“There are two vital points that I can put as questions. First, are you convinced that the Santander proposal is genuine? Second, are you convinced that I am the authorized agent of my country?”
“We feel that both those points have been established,” replied Hendrix.
“That should be sufficient,” announced Legira, boldly challenging. “Hence I feel justified in asking for your decision. Are you willing to make the payment of ten million dollars?”
“We are,” declared Hendrix.
Legira smiled triumphantly. From now on the situation was in his hands. He saw that Hendrix was about to ask another question. Shrewdly, Legira took action to forestall it.
“You are worried about the arrangements,” he said. “There is no cause for alarm. As accredited representative of Santander, I can avoid all difficulties. It now rests between you and myself, Mr. Hendrix.
“To avoid all complications, the proposal is that you should have the entire amount in your possession, ready for delivery when I request it. Once it is given to me, your responsibility ends and mine begins.”
“That’s just it, Mr. Legira,” interposed a puffy-faced man near the head of the table. “It’s the irregular way of giving you the money—”
“Do you have confidence in Mr. Hendrix?” queried Legira promptly.
“Certainly,” said the puffy man.
“Are you confident that my government has full trust in me?” was the consul’s next question.
“Yes,” came the reply.
Legira simply shrugged his shoulders. Better than any words, the action carried home his thought. Nods of approval came amid a buzzing murmur. It was clear that Legira had good reason for reducing the transaction into terms of individuals.
“When Mr. Hendrix has the money,” purred Legira, “all will be in his capable hands. I, in turn, shall know the proper time to send the millions to Santander. Then, quietly, with avoidance of publicity, I shall obtain the money from Mr. Hendrix, and see to its safe delivery in my native land. When the world learns that great American interests have supported Santander, the entire deal will have been consummated.”
Looking from face to face, Legira knew that he had triumphed. One by one he studied his companions, and saw agreement on every countenance.
Then, at the end of his inspection, he once more encountered the hawk-faced man, who was sitting with folded arms. Legira and this individual locked in a silent stare.
“Unless there are further questions” — Hendrix was speaking to his companions — “we can now give Legira our decision—”
Legira scarcely heard the words. He was watching his adversary, knowing that here was one, at least, who by a single question could ruin his plans. The consul’s assurance began to fade as he saw the lips of that impenetrable face move.
“I have a question.”
The voice was cold. Although the words were spoken to the entire group, Legira knew that they were meant for him, alone.
“A question,” announced Hendrix, rapping the table. “A question from Lamont Cranston.”
LAMONT CRANSTON!
The name was known to Alvarez Legira, although he had never met the man before. He knew that Cranston was a man of great wealth, one who had taken considerable interest in foreign affairs. He had heard Cranston described as a cosmopolitan, whose home was everywhere.
Instinctively, Legira knew that success was no longer in his own hands. It depended entirely upon what Lamont Cranston might have to say.
Legira’s hopes seemed to fade. He dreaded the question that was to come. It could shatter his plans in one moment. He tried to affect an air of indifference as he waited.
“My question is this.” Cranston spoke in slow, emphatic monotone, staring directly at Legira. “Will you give us your absolute word, Mr. Legira, that this entire sum will be utilized for the express purposes which you have stipulated?”
“Positively,” answered Legira.
“To the government of Colombia,” continued Cranston, “to the government of Venezuela; and to the treasury of the new Republic of Santander?”
“For those purposes, and none other,” affirmed Legira.
Lamont Cranston’s eyes were gleaming as they pierced the gaze of Alvarez Legira. The consul waited, his spirit sagging, for he felt that another query was about to come. Then, Lamont Cranston did the unexpected. He turned away and faced John Hendrix.
“I approve the plan,” he said. “I have no further questions.”
Legira gasped in amazement. In one brief second he had been raised from what seemed tragic failure to sure success for his plans. Lamont Cranston, on the verge of ruining his hopes, had suddenly become his stanch supporter!
Before the surprised consul could recover, John Hendrix had rapped the table and called for a vote. Legira heard the chorus:
“Aye!”
There was not a dissenting voice. Legira found himself shaking hands with John Hendrix and accepting the congratulations of others. He affixed his signature to a signed document. The last detail had been arranged.
Ten million dollars!
Alvarez Legira had fought for that stake, and he had won. He gradually regained his composure. He looked about for Lamont Cranston, the man who had furnished the dramatic climax to these negotiations. But he saw no sign of the calm-faced millionaire.
The other men were leaving. Soon, Alvarez Legira was alone with John Hendrix. They talked for a few minutes. Hendrix would have the money within forty-eight hours. Legira could call and make arrangements for its shipment to Santander.
“Jermyn!”
When Hendrix gave his summons, the melancholy secretary appeared from the other room. He was the only one who remained beside the two negotiators. Jermyn was a man who had the confidence of Hendrix. He had been appointed usher at this secret meeting.
“Mr. Legira is leaving, Jermyn,” said Hendrix. “You may show him through the other room.”
Legira shook hands with Hendrix. He took his hat and cane, and left the suite. In the corridor, alone, he glanced in both directions; then headed for the stairs that led to the roof garden. Upward he strode until he reached the top of the final flight.
THERE, Legira peered cautiously from the head of the stairs. With quick, deft movement, he stepped into the lobby. Standing by the wall, he lowered his head, but looked shrewdly about him while he inserted a cigarette in his holder.
Legira saw no one watching him. He lighted his cigarette, strode toward the elevator, and joined a group of people who were leaving the roof.
As he entered the car, Legira’s back was directly toward the stairs that he had left. A sudden sensation gripped him — the feeling that now some one was watching him. He turned; but too late. The door of the car had closed.
Only a split second prevented Alvarez Legira from seeing what he had suspected. Two eyes were burning from the darkness of the stairway — eyes that Legira would have recognized. They were the same eyes that had viewed him so closely during the conference — the eyes of Lamont Cranston.
Now, those eyes had disappeared. No sign of a man was visible. Down through the semidarkness of the stairway, only a swishing sound betokened the descent of a living being. The stairway ended in a side passage on the ground floor, a spot which at this hour was deserted.
There, a tall figure came into view — a strange, silent figure that was seen by no one. A tall man, clad in black, his cloak dropping from his shoulders, his features hidden by the brim of a slouch hat, stood motionless. Had Alvarez Legira been there to see that phantom shape, with the eyes that gleamed from beneath the hat brim, he would have been astounded.
For this mysterious man possessed the eyes of Lamont Cranston, yet he was a totally different individual. In all New York, there was only one who appeared in this strange, fantastic guise. That one was The Shadow — man of the night, whose very name brought terror to the hearts of evildoers.