“What if it did involve crime?” he asked.
“I would not be interested!” declared Perry.
“Crime is not involved,” said Desmond slowly. “You, yourself, will not be responsible for anything that may occur through your acceptance of the position which I have to offer. Is that sufficient?”
“Yes,” said Perry quietly. He rose from his chair and placed his hat upon his head. “It is quite sufficient, Mr. Desmond. It convinces me that I do not want to take the job.”
Desmond’s eyes flashed. He was furious. Perry Wallace smiled at the oddity of the situation. Desmond chewed his puffy lips. Then, as he saw Perry turning toward the door, he smiled in return and raised his hand.
“Wait!” he called.
Perry turned.
“I can tell you more about this job,” said the employment manager. “I can convince you that it would be wise for you to accept it. Does that sound fair?”
“Certainly,” replied Perry.
Desmond opened a drawer in the desk. He drew out a gleaming revolver and pointed it directly at Perry Wallace.
“Sit down!” ordered Desmond, in a low, rasping voice. “Sit down and listen. You understand?”
Perry was motionless for a moment. A rush of scattered thoughts passed through his brain. He did not believe that Desmond would dare to fire; at the same time, he realized that the man was angry. A chance shot might lead to disastrous consequences. Perry pictured himself in conflict with this man — people rushing in — the burden placed upon him.
“All right,” he said calmly. “I’ll listen.”
DESMOND thumped the revolver on the desk as Perry took his seat. The gun was close at hand. Perry realized its threat. Desmond had spoken of danger. It was beginning now.
“One thousand dollars a week,” declared Desmond, in a low, emphatic tone. “Does that interest you, Mr. Wallace?”
Perry smiled, but did not reply.
“If you have qualms” — Desmond’s voice was sneering — “you can forget them. You are going to take this job, Mr. Wallace. You’re going to take it whether or not you like it — simply because you are the only man who is suited to it!”
The offer of money had struck no responsive chord. Broke though he was, Perry Wallace was not impressed. Desmond had threatened. He had tried to entice. In both he had failed. But, unwittingly, the smug man had said something which aroused Perry Wallace’s interest.
“You say I am the only man” — Perry’s tone was sharply quizzical — “the only man suited to this job?”
“Yes,” declared Desmond.
“Why?” asked Perry.
Desmond smiled cunningly.
“That,” he said emphatically, “is one thing that you will learn within five minutes after you take the offer.”
Perry began to nod reflectively. Desmond saw that he had gained a point. He spoke persuasively.
“Forget the thought of crime,” he said, in an easy tone. “If any occurs, it will not be your fault. I do not know the details of this plan myself. I am simply acting for another. I have no qualms. Why should you?”
“Well — ” Perry was hesitant.
“This gun is a threat,” declared Desmond quietly. “Whatever you do can be attributed to force. I am threatening you now. That lets you out, if it comes to a show-down.”
“Perhaps.”
“Absolutely. It gives you a perfect alibi. You have no alternative. You say you like excitement. You say you do not mind danger. You are on the verge of a real adventure — with a thousand dollars for every week you are engaged. Your part will be an easy one. But — most important — you are the only man who can play it!”
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?”