part of Alvarez Legira, had become solemn and taciturn. Lopez, also, indulged in very little conversation. The secretary seldom became loquacious in English, for he had little occasion to converse in the tongue.

Tonight Lopez was suspicious. The empty house annoyed him. Francisco had left a few days before, in unobtrusive fashion. Now, whenever Lopez entered, he became suspicious. Perry smiled at the sharp glances which Lopez threw in all directions. They reached the little room on the second floor.

Perry sat down in a large chair, and drew his cigarette holder from his pocket. Lopez grinned. Unconsciously, the false Alvarez Legira had adopted the habits of the real. Perry smiled, too, for despite the monotony of his new work, he was enjoying this taste of luxury and pretense.

Lopez looked around the room with sharp eyes. Suddenly, he spied something by the window sill. It was by a mere chance that he saw a thin green line that disappeared behind the radiator. Like a cat, the sallow-faced secretary sprang across the room and snatched at the little wire. He pulled it away from the wall, and his dark eyes flashed with anger as he pulled a knife from his pocket and severed the slender connection.

Lopez stared at Perry. Legira’s substitute returned the gaze in mild surprise. Suspicion and mistrust were plain on the countenance of Lopez.

“Who has put that there?” he demanded.

“What is it?” asked Perry, trying to see what Lopez was holding.

“A piece of wire!” snarled Lopez. “It must be a telephone — that goes somewhere — outside!”

Perry arose and approached the window. Lopez stepped back suspiciously; then, as he surveyed Perry closely, he decided that his companion was as surprised as he himself.

“Some one has been listening,” declared Lopez. “They can hear what is said in this place. I do not know how long it has been here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Perry. “I don’t recall any conversations of importance. You and I have talked very little, Lopez. Generally when riding in taxicabs, or dining at a hotel.”

“That is true,” admitted Lopez. “Yet this is very bad. It should not be here. It can make much trouble—”

The secretary stopped suddenly as he heard the ring of the doorbell. He motioned to Perry to sit down in the chair. Then, in stealthy fashion, Lopez went downstairs.

WHEN he returned, a few minutes later, Lopez wore a grave expression. He stared at Perry as though undecided what to do. Then, leaning cautiously forward, he whispered brief words of instruction.

“This man who is here,” he said, “you must see him. His name is Pete Ballou. You will say but little — understand? Keep me in this room with you. Be careful and let him make all the talk. Eh, senor?”

Perry nodded. Lopez went downstairs. In a few minutes, he returned with Pete Ballou. Perry looked up while lighting a cigarette. He nodded a slight greeting to the stocky man.

Ballou took a chair and stared at Perry with steely eyes. Perry met the gaze. He gave no evidence of the elation which he felt. He knew that Pete Ballou had no suspicion that this was not Alvarez Legira.

Lopez was starting toward the door. Perry called to him, in an easy manner, a perfect affectation of Legira.

“Ah, Lopez!” The secretary turned at the words. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to stay here.”

Ballou threw a sidelong glance toward Lopez.

“You need him?” he demanded.

“Lopez is my secretary,” said Perry. “When I choose for him to be here, he remains.”

“Have it your own way,” remarked Ballou. “I guess he knows why I’m here, so it doesn’t matter if he sticks around. I’ve just come to remind you that time is getting short.”

Perry smiled and stared at a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“You’ve got until tomorrow midnight,” continued Ballou. “Savvy?”

“It is kind of you,” remarked Perry. “Very kind of you to come here to remind me.”

“Look here, Legira,” said Ballou, in a bulldozing tone, “there’s been enough of this funny business. We know that the deal has gone through. You’ve had plenty of time to get the dough. If you stall any longer, it will be curtains for you.”

He paused, as though expecting a reply, but he received none. Ballou drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and scrawled a few words upon it.

“There’s where you can reach me,” he declared. “You’ve got tomorrow to get busy. If you let this slide, we’ll get you. There’s no way out, Legira!”

Perry read the paper, folded it, and thrust it nonchalantly in his vest pocket. He leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully beyond his visitor. Again, Ballou waited; still, Perry offered no comment.

“The terms still hold,” asserted Ballou. “Fifty-fifty is the deal. If you don’t come across with the half we want, we’re going to take it all! That’s final!”

“Very interesting,” observed Perry.

“You’ll find it interesting!” declared Ballou. “I’m working for a man who knows plenty. We’ve got things fixed down in Santander, and you don’t have a chance. I’m telling you plenty, Legira.

“We know what you’re figuring to do. Three boats sail within the next four days. You’re out to dodge us by shipping the dough on one of them. Maybe you figure you’re going yourself. Well, all those boats are covered. Get me?”

Perry smiled as he had seen Legira smile. Ballou waited with challenging attitude. When he realized that nothing more was to be said, Ballou arose and started toward the door. He paused long enough to deliver his final threat.

“You’re phony, Legira,” he said. “You’re pulling a big bluff. We know you too well. You’re too smart to let any one handle that money besides yourself. We’ve got you boxed.

“If you think you’re crimping us, you’re wrong. You’re only crimping yourself. Fifty-fifty — that’s your one chance. If you try to get all, or if you stall so long that you won’t get any, it will be curtains for you. Unless we get our half, we’re going to blow you off the map. Tomorrow at midnight! That’s the dead line!”

“Very well,” agreed Perry.

PETE BALLOU strode from the room. Lopez, sliding after him, formed an escort to the door. Perry listened; then heard the secretary returning upstairs. When Lopez entered, he found Legira’s double resting leisurely in the chair.

“I watched from the window,” said Lopez. “I saw him go across the street, like a sneak—”

The secretary paused abruptly. For a moment, Lopez, too, had been deceived by Perry’s appearance. He had started to speak as though he had been talking to Alvarez Legira. Without another word, Lopez went from the little room. He was on his way to the front of the house to make further observations.

Perry, perplexed by all that had happened, looked about him in curious fashion. He spied the window, and his gaze drifted to the broken piece of thin wire that Lopez had torn apart. The wire interested Perry. He took the broken ends and touched one to the other to see if they would cause a spark. Suddenly sensing that some one was close by, Perry dropped the wires and turned quickly to find himself facing Lopez. The secretary had entered the room with unexpected stealth.

“So that is it!” snarled Lopez, his face livid with fury. “You have known about that! Perhaps you have put it there!”

Perry leaned back against the wall and stared boldly at the South American. Lopez was vicious, his hands trembling. He seemed ready to spring forward to a wild attack. Perry felt a mad antagonism toward the man. He showed it in his expression, for Lopez, though thoroughly enraged, kept his distance.

“I know nothing about the wire,” declared Perry coldly. “I was merely examining it.”

“That is not for you to do!” growled Lopez. “I am the man in charge here! What you shall do is for me to say. That is what Senor Legira has told me!”

“Don’t be a fool, Lopez,” retorted Perry. “I don’t know what your game is, and I’m not asking. I’m playing fair, and I expect to be paid for it.”

Lopez became shrewd in his glance. He moved toward the window, and reached behind the radiator. With a quick jerk, he brought forth the end of the wire, with a dictograph dangling from the end.

“You know nothing of this, eh?” Lopez uttered the words in an insolent tone. “Nothing, eh? I think different from you. How has that been put here?”

“I have no idea,” answered Perry, with a shrug of his shoulders.

“That is a lie!” Lopez spat the words in a venomous tone.

With a mad spring, Perry leaped upon the skulking secretary. The two locked in a terrific struggle. In weight and strength, Perry had the advantage. His one fear was that Lopez might suddenly bring some deadly weapon into play.

THIS fear became a fact as they struggled forward and pitched headlong upon the floor. Perry lost his hold on one of the South American’s wrists. A moment later, he saw the gleam of a wicked knife that the man had managed to draw.

With a swift, mallet like blow, Perry struck the descending wrist. His assailant’s arm shot wide, and the knife flashed across the room, free from the fingers which had clutched it.

But Lopez recovered more quickly than did Perry. With his weapon no longer in his grasp, the wiry secretary renewed the attack with maddened fury. Before Perry could prevent it, the agile hands had caught his throat.

In the heat of conflict, Lopez was inspired by one desire. He was determined to slay the man whom he now believed to be an enemy.

Perry, desirous only of defending himself, realized now his error. He could not cry out; he could scarcely resist. Those clawing fingers that gripped his throat would never cease until they had gained their purpose. Lopez was bound upon a mission of death. He was not concerned with consequences.

Writhing on the floor, Perry was hopelessly at the mercy of Lopez. His antagonist was kneeling on his arms. The secretary’s hands were fierce in their effort as they sought to choke out the life of the helpless victim. Perry, his eyes bulging, his mouth wide open and gasping, sensed that the end had come.

Here, in this room, he was to die — at the hands of a man who thought him a traitor. In this house, with bolted door and barred windows, there was no chance of rescue. The room seemed to whirl about with the madness of a nightmare. A terrific roar surged through Perry’s ears.

Then came blackness — whirling, sinking blackness as the tightening hands neared the last moment of their dastardly errand. All seemed to vanish before Perry’s filmy eyes.

Perry Wallace had reached the verge of death!