Shadowed Millions s-21

by Maxwell Grant

  with only one man. That is Hendrix, the principal one of the financiers.

  “I can handle Hendrix. That will avoid complications with Powell. Unless Powell learns of the others—”

  “You mean if he should learn of Ballou. Eh, senor?”

  “Not Ballou alone,” said Legira. “Those others, who are with Ballou. There is nothing to worry about so

  long as Ballou seems to be an individual by himself. But if his connections are discovered— well, it may

  spoil all, Lopez.”

  “Could you not watch Ballou, senor?”

  “I cannot move, Lopez. Surely, you must understand that. It is like a scales. A balance with Ballou and

  Powell. Either one could spoil the balance. That would end everything. Fortunately, Powell is watching

  me and is not concerned with Ballou—”

  The ring of a bell interrupted Legira's speech. The consul stared at his secretary. From below came the

  sound of Francisco's footsteps as the servant answered the door. Then the heavy tread ascended the

  stairway. Lopez went to meet the servant.

  The secretary's dark visage registered excitement when Lopez returned to the room. Legira looked at

  him questioningly.

  “It is Pete Ballou, senor,” declared Lopez. “He is down the stairs. He has a wish to see you.”

  “Tell Francisco to bring him up here,” ordered Legira in a low whisper. “Come back here right away,

  Lopez. Tell Francisco to be slow.”

  The secretary nodded. He left to dispatch the servant. He returned, and Legira gripped him by the

  shoulder.

  “They suspect already!” hissed Legira. “Stay here, Lopez. Listen, from behind the closet door. You

  understand?”

  Lopez nodded and hurried to the hiding place. Alvarez Legira looked about him nervously. Then, with a

  sudden shrug of his shoulder, he calmly resumed his chair and lighted a fresh cigarette.

  He was staring reflectively at a cloud of tobacco smoke when the footsteps of two men sounded from the

  stairs.

  CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW SEEKS

  FRANCISCO entered the room where Alvarez Legira was seated. He stood aside to allow another man

  to enter. Legira looked up placidly toward his visitor.

  The arrival was a man of middle height, stocky in build, and well dressed. His countenance was puzzling.

  It gave the appearance of frankness, despite the fact that the blue eyes had a steely glint.

  Only the lips of the smooth-shaven face carried a warning to those who might observe them closely.

  Those lips were smiling, as in greeting, but the corners carried a peculiar twist that belied the expression

  of friendliness.

  Pete Ballou was shrewd, but disarming. In this, he formed a marked contrast to Alvarez Legira, whose

  sallow face, thin lips, and pointed mustache denoted an intriguing nature.

  Ballou, not waiting for Legira's welcome, sat in the chair which Lopez had vacated. Francisco, at a sign

  from his master, walked from the room and went downstairs.

  Legira surveyed his visitor with a steadfast stare. The South American gave no sign that might have

  indicated either interest or curiosity regarding his visitor's purpose here. Ballou's smile hardened on his

  lips. A short, gruff laugh betrayed his true nature.

  “You want me to talk first?” he questioned.

  Legira shrugged his shoulders, almost imperceptibly.

  “All right,” declared Ballou. “I'll talk. What's more, I'll make it quick. I'm going to put it straight from the

  shoulder. I'm here to talk about the ten million you swung to-night.”

  “Ten million?”

  Legira's smooth, purring tone indicated a curious interest, as though he wondered to what the words “ten

  million” might refer.

  “Yes,” grunted Ballou. “The ten million dollars. Big money for the crowd down in Santander. Big

  money—if they get it.”

  Legira raised his cigarette holder to his lips and gave a series of short, quick puffs. His face was as placid

  as ever. He expressed no surprise.

  “You're smooth enough,” declared Ballou, with a chuckle. “There's no use trying to dodge me, though.

  I've got the whole lay, Legira. You're all set to get ten million dollars. Any time you want it, any way you

  want it.

  “Pretty smart—but not smart enough. I'm telling you, now, that it's not going to do you a bit of good.”

  Legira remained inscrutable.

  “Play dumb if you want,” continued Ballou. “Play dumb, but listen. I'm going to give you a break.

  Fifty-fifty.”

  “Fifty-fifty?”

  “Yes. Five million to you; five million to me. Your business is yours; my business is mine. There's the

  proposition!”

  “I HAVE requested no proposition,” said Legira suavely.

  “Why stall?” Ballou's question was a harsh one. “You're in a tough spot, Legira. I'm showing you a good

  way out. Listen to me—we've put you where you can't move. Savvy?

  “You've raised ten million dollars, very nicely. But the people that are giving it to you aren't so dumb. This

  bird Powell has been watching you all along. I guess I'm not telling you news when I say that.

  “If he sees anything phony about you, he'll tell those bankers that are putting up the dough. He's their

  investigator. One bad report from him, and the deal will be off!”

  “Very interesting,” observed Legira calmly.

  “You're foxy,” said Ballou. “You know we don't want to tip off Powell any more than you do. Because if

  you don't get ten million, we can't get it. But if it comes to a pinch, we'll queer your game right at

  headquarters by letting Powell get wind of us. Just remember that!”

  “Thank you,” commented Legira.

  “Powell won't get wise,” resumed Ballou. “You won't tell him; we won't tell him. You're going to get that

  ten million dollars. Right. But after you get it, we'll take it away from you. You're the only man who can

  get it, and we're going to watch you all the time.

  “But if you bungle it, by waiting too long, there'll be nothing in it for any one. So we're giving you a break.

  Take the ten million, and be quick about it. Pass over half, and keep the rest. What do you say?”

  “You have spoken words that interest me greatly, Mr. Ballou,” remarked Legira. “One word in particular

  was most noteworthy.”

  “What was that?”

  “The word we. Just what do you mean by we, Mr. Ballou? I should be glad to learn the names of some

  of your associates.”

  An angry, defiant expression came over Ballou's face. For a moment the visitor appeared about to lose

  his temper. Then he smiled, in ugly fashion.

  “You're working for some one else, aren't you?” he demanded.

  “I represent the official government of Santander,” said Legira proudly.

  “All right, then.” Ballou's smile broke into a harsh laugh. “I represent the unofficial government. Let it go

  at that.”

  “I recognize none but the official.”

  “Why be a fool, Legira?” quizzed Ballou. “They're all alike, down in Santander. Out for what they can

  get. Graft—that's the big word. Same as it is everywhere in South America—”

  “I do not relish insults,” interposed Legira coldly. “The government which I represent is composed of

  men who are honest and sincere. They have the interests of Santander at heart.”

  “All right,” agreed Ballou. “Suppose they do. They want money, too. Five million dollars. They won't

  sneeze at
that, will they? You're up here, asking for ten million. How much of it you intend to hand over is

  your own business, not mine. All I'm here to tell you is that you get five million. Not a nickel more!”

  “I intend to deliver any money that I may receive to the government of Santander,” declared Legira.

  “If—as you believe—I am to receive ten million dollars, all of it will go to the right men in Santander. But

  I do not have ten million dollars. I may never have it—”

  “You'll get it!” interrupted Ballou, rising impatiently. “Ship it to Santander on any boat you want. I'm

  telling you that the minute that money leaves New York, it's lost to you. Understand? Split here, and

  we're quits. Try to slip one over on us, you'll lose all. We've got things sewed up—”

  BALLOU stopped abruptly. He turned and strode to the door. He stopped there and waited for Legira

  to speak. The consul said nothing.

  “We're giving you ten days,” declared Ballou, in a final tone. “We get our half then. If we don't—”

  “Well?”

  Legira's question was a cold interruption.

  “Then we get the whole business,” added Ballou. “I know plenty about matters down in Santander,

  Legira. You're too wise to put any stock in that tinhorn government you call official. I figure you're out for

  what you can grab.

  “You've pulled a neat one here in New York. Pulled it to the tune of ten million dollars. Divide it by two,

  and you'll be about right. Santander's the only place where you can jump.

  “Your official government”—Ballou's words were sarcastic—“will be a joke alongside of the unofficial

  when it comes to a pinch.

  “I'm laying the cards on the table. We want five million. We'll let you have five if we get five. If you try to

  take all ten, we'll tip off the tough boys in Santander. There'll be a revolution, pronto. Five million for us,

  five million for the revolutionists.

  “So take your choice, Legira. If you want five million—for yourself or your official government—you've

  got your chance for it now. Otherwise, it will be ciphers for you. That's final!”

  “It is very late, Mr. Ballou,” said Legira wearily. “I suggest that you leave now, so that you may report to

  the persons who sent you.”

  “No one will know who sent me,” growled Ballou. “You're not going to play with us, eh?”

  “I am spending my life in work—not in play.”

  Ballou was momentarily disconcerted. Then he shook his forefinger angrily at the quiet, leisurely man who

  faced him.

  “Ten days,” he said. “That's the limit!”

  Francisco was coming up the stairs; Ballou turned away and met the servant, who escorted him down to

  the ground floor. Legira could hear the gruff voice mumbling from below.

  Lopez came slinking from the closet. He looked at Legira in both admiration and concern. The consul

  paid no attention to his secretary's expression. He was smiling grimly, and now a soft, scheming chuckle

  came from his lips. He pointed to the telephone. Lopez brought it to him.

  Legira held one finger on the hook; the other hand kept the receiver close to his ear. There was a dull

  sound of the front door closing.

  Softly, Legira called a number. A voice responded after a few moments. The consul appeared to

  recognize its tones.

  “This is Legira,” he said. “We will try our plan to-morrow. Proceed immediately.”

  RISING, Legira stood before a mirror, surveying his own countenance. Lopez was peering over his

  shoulder. Legira smiled as he noted the contrast. His own face, despite its suave expression, was

  scarcely an unusual one, like that of Lopez. The consul continued to stare, while Lopez looked on,

  wondering.

  Legira motioned, and Lopez followed him into a dark front room. Together, they peered from the

  window. Pete Ballou was standing on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. A late cab swung

  into view. The ex-visitor hailed it, and rode away.

  A moment later, Legira nudged Lopez as the form of a man showed on the sidewalk opposite.

  “Martin Powell,” said Legira, in a low voice.

  The investigator stalked away into the darkness. Both men watched. They saw no one else. A short

  exclamation came from Lopez as he gripped Legira's arm. Then the secretary laughed sheepishly.

  “I thought that was some person,” he said. “A person that was walking there from over the street. It is

  not one.”

  Legira, looking, observed a fleeting shadow as it flickered beneath the glare of the lamp outside. Then he

  lost sight of it as he peered toward the darkness of the alley opposite. Had Legira watched the blackish

  shape, he might have seen it momentarily assume the form of a living man as it neared the side of the

  house.

  The consul returned with his secretary to the room with the shuttered window. Again, Legira stood

  before the mirror, with Lopez peering from beside him.

  Minutes rolled by. The drawn shade fluttered slightly, as though the shutter outside had been opened by

  an unseen hand.

  Legira did not notice the movement of the shade. Nor did he see the long, narrow shadow that had

  appeared upon the floor, stretching from the window to his feet. Instead, Legira turned to face Lopez.

  “It will not be difficult,” was his cryptic remark. “Not very difficult. It would be so if I were you, Lopez.

  Very difficult then, perhaps.”

  The secretary appeared bewildered. Legira laughed knowingly. He strode from the room, leaving Lopez

  wondering. Then the secretary followed.

  The window shade fluttered. There was a slight, almost inaudible noise. The shutter was closing. In the

  blackness, on the wall outside the house, a figure that clung like a mammoth bat, began a downward

  course, pressing close to the projecting stones.

  The form was lost in the darkness below. It appeared momentarily in the light near the front wall of the

  house. A tall man, clad in black, was revealed a moment; then his figure vanished in the night.

  Only a low, soft laugh marked the strange departure of this mysterious personage. The figure was

  invisible as it drifted across the street and stopped near the entrance to the alley opposite.

  The Shadow, man of the night, had been searching here. Shrouded in darkness, he had observed the

  departure of Pete Ballou. He had witnessed the approach of Martin Powell. He had spied upon Alvarez

  Legira and his secretary, Lopez.

  Now, at the entrance of the alley, he detected the presence of “Silk” Dowdy, the hidden watcher.

  Unseen, unnoticed, The Shadow slipped away into the dark.

  CHAPTER V. THE EYES OF THE SHADOW

  ONE week had elapsed since the eventful night when Alvarez Legira had swung his ten-million-dollar

  deal with the New York financiers. Seated in the secluded room of his residence, the consul from

  Santander was talking with his thin-faced secretary, Lopez.

  “Ten days, was it not?” questioned Legira smoothly. “Let us see— six have passed. There will be four

  more.”

  “Yes, senor,” replied Lopez. “It is four more days. Yet you have done nothing, senor.”

  “Nothing,” returned Legira, with a smile. “Nothing, Lopez, yet I am not worried. I had expected some

  change before this evening. However” - he shrugged his shoulders—“to-morrow is another day.”

  “You have some plan, senor”—Lopez spoke in a cautious voice— “some plan that you have not told to />
  me. Is it not so, senor? Why is it that you have not spoken to me?”

  Legira arose and clapped his secretary upon the shoulder. The consul's face broke into a scheming smile.

  Lopez grinned in return. These two understood each other, from long experience.

  “I shall tell you, Lopez,” declared Legira. “Soon, but not now. You remember the night that Pete Ballou

  came here. When he left, I asked you to bring me—”

  His words ended, and he pointed his thumb toward the telephone. Lopez nodded. He remembered the

  brief conversation which Legira had held on that night, but he could not recall the number that the consul

  had called.

  “That was it, Lopez,” said Legira. “You know me well. I am always thinking ahead, am I not?”

  “Yes, senor.”

  “I was thinking ahead that night. I am still thinking ahead. I have a plan, Lopez, a wonderful plan!”

  Smiling, Legira turned and stared at the mirror in the same manner that he had employed on that other

  night. He swung back toward Lopez, and the secretary's face began to gleam with understanding.

  “Ah, senor,” he said. “I do not know what your plan may be, but it seems to me that it must be wise.

  There are men who watch you—all the time. There is that man called Powell. There are others which we

  do not see; but we know they are with that man Ballou. If you should do anything which they should

  suspect, it would be very bad. While you are here, you cannot do what you might wish. But if—”

  Legira's hand came up in warning. He shook his head as a sign that Lopez should say no more.

  Significantly, the consul pointed to the walls of the room.

  “There are eyes outside this house,” he said, in a low tone. “There may be ears within. Let us forget these

  matters, Lopez. To-morrow we shall go to the consular office as usual to take care of minor business.

  Little details must go on, even when large events are looming.”

  Lopez nodded. He walked across the room and raised the window shade slightly. He wanted to make

  sure that the iron shutter without was still securely barred. His inspection proved satisfactory. But there

  was something which even the keen eyes of Lopez did not observe.

  WHERE the side of the window frame met the sill, there was a narrow crack. Deep in that crevice ran a