The Creeping Death

CHAPTER X ONE AND ONE MAKE TWO

ALFREDO MORALES was an easy, convincing speaker. He had the remarkable aptitude of divining the thoughts of those who listened to him. Hence the discourse which he commenced took on a turn that was both illuminating and interesting.

In his talk, Morales made statements, put forth questions, and gave both replies and answers, while his bearded visitor sat in silence.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Armagnac,” purred Morales. “It was quite thoughtful of you to pay me this visit. It is not every one who can have the honor of a guest so talented as Pierre Armagnac, from Marseilles, France.

“You see, I have heard of you, Monsieur Armagnac. I know who you are; but you do not know who I am. Ah, well. I am of lesser importance. It is not surprising that Alfredo Morales of Buenos Aires should recognize Pierre Armagnac of Marseilles; but it would be surprising if Monsieur Armagnac had ever heard of Senor Morales.”

Morales paused and smiled. Then he continued in his soft, catlike tone.

“Pierre Armagnac is a great man in his chosen profession. Alfredo Morales is much less capable. Hence, while Armagnac was indifferent to the existence of others of his craft, Morales was more inquiring. He studied to learn who was great and who was small. He did that before he schemed for greater things.

“But Armagnac, too, was a schemer. He and Morales both had the same idea” — the speaker tapped his forehead — “and both came to the same place. Armagnac was the greater, but Morales held the advantage. For Armagnac had never heard of Morales; while Morales knew much of Armagnac.”

Another pause while Morales studied the effect of his words upon Armagnac. Then, with a calm movement, Morales drew an envelope from his pocket and opened it. He held a small object in his hand. He tossed it in the air, and it fluttered to the floor — a mottled partridge feather.

The action brought a smile to Armagnac’s bearded lips. The Frenchman uttered a low grunt to signify that he understood the gesture. Morales pointed to the feather.

“You carry such trophies?” he questioned.

In reply, Armagnac produced a wallet from which he extracted a feather similar to the one that Morales had brought. The Frenchman let the feather flutter from his hand. It reached the floor almost at the same spot where the other lay. Morales saw significance in the result.

“A feather,” he remarked. “A sign of recognition between myself and another man. A sign between yourself and that same man. It is my thought that those feathers may be a sign between Pierre Armagnac and Alfredo Morales. Do you agree?”

“I agree,” responded Armagnac in a deep voice.

“GOOD,” Morales commented warmly. “Now I shall speak plainly. I shall tell you much that you already know — and some things that you may not know. Question me when you wish; I want you to understand all.

“Here, across that gorge” — Morales pointed to the direction of the river — “lives a very clever man. The partridge feather is his sign, for his name is the same: Partridge.

“Some time ago, this man — Lucien Partridge — discovered the secret of making a metal, or alloy, that is very much like gold. In seeking a use for that metal, he discovered one. He planned to introduce his synthetic gold into the coinage of the world.

“To do that, he required agents. He chose them. Pierre Armagnac in France; Alfredo Morales in the Argentine; Eleutherios Sukulos in Greece; Enrico Pallanci in Italy; Jasper Gleason in Australia; Otto Larkon in Scandinavia. There are others in the list but it is unnecessary to name them. A dozen in all. I suppose you were at least aware of their existence?”

“I thought there must be at least eight,” responded Armagnac. “I did not trouble myself much about any of the details.”

“No, that was unnecessary in a way,” admitted Morales. “You knew that there were many; that was sufficient to indicate great wealth. For Lucien Partridge sold his synthetic gold throughout the world; sold it, for real gold, to these counterfeiting agents. He is a widely traveled man, Partridge. A schemer always, he knew such men as you and myself in every country.

“You gained wealth, Armagnac. With Partridge’s metal, your coins, like mine, could not be detected as counterfeits.

“But a thought occurred to you, Armagnac. For every million francs you made, Partridge obtained a million also. You began to wonder how many millions of pesos, of pounds, of bolivars, of lire he was obtaining. That is what I, too, began to think.

“Ah! A wonderful thought. Why be a counterfeiter in one corner of the world, while somewhere a lone man is drawing in wealth from everywhere? You thought — as I thought — that Lucien Partridge must possess a tremendous supply of gold — of real gold.

“You knew — as I knew — that counterfeiting must have its end. You wondered — as I wondered — what would happen then.

“You and I, Armagnac, were working to create a world emperor — a gold-crazed man who would draw gold as a mosquito draws blood; on, on, on, until the burst.

“So you asked yourself — as did I — why should that go on? Would it not be wonderful to find the center of that vast gold supply; to grasp it and to hold it; to end this ceaseless activity that might lead to ruin?

“So you came here — as I came — to locate that gold supply. We have been seized of the same desire. Two of us — two of the entire dozen who knew the truth!”

Morales rested hack in his chair and stared at Armagnac. The talk of fabulous wealth had brought a bright flush to the Argentinian’s sallow cheeks. Armagnac, now, was the one who remained placid. He put forth a question.

“WHAT do you propose to do?” he questioned. “What is your plan, now that you have discovered a rival in myself?”

“We shall join forces,” responded Morales, with a smile. “Perhaps you wonder why I make the offer. I shall tell you.

“First, it would be unwise for us to quarrel. It might bring disaster to both of us. Second, there is gold enough for both of us — as much as either of us can desire. Third, I am stalemated. I have reached the point where I am ready for the grand coup; yet I am afraid to move without the help of another man of wisdom.”

“You have your subordinates,” suggested Armagnac warily.

“Bah!” responded Morales. “What are they? Men who know nothing. Men of ignorance. Good servants, yes, who will prove useful; but men who will give the game away. Tell me, Armagnac, how have you schemed to crack this nut across the river?”

“I have come quietly,” replied Armagnac, in a shrewd tone. “I have been watching, studying, waiting. There must be a way, to the man who knows.”

“But you have not found it?”

“Not as yet.”

“My case” — Morales was smiling — “is different, Armagnac. I came prepared for action. I am ready. I have spied from without; but I have not been able to spy from within. Is that your case?”

“It is,” admitted Armagnac.

“I have advanced beyond you,” declared Morales. “Yet I have encountered the same difficulty. I am wary, because I wish to avoid what you would term a contreteps. There is but one way to learn all that I wish to know. That is to openly visit Lucien Partridge. But should I do so — ah — then would I be helpless to proceed. Is that not true?”

“It is.”

“Should Pierre Armagnac work from within,” suggested Morales, in a cagey tone, “he, too, would be unable to work from without. But should you do that inner work” — Morales was becoming direct in his statement — “nothing would hinder me from the outer work, for which I am already prepared.”

Armagnac nodded thoughtfully.

“That is why I led you here,” declared Morales. “Together, we can accomplish our desire. Alone, either of us may fail. I must have another; so must you. We must each have a man who knows all. So why not — the two of us? One and one make two.”

“You wish my agreement?”

“Exactly.”

Armagnac arose and extended his hand. Morales came to his feet and joined in the clasp.

Two men of evil genius were united in a common cause. The strategy of Alfredo Morales had won him the alliance of Pierre Armagnac.

Now, as the two resumed their seats, Morales leaned forward and spoke in a low confidential tone.

“I shall tell you all my plans,” he said, “but before I do, it would be wise for you to obtain the information I require. When you have assured me that you have the facts I need, we will be on a fair basis. Each of us will have some knowledge that the other must need. You understand?”

“That is good,” returned Armagnac.

THE Frenchman spoke thus because he realized that he was at a disadvantage. He had no idea what scheme Alfredo Morales might have designed; but he knew well that the man from the Argentine must possess a workable method. Despite the friendliness evidenced by Morales, it was obvious that Armagnac had first fallen into the other’s power.

Crafty to the extreme, Pierre Armagnac saw that he was necessary to Alfredo Morales. Why should he balk or why should he demand to know everything, now?

Morales had been frank. He needed contact with what was going on across the river. Armagnac was ready to get that contact. Then, he knew well, he would possess an advantage of his own. There could be no talk of other than equal terms.

But even as he visualized the fabulous wealth that the future was to bring, Pierre Armagnac experienced a disturbing thought. He hastened to express it before Alfredo Morales proceeded with other discussions.

“You drew me from the inn,” remarked Armagnac, “because you were sure you knew my identity. You made yourself conspicuous so that I would follow. But there was another at the inn — a man whom I was watching. Who is he? Some other man who has designs?”

Morales shook his head.

“He is not one of us,” he declared. “I obtained information on every one of Partridge’s agents before I set sail from Buenos Aires. I do not know the man’s identity. He has not been to Partridge’s, for I have watched there. But I have prepared to interview him.”

“To interview him? Where?”

“Here. As I interviewed you.”

A gleam of understanding came over Pierre Armagnac’s bearded countenance. Surely, he should have realized this scheme. The same lure that had brought him to this cottage would bring another also. But where was the other? Morales seemed to divine the question that was in Armagnac’s mind.

“I study men,” declared Morales. “I studied two at the inn to-night. One was yourself — a man who meets a risk quickly. The other, I could see, was slower of action.

“I did not think that both would follow me. I felt sure that one of them would follow me; and that the second would trail the first. You, I knew, would be the first. The second should be here shortly. He is one who would not enter.”

“Then you expect him?”

“Very soon.”

“But if he will not enter?”

“He will enter.” Alfredo Morales pronounced the words in a prophetic tone.

As if in answer to his statement, footsteps sounded outside the room. Pierre Armagnac leaped to his feet. Alfredo Morales remained seated, smiling.

Into the room came three men. Two of them were armed with rifles. They were Jose and Manuel. Between them was the third man, his hands raised above his head, his face sullen and expressionless. It was Vic Marquette of the secret service.

Alfredo Morales chuckled, and Pierre Armagnac smiled as they recognized the features of the man whose identity they did not know.