Shadowed Millions s-21

by Maxwell Grant

  “Very well,” agreed Perry.

  PETE BALLOU strode from the room. Lopez, sliding after him, formed an escort to the door. Perry

  listened; then heard the secretary returning upstairs. When Lopez entered, he found Legira's double

  resting leisurely in the chair.

  “I watched from the window,” said Lopez. “I saw him go across the street, like a sneak—”

  The secretary paused abruptly. For a moment, Lopez, too, had been deceived by Perry's appearance.

  He had started to speak as though he had been talking to Alvarez Legira. Without another word, Lopez

  went from the little room. He was on his way to the front of the house to make further observations.

  Perry, perplexed by all that had happened, looked about him in curious fashion. He spied the window,

  and his gaze drifted to the broken piece of thin wire that Lopez had torn apart. The wire interested Perry.

  He took the broken ends and touched one to the other to see if they would cause a spark. Suddenly

  sensing that some one was close by, Perry dropped the wires and turned quickly to find himself facing

  Lopez. The secretary had entered the room with unexpected stealth.

  “So that is it!” snarled Lopez, his face livid with fury. “You have known about that! Perhaps you have put

  it there!”

  Perry leaned back against the wall and stared boldly at the South American. Lopez was vicious, his

  hands trembling. He seemed ready to spring forward to a wild attack. Perry felt a mad antagonism

  toward the man. He showed it in his expression, for Lopez, though thoroughly enraged, kept his distance.

  “I know nothing about the wire,” declared Perry coldly. “I was merely examining it.”

  “That is not for you to do!” growled Lopez. “I am the man in charge here! What you shall do is for me to

  say. That is what Senor Legira has told me!”

  “Don't be a fool, Lopez,” retorted Perry. “I don't know what your game is, and I'm not asking. I'm

  playing fair, and I expect to be paid for it.”

  Lopez became shrewd in his glance. He moved toward the window, and reached behind the radiator.

  With a quick jerk, he brought forth the end of the wire, with a dictograph dangling from the end.

  “You know nothing of this, eh?” Lopez uttered the words in an insolent tone. “Nothing, eh? I think

  different from you. How has that been put here?”

  “I have no idea,” answered Perry, with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “That is a lie!” Lopez spat the words in a venomous tone.

  With a mad spring, Perry leaped upon the skulking secretary. The two locked in a terrific struggle. In

  weight and strength, Perry had the advantage. His one fear was that Lopez might suddenly bring some

  deadly weapon into play.

  THIS fear became a fact as they struggled forward and pitched headlong upon the floor. Perry lost his

  hold on one of the South American's wrists. A moment later, he saw the gleam of a wicked knife that the

  man had managed to draw.

  With a swift, mallet like blow, Perry struck the descending wrist. His assailant's arm shot wide, and the

  knife flashed across the room, free from the fingers which had clutched it.

  But Lopez recovered more quickly than did Perry. With his weapon no longer in his grasp, the wiry

  secretary renewed the attack with maddened fury. Before Perry could prevent it, the agile hands had

  caught his throat.

  In the heat of conflict, Lopez was inspired by one desire. He was determined to slay the man whom he

  now believed to be an enemy.

  Perry, desirous only of defending himself, realized now his error. He could not cry out; he could scarcely

  resist. Those clawing fingers that gripped his throat would never cease until they had gained their

  purpose. Lopez was bound upon a mission of death. He was not concerned with consequences.

  Writhing on the floor, Perry was hopelessly at the mercy of Lopez. His antagonist was kneeling on his

  arms. The secretary's hands were fierce in their effort as they sought to choke out the life of the helpless

  victim. Perry, his eyes bulging, his mouth wide open and gasping, sensed that the end had come.

  Here, in this room, he was to die—at the hands of a man who thought him a traitor. In this house, with

  bolted door and barred windows, there was no chance of rescue. The room seemed to whirl about with

  the madness of a nightmare. A terrific roar surged through Perry's ears.

  Then came blackness—whirling, sinking blackness as the tightening hands neared the last moment of their

  dastardly errand. All seemed to vanish before Perry's filmy eyes.

  Perry Wallace had reached the verge of death!

  CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW SPEAKS

  STARING downward with maddened eyes, Lopez grinned in wicked triumph as he saw the whitened

  face of Perry Wallace. The choking gasps had ended. The victim was offering no resistance. Cruel to the

  point of barbarity, the vicious South American pressed his thumbs deep into Perry's throat.

  To Lopez, too, this was a wild fantasy. Schooled in the harsh precepts of his native land, the desire to kill

  was one that the man could not repress. There was but one way to deal with traitors. That way was to

  slay.

  As Perry's gurgle ceased, a strange change came over the pallid face. It brought bewilderment to Lopez.

  That face was blackening, as though an invisible shade of night had advanced to cover it.

  The strange transformation turned bewilderment into sudden fear. One second more and the pressing

  thumbs would have finished their task. But the approach of the spectral blot had its effect. In momentary

  terror, Lopez released the pressure.

  A gurgling sigh came from Perry's lips. With the thought that his quarry was not yet dead, Lopez bent

  forward to resume his clutch.

  Then the splotch of approaching blackness moved. The face of the gasping victim was blotted by a

  solidness that came from nowhere.

  With startled eyes, Lopez saw that blackness become a hand with inky glove. Turning in consternation,

  he found himself within the grasp of a figure clad in black.

  All that Lopez saw was a pair of gleaming eyes that shone from beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Beyond

  that, all was mammoth blackness.

  With a startled scream, the South American shot upward to meet this unknown foe. His body was caught

  in a viselike grip. A powerful arm pressed his chin upward.

  Then, as though in the sling of a mighty catapult, Lopez was hurtled upward and backward. His light

  body spun wildly in the air. Whisked through space, he was precipitated forward, landing forcibly upon

  the floor. There he lay, bereft of his senses.

  A strange sight! Lopez, unconscious, flattened on the floor. Perry Wallace, in the guise of Alvarez Legira,

  lying with eyes still closed as his weakened fingers sought to remove an imaginary grasp from his neck.

  Above them, the dominating figure in the room, a man clad in black cloak and soft hat, whose burning

  eyes were glowing spots of flame.

  The Shadow, messenger of life and death, had arrived upon the scene. With one swift stroke, he had

  saved the life of Perry Wallace, and had hurled Lopez into senselessness.

  Perry opened his eyes. Before his blurred vision, The Shadow was no more than a moving mass of

  blackness. Before the rescued man could regain his normal faculties, he felt himself lifted bodily and half

  carried to a chair. There, with his collar plucked open, he gasped for breath until the effects of the

  stran
gling hands had passed away.

  Then Perry looked around him. First, he saw the body of Lopez. He wondered if the man was dead. He

  could not understand what had happened to Legira's secretary.

  Perry rubbed his eyes and looked toward the window. It was then— for the first time—that he really

  saw The Shadow.

  THE sight of that uncanny being brought new bewilderment. That tall form, clad in its garb of sable hue,

  might have been a specter from the other world. Entrance to this room seemed impossible. How had this

  stranger of the night arrived?

  Perry repressed a shudder. The gleaming eyes were directed toward him, and in them Perry could see

  neither friendliness nor enmity. He realized that he owed his life to this weird personage; yet the man in

  black seemed an avenging phantom. Had he rescued that he, in turn, might slay?

  With difficulty, Perry managed to regain his composure. The unreality of the situation came as an

  unexpected tonic. Through Perry's mind ran the single, important thought. Despite all that had happened,

  he must play his part. He must retain the role of Alvarez Legira.

  Calmly smoothing his rumpled coat, Perry feigned indifference as he drew his cigarette holder from his

  pocket. He boldly returned the stare of the man who stood before him. The action brought a soft, ghostly

  laugh from the hidden lips that were buried beneath the shadowed projection of the hat brim.

  “Who are you?” demanded Perry suddenly.

  “One who is interested in your plans, Legira,” came the reply, in a low, whispered voice.

  Perry restrained a smile as he realized that his impersonation of Alvarez Legira was effective enough to

  deceive this crafty visitor. He decided that by careful playing of his part, he might learn matters which had

  hitherto eluded him.

  To-night, with the visit of Pete Ballou, Perry had gained his first glimmering knowledge of the intrigue and

  cross-purposes that surrounded the consul from Santander.

  “You are interested in my plans?” he questioned casually.

  “Yes,” declared The Shadow. “I had been awaiting your conference with Ballou, to-night.

  Unfortunately”—the voice was low and monotonous—“the communication which I had established was

  terminated.”

  Perry realized that this meant the dictograph. He recalled now that Lopez had discovered the connecting

  wire just before Ballou had paid his unexpected call.

  “So you came in person,” observed Perry.

  The Shadow did not reply. Looking beyond the man in black, Perry observed the raised shade and the

  solidity of the metal shutter beyond it. He knew that this strange visitor had made his entrance through

  that channel.

  “I appreciate your visit,” added Perry, with a definite affectation of Legira's manner. “I had an unfortunate

  altercation with my secretary, Lopez. Your intervention was indeed most timely.”

  “I have come to question you,” declared The Shadow, in a cold, harsh tone. “I know Ballou's purpose

  here. He came to warn you that your time was nearly ended. To-morrow night, he expects his answer. I

  expect my answer now!”

  Perry stared straight at the burning eyes. The Shadow was coming closer. Perry viewed his approach

  with alarm. The figure held a menacing position.

  “My question,” stated The Shadow, “concerns the sum of ten million dollars. I have come to learn your

  plans regarding it.”

  “Ten million dollars?” Perry asked the question with pretended calm. “I am sorry. I can give you no

  information.”

  THE eyes of The Shadow were close. Like flaring globes of light, they shone with piercing power. To

  Perry, they held a hypnotic force. He could not turn his gaze from them. His mind was filled with conflict.

  Did this weird visitor bring new danger?

  Trembling with nervousness, Perry tried to shrink away from the forceful eyes that sought to read his

  thoughts. Somehow, he seemed bereft of strength. He sat, unresisting, wondering if this man of the night

  intended to attack him. Then, suddenly, The Shadow moved backward, his cloak swishing eerily as he

  withdrew to the center of the room.

  A creepy laugh, uttered by obscured lips, caused cold tremors along Perry's spine. He wondered why

  The Shadow's method had changed. Then came the explanation.

  In a low, smooth whisper, The Shadow addressed a prolonged question. The words were a jargon to

  Perry Wallace. He realized, of a sudden, that the weird visitor was speaking Spanish.

  The question came again. Despite himself, Perry could not control his blank expression. The Shadow

  laughed.

  “You are not Alvarez Legira!” The accusation came in a hissing tone. “What is your purpose here?”

  Perry could think of no reply. By questioning him in Spanish, The Shadow had cunningly forced him to

  betray the fact that his identity was false. Lopez —until recently Perry's standby—still lay unconscious on

  the floor.

  The Shadow was pressing his advantage. Coming forward, he towered above the man in the chair. Perry

  found himself staring into the tunnellike muzzle of an automatic, gripped in a black-clad hand. Cold

  perspiration dewed his forehead.

  “Speak!”

  The command was one that could not pass unheeded. Between duty and self-preservation, Perry

  Wallace was leaning to the latter course. Mad thoughts were running through his brain.

  What did he owe to Alvarez Legira? Why should he attempt to keep up the pretense now that it had

  been discovered? Lopez was Legira's henchman. Lopez had tried to kill him. What loyalty could he owe

  to Legira now?

  “Where is Alvarez Legira?”

  The Shadow's question was demanding. It prompted Perry to reply.

  “I do not know,” he answered.

  “Who are you?” quizzed The Shadow.

  “My name is Perry Wallace”—the words came mechanically—“and I am being paid to take Legira's

  place—”

  This beginning brought relief to the nervous tension which had dominated Perry since the entrance of The

  Shadow. In short, abrupt phrases, he blurted out his story, starting with the strange offer given him by

  Frank Desmond, the secret agent of Legira.

  In conclusion, Perry recounted the recent interview with Pete Ballou, and the ensuing conflict he had had

  with Lopez. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced the sheet of paper that told the location of Ballou's

  headquarters. The Shadow received it with outstretched hand.

  IN spite of himself, Perry Wallace had come to regard this black-clad stranger as a friend. The danger

  and uncertainty that surrounded him seemed to be fading in The Shadow's presence.

  Exhausted, Perry slumped in his chair. For a moment, The Shadow stood motionless; then, with a

  sweeping swing, the man in black whirled to the other side of the room and picked up the telephone.

  Perry could not hear him as he spoke into the mouthpiece. The whispered voice carried a low, sinister

  note that could have been detected only by the man at the other end of the wire.

  Perry could only divine that The Shadow had given and received some important information; for, with a

  quick movement, the man hung up the telephone and again turned toward the chair. The automatic was

  gone from view. The long right arm pointed toward the form of Lopez.

  “Stay here,” came The Shadow's commanding whisper. “Look to that man and regain his confidence.

  Say nothing
of my visit here. We shall meet again.”

  Perry nodded. He noted that Lopez was moving slightly. He heard a groan from the man on the floor.

  Moving from the chair, Perry went to his assistance. Lopez opened his eyes, and managed to raise his

  body from the floor. He stared in bewildered fashion when he saw Perry. All traces of anger were now

  gone from the South American's visage.

  “You—you—” he began.

  “I am all right,” interposed Perry. “You made a mistake, Lopez. You lost your head. You were choking

  me. I had to knock you out to save myself.”

  The man's eyes glowed with momentary suspicion.

  “You tried to knife me,” added Perry. “Do you think I would have let you live if you and I were enemies?

  We are friends. Do you understand? Friends!”

  Lopez had arisen to his feet while Perry was talking. He leaned weakly against the wall and looked about

  him, staring toward the window. Perry followed his gaze with momentary alarm. He had forgotten The

  Shadow for the time. Now, he expected to see the man in black. To Perry's amazement, the shade was

  nearly drawn; and below it showed the outer barrier.

  Lopez was struggling to recall the details of the fight. He remembered that he had been strangling Perry

  Wallace; then he recalled a quick scuffle in which the tables had been turned. No one else was in the

  room. Perry's story had been convincing.

  Lopez looked at the man before him. He realized now that he had made a mistake—that his suspicions of

  Perry had been unfounded. Perry's hand was stretched toward him. Lopez accepted it with willingness.

  Truce was declared.

  But while Lopez was still recovering from his befuddlement, Perry Wallace's brain was surging with

  confused thoughts. To him, The Shadow was a strange reality. He had seen the man in black. He had

  told his story. He had accepted orders.

  He had watched The Shadow receive a report from some unknown informant. Then, silently and

  invisibly, the man of the night had departed. He had come here to rescue; he had stayed to discover vital

  facts that pertained to the schemes of Alvarez Legira and others.

  Perry Wallace realized that The Shadow had departed on some unknown mission; that even now, the

  stranger in black was on his way to cope with other situations.