The strangeness of the situation had its effect. Perry Wallace arose. Frank Desmond reached for the
revolver.
“Drop it in your pocket,” said Perry. “Don't worry. I'm taking the job—”
Desmond arose and proffered his hand. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he stared directly at Perry's
face. He pocketed the revolver and picked up the telephone.
“Do not send any one to my office until I call you again,” he ordered. “You understand, Miss Johnston?
Very well. Now give me this number—”
Perry watched while Desmond spoke into the mouthpiece. The employment manager uttered only one
word.
“Right,” was all he said.
Then he hung up the phone. He beckoned to Perry and led the way to the side of the room. There he
opened the door of a closet and stepped in. Perry saw him press a hook. The wall of the closet slid
away. A passage was revealed beyond.
“Enter,” said Desmond.
Perry stepped forward. He passed the other man, and Desmond followed. The panel closed noiselessly.
Perry hesitated in the darkness. He felt Desmond press against him, and the muzzle of the revolver poked
his ribs.
It was a subtle threat; yet with it came inducing words. Desmond's voice was a crackly sound as it
growled in the darkness.
“Move ahead. Keep going. One thousand dollars a week.”
Half puzzled, half elated, Perry Wallace groped his way through the darkness of the narrow passage,
bound toward a strange adventure.
CHAPTER VII. LEGIRA'S DOUBLE
ALVAREZ LEGIRA was speaking in a whisper. His hand still upon the telephone that he had replaced
on the desk, he was muttering instructions to his secretary.
“This is what I have expected, Lopez,” he said. “The door is locked?”
Lopez nodded.
Legira motioned toward the closet in the corner of the room. The secretary followed as the consul
opened it and released the sliding panel.
Together they entered the passageway. The wall closed behind them. Legira led the way through the
darkness, until he stopped before another wall. Here, he pressed an unseen catch. The wall slid back,
and the two men entered a small room, which was illuminated through a frosted-glass skylight.
Lopez had been in this room before; and he had often wondered why the consul kept it. Presumably, it
was a dressing room. It had a table, with a mirror; and at the side hung a rack of clothing.
Lopez looked about him, wondering why his chief had brought him here. Then the secretary turned,
startled, as he heard a click at the other end of the room. A panel opened, and two men entered.
They were Desmond and Perry Wallace. Perry walked first; Desmond, close behind, held the gun against
Perry's back.
Alvarez Legira was quick as he glanced at the arrivals. His eyes were upon the taller of the two men. The
consul's face gleamed with satisfaction as he observed the countenance of Perry Wallace. Then, with a
broad smile, he turned to Frank Desmond.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Legira. “Excellent! Well done, Desmond. Who is this man?”
“His name is Perry Wallace,” explained Desmond. “Came this morning - after I had been passing up
possible applicants all week. Wallace, this is Mr. Legira.”
Perry extended his hand as Legira approached. The consul shook it warmly. He pointed to chairs against
the wall. The four men seated themselves. Perry appeared puzzled. Desmond was apprehensive.
Legira looked at Perry. Then he turned to Lopez.
“What do you think of it?” he questioned.
The secretary indulged in a broad smile.
“We look alike, eh?” quizzed Legira.
“Yes, senor,” said Lopez. “Very much alike.”
“Alike enough,” declared Legira.
He gazed shrewdly at Perry Wallace, who detected a peculiar gleam in the consul's eyes. Now, for the
first time, Legira seemed to express concern regarding the man whom Desmond had brought here.
“Your name is Wallace, eh?” he questioned. “It will be different from now. Look at me closely, my
friend. I am Alvarez Legira, consul from the Republic of Santander. In a few minutes, I shall no longer be
Alvarez Legira. You will be he—in place of me. You understand?”
THE South American drew a package of cigarettes from his pocket. He proffered one to his new
acquaintance. Perry Wallace accepted it. Legira, reaching into a drawer, produced a long holder identical
with the one he was using.
“Try this,” he suggested.
Perry inserted the cigarette in the holder, almost copying Legira's actions. The two men smoked away.
Perry sniffed the aroma of the strong tobacco.
“You like it, eh?” questioned Legira.
“Not particularly,” responded Perry.
“You must like it,” said the consul seriously. “Alvarez Legira smokes only that particular tobacco.”
Perry lowered his hand and stared steadily at the man before him. Legira smiled as he saw the firm glare
in Perry's eyes.
“What's the game?” demanded Perry. “You're counting me in a little too soon, Mr. Legira.”
“The game?” Legira's question was suave. “The game is one thousand dollars every week—paid to you,
Mr. Wallace—after you become Alvarez Legira.”
“Suppose I refuse?”
“You would refuse?” Legira's question was spoken in an incredulous tone. “Ah, you cannot refuse. It is a
golden opportunity!”
“Yes?” Perry's tone was challenging. “It looks phony to me. You want me to take your place. Is that the
idea?”
“Certainly.”
“Why? So that you may avoid trouble?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it doesn't go!” declared Perry emphatically. “I'm not going into a trap for you or any one else!
Hold the bag yourself. Don't count on me—”
“Very well,” said Legira quietly. “You have made a mistake, Desmond. This is not the gentleman whom
we need. You may take him back to your office. Bring another one—later.”
Desmond stared in amazement. A look of consternation appeared upon the face of Lopez. Perplexity
gripped Perry Wallace. Alvarez Legira arose as though the interview was ended.
“Just a moment,” said Perry suddenly. “I want to know about this. Mr. Desmond here tells me that I am
the only man for the job. You tell me you don't want me. What's the idea?”
“Mr. Desmond may be mistaken,” said Legira, with a smooth smile. “Perhaps I am the one who is
mistaken. I have business of my own— business which concerns me alone. I have also to be present in
New York as consul from Santander. How can that be possible?
“There is only one way. That is to have some one who can take my place, and who is willing to take my
place. You fill one requirement, but not the other. It is very unfortunate—”
“Perhaps I was a bit hasty,” returned Perry. “Your proposition was not quite clear to me. As I now
understand it, you merely want me to appear here as a sort of figurehead, at a salary of one thousand
dollars a week.”
“Exactly,” returned Legira, in his most convincing tone. “There will be no duties that you cannot perform
with ease. Lopez, here, is secretary to the consul. He can manage all affairs. It will be an easy life for
you—the life of Alvarez Legira.”
“How long—”
“For a few weeks. That is all.”
�
��And then—”
“Then we shall find some other duties, for your real self. Perhaps the remuneration will not be so great;
but I can assure you it will be ample.
“While you serve for me”—Legira's tone was impressive—“you also serve the great Republic of
Santander. We of Santander do not forget those who have done our bidding!”
“All right,” declared Perry. “I'll chance it!”
LEGIRA acted with precision. He pointed to the clothing rack at the far end of the room. Lopez
motioned to Perry Wallace, who arose and followed him.
Fifteen minutes later, two men, both with dark eyes and pointed mustaches, stood facing each other,
garbed in clothes that appeared identical. The transformation of Perry Wallace had worked almost to
perfection. Even to Lopez, both bore the features and manner of Alvarez Legira.
The genuine consul raised his cigarette holder to his lips and blew a puff of smoke. He twisted the end of
his mustache with the fingers of his left hand. Perry Wallace copied the motions to exactitude.
“Wonderful!” declared Legira admiringly. “It is indeed wonderful.”
“It is remarkable,” returned Perry, in the same tone.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Legira.
“Excellent!” echoed Perry.
“You see?” said Legira, turning to Desmond. “I said it would not be difficult. New York is a great
city—it has far more people than has all Santander. There are thousands who would come to a place that
offered employment. Thousands—where I required but one. There are many who might recognize
Alvarez Legira. There are none who know him well, here in New York.
“This man is younger than myself, but the difference in age is not great. He will pass to perfection. With
Lopez to coach him, there can be no danger. But remember, we must keep silent.”
With that, the true Alvarez Legira peeled off his suit and donned the garments which Perry Wallace had
worn. A few motions, ruffled his smooth hair, and demolished the points of the well-waxed mustache.
“When I am away from here,” declared Legira, “I shall become myself again. You see?”
He smiled as he packed a suitcase that lay in the corner of the room. This work ended, he bowed to
Perry Wallace and Lopez. Then, with Desmond carrying the suitcase, he marched solemnly toward the
passage that led to the inner office of the employment agency.
A SHORT while later, two men left the office of the consul of Santander. One was Lopez; the other, to
all appearances, was Alvarez Legira. The secretary was talking to his chief. The consul was nodding as
he carried his smoking cigarette holder between the fingers of his right hand.
The pair lunched at a downtown restaurant. They returned to the office in the afternoon. Later, they dined
at another cafe. It was early evening when they alighted from a taxicab in front of the consular residence.
Any passer-by could have seen Alvarez Legira paying the cab driver, with Lopez standing beside him.
Hours later, a quiet voice spoke from a room in the house which adjoined the residence of Alvarez
Legira. It was Burbank, sending his report to The Shadow.
“Legira returned with Lopez at eight twenty-one,” were the words. “They have been in and out of the
room where the dictograph is located. No important conversation registered.”
Even Burbank, experienced agent of The Shadow, had been deceived by the substitution arranged by
Alvarez Legira through his unknown henchman, Frank Desmond. Seated at his window, Burbank could
see Martin Powell patrolling along the street. Beyond, a stealthy figure seemed to lurk at the entrance of
the alley, indicating the presence of Silk Dowdy.
The watchers of the night were still covering Alvarez Legira. To a man they had been completely baffled.
While they fancied that they held their quarry helpless, the true Alvarez Legira was at large.
Somewhere in New York, the real consul of Santander was free to proceed with his schemes, with none
to thwart him!
CHAPTER VIII. LEGIRA'S PROPOSAL
JOHN HENDRIX, financier, entered the spacious lobby of the Westerly Apartment, where he
maintained his uptown residence. He rode to the fourth floor in an elevator. There he rang a bell, and was
admitted by the solemn-faced Jermyn.
With a curt nod, the portly financier walked through the apartment, until he reached his office at the far
end. Jermyn followed him, and the two men stood together in a large and handsomely furnished room.
John Hendrix was a man who played an important part in many large enterprises. As a result, he seldom
appeared in the downtown offices where he held connections. He relied chiefly upon capable
subordinates.
Those who obeyed his dictates came frequently to his apartment, where he held conferences in this
office. Hendrix gave many orders by telephone, and, while he was away, he left matters temporarily in
the hands of Jermyn, who was the embodiment of secretarial efficiency.
This afternoon, Hendrix looked about his office; then sat down at a big desk, and began to go through a
list of papers that Jermyn had left for his consideration. Hendrix disposed of the papers one after another,
making terse statements that Jermyn appeared to understand.
Hendrix stopped suddenly as he came to one penciled notation. Jermyn watched his employer as
Hendrix read the sheet a second time. Then the financier swung in his swivel chair and faced his man.
“What did Mr. Legira have to say?” he questioned.
“Just what I have noted there, sir,” replied Jermyn. “He is very anxious to see you, sir. He called the
afternoon that you went out of town, and seemed very annoyed when I told him that you would not
return for two days.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Hendrix. “Why should he be annoyed? I waited for him one entire week, and heard
nothing from him. Why should he become hurried, of a sudden?”
“I do not know, sir. He left that telephone number that I have noted. He wants you to call there and ask
for Mr. Lengle. He acted as though it were quite urgent, sir.”
“It is urgent,” declared Hendrix thoughtfully. “Let me see”—he glanced at his watch—“three o'clock.
Suppose you call the number, Jermyn. If Legira is there and wants to speak to me, let me know.”
“Very well, sir.”
Jermyn went to a telephone, and put in the call. Hendrix heard him ask for Mr. Lengle. Then the servant
spoke to the financier, holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
“He wishes to see you as soon as possible, sir. It is Mr. Legira.”
“Tell him to come here!” snapped Hendrix.
Jermyn relayed the message and hung up the telephone.
HENDRIX began to go over other papers, but tossed them aside, and arose from the chair. Pacing the
floor, he appeared to be perplexed, and Jermyn watched him with an air of apprehension.
“He wants to see me,” muttered Hendrix. “He is coming immediately, you say, Jermyn?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He did not state his business previously?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course not—of course not. I know his business. Nevertheless, this is a bit odd. Very irregular,
Jermyn—very. Our arrangement calls for me to deal with Legira, alone. That is fortunate for him. If the
others knew of this delay and this secrecy, there might be objections.”
“Mr. Legira was very secretive, sir,” observed Jermyn. “He asked that I say not
hing whatever about his
call—that I speak only to you, sir.”
Hendrix nodded and continued his pacing. Then he returned to the desk, and busied himself with other
matters. His work was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Hendrix looked at Jermyn. The faithful
underling understood. This must be Legira. Jermyn left to answer the door.
He returned with Alvarez Legira in person. John Hendrix glanced askance at his visitor.
Usually well and smoothly groomed, Legira now formed a marked contrast to his usual self. His clothes
were rumpled, his face was poorly shaven, and his mustache was drooping. Yet his smile was suave as
he held out his hand to Hendrix.
“A surprise, eh?” he questioned quietly. “Ah, Mr. Hendrix, I am sorry that you were away. It has caused
me great inconvenience. Yet it will not matter greatly—”
He paused and looked doubtingly at Jermyn.
“Proceed, Legira,” said Hendrix gruffly. “Jermyn is my confidential man. Do not worry about his being
here with me. What do you want, Legira?”
“The time has come for the delivery of the money,” declared the consul solemnly. “The shipment must be
made at once—in accordance with our agreement.”
“Very well. Where shall I send it?”
“I do not wish you to send it,” said Legira. “I wish to take it.”
The man's tone was suave as he began to curl the points of his disarrayed mustache. Hendrix blinked
solemnly. Legira smiled. In characteristic fashion, he produced his cigarette holder and a package of
cigarettes.
“This is irregular, Legira,” declared Hendrix, in a disapproving voice. “It was my understanding that I was
to arrange shipment of the funds when you requested it—”
“That is not entirely correct,” interposed Legira. “The terms of agreement expressly called for final
negotiations to be terminated between ourselves. Thus I have given you my definite proposal. I should
like to obtain the ten million dollars this afternoon.”
As Hendrix appeared doubtful, Legira became insistent. He pressed his plea with all his accustomed
suavity.
“You have confidence in me,” he purred, “just as I have confidence in you. You are the agent of the
financiers; I am the agent of Santander. There is reason in my method. Hence I am relying upon you -”
“I should like to know the reason.”
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