The Embassy Murders

CHAPTER X BURKE’S INTERVIEW

ON the following morning, Clyde Burke entered his office to find an unposted letter in the mail box. He opened it and scanned blue-inked lines that were inscribed in The Shadow’s code. The message contained concise instructions:

The name of Alvarez Menzone was not familiar to Clyde Burke. The newspaperman picked up the telephone book and looked for the name. He did not find it. He located the apartment house, however, and decided that a visit to Menzone’s residence would be the best step.

Clyde picked up the paper which had contained The Shadow’s message. The sheet had turned blank while Clyde had been consulting the telephone book. The Shadow’s agent tossed the paper into the wastebasket. He took his hat and left the office.

Arriving at Athena Court, Clyde looked over the name plates and discovered that of Alvarez Menzone. The apartment number was 3-D. Clyde entered the deserted lobby, took the automatic elevator to the third floor, and found the apartment that he wanted. He pressed a button beside the door.

A minute passed. The door opened. A dull-faced Filipino, clad in white coat and black trousers, stared at the visitor.

“What you want?” he asked.

“I have come to see Mr. Menzone,” replied Clyde.

“Nobody is home,” informed the Filipino. “Mr. Menzone, he is away.”

The servant was about to close the door in Clyde’s face when a voice called from an inner room:

“Who is it, Jose?”

“Man to see you, sir,” replied the Filipino, in a dull monotone.

“Tell him to come in,” repeated the voice. The accents showed the speaker to be a foreigner.

Jose complied. He stepped aside and reluctantly allowed Clyde Burke to enter.

THE newspaperman found himself in a well-furnished living room. As he stood within the door, a man attired in a dressing gown appeared from another doorway.

Clyde Burke could not repress a stare. He had seen this man before. He was the South American whom Clyde had viewed from the booth at the Club Rivoli — the one who had gone out with an American whom Clyde had watched — the one whom Vic Marquette had followed!

“Buenos dios, senor,” greeted Menzone, with a gleaming smile. “I am Alvarez Menzone. You have come to see me?”

“Yes,” answered Clyde. “My name is Burke. I am manager of the National City News Association — a Washington organization that corresponds with journals in other cities.”

“Ah!” Menzone’s tone showed interest. “You have come to interview me?”

“Exactly,” returned Clyde.

Menzone seated himself in an armchair and waved Clyde to another seat. He picked up a wooden box, opened it to extract a cigarette, and offered one to Clyde Burke. The newspaperman accepted.

“You must excuse my servant,” remarked Menzone, as he was lighting his cigarette. “He is very stupid, sometimes. I told him that I wished to see no one until later. He should not have told you that I was out, however. Gentlemen of the press are always welcome.

“An interview.” Menzone smiled reminiscently. “I have given many of them, senor, but always in South America. This is my first experience in the United States. I suppose you wish to know why I am in Washington?”

“Yes.”

“I have come” — Menzone seemed very serious — “to aid in the promotion of international good will. I am an internationalist, senor, so far as South America is concerned. The entire continent is familiar ground to me.

“Ah! What a future lies there! Through peace and harmony, South America could lead the world. Communication. Better communication. That is the first step that we must make. Not communication, senor — that is not exactly the word I want. Let me see what—”

“Transportation?”

“That is it, senor! Transportation. Let me explain.”

Menzone went to the corner of the room and brought back a huge stack of papers. He produced a large printed map of South America. He pointed to lines of different colors.

“Here, senor,” he said, “are the railroads as they now exist. These — in red. Here are the ones that we should have. Those, you see, are in green.

“We have neglected this form of transportation. Why? Because each nation, if it builds a road to the border of another country, is aiding a different nation. Take this green line from Bogota, in Colombia. It would be a wonderful form of transportation if it went southward; but to be of value, it would have to cross Ecuador and pass into Peru.

“Who must begin it? Colombia. Then Ecuador must follow. Peru could start it if she wished; but again, Ecuador and Colombia would have to cooperate.

“You see the problem? International effort is the only answer. How can it be gained? Through American capital. The countries of South America would welcome railroads.”

“Here in the United States,” remarked Clyde, “rail transportation is meeting with heavy competition.”

“Because you have highways,” explained Menzone. “But they come after the railroads. Great profit is there, for those who are the first to seek it. Years and years of successful rail transportation lie ahead in South America.”

MENZONE passed the map to Clyde. He produced mimeographed sheets. Some of these were statements; others contained statistics. They gave reports on existing rail lines of the South American continent; also the potentialities of others that could be constructed.

“This will make good copy,” remarked Clyde. He nodded as Menzone passed him photographs of South American locomotives and other rolling stock. “Yes. Coming at the time of the Pan-American Convention, I can sell this as feature material. You intend to bring up this subject at the convention?”

“So I hope, senor. I shall visit the legations and discuss the matter. But I wish to do more. I want this information to be just so. I want it so it will interest North Americans. There is the trouble.”

“In what way?”

“I think as we think in the South. My wording is not good. I need someone who can understand to put it in the style that is accepted here.”

“Why don’t you hire a competent secretary?” Clyde Burke was prompt with the question, when he had gained the wedge. “That is all you need, Mr. Menzone.”

“Buenos,” agreed the South American. “But where am I to find such a man? I am here in Washington. I did not see the difficulty until I arrived. I know how secretaries go. Some are good; most are bad. You understand?”

“Perhaps,” offered Clyde, “I could obtain the very man you need. It would not prove difficult, since you speak English so fluently. You want a man to handle your correspondence in the United States—”

“Exactly, senor. You believe that you could do that for me? Do so, I beg you.”

“You have a telephone,” remarked Clyde, as he looked across the room. “Let me take the number. You will hear from me within a few hours.”

Clyde jotted down Menzone’s number. He folded the data which he had received and extended his hand to the South American. Menzone received it warmly. Impressed by Clyde’s promise of publicity and aid in obtaining a secretary, Menzone was gracious to the extreme. He accompanied his visitor to the door and bowed as Clyde departed.

As he took the elevator, Clyde’s last glance toward Menzone’s apartment showed the South American still standing in the opened doorway. Menzone was smiling, apparently pleased because he had been interviewed. Yet there was something sardonic about his expression that made a distinct impression upon Clyde Burke.

The Shadow’s agent, as he strolled from Athena Court, was convinced that Alvarez Menzone’s interest in South American transportation was not the only reason for his presence in Washington.

There was a shrewdness about Menzone that was difficult to analyze. Among the pictures which Clyde had received was one of Menzone himself. Studying the photograph, Clyde could observe the peculiar, lurking smile that appeared permanently upon the lips of Alvarez Menzone.

Clyde had missed this out at the Club Rivoli. He had not seen Menzone closely there. Since his interview with the South American, however, Clyde was convinced of The Shadow’s wisdom in covering this stranger in Washington. The photograph — Clyde studied it more intensely as he traveled toward his office in a cab — gave Menzone the sleek, crafty expression of a villain in an old-time melodrama.

AT the office, Clyde began to arrange his material for a syndicated story. This was Sunday-feature stuff without question. The Pan-American Convention had not yet begun its preliminary meetings. This story would break before the subject of extended transportation would come before the members of the convention.

Clyde visualized graphic pages: Menzone’s portrait — pictures of South American railway equipment — boxed tables of statistics — a huge map of South America with its dotted lines of proposed railway systems. His first task, however, was to prepare a news story that the Washington journals would gobble. Opening the case of a portable typewriter, Clyde began to pound the keys in two-finger reporter fashion.

The ringing of the telephone came as an interruption. Clyde lifted the receiver. He announced his name; also that of his news bureau. A single word, uttered in a strange, whispered voice, came to Clyde’s ear:

“Report.”

It was The Shadow! Clyde gazed toward the door, to make sure that no chance visitor was about to enter. Then, in brief, concise words, he gave the details of his interview with Alvarez Menzone. He stated that he had obtained a story which was marketable; he added that Menzone was ready to employ a secretary, if he could find the man.

“Call Menzone.” The Shadow’s order came in a sibilant hiss. “Tell him that you are sending him the man he needs. Harry Vincent — a friend of yours — recently arrived from New York.”

Clyde’s eyes opened wide. Harry Vincent! Clyde had not known that Harry was in Washington. Clyde had worked with Harry before; he knew Harry to be one of the most capable agents in The Shadow’s employ.

The Shadow had foreseen the possibility of Clyde Burke making a successful suggestion to Alvarez Menzone. He had summoned Harry Vincent here to be in readiness!

“Place story immediately.” This was The Shadow’s added order. “Menzone’s purpose in Washington must become known.”

The receiver clicked as Clyde was acknowledging the instructions. Clyde hung up; he waited a few minutes, then called Alvarez Menzone. He heard the persuasive voice of the South American across the wire.

“This is Burke,” informed Clyde. “I’ve found the man for you, Mr. Menzone.”

“To serve as my secretary?” Menzone’s question showed eager interest.

“Yes,” announced Clyde. “His name is Harry Vincent. He’ll be out to see you some time today. He’s a man from New York. Highly competent.”

“Excellent,” was Menzone’s rejoinder. The South American concluded the telephone conversation with effusive thanks.

CLYDE began to pound the typewriter. His story was shaping rapidly. The Shadow’s agent remembered the instructions. He glanced at his watch; it was not yet eleven.

Dropping the story for the moment, Clyde called the office of one of the Washington evening newspapers. He was connected with the city editor. Briefly, Clyde sketched the story that he had obtained from Alvarez Menzone. He read the lead paragraph of the copy that he had already written.

“Great stuff, Burke!” came the city editor’s commendation. “You say you’re still working on the story?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have a copy boy over to your office in fifteen minutes. Give him the story — and photographs. We’re going to break this in the next edition. We want it as an exclusive interview. You understand?”

Clyde acknowledged. He smiled as he hung up the receiver and went back to his typewriter pounding. He knew what this would mean: a first-page story of timely interest. Coming on the heels of recent railroad legislation in the United States; appearing in advance of the Pan-American Convention, this interview with Alvarez Menzone would bring the South American’s name into the limelight.

A new outlet for American millions! Clyde could see the editorial comment that the story would bring. The other Washington newspapers would pounce upon it. Alvarez Menzone would be interviewed by many before this day was ended.

Harry Vincent, already on his way to Menzone’s, would have immediate duties as secretary to the South American. Clyde smiled as he pounded out the concluding paragraph of his story, to complete the article before the copy boy’s arrival.

Alvarez Menzone was crashing the limelight. Why? Because The Shadow so desired. Somehow, The Shadow had foreseen this possibility. What was The Shadow’s purpose? Only The Shadow knew.

Spiderlike, The Shadow was spinning an invisible web. Here, in Washington, the being who battled crime was meeting craft with craft. Some master plotter of evil was lurking in the background. The Shadow sought to bring him to light.

Through the exploitation of Alvarez Menzone, the South American who had gained the acquaintanceship of Maurice Twindell, The Shadow was tending toward his goal. Action on the speedway was being followed by under-cover progress in Washington.

Through Clyde Burke, The Shadow had gained the points he needed. He was bringing Alvarez Menzone into prominence. He had placed his own man — Harry Vincent — close to Menzone.

The Shadow knew that this would bring results. The ultimate was something which The Shadow, alone, could foresee. The Shadow, master worker, was seeking to bring crime from its lair.