The Embassy Murders

CHAPTER V BIRDS OF A KIND

THE next morning, a taxicab pulled up before the door of Darvin Rochelle’s massive residence. A portly, red-faced man alighted and noted the banner which hung above the entrance. He recognized its odd insignia as that of the International Peace Alliance.

Ascending the steps, the visitor rang the bell. A servant admitted him. The man looked curiously about the pretentious hallway. He eyed the marble stairs that led to the second floor.

“I want to see Darvin Rochelle,” he rasped.

“Very well, sir,” returned the attendant. “Your name, please?”

“Croydon Herkimer.”

“Wait here, sir.”

The servant went upstairs. He rang the door of the anteroom. A buzzer clicked. The servant went through the anteroom to find Darvin Rochelle seated behind his office desk. The man with the limp was dictating letters to a stenographer.

“Mr. Croydon Herkimer is here, sir,” announced the attendant.

“Ah! Excellent,” exclaimed Rochelle. “Tell him to come up at once. Usher him here right away.”

Rochelle nodded to the stenographer and motioned toward the door. The girl followed the attendant.

As soon as the door to the anteroom had closed, Rochelle pressed the secret buzzer. The door at the rear of the office opened. Thurk, the dwarf, bounded in.

Rochelle went to the door of the anteroom. He turned and spoke low, jargoned words, in the language which he used with Thurk. The dwarf nodded.

Rochelle opened the door of the anteroom and crossed the outer apartment. As he opened the door to the hall, Croydon Herkimer appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Welcome,” declared Rochelle, extending his hand. “Come into my office, Mr. Herkimer.”

HERKIMER received the handshake. Rochelle hobbled through the anteroom and leaned on his cane while he opened the door to the office. Herkimer entered. Rochelle followed and guided his visitor to a chair at the left side of the desk.

Thurk had disappeared. Rochelle, seating himself behind the desk, was alone with the man who had come to see him.

Croydon Herkimer was fascinated by the appearance of the office. He turned to eye the massive globe behind his left shoulder. His gaze roamed to the expensive mirror across the room. It finally reached the desk; then centered upon the benign faced man behind it.

“You like my furnishings?” questioned Rochelle.

“Yes,” returned Herkimer. “This peace alliance business appears to be profitable.”

Rochelle smiled at the slur.

“The International Peace Alliance,” he declared, “has many worthy contributors. Ours is a philanthropic enterprise, Mr. Herkimer. At the same time, we have money to spend — for those whom we consider to be in accord with our motives. That, I hope, applies in your case, Mr. Herkimer.”

“That’s why I came to Washington,” returned Herkimer bluntly. “I hope you remember the terms of the agreement that you sent me. Here is the itemized list for the goods on which I negotiated. I am to receive the five percent that you promised me as purchasing agent.”

“Exactly.” Rochelle smiled as he took the list. He checked item after item; then looked up with a quizzical expression. “Two hundred and forty thousand dollars?”

“That’s the total,” returned Herkimer.

“Quite odd,” remarked Rochelle. He drew another list from his desk drawer. “I gave you this assignment, Mr. Herkimer, because I anticipated that you could obtain better prices in the Middle West. At the same time, I received estimates here in Washington.

“Flour for the Far East. Woolen goods to Turkey and Armenia. Machinery to South America. On all these items you are higher. Why, the total of my list is sixty thousand less than yours. I expected it to be twenty thousand more.”

A stern look appeared upon Croydon Herkimer’s bloated face. The portly man said nothing as he adjusted a pair of spectacles to his nose. He drew a paper from his pocket, unfolded it and began to read.

“This is your letter, Mr. Rochelle,” he declared at last. “My lawyers in Chicago tell me that it constitutes a contract. Your International Peace Alliance will be liable to a lawsuit if it fails to go through with these purchases.”

“A lawsuit?” quizzed Rochelle. “For what sum, Mr. Herkimer — the amount of your commission — twelve thousand dollars?”

“More than that.”

“Naturally.” Darvin Rochelle laughed harshly. “For the amount, I presume, that you intended to take as graft. I know your game, Herkimer!”

SEIZING his cane, Rochelle arose to his feet. With his left hand, he pointed an accusing forefinger at the man across the desk.

“One hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” announced Rochelle, “should be the purchasing price that you require. Instead, you ask two hundred and forty. That means a profit to you of eighty thousand — to say nothing of the exorbitant commission you would receive — twelve thousand against the eight which is your rightful due.

“I have your figures, Herkimer.” Rochelle’s teeth gleamed in a sudden, vicious smile. “They are all the proof that I need. They fit in” — Rochelle triumphantly produced a file of papers — “with these!”

Herkimer stared at the packet in Rochelle’s hand. The man with the cane laughed in raucous fashion.

“Mr. Croydon Herkimer!” Rochelle sneered as he announced the name. “War-time profiteer — the man who made half a million by swindling the United States government — then lost it through foolish speculation. I wanted to test you, Herkimer. I did. I have found you out. Herkimer” — Rochelle’s tone was lowered — “I could send you to prison for life!”

Croydon Herkimer was trembling. Slouched in his chair, the portly man stared bewildered. He looked as though he wanted to snatch the file of papers from Rochelle’s hand. Leering, Rochelle forestalled such effort.

“There are duplicates,” he laughed. “The original portfolio is in my safe. Back to your old game, eh, Herkimer? You profited through war — now you seek to profit through peace.”

Terror showed on Herkimer’s bulbous face. Rochelle threw the file of papers on the desk. Dropping his cane, he squared in his chair and leaned both elbows on the desk while he tilted his head forward.

“I tested you, Herkimer,” he said, in a new and confidential tone, “because I need you. Do you understand? I need you. Not for this list. Bah!” Rochelle tossed aside the tabulations that Herkimer had given him. “That is trifling. Take your eighty-four thousand and let the peace hounds pay for it. That is the blind for the real game.

“War, Herkimer! There lies the real profit. Millions, man! Think of this — a continent at war — munitions and supplies coming from a single source! You and I tapping the unending spring of wealth. Does that interest you, my friend?”

Herkimer’s jaw had dropped. The man was gaping in profound astonishment. Rochelle arose, seized his cane and hobbled around the desk. Herkimer turned and watched him reach the big globe.

ROCHELLE spun the sphere, then stopped it. With his left hand he pointed to the enlarged map of South America.

“Here is my plan,” he asserted with a gleaming grin. “Bolivia and Paraguay are at war. Why? Over a strip of useless land called Gran Chaco. A boundary dispute — which seems small to us here in the States — but it is only one of many that exist through South America.

“Let us start here with Colombia. That country has never forgotten Panama. Should Colombia begin a war, mediation from the United States would be of no avail. What has Colombia to gain? This portion of Brazil. See — the Colombian claims are here plainly marked.

“Ecuador, which adjoins Colombia, claims this portion of Peru. Suppose that those two nations should be stirred to work together, each to claim its own desired portion of another country. I shall tell you exactly what would transpire.”

Rochelle’s finger ran down the map to indicate a territory marked Acre, on the Brazilian side of the Peruvian border. He tapped that spot with significance.

“Brazil and Peru,” he stated, “would settle their boundary dispute in amicable fashion, so that they could form a natural alliance to resist Colombia and Ecuador. Bolivia, who feels that Paraguay started the Gran Chaco dispute, would join the alliance. So would Venezuela, for that country claims a portion of Colombia.

“Four countries: Brazil, Venezuela, Peru, and Bolivia, forming a belt across South America. Listen to the next step. Bolivia and Peru, gaining tremendous power and backing, would seek to regain the territory that they lost to Chile during the disastrous War of 1879 to 1883. Bolivia would seek Antofagasta, the port that she lost. Peru would fight to settle the Tacna-Arica dispute once and forever!

“A continent at war! All except Argentina and Uruguay, with reason to suppose that they would become embroiled in conflict. In every country, Jingoists would rule. And I, Herkimer” — Rochelle swelled proudly — “control a secret cabal of Jingoism throughout the continent of South America.”

Croydon Herkimer was gripping the arms of his chair. Darvin Rochelle’s change from enmity to friendship had captured the profiteer’s imagination. Herkimer was nodding like a toy figure, drinking in every word that Rochelle uttered.

“South America,” resumed Rochelle, in a tone both confident and persuasive, “would become a vast empire. Only through that step could peace be guaranteed. Those out of power would come in — for official governments would break as they did in Europe.”

“And then—” Herkimer’s voice was breathlessly expectant.

“I shall be the emperor,” announced Darvin Rochelle, in a solemn tone. “By proxy, perhaps even, if circumstances so decide, through my affiliation with different men who will rule portions of the continent. But whatever the ultimate outcome, I shall be the controller. I shall be heralded as a bringer of peace — I - the man who shall have brought chaos to a continent!”

TURNING from the spot where he stood, Rochelle gave the mammoth globe a parting spin. While the sphere revolved, the dreamer of empires stumped back to his chair behind the desk. Crouching there, he eyed Croydon Herkimer with challenging gaze.

“Remember!” Rochelle’s tone carried a fierce warning. “I hold you helpless, Herkimer!” The speaker clenched his fist with a crushing motion. “I am giving you the opportunity to gain millions only because your past record shows you capable of playing the game that I have played.

“As soon as war is launched, we shall begin a tremendous scale of profiteering. By building fortunes while war is in progress, I shall be able to dominate when peace arrives. You will be rewarded for your part.”

“I understand.”

“Remain in Washington. While you are here, prepare a complete scheme for the furnishing of padded supplies to the nations which will be at war. When men fight, they forget expense. Munitions, tractors, field equipment, uniforms — everything, Herkimer, must be provided. You will be my appointed agent to handle the profits that will come through war.”

Rochelle arose and limped to the front of the desk. He gripped Herkimer’s arm and drew the visitor toward the anteroom. All the way to the marble steps, Rochelle was buzzing encouragement into his new agent’s ear.

“The scheme is ready,” was his final statement. “I have gained nearly all that I require. The making of war is my task; the reaping of the harvest will be yours. But remember!” Again Rochelle’s voice took on its tone of insidious threat. “One false step will prove your ruin!”

“I am with you,” affirmed Herkimer, in a positive tone. “With you, Rochelle, to the finish!”

The man with the limp rested on his cane while he watched his portly visitor descend the marble staircase. Then, with a quick twist of his body, he swung back toward the anteroom, halting with each of his peculiar strides.

When the stenographer arrived in Rochelle’s office, in answer to a ring, she found the head of the International Peace Alliance beaming benignly as he sat behind his mahogany desk. The mask of kindness had replaced the face of evil. Once again, Darvin Rochelle had become an advocate of worldwide peace.

There was no sign of Thurk, the dwarf. The monster who aided the fiendish master had departed. Schemes of murder were on the shelf. Darvin Rochelle, man of integrity, was ready to resume his day’s routine in the cause of international welfare.