The Embassy Murders

CHAPTER XV THURK STRIKES

DARVIN ROCHELLE was walking up the marble steps that led to the second floor of his palatial residence. He was carrying his cane; as he reached the top, he used it to aid his halting limp.

A smile beamed on the face of Darvin Rochelle. He had made his trip downstairs in company with Alvarez Menzone, after an excellent interview with that capable worker. He had spent a while on the ground floor; now he was returning to his office. It was nine o’clock and Rochelle was expecting another visitor.

Reaching the office, Rochelle found Thurk, the dwarf, crouching in a corner. Chuckling, Rochelle addressed his trusted minion:

“Kay kode. Kay zay sovo. Sovo sovo, Thurk. Alk rojo eef bole. Co kay atex deek golo. Kay zay voso. Alk rejo bole.”

Rochelle’s use of Agro displayed an interesting variant in the term, “rojo eef.” The use of the negative “eef” with the verb “rojo” signified “not.” In English, the statement signified in full: [2]

“He has gone. He is good. Very good, Thurk. I did not need you. The man that is coming now. He is bad. I shall need you.”

Thurk’s eyes bulged. It was the dwarf’s way of expressing eagerness. Crouching in his corner, Thurk’s shape seemed monstrous. Long, thin arms, attached to a dumpy body, gave him the appearance of an octopus.

Rochelle returned to the door of the anteroom. He made a significant gesture and spoke the words:

“Bole kade golo.”

Thurk understood the meaning: “Go there now.” The dwarf arose. Rochelle continued through the anteroom and waited, steady as a statue, at the top of the stairs.

A FEW minutes passed. Rochelle saw his alert attendant step forward to open the front door. The servant below had spied someone approaching the house. Croydon Herkimer appeared as the door opened.

The bulky visitor saw Rochelle standing at the top of the stairs. He ascended to receive a welcome greeting. Rochelle limped toward the office, with Herkimer following.

The man with the limp pointed to the chair at the side of the desk. Herkimer took it; Rochelle occupied his accustomed seat behind the desk.

“You have completed the arrangements?” he asked promptly.

“Yes,” returned Herkimer. “Here is everything.”

The profiteer produced a small portfolio that he had carried under his arm. He placed it upon the desk. Rochelle opened it. He began to go over sheets of statements. He chuckled.

“Companions in crime, eh?” he questioned. “The old guard — the others who shared your profiteering years ago. This is excellent, Herkimer. Excellent. You have done great work, providing me with these names.”

“That was not my purpose!” exclaimed Herkimer in alarm. “I chose those firms because I knew they would work under cover—”

“You have simplified my task,” interposed Rochelle serenely. “I can deal with them directly now. All that I have to do is study their past record. Then I can handle them as I handled you.”

Herkimer showed repressed indignation. Crooked by nature, he was hypocrite enough to worry about his own reputation. He realized that he had played into Rochelle’s hands.

“Do not be perturbed.” Rochelle’s tone was a suave purr. “All will go well with you, Herkimer. I am making matters easier for you. I shall reward you for your services. But first” — Rochelle was tapping on the desk — “I am going to take you into my confidence.”

Herkimer shuddered as he met Rochelle’s insidious gaze. He had a feeling that he was about to learn facts that he would prefer not to know.

“My plans are completed,” declared Rochelle. “Six men have died, Herkimer, because I wanted them silenced. My only failure came with the seventh. I needed correspondence from a certain legation. I failed to obtain it through murder.”

Again Herkimer shuddered. Rochelle continued:

“Then I obtained the services of a first-class lieutenant. Alvarez Menzone — a man from South America. He robbed the embassy vault. He gained the needed correspondence.

“I have sent the papers to the proper places. The first ones were of minor consequence. The final ones that Menzone brought were remarkable in their revelations. Their publication will create chaos — provided only that an act of violence is first committed.

“Tonight, Herkimer, I shall strike. I am assembling all of my minions. Each one will have an appointed task of murder. I shall depend upon my gang leader, Bugs Ritler, to show the way. He has assembled a crew of first-class cutthroats, Herkimer.”

Rochelle drew a sealed envelope from his desk drawer. He flourished it before the eyes of his visitor.

“The names of nine men are in this envelope!” cackled Rochelle. “All are South Americans who at present are in Washington. Some are connected with legations. Others are here for the Pan-American Convention.”

Rochelle’s eyes steadied. His voice lowered to an insidious tone.

“All nine shall die tonight,” he rasped. “Wholesale assassination. Their deaths will create tremendous indignation. Murder will be attributed to the agents of other South American nations. Then will come my revelations.

“You see the result, Herkimer? War — impending now — will be unleashed. Millions will be our profit. Millions, Herkimer! Wealth for you — an empire for me!”

Herkimer steadied his hands against the edge of the desk. He was gasping in horror.

“Not — murder!” Herkimer’s voice showed fear of consequences. “I–I do not deal in murder, Rochelle!”

“What is warfare?” sneered Rochelle.

“Murder — perhaps,” admitted Herkimer. “But it — it is not assassination. No — no — I can not be a party to these crimes—”

“I talked with Menzone,” remarked Rochelle quietly. “He left just before you arrived. He seemed pleased with my scheme. He will be here, with my other henchmen. When I choose men, Herkimer” — Rochelle’s tone had hardened — “I pick those who prefer more than halfway measures.

“This is my ultimatum. You are with me — or against me. There is no middle course. Which is your choice?”

“I am against you!” exclaimed Herkimer. “That is my answer. You think that you hold me in your fist. You do — so long as you desist from your plan. If you attempt to expose my past, you will be forced to answer the charges that I bring against you.”

“I shall deny them.”

“Yes? I hardly think so. Your own activities will be curtailed. Your dreams of an empire will be ended.”

ROCHELLE had arisen. He was leaning on his cane, as he glowered at Herkimer. The profiteer, encouraged by his own outburst, no longer feared the man before him.

“I shall make a bargain with you, Rochelle,” he said shrewdly. “Give me back my list — give me the files which you hold concerning my past. Pay me a reasonable compensation for my silence. Then I shall do nothing to disturb your schemes of murder. Afterward, if your plans have succeeded, I shall be willing to deal with you—”

“Hypocrite!” snarled Rochelle. “It is not murder that repulses you. It is your own safety that you are considering. You want to make sure of profit — with no danger. You would like to hold the upper hand.

“You think that you can balk me. Try it. Compared to you, Herkimer, I am a benefactor of mankind. I cover my crimes, but I do not try to salve a selfish conscience. I refuse your terms. Again, I ask you for your answer.”

“You shall get it,” retorted Herkimer. “I have given you your last chance. You have refused it. I am leaving, Rochelle, and my first act will be to inform the Washington authorities of your insidious scheme. You have gone too deep to crawl out now. Try to expose my past. You will not be believed. That is my answer, Rochelle!”

Rochelle was gripping the desk with his free hand. He held his cane in his right. Herkimer, leaning forward, was watching it. Contemptuously, he was ready to risk a physical battle with Rochelle. It was in tune with Herkimer’s character. Big and powerful, he was a coward at heart. A man of weak appearance — as Rochelle — was the only type with whom he would seek a struggle.

Rochelle dropped the head of his cane against the desk. It seemed like a gesture of resignation. Herkimer laughed. He did not know that Rochelle had given an appointed signal. He did not know what was happening behind his back.

AS Rochelle’s cane thudded against the desk, the upper hemisphere of the big globe opened. From its interior came the form of Thurk, the dwarf. The evil creature popped forth with the speed of a jumping jack.

In his long, scrawny hand, he held a long, thin-bladed knife. With only an instant’s pause, Thurk swung forward and downward, to bury the death-dealing weapon deep between Croydon Herkimer’s unprotected shoulders!

The profiteer sank without a gasp. His body crumpled to the floor upon a square rug that rested beneath his chair. Thurk leaped from the globe and scrambled forward to crouch above his victim. Rochelle stood with an evil smile upon his face.

“Bole voke sovo, Thurk,” commended Rochelle. “Bole kade. Logo dake dake.”

Properly interpreted, Rochelle had said:

“You have done well, Thurk. Go. Then come back.”

The dwarf hoisted Herkimer’s body upon his shoulders. Gleefully, he staggered from the room through the door that led to the spiral staircase in the rear. On the small rug where Herkimer had lain, a pool of blood remained as evidence of murder.

Rochelle went to a closet and brought out a rug of the same size, but of different pattern. He moved the chair aside and placed the rug upon it. He went behind the desk. When Thurk returned, Rochelle pointed to the original rug with its blotting blood.

“Alk rajo eef kye,” he said; in English: “I do not want it.”

Thurk grinned. He folded the bloodstained rug and carried it from the room. The slight trace of crimson had seeped through. Rochelle covered it with the new rug and put the chair back in position. He closed the huge globe and resumed his customary chair.

The insidious leer on Rochelle’s features betrayed the fiend’s anticipation. To Darvin Rochelle, the violent death that Thurk had dealt to Croydon Herkimer was a mere appetizer to the feast of murder that was planned for this night of doom.