The Embassy Murders

CHAPTER XVIII THE MEETING

DARVIN ROCHELLE was standing on the first floor of his palatial mansion. Three of his servants were close by. Rochelle was speaking to them in English.

“You are ready?”

Nods were the response. Each man showed a gleaming revolver. Rochelle smiled.

“Be on guard. Our meeting must not be disturbed. Two more are to come: Senor Menzone and Miss Debronne. Ring once when Menzone arrives; then send him up. Twice for Miss Debronne.”

Chimes were tolling the hour of midnight when Darvin Rochelle turned toward the marble staircase. Rochelle limped to the steps; moved upward, then resumed his halting pace as he passed through the darkened anteroom.

The buzz of voices sounded as Rochelle entered his office and closed the door behind him. Seated about the room were trusted minions: Maurice Twindell, Whistler Ingliss, and the gang leader, Bugs Ritler. Two of Ritler’s mobsmen were present as guards. They occupied a corner of the room toward the anteroom. Between them, trussed on the floor, were three prisoners: Vic Marquette, Harry Vincent, and Clyde Burke.

The gags had been removed. Yet none of the three captives attempted to voice an outcry. The presence of the mobsters, the handles of big revolvers jutting from their hips, were sufficient to command silence.

Darvin Rochelle was smiling as he sat behind his huge desk. All the gloss had gone from his sometime silky countenance. Darvin Rochelle was a fiend unmasked, gloating as he began to outline the way to final triumph.

“Two members of our band,” declared Rochelle, “have not yet arrived. I shall reserve the details of our coming operations until they join us. A few preliminary remarks, however, may be appropriate.

“Tonight, we shall deal in wholesale assassination. Within this envelope” — he was holding up a sealed packet — “I have complete plans for the slaughter of nine prominent South Americans.

“Each death will be simple of execution. I have prepared all details and will appoint the proper workers. Moreover” — Rochelle’s smile was broadening — “I have arranged for the planting of false clews that will place the perpetration of crime upon men who are actually innocent.

“After our instructions have been given, we shall proceed with another task. We have visitors tonight” — Rochelle was indicating the prisoners with a sweep of his hands — “who have responded to our urge to attend this meeting. Perhaps they may have statements of their own to make. Perhaps not. It does not matter. We shall dispose of our guests in fitting fashion whether they choose to talk or to remain silent.

“One is a secret-service operative.” Rochelle pointed to Marquette. “We have dealt with his ilk before. Another is a newspaper correspondent who showed overanxiety in his quest for news.” Rochelle indicated Clyde Burke; then pointed to Harry Vincent. “Here we have a secretary who betrayed his trust. He tried to delve into his employer’s secrets.

“Fortunately, his employer was my competent lieutenant, Alvarez Menzone. To Menzone, my friends, belongs the credit for the final step which brought us to this time for action. He gained the last papers that I needed. Tonight, we embark upon the slaughter that will throw a continent into chaos — that will make you, the companions of Darvin Rochelle, important factors in the building of a mighty empire!”

Rochelle pointed emphatically to the massive globe, upon which the conical outline of South America showed most prominently. While the fiend who plotted war, was chuckling in unrepressed triumph, a buzzer sounded on the desk.

“Ah!” exclaimed Rochelle. “Menzone is here. He will be with us shortly. I left word for him to come directly to this meeting. You, Twindell, deserve credit for forming contact with Alvarez Menzone.

“The newest among us, Menzone has proven his competence. He will share in the deeds that I have planned for this night. We can count upon him—”

Rochelle paused. There was a rap from the other side of the door to the anteroom. Rochelle issued a friendly summons to enter. The door swung inward.

FOR a brief instant all within Rochelle’s office stared blankly. Then came harsh gasps. The darkness of the anteroom was moving. Like a creature from some hidden vault of space, a form was emerging from blackness. While hushed fiends still gazed, the outline became clear.

A being clad totally in black. A form enshrouded by the folds of an inky-hued cloak; features concealed beneath the brim of a broad slouch hat. Such was the weird shape that Rochelle and his minions saw.

Beneath the hat brim were two burning eyes. Their fierce glare held a menace. From two hands incased in gloves of black projected mammoth automatics with tunneled muzzles trained upon the trapped fiends who shrank before them.

“The Shadow!”

The gasp of recognition came from Bugs Ritler. The gang leader had seen the destructive power of this mighty fighter, the night that Lito Carraza had been saved from death upon the Virginia speedway.

Then, The Shadow had met armed mobsters and had stilled their fire with slaughtering lead from his automatics. Now, The Shadow had come upon a group that was expectant of no danger.

Fiends sat helpless as The Shadow swept into the room. Circling toward the empty chair at the side of Rochelle’s desk, The Shadow kept his guns trained on his clustered foemen. The mobsters who guarded the prisoners, feared to move.

Each villain who viewed the muzzles of The Shadow’s automatics, thought that both guns were directed fully upon him. The black cloak swished; its crimson lining showed momentarily as The Shadow paused, just past the huge globe of the world.

From this position, The Shadow covered everyone with the exception of Darvin Rochelle. Yet the master plotter was afraid to make a move. Rising, he had gripped the desk with his left hand while he held his cane clutched in his right. Motionless as a statue, he stared toward The Shadow — so close that a quick swing of either automatic would mean prompt doom for the man with the limp.

“I have come,” hissed The Shadow, “to end your schemes. You have prisoners. Release them!”

The command was directed toward one of the mobsters. Cowering, the man stooped and, tugged at the cords which bound Vic Marquette.

“Stand up!”

The mobster ceased his work as he heard the sibilant command. With hands above his head, he stood against the wall. Vic Marquette, struggling free from his loosened bonds, looked toward The Shadow. He understood the order that showed in the glaring eyes. While helpless crooks watched, Vic released the cords that held Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke.

Three disarmed men were now at The Shadow’s call. Guns were available, for they could seize them from the crooks. But as they waited for The Shadow’s bidding, the sound of a creepy laugh made the released prisoners wait. Staring with the startled crooks, they heard The Shadow speak.

“You are awaiting Alvarez Menzone.” The Shadow’s words were directed toward Darvin Rochelle. “You might continue to wait him forever. Alvarez Menzone is dead. He died in Caracas in 1931. That, Rochelle, is why your records ended.

“Alvarez Menzone was a murderer. He died at my bidding. His death was unknown. I, The Shadow, knew his past. That was why I, The Shadow, chose to resurrect the personality of Alvarez Menzone to gain access to your schemes!”

The Shadow’s head moved upward. The folds of the cloak collar dropped away. The umbra from the hat brim vanished in the light. Darvin Rochelle stared aghast. The face which he and his minions were viewing was that of Alvarez Menzone!

THERE was no need for a further word. The truth had explained itself. Not once had The Shadow appeared while Alvarez Menzone was present. The briefcase which Menzone had carried — within its bulky interior had been more than mere papers. That portfolio had included the black garb of The Shadow!

Harry Vincent understood. When Menzone had returned to the apartment tonight, he must have come guised as The Shadow. There he had found Harry and Vic Marquette planning the capture of Alvarez Menzone. The Shadow had departed. Returning, as Menzone, he had easily trapped the trappers!

Vic Marquette understood. He realized that The Shadow, guised as Alvarez Menzone, had deliberately roused his suspicions to draw Vic on the trail of the plotters with whom The Shadow — as Menzone — had formed contact.

The capture of Harry Vincent and Vic Marquette had been essential, once they had pried into the affairs of Alvarez Menzone. So had Clyde Burke, spying on Whistler Ingliss, been taken prisoner while The Shadow stood by.

The Shadow, knowing that he would be present, had no fears for the safety of the prisoners. But he had not been willing to risk any step that might have caused Darvin Rochelle to postpone the meeting at which all the crooks were due.

Darvin Rochelle understood. As Alvarez Menzone, The Shadow had walked by the downstairs servants, unmolested. Briefcase in hand, he had donned his black raiment in the anteroom.

But there was another question that lay unanswered in Rochelle’s startled brain. As though divining it, The Shadow answered — not by word, but by action.

While his right hand automatic covered the crooks, his left arm rose to sweep the fold of the cloak collar about the false features of Alvarez Menzone. The left hand disappeared momentarily; it reappeared, carrying a white envelope with the automatic. The envelope dropped to the table.

“The stolen correspondence,” hissed The Shadow, “is within that envelope. The documents that Alvarez Menzone delivered were spurious. They will be rejected as false when they reach South America. Your schemes, Darvin Rochelle, have failed completely.”

Rochelle’s left hand, gripping the desk, twitched itchingly. The master plotter wanted to grasp that envelope. He feared to do so. He stared at The Shadow. He saw the burning eyes — the leveled automatics beneath. Close by, Rochelle observed that the eyes which the others thought were everywhere, were directed upon him alone!

With a dejected leer, Rochelle let the handle of his cane fall heavily upon the surface of the desk. Feigning fear, he stared toward those blazing eyes, which seemed to be looking through and past him.

All eyes were upon The Shadow. No one realized that Rochelle had given a signal. Before a single crook could utter a gasp; before one of the released prisoners saw the danger, Darvin Rochelle’s counterthrust had come.

The upper hemisphere of the huge globe had opened. Bobbing noiselessly from its interior was Thurk, the hideous dwarf. Poised, the monster was beginning his downward swing to drive his wicked, long-pointed knife toward the unprotected shoulders of The Shadow!