The Embassy Murders

CHAPTER XII THE NEW GAME

“BE ready, Thurk.”

Darvin Rochelle uttered these words as his dwarfish servant came creeping through the door at the rear of the office. Rising, with a smile, Rochelle gave new instructions: these in Agro.

“Co kay dake.” Rochelle was limping toward the anteroom as he spoke. “Bole zee fela. Bole teeba teen alk bata.”

With these words, Rochelle clumped through the doorway. He crossed the anteroom, opened the further door and held out his hand as a man arrived at the top of the marble stairway. It was Alvarez Menzone.

“Senor Menzone?” Rochelle’s welcome was a friendly one. Then: “Come in, senor. You are welcome.”

Limping through the anteroom, Rochelle conducted his guest to the office. Thurk was no longer in sight. Rochelle motioned Menzone to the chair beside the huge globe of the world. Menzone, like every other visitor, seemed intrigued by the huge sphere with its large scale map.

Rochelle seated himself behind the desk. Menzone, turning, picked up the briefcase that he had brought with him. From it he extracted his own map and its accompanying papers.

“My friend Twindell” — Menzone was using English, the language which seemed familiar to Rochelle — “has told me that your plan and mine have mutual points. Both of us are concerned with the creation of international good will.”

“My plans are philanthropic, senor.”

“And mine are commercial. That does not change the fact that they are very much alike.”

Rochelle began to eye the plans which Menzone had shown him. He shook his head, half doubtingly. Finally, he faced Menzone and smiled as he saw a steady gleam in the South American’s eye.

“Futile!” exclaimed Rochelle. “These plans could never work! The transportation facilities that you suggest would take rail lines to districts that will never thrive, even though developed. Millions would be lost through your plans, senor.”

“You are wrong!” retorted Menzone, in harsh accents. “You do not know the facts, senor! You are not acquainted with the work that I have done!”

“No?” Rochelle’s utterance showed contempt.

Rising from behind his desk, Rochelle limped in halting fashion to a large filing cabinet in the corner of the office. Menzone could hear him mutter as he opened a drawer.

“L — M -” Rochelle paused on the second letter. “M — E; M — E - N; ah, here it is, Menzone!”

ROCHELLE drew a file from the cabinet. He moved swiftly, despite his limp, as he returned to the desk. He threw down the folded file with triumph and showed elation as he stared at the perplexed South American.

“I say,” repeated Rochelle, with emphasis, “that millions would be lost through your plans. I also maintain that I am acquainted with your work. Let me add: millions lost by some are millions gained by others. You, Alvarez Menzone, would gain where others would lose.”

“You accuse me—”

“I have the facts.” Rochelle grinned fiendishly. “This file, senor, is a complete record of your past. Let us see what Alvarez Menzone has done!”

Rochelle opened the file. While Menzone clenched and unclenched his fists, the man with the limp calmly proceeded with his denunciation.

“The great nitrate swindle,” he remarked, “had its inception at Antofagasta, in 1919. A certain Alvarez Menzone was the originator of that hapless scheme. It passed into other hands — with profit to Menzone — who left Chile shortly afterward. The bubble burst; those who remained were the ones who took the blame.

“We turn to Bahia, in 1921. We find Alvarez Menzone engaged in the promotion of a steamship line for the Amazon River. This comes close to transportation, senor. Half a million was subscribed; yet steamships were never purchased. The funds of the Amazon steamship line disappeared very mysteriously.

“The defunct airport at Asuncion, Paraguay. That was another scheme of transportation which failed in 1924. Presumably, the time for such development of air lines had not yet arrived. Actually, the failure of the Asuncion airport can be attributed to the scheming of its promoter — Alvarez Menzone.”

Rochelle paused to study his visitor. Menzone’s face was set. Rochelle waited.

“Continue,” ordered the South American.

“Bogota, Colombia, 1926,” read Rochelle. “An expansion of the traction lines, to develop the outlying sections of the city. That was a double swindle. Rusted tracks — vacant lots — those alone remain as testimony to the loss of many thousands.

“Lima, Peru, in 1929. A remarkable scheme to develop air lines radiating from the Peruvian capital. Such lines now exist, but they are not the ones proposed by Alvarez Menzone. The overthrow of the existing government in Peru was given as the cause for failure; actually, the swindling methods of Alvarez Menzone were responsible.”

“Continue.” Menzone’s tone showed confidence.

“La Paz, Bolivia, 1930,” remarked Rochelle. “You were there at that time, Menzone; but something went wrong with your plans. You appeared in Caracas, in 1931. You started plans for a coastal steamship line in the Venezuelan city. That, too, came to an unexpected conclusion.

“From then on — nothing until now. But I can fill the gap, thanks to our mutual friend, Maurice Twindell. He tells me that you have come from Buenos Aires. That is quite likely. Argentina would naturally have attracted you. It was one country which you had not favored with your swindling presence.

“Financial conditions have not been good in the Argentine. So we find you here in Washington, Senor Swindler, ready to start a gigantic project in a country where your ways are not known.”

Rochelle rested back in his chair, when he had finished his impeachment. He was studying Alvarez Menzone as he had studied Croydon Herkimer. The swindler, however, was less perturbed than the profiteer had been.

“Your facts are interesting,” declared Menzone. “What do you intend to do with them, senor?”

“That,” returned Rochelle, archly, “depends entirely upon you, my good friend.”

MENZONE appeared mildly quizzical. Rochelle chuckled. Menzone was the type of man whom he had expected. A swindler deluxe, unperturbed by thoughts of exposure: such was the surface impression. Yet Rochelle knew that his visitor was actually playing a bold, though losing, game.

“Perhaps,” mused Rochelle, “I could find a way to endorse your present plans, senor. It may be that you are a leopard who can change his spots. Tell me — what has been your reception at the South American legations?”

“A welcome one,” returned Menzone calmly. “In fact, senor, I can say that they are more friendly toward plans for commercial development than they are for proposals of mere peace.

“Perhaps — this is only a suggestion, senor — I might make the way easy for someone such as yourself. The legations, senor, do not have those files which you have showed me.”

“But should they gain them,” parried Rochelle, “your visit to Washington would be ended, senor.”

Rochelle had struck home. Menzone knew it. The South American bowed. It was his signal of defeat. Rochelle understood the gesture. He arose and stamped around his desk. He came to a limping pause as he neared Menzone’s chair. Leaning on his cane, he clapped his free hand upon his visitor’s shoulder.

“Look!” he ordered.

Menzone turned in the direction of Rochelle’s gaze. The man with the limp turned out his hand and pointed to the globe of the world. He gave the sphere a twirl; he stopped it so that the continent of South America was predominant.

“There,” declared Rochelle, “is the empire which I intend to rule! Ah, senor. You are surprised! You do not see how a man of peace can gain a continent. That is because I have deceived you. I am a man who seeks war — not peace.

“You said that we had much in common. You were right — but you did not know that your pretended statement was a true one. Your game has been to talk of South American development while you pocket profits. My game has been to further international strife while I scheme for warfare.

“Look! You who know South America will understand. Paraguay has warred upon Bolivia, in hope of gaining Gran Chaco. Let us suppose that Colombia and Ecuador should ally to gain disputed territory from Brazil and Peru. What would then result, senor?”

“An alliance for defense,” responded Menzone, with a leer that matched Rochelle’s. “The Acre dispute would be forgotten.”

“And Venezuela?” Rochelle laid his finger on the globe.

“Ah, senor!” exclaimed Menzone, in crafty delight. “I see it now! Bolivar freed Colombia from Spain. He was from Venezuela. His countrymen have not forgotten the land which they think is theirs. Venezuela would join with Brazil and Peru!”

Half rising, Menzone thrust a long finger forward and tapped the portion of the map which represented Bolivia. A second finger extended widely, to rest upon Peru. Menzone’s hand moved.

“An alliance here!” expressed Menzone. “Peru and Bolivia, to regain provinces wrested from them years ago by Chile. South America torn by war, senor!”

“Exactly,” smiled Rochelle. “What do you think of Argentina, senor?”

“Neutral — for a time,” returned Menzone. “The same with Uruguay. Buenos Aires and Montevideo are close, senor.” He clasped his hands together in an indicative gesture. “But they will join, senor, on one side or the other.”

“Good,” decided Rochelle. “I value your opinion, senor. But I can tell” — he was limping back to the desk — “the question that is in your mind. A continent is ready for war. How will it start? Am I right? Is that your question?”

“Si, senor,” nodded Menzone eagerly.

“The making of war,” declared Rochelle, “is in my safe. Documents — chiefly correspondence — have been obtained to set a continent ablaze. Messages have passed between the governments of South American nations and their Washington legations. Other messages have come to the state department of the United States.

“Singly, these documents are of little value. Released at once, in different capitals, they will create havoc. In preparation for the Pan-American Convention, the authorities of every South American country have expressed their views very plainly — too plainly — on the matter of boundaries.”

“I can see,” laughed Menzone.

“Yes,” resumed Rochelle. “What, for instance, would happen in Colombia and Ecuador if the people of Bogota and Quito learned that Peru, in settling the Acre question with Brazil, should express a desire to extend northern and western boundaries into Colombia and Ecuador?”

“There would be excitement in Colombia and Ecuador,” decided Menzone.

“Excitement?” Rochelle laughed. “There would be riot! Jingoists in Bogota and Quito would dominate popular thought. Those factions, Menzone, are waiting for my word. Only one step prevents the completion of my plan.

“A few nights ago” — Rochelle eyed Menzone narrowly — “the attache of a certain foreign legation was attacked while on the speedway — across the Potomac River. I am speaking of Lito Carraza. You have heard the name?”

“I read about him in the newspapers, senor. In fact, I had passed the very spot not long before.”

“You know the man I mean. That is sufficient. My plans, Menzone, have passed the mere state of creating havoc in Colombia and Ecuador. They are also ready to cause retaliatory measures in Peru, Brazil, and Venezuela. To reach perfection, they must justify Bolivia’s entrance into the grand alliance.

“The correspondence which Lito Carraza carried would have created the result that I desired. The papers are now safely guarded — in the vault of Carraza’s legation. To obtain them, I need a man who can gain access to that embassy: one whose craft is equal to the task of entering the vault unseen.”

“Difficult,” suggested Menzone. “You would need a man, senor, who could discover the combination of the vault.”

“No. I possess the combination. My espionage has been far-reaching. But I am afraid to intrust the task to mere safe-crackers. Failure would disturb my final plans. Suppose” — Rochelle was tapping the file on his desk — “that this information should be forgotten. Would that promise spur you to do the work I want?”

Menzone smiled broadly. This was an offer that evidently pleased him.

“I am at your service, senor,” he declared. “But you have forgotten one thing. What good will it be for me to interest American capital in railways for the southern continent? If war is to break loose—”

“You are wise,” interposed Rochelle. “But you need have no worry of the future. First, by working swiftly, you can start your scheme. War will end it; you will not be blamed when millions of dollars are lost.

“Then afterward — if you continue to serve me well — your opportunity will come. You will have a place in my empire, Menzone! Beginning with tonight” — Rochelle’s tone brooked no opposition — “you are in my service. If you succeed in gaining the correspondence that I require, there will be further work for you.

“Your activities will be covered by your railway promotion, just as mine are covered by the International Peace Alliance. If you succeed, Menzone, you will become my chief aid. Then you will learn the secrets of my system. Do you accept?”

“Si, senor,” responded Menzone, with a knowing smile.

“That is well,” laughed Rochelle. He tapped the file in significant fashion. “If you had refused, the publication of the truth about you would be my answer. Remember, Menzone” — Rochelle was adopting the tone that he had used with Herkimer — “that you have no alternative. I hold you thus.”

Leering, the limping fiend extended his left hand and clenched it like a fist.

AGAIN, Menzone bowed. His smile, however, showed that the arrangement was satisfactory to him. Rochelle gleamed with evil satisfaction.

“You are in my service.” Rochelle reached into a desk drawer and produced a small pamphlet. “Therefore, you may receive communications from me. You may also be forced to talk with me, by telephone — or with others in my service.

“For this purpose, we use the rudiments of the new international language — Agro. You can learn it from this little book. It is simple and easily understood. Keep the pamphlet until you have learned its contents. Be sure that it reaches no hands other than your own.

“Between now and the night when I shall require your aid, you can master this simple language. When I give the word for action, you will obey.”

“With pleasure, senor,” declared Menzone, with another bow.

“Come.” Rochelle arose. “Our meeting is ended. Remember its details, Menzone. You can come here, when necessary. Our pretended activities in the cause of peace will be sufficient coverage.”

Limping to the anteroom, Darvin Rochelle conducted his visitor to the marble staircase. Leaning on his cane, Rochelle watched Menzone’s departure. As an attendant opened the front door, Menzone turned toward the stairway. At the top, he saw Rochelle, his left hand raised in token of farewell.

As Menzone gazed, Rochelle’s clinging fingers formed a fist. It was a reminder of Rochelle’s power. Menzone’s answer was a glittering smile: the recognition of one schemer for another.

The outer door closed. Darvin Rochelle strode haltingly back into his office, to find Thurk, the dwarf awaiting.

“Sovo,” declared Rochelle. “Exat vodo zo sovo sovo. Co kay zee toko, Thurk. Kay zay sovo sovo.”

A pause; then with a wise gleam in his eye, Rochelle added, warningly:

“Alk alk zee thone, Thurk. Bole zee fela — foro.”

The dwarf grinned and nodded. Darvin Rochelle, still thinking of Alvarez Menzone, clenched his left fist. Thurk copied the gesture.

Rochelle chuckled. His agents had never attempted to betray him, for he held them in his power. Alvarez Menzone would be like the rest. But should a final emergency arise, there was one upon whom Rochelle could rely without fail. That one was Thurk.

The evil-faced dwarf was completely the creature of the insidious fiend whom he served.